“It snapped off!” a sailor yelled.
The great iron stove slid across the room. As the ground shifted, her right leg buckled, and she grasped the wall to brace herself.
“Watch out!” the assistant yelled.
“I can’t pull it back!” another man called.
The uneven floor had thrown Ann so far off, she couldn’t find her footing. The great column of the stove gained speed, unattached to any walls. Before she could call out, the iron beast was coming for her like a lion hunting its prey.
She thrust her hands out in front of her to stop it, but her force was nothing compared to the hundreds of pounds that barreled into her, threatening to crush her.
Warm metal radiated against her body, pinning her into the corner. The heat seemed everywhere, the sheer weight pressing her shoulder against the wall. She didn’t know how long she could stay like this before her collarbone would snap, or worse, her lungs collapse from the weight. She struggled to draw a breath. In the back of her mind, her conscience flared. She’d been unsure if she should come on this voyage. She’d doubted and questioned God’s plan. If she died right here, what would she tell Him?
“Move,” she heard someone yell from across the galley.
“Pull it back,” she heard again. “With the pitch of the next wave.”
A pair of masculine fingers appeared on the corner of the stove. The knuckles turned white as the man gripped tighter, but the stove wasn’t so hot there it would burn him. Ann closed her eyes, the pressure of the metal against her so intense she knew she’d soon succumb. She gasped for air but couldn’t fill her lungs. Her head felt fuzzy. The room darkened around her.
“Now!”
She snapped her eyes open, realizing that the floor supporting her feet had once again shifted.
A growl of effort ripped through the air, and the pressure in her chest lightened. Breath stole back into her body with greedy persistence. The stove was sliding again, this time away from her, toward the other wall in the galley.
She fell back against the paneling, her breaths short and erratic, all strength vanished. Her knees buckled and she collapsed into a heap.
“Now, the straps!”
In a daze she registered the voice. It was the same voice as the man that had saved her, though a few other sailors were assisting to secure the stove and must have helped heave it off her.
Body aching, Ann willed herself to crawl out of the small nook, not wanting to be in the path of the stove again if they couldn’t manage to secure it. As she did, she raised her eyes, noting how quickly Mr. Boyd worked with the red-haired boatswain and the cook to secure the stove to a central pole with several ropes and what appeared to be a leather strap.
He pulled in quick succession on the leather and ropes, testing the strength of the restraints. When it seemed secured, he glanced over his shoulder. He came near her and bent over, hands on his knees. “Are you all right?” He wiped his brow and drew another breath.
“I ... will be well,” Ann managed. “I am more startled than anything.”
“But no lacerations, burns, or broken bones?”
She felt his eyes studying her as she rubbed her shoulder. “No, the back of the stove was warm, but not scalding.”
“Please, allow me to assist you.” There they were again, the words she’d heard the day she’d gone down the gangplank. Now he had a firm grasp on her elbow and was ushering her to stand and move to a wooden bench.
“Thank you,” she said. She couldn’t figure out why he seemed to care so much now, when he’d been so rude on and off before.
A small crowd had gathered outside the galley. Pushing though everyone came Sister Brower.
“What were you doing near the stove?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but rather soft. Ann noticed Mr. Boyd’s stance turn rigid, but she couldn’t figure out why he seemed so annoyed by the woman’s perfectly reasonable question.
“I was looking for my mother, hoping she could provide me with some boiled water. I was trying to make a curative for little Addy.” She pulled the herbs out of her apron pocket.
Mrs. Brower bent over and took her hands. “Ah, you good girl. I think your mother went to help with Addy jist ’fore you come. I am glad you aren’t harmed. You go back to your cabin, and I’ll make it for you and bring it to the babe.”
“Oh, thank you, Sister Brower.”
The sweet woman bobbed her head and turned, and Ann thought she heard Mr. Boyd blow out a tight breath.
“You are becoming quite proficient at putting yourself in dangerous circumstances.”
