The Sailor and the School Teacher

by Danni Roan

  Originally, a small family farm, the outbuildings, barn and shanties allowed them to be mostly self-sufficient and have room to teach the sailors skills that they could use in a brand new life.

  “It’s a nice night,” Birch said studying the glow of the setting sun on his wife’s face.

  “Beautiful,” Xenia said a smile pulling at her lips.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” Birch asked looking down along the path that led to the sea.

  “I’d love that,” Xenia agreed. She’d only spent a year at sea with Birch, but somehow the sibilant shushing of the waves always called to her, even as her once restless soul was settled here where the joys of her work filled her heart.

  Birch tucked Xenia’s sea scarred hand into his elbow leading her down the well worn path toward the waves.

  They’d chosen this location specifically for the small private cove below. Sailors, even those looking for a new life in a different part of the country, would often walk to the beach to pay homage to the waters they had for too long called home.

  “Are you worried?” Birch asked taking his time on the steeper slope.

  “No, not really worried,” Xenia said. “More concerned. My two worlds seem to be converging, and I’m not sure what that will bring.”

  “Do you think the other girls or even Madam Wigg are angry with you?”

  “Disappointed I think,” Xenia confessed. “My disappearance hurt them deeply, and then to find out that I’m alive and well here in California without so much as a note home after all these years.”

  Birch stopped on a rock outcropping overlooking the foaming waves below. “They love you honey, they’ll understand,” he reassured.

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” he said slipping his hand behind her neck and turning her head toward him as he lowered his mouth kissing her sweetly.

  Xenia leaned into the kiss. Perhaps her adopted sisters, and even Wiggie, would be upset with her, but she knew she would do it all again. The trials of life on the sea had been well worth the prize.

  At the bottom of the trail, Xenia settled on the sand to watch the ocean. Its gentle shushing sound taking her back to her first sailing journey, and in a moment, she was there on the ship with only Birch and Barnaby to call friend.

  Chapter 6

  A cold gray light crept through the boards above as Xenia lay in the straw wishing that this whole nightmare was only a dream.

  The back of her neck prickled where her short hair bushed her collar. What would Wiggie say of her now? Closing her eyes Xenia willed herself not to cry. Everyone back at the school must be worried sick.

  Xenia thought of Wendi, her warm dark eyes full of the love of learning, and Vera her sweet spirit always insisting she wasn’t good enough, and the endless, sleepless nights her empty bed would bring them.

  Beside her Birch stirred and she pushed herself up against the outer wall of the ship listening to the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull.

  “You awake?” Birch asked pushing himself up next to her. They had endured two uncomfortable days in this little cell with only each other’s honor for privacy and shared body heat for warmth.

  “Yes,” Xenia finally replied. “I’ve been trying to work out how to escape, but if what Barnaby says is true, we’ll have to wait until we reach land again.”

  “And that could be a spell,” the old sailor said rolling out of his nest of straw. “Today they’ll come and put us to work,” he continued. “We’re far enough out to sea now that they won’t worry about us jumping overboard.”

  As if summoned by his words someone slipped the lock on the door and pulled it open.

  “Rise and shine,” the man in the hall sneered, “time for you lot to earn your keep.” His harsh cackle washed over Xenia in a wave of cold dread, but she followed Birch and Barnaby’s lead standing and making her way to the door.

  As she made the turn around the door she desperately wanted to stomp on the unwashed man’s toes, but it would probably do more harm to her bare feet than to his. With nothing but her small heeled boots as foot wear Xenia had little choice but to go without.

  When the man kicked her in the bottom to hurry her along however, she turned fist furled and eyes flashing.

  Birch heard the umph from Xenia and turned reaching out just in time, grabbing her little fist before any harm could be done.

  The man behind them bellowed a hearty laugh showing blackened teeth. “Got spunk hey?” he queried smacking his cudgel into his hand. “We like spunk.”

  At the top of the stairs another man met them pointing them along a short line toward a sailor in an apron and handing them their boards.

  Xenia looked down at the heavily stained board with the little rim around the edge. This little square worked as a plate and was effective if not nearly as sanitary as she would have liked.

  A few minutes later she Birch and Barnaby were working their way through an unappetizing mixture of ship’s biscuits and porridge.

  She had almost managed to choke down the bland food when an important looking man in a dress coat strode out of the aft cabin and addressed the crew.

  “Men,” he began puffing out his chest and making his mutton chop whiskers waggle, “This will most likely be my final voyage.” The older man gazed around him his dark eyes steely.

  Xenia noted that although this man could only be the captain, he didn’t look directly at her or her companions.

  “We have set sail for San Francisco with our hold full, and if all goes well, we will receive a fine payout for our delivery. We must however, make haste if we are to secure our reward, and all members of this crew will have to work endlessly if they hope to receive their due compensation.

  This time, as he gazed around the deck, his eyes landed on the three members who had been pressed into service rather than signing on. Was that a flicker of guilt in his hard eyes?

  “It is my hope that we might make the journey safely, and that we will, God willing, and the sea be kind, arrive in San Francisco in record time.” He nodded once in dismissal and reentered his quarters.

