“Keep pulling,” Jonah replied.
A crack resounded from deep within one of the spars, and the men ceased pulling. Jonah dropped the halyard and took a wobbly step back. The captain yelled orders to the men who were portside, and they released the ropes.
Mr. Weathermon marched up to Captain Frakes. They conferred, nose to nose. Finally, Mr. Weathermon told the men to stay on deck and rest a moment. He and the captain stomped toward the sterncastle together. Faint light from a lantern inside the captain’s cabin spilled onto the deck before Mr. Weathermon pulled the door closed, sealing himself and the captain in the shelter of the sterncastle.
Jonah wanted to go in with them to hear the discussion. He wanted to know what the disagreement was, why the ship wasn’t where they expected it to be by now, and if they would return to America instead of pressing on. He certainly thought they should and would gladly interject that opinion if given the chance.
He glanced at the faces of the other men; some breathed heavily through parted lips, while some sat in the shadows, their faces unknowable. All held onto a rope or spar or rail for security. Their admirable strength and resolve momentarily made Jonah wish he could share their dream.
The waves pounded the boat, always seeming as if the ocean would swallow the deck with its next gulp. The water that sprayed onto the deck ran out the scuppers as the ship tilted back and forth.
Exasperated, Jonah turned to Gabriel. “Eleven days at sea and we are not even close to South America.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Captain Frakes said he expected high winds.”
“We’re sailing nowhere. People are going to start getting anxious or hurt. This is no pleasure cruise and there are lives at stake. I want to know what Mr. Weathermon and the captain are discussing.”
“The old man owns the ship and wants things done one way and the captain is used to being in command and wants things done another way.” Gabriel rubbed the bloody palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “And it’s wearing the men to the bone.”
Jonah pointed at Gabriel’s hand. “Let me take a look at that.”
“It’s nothing. Just blisters.”
“You’re bleeding.” Jonah glanced at the closed door of the captain’s cabin. “It needs to be bandaged.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Of course it hurts.”
“Then clutch it to your chest and come with me.”
Gabriel furrowed his brow. “Why?”
“Because you need to be bandaged and I want to know what’s going on in there. Just come with me.”
Jonah led Gabriel to the captain’s cabin and entered without knocking. “I have a wounded man,” he announced as he stepped inside and motioned for Gabriel to sit on the patient berth.
Captain Frakes and Mr. Weathermon were standing near the captain’s Davenport, pointing at charts and arguing in rapid bursts of sailing idiom. They stopped and glanced back at Jonah and Gabriel. In the lantern light, Gabriel’s injured palm validated Jonah’s presence. The older men turned back to their charts and continued deliberating the ocean currents and the winds and the best maneuvers for the sails.
Jonah knelt in front of the medical supply cabinet where he took out a bottle of Lugol’s Solution and a length of muslin. He pretended not to listen to Captain Frakes and Mr. Weathermon as he disinfected and bandaged Gabriel’s rope-burnt palm.
The captain lowered his voice. “I told you we’d have to use the northeasterly to fight the Gulf Stream this time of year.”
“Do you hear yourself, Spence? At this time of year we should be below the twentieth parallel north by now.”
“It’ll work, but not if we shred the sails trying to jibe.”
Mr. Weathermon poked his stubby finger onto the chart though neither man was looking at it anymore. “You cannot reef a sail in this wind.”
“We can’t do anything until we inspect the spars and repair the crack.”
“Let the men rest tonight.” Mr. Weathermon’s volume increased, his voice incapable of being subdued. “These are educated men, masters in their trades and experts in their fields of study, but they aren’t sailors and most of them aren’t young. Roll up the sails and let the men sleep through the night. The winds and the crew will both have more peace in the morning.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
“Well, I’m the captain and I’d appreciate if you’d not challenge my every command in front of the crew.”
Mr. Weathermon let out a short laugh. “Then confer with me before you make your commands, Spence. It might have been decades since I sailed south of the thirtieth parallel, but you never have.”
