When the worst of the weather was nearly over, Hannah herself was forced to take to her bunk, but by this time some of the other women were managing to stagger about and give a helping hand. Yet there was something about Hannah’s condition that gave Sarah cause for concern, and she reported the matter to the sea officer who made a daily round of the emigrants’ quarters. He took a look at the sleeping Hannah, holding his lantern over her.
“She looks all right to me,” he commented. “A bit peaky, but that’s to be expected.”
“Yet she’s not really seasick,” Sarah said as they stepped away from the bunk again. “And she’s complained about pains in her head, which seem more than the ordinary headache that so many of the others have had. I’d like some advice. Is there a surgeon on board?”
He shook his head, his lips compressed. “Only a doctor traveling privately, and I can’t presume to ask him to come down here. I’m sure you’ll find she’ll be better tomorrow. Already the winds are becoming westerly, and it’ll be safe to go up on deck again soon. A whiff of fresh air is probably all she needs.”
Sarah hoped he would be proved correct, but an unhappy, nagging little doubt lay cold within her, and she returned to replace the damp cloth she had put on Hannah’s forehead with another.
Later that afternoon the hatches were opened for a little while, and almost everybody crowded up to fill their lungs with clean air. But Sarah stayed with Hannah, entrusting Jenny and Robbie to the care of a kindly woman, Mrs. Myers, a widow traveling alone on her way to join her son in Quebec, who took them up on deck with her.
Later that same evening Hannah’s condition deteriorated so sharply that Sarah became alarmed. Most people had settled down for the night, and she had no wish to cause any panic by rousing someone to go for help. She’d have to go herself. Quickly she tucked Hannah in securely with a blanket to ensure that no unexpected tilt of the vessel would send her tumbling out, checked her own bunk where Jenny and Robbie were curled up asleep, and then went silently up from the hold, guided by the light of gently swinging lanterns and the starry square of sky above her.
It was cold as she stepped out on deck, but automatically she inhaled the pure air. How good it was! She turned to make her way aft, knowing that the cabins were situated beneath the poop and determined to find the captain or a senior officer to whom she could appeal for help.
“What are you doin’ up ’ere?” demanded a rough voice. “Emigrants stay below from sunset to sunrise. You know that!”
It was the bo’sun who had come looming up at her. She welcomed his appearance with relief. “There’s a young woman very ill! I’ve been looking after her, but she’s suddenly become much worse. I know there’s a doctor among the passengers—I beg you to ask him to come and see her.”
“You’re off your rocker!” he answered contemptuously. “It’s not for a private passenger to be at the beck and call of the likes of you!”
“But she might die!” Sarah cried in anguish.
The man gave a snort of derision, as if well used to feminine hysterics at sea. “I doubt it. Deaths among emigrants are remarkably few. They’ve been reared on nothin’, and are used to nothin’—that ’old below is a palace compared to the ’ovels that most of ’em come from.” His voice took on a milder note. “I can tell by your speech and your manners that you’re a cut above the rest of ’em down there, so mebbe you don’t know how tough these folk can be. Now you go back and get some sleep yourself, and don’t addle your brains worryin’ about some creature that’ll be right as ninepence in the morning, no doubt. If she isn’t, ’ave a word with the duty officer when he comes round.”
Sarah stood her ground, arms stiff, and hands clenched. “I demand that the doctor be told that Hannah Nightingale is desperately in need of his attention!”
The bo’sun’s face hardened, and he made a threatening gesture. “I gave you your answer—now get!”
But she had no intention of giving up. Before the bo’sun realized what was happening she had dodged past him, her feet pounding along the deck as she made for the poop.
“Stop her!” yelled the bo’sun. But she evaded the deckhand who came leaping from where they had been coiling rope, skillfully avoided the reach of the seaman at the wheel, and hurled herself down the companionway. Ahead of her was a door, curled gilt letters above announcing that it was the dining saloon, and a buzz of voices suggested dinner was still in progress.
