by C. K. Brooke
Miers remembered himself. “Of course. And, Miss Winthrop?” She met his eyes, and the corner of his mouth couldn’t help but hook upward. “Welcome aboard The Black Rose.”
***
Commander Redding departed, leaving Em feeling strangely lonesome in the echo of his receding footsteps. Without his voice distracting her, the reality of what she’d done was beginning to sink in, like an anchor in her gut. Though their predicament was awkward at best, she liked his absence even less than she fancied the ineffable humming of her heartbeat every time his gaze skimmed her face.
Em stared at the flickering lantern, the only moving thing in the room. The man was correct. She hardly knew him, so why had she followed him? She could only say that something about his presence felt as comforting as a hearth in autumn, or warm as coffee straight from the pot.
Presently, fatigue overwhelmed her. Em couldn’t imagine how late the hour must be. She turned to examine the cot, and shivered. There was only one. And the commander had offered it to her, promising his return. But then, where would he sleep?
She recalled the frigid winters when she would share a bed with Jackey for warmth. The two slumbered beside each other, one upside-down and the other right-side up, so that she faced her brother’s feet. At the wild thought of proposing such an arrangement to the commander, she cracked with unexpected laughter. She cupped her mouth, stifling her silliness to a snigger.
She hadn’t realized anyone could hear.
“Something ticklin’ you, Missus?”
Em turned her neck so quickly, it cramped. Rubbing it, she noticed the scrawny sailor she’d met upstairs looking in, for the door was ajar. Her stomach gave a lurch. How long had he been standing there?
She summoned a forceful tone. “Is there something you want? Or must I report to my husband that one of the crew is spying on me in my quarters?”
The bony pirate backed away. “That won’ be necessary.” Though his words were deferential, his eyes were suspicious. All the same, he slunk into the shadows, retiring to the crew’s quarters. Em shoved the door shut and latched it. She should’ve thought to do so as soon as Commander Redding had gone. She would need to be more careful.
She turned back to the cot. She hoped it wasn’t festering with fleas. Hesitantly, she patted it down. It felt innocuous enough. Nothing crawled on her, at least. The young woman removed her Brunswick and draped it over the cabin trunk. Next, she slipped out of her shoes. She sat on the edge of the cot, massaging her eyes.
Something bristled, and Em lowered her hands. Oh, what now?
A scratching sound interrupted her solitary silence, and she jumped to her feet in search of the source. “Who’s there?” she demanded. She prayed no one had been hiding under the cot all the while. Why, they’d have heard her and the commander’s entire conversation! Then she would be in terrible trouble—they both would be.
Trembling, she lowered to her knees and peeked under the bed.
No one. She was about to breathe with relief when a fat gray blur scampered across the floor. Em clutched her breast and shot to her feet. Disgusted, she picked up her shoe and hurled it at the corner of the room. “Shoo!” she hissed. The vermin leapt through a hole in the floor, disappearing from view.
She groaned. She would have to contend with rats? As if pirates weren’t foul enough!
She collapsed onto the cot, her body going limp. What a mess she had made of things. She couldn’t bear to stay awake and ponder it anymore. Her only recourse was sleep.
She closed her eyes. She’d meant to turn down the lantern. Alas, she was already drifting.
***
The door rattled against its frame. Someone was trying the handle. “Miss Winthrop,” came a whisper.
Em’s heavy eyelids lifted. Disoriented, she gazed around. Where was she?
“Miss Winthrop, I need you to please open up.”
She vaguely knew that voice. And then the transpirings of the tumultuous evening returned to her, and Em scrambled out of bed. Her vision blurred as she unlatched the door and pulled it open.
She stifled a yawn as the commander stepped inside. “Sorry to wake you,” he murmured.
“Sorry for locking you out.” She noticed the bundle in his arms. “Oh, thank you,” she sighed.
He slid the latch in place and looked up, bemused.
She motioned to her scarf. “You remembered.”