Gabriel shot Jonah a look, eyes wide, mouth agape. Jonah studied the iodine bottle, giving no indication of his alarm even though the captain’s inexperience stunned him too. People’s lives were in the balance, as was his future.
Captain Frakes began to shuffle the charts on the Davenport. “When you came to me with this ghastly plan, you said you wanted your most trusted captain, not your most experienced. As I recall, secrecy was your chief concern, not expertise. And I can’t be blamed that the compass is broken, can I?”
Jonah hurried the bandage around Gabriel’s hand. Then he stepped to the door and motioned for Gabriel to leave. Gabriel glanced at the captain and Mr. Weathermon, who were ignoring the young men, and then he looked back to Jonah, brow tightly knit. Jonah shrugged, feigning indifference to what they overheard. He closed the door behind Gabriel and began to put his supplies back in the cabinet.
“She will determine our fate,” Captain Frakes said, as he marked a calculation on the chart.
“She who?” Jonah interrupted, drawing the men’s attention.
Captain Frakes pointed at his chart. “The sea, of course.”
“Or the ship?” Mr. Weathermon looked at the floor then nodded, his selective joviality returning. “Yes, that’s it. Providence will carry us safely where she wills. That is why we say she will determine our fate. She refers to the ship.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s more fitting,” Captain Frakes agreed, as he reached a hand to his blueberry plants and rubbed a leaf.
Frustrated they were nowhere near their destination, Jonah closed the cabinet door harder than he intended. He stood as erect as the low ceiling allowed. “Excuse my abruptness, gentlemen, but my future is at stake and I don’t want my fate determined by Providence.”
Mr. Weathermon guffawed. “That is telling, isn’t it? You don’t want Providence determining your fate.”
“The ship Providence, I mean. I don’t want the ship Providence determining my fate.”
The captain chuckled as he sat at his desk and continued his calculations.
Mr. Weathermon walked toward the door. “Then she wouldn’t be Providence, my boy, now would she?”
* * *
After hours of downpour, the ship’s system of rain pipes had filled the freshwater cisterns. The winds calmed by morning, as Mr. Weathermon had predicted. The ship’s stillness lent a cheerful sense among the group at breakfast. After eating with his family, Jonah rounded the deck, searching for the only passenger he continually wanted to see.
Women were washing dishes and some of the men were repairing the sails, but Marian was still not topside. Her mother had not come up to breakfast either, and Mr. Foster left the deck before Jonah could ask about Catherine’s condition. His concern for Marian and her mother blossomed into worry.
Gabriel was helping his father repair the cracked spar. His bandage was gone. As Mr. McIntosh lifted his mallet, Jonah stopped beside them. “Did Mr. Foster already go down below?”
Mr. McIntosh paused with his mallet mid-swing. He squinted as he looked back at Jonah. “Probably. Do you want Gabriel to fetch him for you?”
“No, thank you. I’ll go.”
Jonah descended the narrow stairs to the bunk deck and stepped around the school children, who were doing their lessons
with Mrs. Owens in the light near the stairwell. Sarah rose to her feet when she saw him and wrapped her arms around his ribcage. “Stay and help me with my reading, please Jonah.”
He kissed the crown of his little sister’s head. “Not right now, but I’ll tell you what: give it your best effort and if you still need help, I will go over it with you this afternoon.”
Sarah nodded and sat beside the other children.
The morning sun peeked through the portholes and graced the bunk deck with shards of light. Jonah walked the center aisle between the two rows of family bunks until he came to the Foster family’s area.
“Marian? Mrs. Foster?” He stood outside the mildew-freckled sheet that hung as a divider. “It’s me, Jonah.” When he received no answer, he pulled back the edge of the sheet to confirm the bunks were empty.
Catherine turned beneath the quilt on the lower berth. A sliver of light shone from the open porthole behind Jonah and hit Catherine’s closed eyelids. She blinked and raised her head. “Jonah? What’s the matter?”
“You and Marian weren’t at breakfast. I came to make sure you’re well.”
“Yes, I’m fine. The waves made me sick last night, but I’m better now. I’ll eat something later.”