Ignoring the noise of pursuit closing hard on her heels, she seized the handle, threw open the door, and rushed in. A blaze of candlelight dazzled her. She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” The captain thundered the question, his heavy-jowled face outraged. He had sprung up from his chair at the head of a long table set with crystal and silver, around which sat a dozen or more passengers, the ladies in pastel silks and satins, the gentlemen somberly but elegantly clad in dark shades of burgundy, brown, and blue. Other officers present had also risen, napkins in hand.
“I must speak to the doctor!” Sarah cried, suddenly aware of the unprepossessing appearance she must present in her soiled apron, her turned-back sleeves, and the tendrils of hair that had slipped from their pins to waft about her cheeks. Then the door behind her was thrust open, flinging her forward, so that a steward caught and held her as the bo’sun came into the room, purple-faced with fury and mortification.
“My apologies, Captain,” he stuttered. “This girl gave me the slip. I’d ordered her below.”
“Take her away at once!” the captain snapped at him. “Report to me later!”
The bo’sun seized Sarah roughly, jerking her back with him toward the door, ignoring her cries of protest. Then a deep, quietly spoken voice halted him.
“Wait a moment! This young lady expressed a wish to see me, I believe.”
Sarah, locked in the bo’sun’s grip, looked over her shoulder and saw rising to his feet the tall, curly-haired man she had first seen on the gangway the day that the ship had sailed. In the candlelight his hair glinted a reddish gold as he stood there. “I’m Dr. Manning. What is the matter?”
“Please help me,” she begged on a sob. “There’s a young mother in the emigrants’ hold who’s desperately ill. I don’t know what ails her.”
He pushed back his chair. “Take me to her.”
In the dark den he had another lantern brought, which Sarah held for him as he spoke to the shivering Hannah, who answered weakly and with effort his questions about the pains in her head, back, and limbs. There was the aroma of wine on his breath, but he was sober enough, and his hands capable and unfaltering as he felt her pulse, examined the inner aspect of her arms, looked at her chest and back, and then tucked the blanket back over her. He straightened up, but kept his voice low as he spoke to Sarah in order not to wake the sleepers around, or to be overheard by those staring curiously from the shadows.
“You did right to call me.” He glanced with a kind of incredulous distaste at the faintly lit surroundings. “She must be removed from here without delay. A suitable place for a sickroom must be found.” He turned back to Hannah, leaning over to put his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “I’m going to arrange other accommodation for you, Mrs. Nightingale.”
Hannah gulped, her eyes frightened. “I—won’t—leave the children.”
He turned his head to look questioningly at Sarah, who indicated the sleeping children in the neighboring bunk. “Are they well?” he asked quickly.
“Yes,” Sarah answered.
He gave a nod, and then spoke to Hannah again. “You shall not be separated from them. They’ll be near you. I’ll see to that.”
Hannah was carried up on a stretcher to a cot made up with clean linen and warm blankets that had been placed in a storage room. It was comfortless enough, but a portable washstand had been provided, and when morning came the small window would let in daylight. In the neighboring lamproom another cot was set u
p for the children, who failed to wake during the transfer.
When Hannah was settled, Sarah went in to look at the children and check that neither had stirred before returning to Dr. Manning at the patient’s bedside.
“Is there an obliging woman who would look after them?” he inquired.
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” she said, mystified.
“Not any more,” he stated. “I’ll want you to nurse Mrs. Nightingale night and day. You’re not afraid, are you?”
She met his direct look squarely. “No. I’ve nursed infectious cases before. What is it?”
“Typhus,” he answered grimly.
She put a hand quickly to her throat. “It could strike down two thirds of the people on this schooner.”