“Oh.” He set it atop the bureau, and she was glad to see it was still neatly tied, all of its contents apparently intact. “Of course.”
Their small words fell away as they found themselves alone together. They watched each other, Em silently begging she wouldn’t have to be the first to address the obvious. Alas, the man opposite her made no indication of speaking again.
“Er,” she tugged on a strand of her hair, “have you given any consideration to…the sleeping arrangements?”
She wanted to faint at the quick aversion of his eyes, and the way his mouth tightened into a flat line. “Please,” he held a hand out to the cot, “resume as you were.”
“And what of you?” Her gaze followed as he crossed the room. “Where shall you sleep?”
He went to the cabin trunk, nudged her Brunswick aside and lifted the lid. He removed a spare blanket and, to Em’s surprise, spread it down on the floor.
“Certainly not there?” said Em.
“I insist.” Commander Redding rolled down the top of the blanket for a makeshift pillow, and proceeded to unbutton his jacket.
Em stammered. “B-but, there’s a rat.” It sounded weak, but was all she could manage. The man was removing his belt, after all, and she’d forgotten how to look away. How many more garments would he remove? What amount of propriety would they abandon before the night was through?
“Good thing I am accustomed to rats.” He unlaced his boots.
“You are?”
“Every ship has them.”
Once again, she wanted to ask what he was doing aboard a pirate ship and not a naval one. But he’d made it plain enough that the subject was not eligible for discussion.
Em couldn’t help her concern as he went to the lantern, tapering on its final dregs of oil. “Commander Redding, I sincerely fear you’ll be bitten. It was a rather large rat.”
She was taken aback when he grinned at her, a loose curl falling haphazardly over one of his eyes. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly. “Please, for our purposes, ‘Mr. Redding’ will do.”
If she’d been blushing before, now her face was surely florid. Em turned away so he wouldn’t see. But how could she address him without his title, in the intimate manner of a spouse, even in private?
Oh, this was going to be a long voyage.
“For how long did you say we’d be on this ship?” She fingered the folds of her skirts, desperate to occupy her nervous hands. “A week?”
“Perchance, more or less,” he replied, “depending on the weather.”
“And to where are we sailing?”
He paused. She was disappointed when he didn’t answer, only turned down the lantern until the flame was naught but a glow. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. But she didn’t want to ask again in case he had, and had simply chosen not to respond.
The floor complained beneath his weight as he lay down. Em returned to the cot, feeling guilty. There was no chance the man was comfortable down there. But she understood he couldn’t very well sleep elsewhere or bring in a spare hammock without raising the crew’s eyebrows. For what husband wouldn’t partake of his new wife’s bed?
The cabin fell silent between them. It was a rather thick silence, and Em didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she heard the commander’s steady exhalations. She lowered her head, unsure if she would be able to fall back to sleep with a man on the floor beneath her. Oh, if her mother could see her now—it would surely send the old woman to her grave.
And yet, pulling the blanket over herself, Em discovered how safe she suddenly felt. She wasn’t at the m
ercy of a mere door latch, but protected by a man who’d done everything in his control to shield her that night, even though she was little more than a stranger to him. For her sake, he’d deceived a pirate captain. How could she repay him?
She rustled in her cot. “Comman—I mean, Mr. Redding?”
No answer. She leaned over the side of the cot. He reposed on his side, his back to her as it rose and fell rhythmically.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the night.
Chapter 6
Em awoke alone. Sitting up, she blinked at the dingy walls. Commander Redding’s blanket was no longer on the floor, but neatly folded over the cabin trunk. She noticed his boots and jacket were gone.
Stretching, the young woman rose. The sway of water beneath the ship had lulled her through the night, and was still perceptible beneath her feet by day, and made her queasy. She would have to get used to it. Maintaining her balance, she went to the bureau. With fingers still clumsy from sleep, she unfastened the ends of her bundle. Her brother’s pear rolled out, slightly bruised. Em bit into it, ravenous. As she chewed, she opened her little coin purse and counted its contents. By the grace of God, nothing was missing.