“Oh, very well.” Jonah suddenly felt foolish and released the sheet. “Do you need me to get you anything, Mrs. Foster?”
“Marian—” Catherine yawned.
“You need Marian?”
“No, I wasn’t finished. Marian is down in the hold with my husband and Teddy. That’s who you came looking for, right? Marian?” When he did not respond, Catherine continued. “I know you’re fond of her, Jonah. It’s fine with me. I rather like the idea, but you’ll need Mr. Foster’s permission if you want to marry her.”
That was more than he meant by coming to their bunks. Jonah peeled the sheet’s edge back again and looked at Catherine. “I am fond of her, Mrs. Foster, but I only came to make sure you were well.”
“She’s down in the hold with her father and the animals. Go on down. She’ll want to show you the foal.”
“Gypsy had her foal? Yes, of course, I’ll go down. Thank you, Mrs. Foster. Please, send for me if you need anything.”
Catherine hummed a reply and shut her eyes.
Jonah closed the curtain and rushed back to the stairs. He winked at Sarah as he hurried past and descended the steps into the ship’s hold.
A cacophony rose from the caged chickens, penned sheep and goats, and corralled calves. The smell of grass hay and manure hit him as he entered the low-ceilinged space. The air was ripe. It only could be safe for humans to breathe in such a space when the portholes were opened, as they were today.
Teddy Cotter lumbered out of the horse stall amidships and stood straight. It was the only place in the hold where a man didn’t have to stoop. He raised his chin at Jonah. “Have you come to see the foal?”
“Yes, Mr. Cotter.”
“Oh hello, Jonah,” Mr. Foster followed Mr. Cotter out of the stall. Both men carried filthy buckets as they walked to the stairs. Jonah glanced at the bucket’s contents and let the men continue without making conversation.
Marian was sitting on an overturned bucket in the cramped horse stall, talking to the new horse. She smiled when she looked up at Jonah, and everything else disappeared. There was no din of sound or stench in the air, no lost bearings or incomplete degrees, no limping fathers or pregnant mothers or seasickness or claustrophobia. There was only one woman in the world and she was smiling at him.
He didn’t return the gesture. He meant to, but he was suddenly self-conscious. Such a foreign insecurity paralyzed him. He wished it away but it clung to him like a dewy spider web on a spring morning. He hated feeling out-of-control, especially in the company of the one woman he wanted to impress. He gave Gypsy a rub on the shoulder then crouched beside Marian and studied the colt. “He’s beautiful.”
“Indeed! It’s hard to see his color in this light, but he’ll be as dark as his father was. It’s a shame we couldn’t bring him too. Mr. Cotter said he was once a champion racer in Annapolis.”
“Mr. Cotter was a champion racer or the horse that sired this foal was?”
“The horse.” Marian chuckled. “Oh, you were joking.”
“Yes.” Jonah grinned at her then raised himself and glanced around the confining space. “What will you name this little fellow?”
“Adam.” Marian gave the foal slow strokes across his back as she stood. “I know it means man and he is a horse, but with only one other male colt on the ship, he’ll become very important to the settlement over the years.”
Jonah watched Marian’s face as she spoke. He wanted to make a connection—any connection—with her. The low light gave little detail of her features, but he didn’t need much to glean some clue from her aspect. “I was worried about you when you didn’t come up top this morning.”
Her gaze darted to his. “For my mother, you mean?”
“Yes, and for you. The rocking of the ship last night made several people sick and it made walking dangerous. When I didn’t see you this morning, I was afraid something had happened to you.”
“You’re quite the caring physician to keep track of all the passengers.”
“I want you to be safe.”
“That is very kind of you,” she answered in a pleasant, but formal tone and looked down at the foal.
She didn’t seem to understand he was trying to convey his affection, not his occupational concern. He didn’t even understand the depth of his own affection for her, and it only deepened as he stood near her. A desire to keep her close struck him, making him want to reach for her. He put his hands behind his back, gripping one wrist with the other hand. “I care about you.”
