Never Never Stories
Page 20
“Doesn't work like that. Change their name all they want. If they're on your skin, the sea will take them.”
Amber frowned. While she understood the fervor the widow devoted to the names – like most widows in town, Mrs. Andercoust had lost her husband to the sea – Amber hated it when Mrs. Andercoust saw her as nothing but an empty canvas for the sailors' deaths. Still, Amber figured Mrs. Andercoust's lists helped people, so she bit her tongue to keep from saying anything nasty.
When Amber left the rectory, she walked the long way home, enjoying the cool spring breeze blowing from the bay and the morning sunshine bouncing off the damp cobblestones and slate-roof buildings. Outside a boutique, Amber stopped and gazed longingly at a collection of popular sun dresses newly arrived from London. Amber glanced at her reflection in the window – at the hideous brown of her old maid's dress, at the long sleeves and gloves she wore to hide the names. She wished she could wear sun dresses without attracting attention.
With a sigh, Amber turned to walk on. However, a middle-aged woman blocked the sidewalk. When Amber tried to step around her, the woman spat at her feet.
With a start, Amber recognized the woman as the mother of Clyde Oldman, who'd drowned last year. “You're a vile, evil thing,” the woman yelled. “You should have drowned with your parents.”
Before Amber could respond, the woman's husband raced over and grabbed his wife's arm. “My apologies, Miss Tolester,” he said, hustling his wife away. “She doesn't mean anything by it.” But his abrupt tone told Amber the husband agreed with his wife.
Once the woman was gone, Amber noticed the passersby who had paused to watch the encounter. “What are you looking at?” she screamed. Then, nearly in tears, Amber ran back to her store, wondering if fate had purposely left her face free of names so everyone could see exactly how much she hated her life.
* * *
That night an unseasonably powerful storm blew in from the sea. From Amber's apartment above her store, she watched the waves pound the harbor's breakwater. But while the names on her body crashed in tune with the gale, none burned red. Amber always felt the deaths of sailors minutes or hours in advance, as their names grew hotter and hotter and brighter and brighter. For now, all the names merely warmed her skin, meaning their deaths were far in the future. Amber climbed into bed and fell asleep, happy there'd be no deaths on her conscience tonight.
The next day, as Amber swept broken branches and smashed slate fragments from the front of her store, she heard people yelling at the docks. Amber walked over to find the Simply, a 1,000 ton sailing trawler, limping into port. One of the trawler's masts was broken and the ship listed heavily to port. The crowd at the docks parted when they saw Amber – some people happy to see her, others appalled.
“Oh, Miss Tolester, Miss Tolester,” a sailor onboard yelled when the trawler reached the piers. Without waiting for the gangplank, he jumped to the dock and fell at Amber's feet.
“Bless you, Miss Tolester. When that storm hit, I would have lost faith except my best mate Bonder wasn't on your skin. I stayed close to him and sure enough, here I am, safe and sound.”
Amber didn't know what to say. The sailor at her feet was Miles O'Shaughnessy, who was among the named. And she knew Jack Bonder – he'd gone to school with her and wasn't named. As more sailors walked off the Simply, they crowded around Amber, adding their praise and touching her like a sacred totem. As always, Amber marveled at this behavior. Every sailor who survived a storm or accident praised her. If they weren't named on her body, that's why they survived. If they were named, they survived because their time had yet to come. Living sailors loved Amber while the dead voiced few complaints.
Happy the sailors had survived, Amber tried to leave, but Miles stopped her. “My lady, we have a gift for you,” he said. He and the other sailors led Amber to the gangplank, where a tall sailor Amber didn't know was being carried to the dock on a stretcher. At first Amber thought the gift was behind the unconscious sailor, but soon realized they meant the sailor himself.
“I don't understand,” Amber stammered.
Miles O'Shaughnessy frowned. “Isn't he a friend of yours? He's been delirious ever since we've found him floating in a half-sunk lifeboat. Keeps muttering your name over and over.”