  “All right you scallywags,” another man called. “Hop to it!” The other men all jumped into action clearing their plates and hurrying to jobs that awaited their attention.

  “You three!” the man barked. “Stow yer plates and come with me.”

  Barnaby nodded standing and dropping his board in a bucket of graying water.

  “I’m the quarter master on this here ship,” the man continued. “Call me Gobbs.” He looked at them all, his deep hazel eyes harsh. “Now you,” Gobbs said looking at Barnaby, “you got the look, but these two are fresher than daisies.” He grinned as he walked around Birch and Xenia. “You ain’t too bad,” he added poking Birch in a beefy shoulder but yer brother’s kinda’ puny.”

  Xenia ground her teeth trying not to respond. She needed to understand what her chances were on this ship and angering the man in charge on her first day above decks was certainly not the way to start.

  “You’re responsible for these two,” Gobbs said looking up at Barnaby. “What they gits wrong you’ll pay fer.”

  Barnaby nodded but didn’t say a word.

  “All right then,” Gobbs said spitting on the deck. “You two start swabbing and this one can head to the galley. Time to earn your feed!”

  “Ifn you’ll leave the boy with me,” Barnaby spoke up before Gobbs could grab Xenia by the arm. “I’ll see to it he’s cookin’ in no time.”

  Gobbs looked between the three then shrugged. “Suit yerself, but if there ain’t no vittles tonight, it’s comin’ outa’ yer hide.”

  Xenia let out a slow breath as the quarter master strode away shouting orders to an already scrabbling crew.

  “Thank you,” she whispered sidling up to Barnaby.

  “You’ve been twigged for kitchen duty, seems like,” the older man said with a smile. “Reckon that should keep you out of everyone’s way, and if you feed the men we
ll, you’ll quick become a favorite.”

  “That’s a good thing?” Xenia asked.

  “Aye, very good. Men what eats good are happier and less prone to cause trouble.”

  “So what do we do?” Birch asked. “I don’t know a thing about ships though working on my father’s ranch I know plenty about rope.” He rolled his shoulders rippling muscles that were taunt with tension.

  “Grab them buckets,” Barnaby said heading to the rail. “We’ll haul up sea water and scrub the deck.” He indicated several hard scrub brushes and rough stones. “Once you get started, I’ll take Xen.. Zeke to the galley.”

  Birch nodded grabbing a bucket suspended from a rope and lowering it to the sea they were skimming over. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to Xenia, “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  A half hour later Barnaby led Xenia to a dark cramped little kitchen where a cast iron stove took up most of the space.

  Above the stove pots, pans and kettles swayed gently with the motion of the waves. A scuttle of coal and several barrels covered by a wide plank took up most of what was left of the space. Add in the two chairs by the barrels and it was a tight fit.

  “You’ll find everything you need here,” Barnaby said. “You can cook can’t you?”

  Xenia placed a hand on her hip and scowled in the dim lighting. “Yes,” she hissed disgustedly.

  “You’ll need to make two hot meals a day then.” He looked around scrabbling to find a list of stores and something indicating what was expected. “Here, this is what’s available and what’s expected,” he continued. “You’ll want to use the freshest food first then we’ll have to manage on dried and salted foods from there. We have four months at least on this ship so you’d better think it through carefully.”

  Xenia nodded as she turned the paper toward the light that spilled through the door way. Many of the items were unfamiliar to her, but she felt that if she tried she could manage some fairly edible meals from the list.

  “It says here that there are some vegetables,” she commented looking around her and trying to place them.

  Barnaby pointed upward to a set of wooden crates that were nailed to the walls. “Probably up high to try to keep them from the rats.

  “Rats!” Xenia cried looking around her as if they might appear at any moment.

  “Rats. Don’t matter how good a ship is you’ll have ‘em.”

  Xenia closed her eyes calming herself. They were just rats, she’d seen her fare share of them in New York. “When I get out of this mess,” she said her voice a harsh whisper, “I’m going to make sure that no one else ever has to go through this again.”

  Barnaby smiled down at the little spitfire of a woman before him. In the baggy britches, oversized shirt and rough tweed vest she wore most men would easily mistake her as a boy of twelve or thirteen.

  “Just stay out of trouble,” he urged. “It’s not just you they’ll punish if you cause problems you know.”

  Xenia laid her hand on Barnaby’s arm. “I’ll do my best,” she replied. “I promise.”

  “Captain will probably expect a meal at about two,” he said. “Best watch the time.” With his last word he turned and hurried back up the small flight of stairs leaving Xenia alone in the suddenly silent space.

  Chapter 7

  Xenia had been on kitchen duty for three days now and her hands were raw from scrubbing every square inch with salt water and ash.

  She’d been keeping a wary eye out for rats, but so far, none had entered her domain. She was tired and her brain hurt from trying to find new combinations of the usual fare.

  Barnaby had assured her that for a ship’s galley this one was well supplied, but the meager variety of root vegetables, something that few ships captains even bothered with apparently, peas, salt meat, and hard tack she was sorely pressed to provide hearty and somewhat tasteful meals.

  “What’s this?” a sailor asked at breakfast as she served up a healthy helping of oatmeal cooked with lump sugar.