With a pinprick of nostalgia, though she’d been gone but only an evening, she lifted one of the bars of lavender soap she’d packed, and inhaled. It smelled heavenly, and she longed to use it. The pirates of The Black Rose might have been foul-smelling, but that didn’t mean she had to be. She glanced around the cabin for a wash basin, but in vain. Where, exactly, could she find fresh water?
The galley was a ship’s kitchen, wasn’t it? Would it be terribly obtrusive of her to boil a bit of water and carry it back to the commander’s cabin? After all, she couldn’t be expected to sail for a week and back without washing.
She combed her hair and pinned it up. Inspecting her reflection in the grimy looking glass over the bureau, Em wondered how convincing she looked as a bride. Did she seem the sort to whom Commander Redding would be wed? And could she fool the crew on her own, without Redding at her side? She knew very little about him. As in, virtually nothing. What if someone should test her and ask her about him?
She turned from the looking glass, stepping into her shoes. Each moment, each day in its own time. There was no use permitting her worries to get ahead of her.
Emeline departed the cabin to greet the narrow hall. Somehow, she felt more cramped alone than at the commander’s side the night before. She wasn’t certain how she’d find the galley without asking. Notwithstanding her uncertainty, she ventured out. The low ceiling was rife with the creaking and plodding of footsteps overhead. She ran a hand along the wood paneled wall until it ended in a sharp turn, leaving her no direction to turn but left.
And that was when she smelled rosemary. Just a trace. But like the soap, it was a familiar aroma of home that she’d recognize anywhere. Like a lost hound, she followed the scent. It led her to a hot little corner at the rear of the cabin deck, where a door was welcomingly ajar. Someone inside was humming, accompanied by the chopping of a knife.
Em paused in the doorway. The galley was smoky and small, overcome with wooden surfaces, kegs and barrels lining the room. Tarnished pans, pots, and ladles adorned the walls. Fileted fish lay in a row upon a cutting block, rosemary ground with mortar and pestle beside it. An old codger past even her father’s years was removing a heavy pot from an oven. He plunked it upon his work surface.
Looking up, his mouth twisted into a smile, though not a threatening one.
She cleared her throat. “Hello.”
“Well, g’morning.”
“I am Mrs. Redding.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice her uncertainty.
“Oh? Didn’t realize the commander warz married.” He bobbed his head, which was wrapped in a red scarf. “Cook, I am.”
“Mr. Cook, I’m wondering,” she eyed the kegs in the room, “have you any clean water? I’m in need of it, and a washbasin for my cabin.”
“I’ve a bit of fresh water just been boiled,” he replied. “As fer a washbasin, haven’t you got a chamber pot?”
At the look of disgust on Em’s face, Cook wheezed with laughter and slapped his knee. “Just a dab of jest, Mrs. Redding. Haven’t got anything fancy what you might be used t’, I’m afraid, but maybe ye’ll find this to yer likin’.” He reached high into a cabinet and brought down what appeared to be a mixing bowl. He offered it to her. “Go on, take it.”
Em received it and turned it in her hands. It was lightweight and smooth, in an exotic oblong shape. “Is it wood?”
“Bamboo, all the way from Africa. It’ll hold water.” He proceeded to give her a full pitcher, and Em took it gratefully by the handle. “S’long as you empty it when not in use. Porous, is wood.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Cook.”
“Sure thing. Ain’t you gonna ask me for something t’ eat?”
Em smiled. The man had already been generous enough, and she didn’t wish to be greedy. After all, it was only her first day aboard, and she imagined supplies needed to last. “Oh, I’ve eaten a pear. Thank you.”
She watched her feet as she returned down the hall, careful not to spill the pitcher in her arms. At least some of the sailors were friendly. If need be, perhaps she’d spend the voyage helping Cook in the galley. The man was at least more pleasant than her own mother.