Amber stared at the unconscious sailor's peaceful face. She'd never seen this man before. But before she could say so, Miles handed Amber a tiny silver and glass frame. “He had that in his pocket,” Miles said.
Amber glanced at the tiny picture, which fit easily in her gloved hand. The daguerreotype showed Amber standing on the bow of a ship. Amber tried to convince herself that the picture merely showed another woman who resembled her, but then she turned it over. There, etched into the silver backing, were the words “To Amber Tolester, with eternal love. David Sahr.”
As Amber watched the unconscious sailor being carried to the port's small hospital, a shiver rocked the names flowing across her skin. David Sahr. That was the new name on her body.
* * *
That night, Amber couldn't sleep. She stared at the daguerreotype over and over, trying to tease details from the black and white image. In the picture Amber wore pants and a short sleeve shirt and stood on the deck of a small sailing cutter. Behind her, a man dangled by his neck from a rope slung over the yardarm, his face swollen and blurry. Amber had heard of captains hanging mutineers and pirates in similar ways, but such a deed hadn't been done in decades.
Another strange thing about the daguerreotype – aside from the hanged man and the fact that Amber had never taken the picture – was that no names were visible on her bare arms. Even more shocking was the engraving from David Sahr expressing his eternal love. Amber wanted to race to the hospital and force this stranger to explain why he dared state his love to someone he'd never met. She felt both violated and excited by Sahr's words.
The next day she visited the hospital to confront this David Sahr. To her surprise, two constables stood outside his door.
“May I help you, Miss Tolester?” the older constable, a giant man named Samuels, asked. Constable Samuels had never liked Amber because he was named on her body, even though he wasn't a sailor.
“I want to see David Sahr.”
Samuels glanced at the other constable, who was Billy Martin, the boy she'd had a crush on in school. They'd even sneaked a kiss once during a family beach trip. But then Amber's parents died and Billy – along with the rest of Windspur – learned what the names on her body meant. Since then, Billy hadn't given her more than a passing glance.
“Why would you wish to see our dear Mr. Sahr?” Constable Samuels asked.
“One of the Simply's sailors said Sahr spoke my name when they found him.”
Constable Samuels' mouth opened in shock. “Wait. Is Sahr named on your skin?”
“Yes.”
Billy grabbed Samuels' arm. “Does that mean he'll escape?” Billy asked. “How can he die at sea when he's to hang?”
Constable Samuels shook his head, unsure himself.
“What did he do?” Amber asked.
“He's a wrecker,” Samuels said. “The Receiver of Wrecks has a warrant on him for setting up false lights along rocky coasts and luring ships to their doom. There's also rumor he's into piracy, but we've no evidence of that. But wrecking's enough to hang for. Of course, if he's to die at sea, I don't know what that means about him taking to a rope anytime soon.”
“Maybe it means he's innocent,” Amber suggested.
Samuels laughed, obviously not believing her, and told Amber she couldn't see Mr. Sahr. Amber tried to catch Billy's eye, but he refused to look at her. Angry and dejected, she pushed by Billy and stormed away.
* * *
After leaving the hospital, Amber visited Richard Beard, a long-time friend of her parents who ran a photography studio only a few blocks from Amber's store. When she showed Beard the daguerreotype, he was instantly fascinated.
“A fine specimen,” he said, shifting the silver-bac
ked frame in his hands. “Macabre, but a fine specimen.”
“Really? The hanged man's face is blurry.”
Richard Beard shook his head and led Amber to the back wall of his studio. Hundred of photographs hung there – a mix of daguerreotypes, tintypes, and the new albumen prints, which had become trendy of late because their small carte de viste prints were so cheap. Almost all the photos were of sailors and their wives and girlfriends, and many of the sailors' portraits were framed in black.
“The problem with daguerreotypes is exposures take almost a minute,” Beard said. “Creating a picture outside is dicey, more so on a ship. The fact that only the man's face blurred indicates either extreme luck or skill on the photographer's part. For myself, I only use the daguerre process for landscapes or studio portraits – and for portraits, I require a back brace to hold the subject still.”
