“Father?”
Hank looked at the blonde. She was still holding the baby and trying to soothe Lydia.
“Perhaps you can say a prayer for them,” she suggested.
He froze.
“A prayer for the matron and the rest of those people onboard.”
He paused for the second it took him to think, then pulled the rosary from his pocket and knelt over the edge of the boat. He dipped the beads in the ocean a couple of times as if he were baptizing them. “The Lord give them peace,” he said, making his best imitation of the sign of the cross, then he stuck the beads back in his pocket, staring at the water. “Amen.”
“Amen,” she repeated, then whispered, “Thank you.”
He felt a brief stab—very brief—of something deep in his gut. He’d eaten those bananas too fast. It couldn’t have been guilt. Hank didn’t feel guilty about anything. Never had. Never would.
His words didn’t do those victims much good now. And he doubted a priest’s would either. No one could bring them back.
He turned back and opened the small sail, then showed the kid how to work the lines.
Smitty spoke quietly to Lydia and played with the baby’s hands, then her blond head shot up. “What was that?”
“What?” He threaded one of the lines.
“That sound,” she said. “There it is again! Listen.” There was a loud, grating noise, and Hank whipped his head around.
“Look!” She pointed northeast. “In the water! Over there!”
The children’s heads perked up and turned.
“It’s a goat!” Theodore shouted, his voice excited. There, in the water, was one of the goats Hank had seen being loaded on the ship. The animal was swimming, its head disappearing, then reappearing with a bleat.
“There it is!” Smitty had turned from the goat toward him. “Sail over to it.”
He frowned at her. “What for?”
“Why... to save it, of course. The poor thing.” “Look! Look!” Theodore was leaning half out of the boat.
Hank grabbed the seat of his pants to keep him from falling in.
“It’s drowning!” He looked to Hank. “Save it! Hurry!”
He stared back at the three faces watching him and waiting expectantly. The baby suddenly poked its little head out of the blanket, looked around, then grinned right at him.
“Save it?”
They nodded in unison.
Calling himself every kind of fool, he wrapped the lines back around the sail and unhooked the oars. A minute later he was rowing toward the animal and muttering about the likelihood of surviving with a goat in the lifeboat.
It took him five minutes and two hooves slamming into his gut to get the frightened goat inside. He locked the oars back in their safety clamps on the inside of the boat, sat down on a bench, and untied the sail again.
“Look! What luck!” Smitty said in a bright tone. He just looked at her.
“It’s a nanny goat.” She waited, and when he didn’t respond, she added, “We’ll have milk for the children.”
Hank grunted some response and busied himself by adjusting the lines, then he glanced up. All of them were fussing over the stupid goat. “Hand me the compass. It’s behind you in that tin supply box with the matches and food.”
Smitty turned slightly and rummaged through the box.
