Her surprised look must have continued to unsettle him because he rambled on. “I, we, er, many of the upper-ranked crew members also have cabins in this part of the deck. Surely you have noticed some of them at meals?”
She smiled at him. “A few of them, yes, but it seems your seamen are always so busy.” She tilted her head and studied him. “Does this mean you are my neighbor, Mr. Boyd?”
“I am in the general vicinity.”
She liked the way the bright sun showcased his white smile. “But I haven’t seen you during meals.”
“My watches are generally in the early morning and during supper. I would guess, besides those times, you’ve been in your cabin?”
“Yes, my family needs me, and I’ve also felt quite seasick until lately.”
He tipped his head toward her. “I know the seasickness can be terrible, but if you keep moving about, the exercise will actually help with adjusting to it.” He paused. “And, Miss Ann Fowles, Jr., I predict we’ll run into each other right here sooner or later.”
“I hope we do.” The words escaped her mouth before she had time to pull them back. With one hand she clutched the doorframe that led to the set of cabins.
His face grew stern at the comment, and she immediately wished she hadn’t said anything so forward.
Before he turned to go, she had the presence of mind to at least curtsy in his direction. “Thank you, Mr. Boyd, for saving my life.”
A tempered grin stole across his face. “Anytime.”
Chapter 7
March 4, 1854
11 days at sea
Will knew the best wayto accomplish anything was to do it yourself. But one could not run a ship single-handedly, so second best was teaching an eager learner a new skill. Therefore, when Scotty Rollins approached him and asked him to demonstrate adjusting the sails, Will obliged.
“You can read the wind if you keep the tension on the sheet just so.” He pulled back on the rope that regulated one of the sails. “And then when the telltales are in position, you maintain tension while cleating the sheet.” Will’s hands worked swiftly.
“You’re fizzing brilliant, sir. I feel like a goosecap jist watchin’ ya.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” Will handed the rope to the boy. “Give it a go.”
The boy’s eyes went wide, and Will remembered that look, the same as the day he’d caught the lad thieving. Will had known the boy’s father, years ago, when he’d crossed to America, never to come back.
“Scotty,” said a voice. Will didn’t have to look up to identify the unpleasant rasp as the voice of the second mate, Mr. Crenshaw. “What are you doing here? You haven’t finished cleaning the galley.”
Will shot him a disappointed look. “Shirking your duties, Scotty?”
“Get down below, now,” bellowed Crenshaw.
Scotty cowered and scampered down the hatch near him.
“Don’t befriend him, Boyd,” muttered Crenshaw, swiping at his dark, oily, shoulder-length hair. “It will only make him weak. You muddy the separation of ranks, and it hurts us all.”
“Dry up, Crenshaw. The boy had genuine interest, and he will be a great sailor one day.”
“He was eager to cut away from his work,” Crenshaw retorted. “And should be taught by the boatswain, if’n he needed lessons.” He cleared histhroat. “You know the captain’s terms, missed duties equal four hours of oakum picking.”
The idea of spending hours picking apart old rope sent shivers down Will’s spine. It was a common punishment, but Will didn’t wish it upon anyone. Since their journey from America to England a few months prior, he’d disliked the way Crenshaw demeaned almost everyone. He was dictatorial anytime he could be, constantly looking for misdeeds to critique.
Will tipped his hat and set off across the deck. He wanted to walk the perimeter and make sure all barrels of provisions were secure after the last storm.
Daniel Garn, the man in charge of the passengers, stood on one of the barrels near the front of the ship. His voice was loud and clear, his manner of talking firm but not overly puritanical. Will wasn’t usually superstitious, but he still didn’t want anything to do with the man’s words. Instead, he focused on the slight wind whipping through the rigging. The wind was weak at best, their speed slow.
He glanced around, and finding the deck—at least the part that wasn’t crowded with people—orderly, he turned back around to monitor the sailors managing the mainsail. They needed additional instruction on how to adjust it if they were to catch the light breeze properly. This crew wasn’t as fastidious as he would have liked.