“Then why take such a picture?”
“Well, a properly sealed daguerreotype can last forever, which is more than I can say about those little carte de viste prints everyone wants these days.”
Before Amber left, she asked if it was possible to manipulate a daguerreotype. Richard Beard again glanced at the daguerreotype, obviously seeing that Amber's skin in the image was free of names. He shook his head.
“The image is too delicate. That's why we seal them in glass – the faintest touch destroys them.”
Amber thanked the man and returned to her shop, still brooding over both the daguerreotype and David Sahr.
* * *
For the next few days Amber tried over and over to see David Sahr, only to have Samuels and Billy continually stop her. From the hospital nurses Amber learned that Sahr was in a fever-induced delirium, but expected to recover. Of course, he would then hang for his crimes. But as the nurses said, that was a matter between Sahr and his God, not them.
Amber also learned more about this David Sahr. His ancestors had lived in Windspur for hundreds of years, always working as sailors. When Sahr was ten, his father died at sea. Shortly after, Sahr and his mother moved away. In the four decades since, no one in Windspur heard anything about Sahr until reports reached constables that he was wrecking ships.
On the fifth day after the Simply reached port the winds picked up, the barometer fell, and a light rain pattered across the roof tiles. By evening the winds howled as fat drops of rain rapped on the windows.
Amber was undressing for bed when two names burned red fire across her breasts – Constable Samuels and Billy. Amber ran to her balcony window and stared at the harbor. Because of the building storm, most ships had come in early. Why would Samuels and Billy try to sail on a night like this? Uncertain, but wanting to warn the two men, Amber grabbed her rain coat and ran to the harbor.
She found the harbor deserted, even the night watchman having retreated in the face of the storm. The ships jumped and splashed alongside the slick docks. Beyond the edge of the harbor Amber saw massive waves crashing on the breakwater.
Then she heard a gunshot.
Amber crept warily toward the sound and found Constable Samuels and David Sahr wrestling on the main pier beside a mid-sized cutter. Samuels had the size advantage and straddled Sahr, pounding the sailor's face over and over with his large fists. Unsure what to do, Amber stepped back and tripped over a body – Billy – sprawled beside a fish cleaning table. He reached for her as blood poured from a gunshot wound to his head. Amber pressed her hand over the wound. Billy gripped her arm for a moment before passing out.
Amber looked up to see Constable Samuels tying Sahr's hands with rope, the peaceful face Sahr had shown while unconscious replaced with lines of hate and rage.
“How's Billy?” Constable Samuels yelled over the wind.
“Still breathing,” she said. “I think the bullet only grazed his skull.”
Samuels finished tying Sahr's hand together, kicked the captive man for good measure, and picked up a fallen eight-barrel pepper-box pistol. Aiming the pistol at Sahr, Samuels walked over to examine his wounded partner. Suddenly, a large wave slammed into the pier, knocking Amber and Samuels over and washing Billy into the waters below. Amber scrambled to the edge of the pier and grabbed Billy's shirt just as he went under. His name burned white hot on her skin as the sea screamed to take him from her.
Amber yelled for Samuels to help, but when she glanced back she saw Sahr had used the confusion to fight back. The wrecker straddled the constable, Sahr's bound hands slamming Samuels head into a piling. The constable moaned as Sahr shoved him into the surging waters below, causing Samuel's name to spark fire through Amber's shirt and raincoat. But she ignored the pain, desperate not to lose her grip on Billy.
“Help me,” she yelled at Sahr. “I can't pull him up by myself.”
Sahr glanced at the waves and shook his head. He picked up Samuels' pistol, holding it between his still-bound hands. He told Amber to let go of Billy and come with him.
“What?”
“We're fated to be together. Let go of him.”
Amber glared at Sahr. “No.”
Sahr cursed and pointed the pistol at Amber. She glanced at Billy, who was now awake from the shock of the surging sea. He pawed in fear at the pier, but was too weak to pull himself up. She didn't need to feel Billy's burning name to know he was begging her not to let him die.
“Last chance,” Sahr said.