To her relief, she found her cabin with ease. She nudged the door open with her foot and rested her cargo upon the bureau. The pitcher was heavy as she poured it into the bamboo bowl. She unwrapped the bar of soap and submerged the cloth wrapping into the cool water. After lathering it with soap, she scrubbed her face and hands.
Em sighed, wringing out the fabric into the basin, then dabbing at the back of her neck. She didn’t even know where the ship was headed. For how long would Commander Redding look after her? He surely had a life of his own to resume, once they made port. Where would she go from there?
The door opened. Em startled, straightening her appearance in time for Commander Redding’s entry. She set the cloth and soap beside the basin, and took a step back.
The man appeared refreshed, especially considering he’d spent a night on the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but inhaled instead. Whatever he’d been about to say fell by the wayside. “My, but what is that…” he inhaled again, “strong fragrance?”
Em blanched, glancing at the bar on the bureau. “Strong?” she repeated. “In a good way?”
His brow winched in concentration. “In a…lavender way.”
“I’m afraid it’s my soap, sir. Does it offend?”
“Offend?” He looked surprised. “Why, no. It’s the loveliest fragrance I’ve ever…” In a flash of navy blue, he came up beside her, breathing in again.
At that moment, Em’s pulse decided to pound. She’d never exactly let a man smell her before.
And yet, he seemed oblivious to any impropriety of his actions. His nose came close to brushing into her hair, making the nape of her neck prickle.
“I suppose the Winthrop ladies do make the best soap in Jamestown.” She swallowed.
“I don’t doubt it,” murmured Redding. A ripple of intoxication crossed his eyes. They trailed from her to the bar on the bureau. “Is this the culprit?”
Em nodded.
“May I?”
She nodded again, watching as he lifted the bar in gentle-looking hands and smoothed a thumb over its surface. His fingers fondled the sprigs of lavender embedded in the lye, and Em found she could not look away. How tenderly must those deft fingers graze a lover…?
Her breath caught at the inadvertent direction of her thoughts. What was the matter with her?
“Well.” He set the bar down with a tiny smile. “You wear it nicely, Miss Winthrop.”
Em didn’t think her neck could get any hotter.
“I came to tell you, you’re free to venture above decks, you know. You needn’t stay trapped down here all the journey long.”
“Good morning to you.”
Em didn’t watch him go, her gaze transfixed instead upon the bureau. Her body tingled as though she, and not the soap, had been the recipient of the commander’s careful touch.
***
Emeline wasn’t going to miss the hours of sunlight relegated to the cabin. Shortly after Commander Redding had departed her, she found her way above. The first thing she noticed, making it to the top of the companionway, was that no land was in sight, anywhere.
Even if she squinted, she couldn’t make out the coast. How far had they already sailed?
She went to the rail, her bonnet rippling in the salty breeze. The open ocean was unlike anything she’d ever laid eyes upon. She’d lived by water all her life, but farm daughters did not venture aboard riggers and sail the Atlantic.
She soon discovered her main task above decks was to keep out of everyone’s way. Em stepped aside as various crew members passed her, constantly interrupting her peaceful view. They stomped fore and aft, usually carrying supplies and leaving behind an unpleasant odor of tobacco or sour liquor. It seemed the ship required endless maintenance.
Em ducked as another pair passed her, carrying a stack of planks. At last, she moved to the stern, which didn’t seem as popular of a spot. She didn’t see Captain Crawley anywhere, for which she was grateful.
However, as the hours wore by, it became apparent just how little the crew wanted her there. More than once, she caught their suspicious glares, the murmurs behind dirty hands, even though all she was doing was keeping to herself, watching the glittering waters pass beneath her.
She wondered why. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, was she?
When the afternoon grew too warm, she sighed and unfastened her bonnet. What was she wearing the silly thing for, anyway? Her mother wasn’t there to chastise her. Em’s long, dark tendrils whipped free in the seaborn wind, and she opened her hand. Away sailed the bonnet, its ties dancing for freedom until it was but a white speck against the sun, fluttering off like a happy gull.