“I’ve reason to hope that it is not ship typhus, but a case of infection contracted before our patient came aboard. I’ll carry out daily medical inspections of everybody as a precaution from now on for the next fourteen days at least, and keep a special eye on the two little ones in the next room.” He smiled at her slowly. It was the first time she had seen him smile, and it made him look younger and less austere. “You must get what sleep you can, although I’m afraid a blanket on the floor here is not going to be very comfortable.”
“I don’t mind anything,” she said stoutly, “as long as Hannah pulls through.”
Hannah put up a good fight, taking spoonfuls of egg wine, chicken broth, and sips of barley water occasionally as if aware of the need to combat with every weapon at her disposal the enervating effect of the fever, as well as the rash that covered all her body but left her face untouched. She was drowsy all the time, never really aware of what the hour might be.
The children cried for her, Robbie noisily with heart-broken sobs, and Jenny silently and desperately with huge tears welling up out of her great golden-brown eyes and running in rivulets down her face. Mrs. Myers had moved her belongings in with them, so that they were never alone by night and in her charge by day, but although she gave them some sense of security with her embracing arms and vast lap, it was Sarah to whom they turned for comfort on the few occasions that she was with them on deck for a brief spell of fresh air and relaxation at Dr. Manning’s orders. This was when Mrs. Myers took a turn in the sickroom, but during the second week as Hannah reached new heights of delirium, Sarah refused to leave her at any time, and became hollow-eyed and white with exhaustion herself as she toiled endlessly in her care for the patient.
Dr. Manning visited constantly, sometimes staying for an hour or more. Sarah looked forward to these times. She had discovered that his name was Philip, but they still addressed each other very formally, in spite of the fact that they often had long conversations together, he sitting on a coil of rope, and she on a three-cornered stool by the cotside. She told him a great deal about her life at the rectory, avoiding any mention of Giles, and of what she hoped for in the new land that awaited them. He, in turn, made no secret of the fact that he had become restless in a small town practice, and was on his way to Quebec to stay with a colleague who had offered him a partnership, although as yet no decision on the matter had been made. They discovered a mutual interest in books and music, and when he expounded at great length on a particular author or a favorite composition, she listened with a quiet pleasure.
But he was not with her at the moment when she needed him most. It was during the afternoon of the fourteenth day when suddenly Hannah lifted her head from the pillow, her eyes wide and bright.
“Sarah!” she cried. “Come here! Quickly!”
Instantly Sarah saw that there was a terrible change in the patient. It was the last sharp glow of the wick before the flame faded. She sprang up from the stool and hurled herself at the cotside.
“I’m here, dear Hannah,” Sarah cried reassuringly, slipping her arm under the patient’s head. “What is it?”
“Promise me something, Sarah!” Hannah begged frantically, her thin hand lifting from the sheet.
“Anything!” Sarah said in a choked voice, clasping the patient’s hand in hers.
“Take care of Jenny and Robbie for me!” Hannah implored. “Swear that you’ll never surrender them until you can hand them over to their father! In God’s dear name, swear it to me!”
Sarah, half-blinded by tears, nodded as she held Hannah close. “I swear it!”
Hannah gave a deep sigh. Slowly Sarah lowered her back onto the pillows. The young woman looked as though she were sleeping, the serenity of features showing that peace of mind had come to her in those last moments. Abruptly Sarah swung around and tore open the door, to see Philip approaching. He took one look at her stricken face, and half-thrust her aside as he rushed into the storeroom.
She stayed where she was, leaning weakly against the bulkhead, tears streaming down her face. When she felt Philip’s hands turn her toward him, she flung herself with a cry into his arms, burying her face against him. Afterward she thought he had held the back of her head cupped in his hand, his own cheek bent to rest against the top of her head, but she could not be sure of anything. All she could remember was his gentle words to her, although they brought no comfort.
“Sarah, Sarah. You did all you could. I thought that together we might pull her through, but it was not to be.”