“No.”
To Amber's surprise, Sahr didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he smiled before smashing her across the head with the butt of the pistol.
* * *
Amber drifted in and out of consciousness, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. She dimly remembered Sahr jumping into a small cutter tied to the dock and sailing into the gale force winds. She remembered Samuel's name burning deep into her body as the constable drowned. But where she also expected to feel the fire of Billy's death, she instead felt a gentle kiss like the one they'd shared so long ago during that ill-fated beach trip.
Amber cried at the memory, wishing she hadn't gone on the damned trip. A week before she had turned sixteen and discovered her body crawling with names – including those of her parents. But instead of telling anyone, she'd covered herself in long robes and stayed in her room, pretending to be sick.
Her parents had worried about her, but Amber was too ashamed to tell them the truth, fearing they'd think her possessed by some devil. Then one morning her mother knocked on her bedroom door.
“Honey,” her mother said with a conspirator's smirk. “Billy's downstairs. He and his mother have invited us on a beach trip.”
Amber knew her mother had set this up, but she didn't want to turn Billy down. She was also amazed her mother was willing to go to the beach. Amber's mom had always been deathly afraid of the sea.
So Amber and her parents joined the Martins at the beach. Amber wore her longest swimming dress with full-length sleeves and gloves, and so much body powder she continually fought back sneezes. They ate a picnic lunch, searched for seashells, and had a wonderful time. Amber even overheard Mrs. Martin saying how impressed she was with Amber for being so modestly dressed.
As the sun neared the horizon, Amber's father walked up to his waist in the surf. He teased Amber's mother, asking her to join him, but she merely shook her head nervously as Mrs. Martin stood beside her. With their parents distracted, Billy reached for Amber's gloved hand and kissed her on the cheek. Amber blushed and turned her lips to Billy, but before they could kiss again Amber's mother screamed.
Amber turned to see her father struggling in the surf against a powerful rip current which hadn't been there moments before. He'd already been pulled a dozen yards out to sea. Amber started to run toward him, but doubled over as pain burned her body. When she looked up, she saw her mother – despite her fear of the sea – running into the waves. When she reached Amber's father, the burning on Amber's skin lessened for a moment. But then they both disappeared beneath the waves and their names burned through Amber's clothes, scorching both her body and soul.
A fisherman found her parents' bodies the next day, their arms locked in a stiff hug. Amber cried for months over that beach trip, wishing she'd ignored Billy and told her parents about the names. Wishing she'd known beforehand what the names meant.
Wishing she could be as brave as her mother.
* * *
Amber dreamed all through the storm and woke the next morning in the hospital, warm sunlight flooding her room as the curtains rippled to the gentle sea breeze. Two doctors and a nurse stood beside her, fussing over the lump on her head as if it was the most important wound they'd ever attended.
Amber soon learned why they were so concerned – she was a hero. Several townsfolk had heard the gunshots. When they reached the pier, they found Amber lying unconscious beside Billy. They also saw Sahr sailing away, his tiny cutter tacking left and right directly into the wind.
Even though the doctors told Amber to stay in bed, she couldn't sit still when she heard Billy was alive. She pushed everyone out of her room and closed the door before searching her body for Billy's name. It was gone! She'd changed his fate!
That afternoon, Amber visited Billy in his hospital room. Bill's head was bandaged, but the bullet had simply grazed his skull and the doctors said he'd recover. Billy smiled weakly and thanked her. Amber wasn't sure how she'd managed to pull Billy out of the water after Sahr hit her in the head, but she was glad he'd survived.
Feeling daring, she reached out to hold Billy's hand.
Because she wore a hospital gown, the sailors' names crawled down her bare arms and mingled around their interlocked hands. But Billy pretended not to notice and simply smiled.
* * *
Amber soon recovered enough to leave the hospital. To her surprise, a large crowd greeted her outside her dry goods store. Several women who'd lost husbands and sons to the sea hugged her – including the old woman who'd spit at her a few weeks back. Amber stammered her thanks and tried not to look shocked.