She glanced up at him and her face softened. “Oh.” Her brow furrowed and her hand resumed its horse petting. “Peggy says she’ll get you to marry her by the time we make landfall.” When he chortled, Marian grinned. “But don’t worry, I didn’t tell her your secret. Have you told your parents yet? That you aren’t staying with the settlement, I mean?”
His heart thudded against the wall of his chest. He studied her for a moment, searching her face before he answered. He had told her he cared about her and she barely responded. He ached for her to reciprocate the statement, but she only left him yearning to say it again.
Catherine Foster was right in that he was fond of Marian. He couldn’t tell her how much or show her because he was leaving the group, never to return and he would hate himself forever if he encouraged her affection then broke her heart. However, their chances of reaching their destination seemed slight due to a broken compass and Captain Frakes’ inept charting skills. Even if they made it to South America, it would now take them much longer than anticipated. No one knew that though besides Mr. Weathermon and possibly Gabriel, if he perceived as much as Jonah had the evening before in the captain’s cabin. Jonah would have to keep it—and the depth of his feelings for Marian—to himself. He looked down at the foal. “Adam came early, didn’t he?”
She shrugged. “I thought so too, but Mr. Cotter said he might have miscalculated Gypsy’s pregnancy. She and the racing champion were pastured together for months. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for her, penned up down here, especially with the ship’s constant movement. My father and Mr. Cotter have been taking good care of the animals. Still, it seems like a horrid place to give birth. I certainly hope my mother doesn’t go into labor on this ship.” Marian wiped her hands on her skirt and tilted her head. “I like your whiskers.”
Jonah rubbed his unshaven jaw. “I was the last man to give up shaving. I look dreadful, don’t I?”
“No, not dreadful.” She laughed and it sounded like a melody he had known his whole life.
He caught her fingertips in his hand and held them. “The wind is calm today, but Captain Frakes says the clear sky is only temporary. He expects the sky will cloud over soon. Let’s go up top for a while and enjoy the sun. The breeze
will do you good, especially after being in the hold all morning. You need fresh air.”
“Medicinal fresh air? That sounds nice. I must admit I loathe confined spaces and the only thing worse than being stuck on a ship is being in the ship’s hold.” She glanced down at their hands and pulled her fingers away. “But I can’t go up. I have to go back to Mother when I’m done here.”
“You haven’t had a break from tending to your mother in twelve days. Can’t Cecelia sit with her awhile?”
“No, Mother wants me close to her. She depends on me. She’s nearing the end of her term and she’s afraid. I know things will be all right… I truly believe that, and she likes to hear it.”
“So do I.”
“What do you mean?”
Jonah let out a long breath and chose his words carefully. “I came to make sure you were safe, that’s true, but I also came for more of your optimism.”
The light from the porthole moved across her face as the ocean swayed the ship. It lit her eyes and made him want to pour his heart out at her feet. “Tell me we aren’t insane out here bobbing up and down like a cork in this ocean. Tell me you believe we’ll reach the uninhabited islands off the coast of South America and you all will get your utopia and Captain Frakes and I will find a crew at the nearest port and sail home. Tell me I’ll be able to earn my medical degree when I return to Philadelphia. Tell me this will turn out well.”
She said nothing. The bleating of a disgruntled sheep broke the silence between them. Marian’s lips curved into a half-smile. “Jonah, it will be all right.”
Chapter Nine
Jonah followed his father into the captain’s cabin. As the ship’s physician, he enjoyed preferential treatment and private meetings, but the monotony of the weeks at sea had disintegrated his ability to distinguish one day from the next. He sat on the edge of the patient berth and drew his watch from his pocket. He wiped its glass face with his sleeve before he read the time.
Every day it was the same morning routine for him—and for his father, now that his leg was mostly healed—and every other person aboard Providence. The same stale bread and salt pork and meager rations of fresh eggs and milk from the livestock in the hold. The same dry rub for a bath to conserve the rainwater the ship collected. The same swallowing of one’s complaints and frustrations to maintain the bond of Christian brotherhood Reverend Colburn continually preached.
The Uncharted Beginnings Series Box Set Page 8