  “Oats,” Xenia had declared glaring at the man so hard he finally flinched, sidling up to his mates. “Didn’t know I’d be eatin’ horse food when I signed on,” he grumbled as he walked away.

  The captain on the other hand seemed to approve of the meal and sent word with the quarter master that he would like to have oats at least three times a week for as long as the stores held. After that none of the men seemed to mind her cooking or at least had the good sense not to complain.

  “How are you holding up?” Birch asked as they made their way back to the crew quarters at the end of their four hour shift.

  He didn’t know how Barnaby had managed it, but the old sailor had kept them together on each shift, and Birch was grateful. Every four hour watch he’d shared with Xenia and was able to keep an eye on her if trouble should arise. However, the work was grueling even for him.

  He was amazed that Xenia had held up so well. Even with Xenia’s primary duties lying in the kitchen, she was often called on to haul lines and tally lashes.

  Birch looked down at Xenia’s red raw hands and cringed. She hadn’t complained, but he could tell they hurt, and he wished there was something he could do to help.

  Dark clouds were scudding across the sky as they ducked below decks and found their hammocks, seeking a few hours of sleep before starting all over again.

  Xenia climbed into her hammock slung below Birch’s with a grateful sigh. She was tired, but that wasn’t what worried her. Every day she was sure that one of the other sailors would discover her true identity and then what?

  “You’re keepin’ up well,” Barnaby said stopping at her rack to pat her arm. “The men are even saying how you’ve been checking each barrel of goods each day and sealing them with wax if they look worn.”

  “I’m not doing that for them,” Xenia admitted. “I’m not eating anything a rat’s been at.”

  Barnaby chuckled. The girl was taking the job seriously, and so far there had been no trouble. He wondered just what would happen if Xenia came face to face with a rat. Her stubborn determination alone would probably have the little beasts walking the plank.

  “You get some rest now. We’ve got a few hours till you need to serve the final meal.”

  Xenia’s eyes closed and she was gone slipping beneath the waves of sleep with blissful abandon. She had four hours before the night shift began and she would make the most of it.

  Chapter 8

  Fat drops of rain pelted Xenia as she made her way toward the galley, grabbing every empty pot, pan or bucket she could and setting them above decks to catch the fresh water.

  She’d boiled a hank of salt pork that she’d soaked in her half rations of cider and tossed in some turnips and carrots to boot. If she’d been able to make real biscuits, instead of depending on the barrels of ships hard tack, the meal might even be considered good.

  For now though she concentrating on gathering fresh water that she could drink without the hard cider added to it.

  As the pans and buckets filled, she hurried to the half cask that stood empty at the bottom of the galley stairs filling it with each precious drop.

  “Boy,” one of the ragged sailors called as he struggled with a line, “heave to!”

  Xenia saw the big sails bucking and fluttering in the wind and hurried to grasp the line lowering the sheet as the ship heeled to starboard.

  Grabbing the rope Xenia chided herself for already knowing so many of the terms for life aboard the ship. Securing the rope around her small hand she pulled steadying it while another sailor began to drop the main sail. A sudden gust of wind furled the sail jerking the rope in her hand, and she cried out as the thick hemp burned her skin.

  Birch grasped the line as it pulled taunt trying to drag Xenia from her stance.

  He had expected her to drop the line as soon as it had jerked in her hand, but instead she pulled back harder even as bright blood pooled along the top of her hand.

  Moments later as the crew scrabbled to p
ull sail he stopped to press a handkerchief over the wound.

  “That was a bad idea,” he chided gently as he nursed Xenia’s hand.

  Xenia only nodded still gritting her teeth against the pain. “It could have been worse,” Xenia said as the burning in her hand ebbed to a steady throb. “We could have been blown down.”

  Birch wrapped his handkerchief around Xenia’s hand tying it in place over the wound and smiled. “You’re really doing well you know?”

  Xenia repressed the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t know what she was doing most of the time, and she was always hard pressed to understand what was being asked of her, but she wouldn’t give in, and she wouldn’t give up.

  Slowly she lifted her eyes to Birch’s gray ones becoming aware once again that he was still holding her throbbing hand in his cool one.

  “I promised to save you remember?” she teased as his eyes grew bright.

  “And a fine job you’re doing of it to.”

  “Back to work you louts,” Gobbs called over the wind and rain. “There’s work to be done, and that boy don’t need no nurse maid. Hop to it!” he added in a bellow that made all the men scramble.

  Xenia hurried below to the galley grabbing her now over turned water pail as she did and hoping that at least dinner had stayed put on the hob.

  The rolling of the sea and the pounding of the rain was making Xenia wonder if the men would even want their supper that night, but soon Gobbs came to take a tray to the captain, and the men came through the line one by one dripping salt spray and cold rain on her floor.

  “Gonna be a long night,” Barnaby said stepping up and receiving his portion of food. “A long night.”

  Xenia braced her legs wide as the boat lifted and fell plowing through the waves. This was her first storm at sea, and she prayed she wouldn’t be ill.

  “You all right?” Birch asked looking in on her as he brought her his hat, hoping it would keep some of the rain off.