Two
Two weeks after Hannah’s burial at sea, Sarah stood between Jenny and Robbie, a hand in each of theirs, as the Griffin sailed past Cape Breton Island. There had been much to do since she had emerged from the role of nurse to take on responsibilities of another kind. Among Hannah’s few possessions she had found the single, carefully written letter that Will Nightingale had sent to his wife from the New World, and was compelled by circumstances to read it for instructions as to how to contact him. She skipped the description of the voyage, and reached the part where, having landed at York on the shores of Lake Ontario in Upper Canada, he received a location ticket for a holding that lay north of the city, and it was there that he was bound, after mailing the letter, to set to felling the trees, and to build a house from the logs that would be ready and waiting in no time for his dearest Hannah. Here Sarah had bitten her lip, a new distress overwhelming her at the thought of having to break her news to this hard-working man, who would soon be sowing crops in the raw patches of cleared land, one eye on the horizon for the first sight of the wagon that he thought would be bringing his little family for the reunion that he awaited so eagerly.
There was also another address in the letter. This was of a reasonable boardinghouse in York where he himself had been staying. He advised Hannah to go straight there when she arrived, for he would have booked accommodation for her and the children, and the proprietress, Mrs. Cooper would advise her about getting seats on a wagon the next day. There was no question of his being in York to meet her. With ships relying on the whim of wind and weather, a delay of a month or more was not unusual, and no pioneer farmer could afford to waste that sort of time, much less the money, in hanging around at a quayside.
As Sarah stood watching the shoreline harden into focus she thought how different were the circumstances in which she now found herself from those she had pictured when she had first stepped on board the schooner. All her plans to go to Montreal were now changed. Ahead lay the far longer journey to York, which would stretch her finances to the limit.
She glanced down at the children sadly and affectionately, moving her hand to brush Robbie’s round cheek with her knuckle. He looked up at her, laughed, and jumped up and down, much taken by the sight of a vessel sailing past, its huge spread of canvas tallow-yellow against the gray sky and sea. Although he often called out for his mother at night and would not be consoled, he was quickly distracted by day from any brooding thoughts of her by the pointing out of any diversion, such as that of a passing school of porpoises, a distant whale, or the glitter of sun on icebergs that had appeared from time to time, and about which Sarah had woven exciting stories to entertain both him and his sister. She had found that the other emigrant
children gathered round eagerly to listen too, and even some of the older ones made a point of standing within earshot while pretending to be otherwise engaged.
Jenny, a silent sentient child, nursed her terrible bereavement, and grief was stark in her huge eyes. She had become intensely clinging, setting her pretty corn-silk head against Sarah’s skirts whenever a stranger spoke to her, clutching constantly at the one person that she knew she could trust amid all the turmoil that had turned her little world completely upside down.
“How do you like the look of the New World?” Philip’s voice inquired. He had come strolling along the deck to reach Sarah’s side.
She glanced at him, a smile on her lips. “It’s wonderful to view land again.”
“Shall we see Dadda soon?” Robbie piped up.
Sarah bent down to him. “Not for some time yet. We still have a long, long way to go.”
But already he had forgotten his question, his interest caught by a sudden thumping on the deck as some of the emigrant boys started a game of leapfrog. He pulled himself away from her and ran to watch, but Jenny stayed close at hand.
“It’s been a harrowing voyage for you,” Philip remarked. “I hope most sincerely that all will go well with you from now on.”
“Thank you,” Sarah answered quietly, her thoughts full of Hannah, as instinctively she drew Jenny closer to her in a protective way.
He noticed this little action, and it prompted him to voice a suggestion that he had been turning over in his mind for some days, wanting to put it in a tactful way in order not to offend this independent and yet emotionally vulnerable girl whom he had come to admire so much.
“You may be put to considerable expense arranging transport for both yourself and these children all the way to York and beyond,” he said. “I’d be very grateful if you’d let me contribute something—for Mrs. Nightingale’s sake.”
Fair Wind of Love Page 2
