“Nay!” said someone from the crowd. Ann’s miraculous deliverance had been the talk of all the passengers, and she suddenly didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself by joining them right after he mentioned it.
Everyone had deemed it a miracle, but she’d felt it brought into question her doubts about being here on this journey.
The Prophet Joseph had revealed that God was not the fearful, punishing God that many of the early preachers in her life had taught her He was. But still she wondered if she’d let God down. He knew how much she questioned everything. And then there were her feelings of inadequacy and being unprepared to meet God when she’d nearly been crushed by the stove—the terror of the situation still tormented her. She wished she’d come on the journey because of true desire, but she knew now, more than ever, it was due to obligation.
And she felt the guilt of that.
She turned toward the back of the ship and walked up the other side when she spied two young boys completely enthralled by a large pile of rope. It wasn’t until she came closer that she saw one of the crew standing by.
“Good, lads,” said the sailor, and she didn’t even have to look at him to know whose voice it was.
“Thanks, Mr. Boyd!” lisped a small boy who lacked a few teeth.
“And then try this, Rhuben,” said Mr. Boyd, his tone warm and energetic. How was it that the man had so many different facets to his delivery? It was also curious that she noticed the different aspects of his voice at all.
“Very well done!” Mr. Boyd clapped Rhuben on his shoulder. The two boys were beaming; the one with the gappy smile was utterly adorable. That older boy was now tangling his hands up in a bunch of rope, unable to make the knot right.
Ann chuckled, and the sound gave away her position. Mr. Boyd’s glance shot toward her, taking in the baby bundle she held to her shoulder.
“Good day,” Mr. Boyd offered quickly.
The older brother tried to follow suit. “Good day, lady.”
Ann couldn’t keep from smiling. She patted little Addy’s back. The baby squirmed a moment and then fell back asleep, burrowing deeper into the side of her neck.
“What fine pupils you have,” Ann ventured. “I didn’t realize you held a knot-tying class for eager passengers.”
She must have struck a chord with Mr. Boyd for he shook his head vehemently. “We, um, we don’t have a class. These lads were merely curious, and I agreed to show them a thing or two.” He bent down and took a piece of rope from the boys. “You two best be on your way.”
“I’m gonna practice!” the older boy shot out. “An’ come back and show you, sir!”
Ann watched as Mr. Boyd tousled the little one’s hair and sent them toward the front of the boat, where a sister collected them. She wouldn’t have guessed Mr. Boyd would have patience for little boys, and this insight made her pause. “Well, if it wasn’t a class, it was still awfully nice of you.”
Mr. Boyd stowed the rope, then stood relatively close to her, and she couldn’t help but notice the two of them were a good distance away from anyone else. She started to pat the baby’s back a little quicker.
Mr. Boyd was silent, so Ann cleared her throat. “This is my niece, Addy. My mother is airing the cabin right now while my sister naps. That day you doused me with water during the storm, I was trying to find blankets for this sweet little baby. Her health is very fragile.” She still didn’t understand how the Mr. Boyd from the storm and the current Mr. Boydandthe Mr. Boyd from the gangplank and the stove could be the same person.
“Oh yes.” He sighed and his brow pulled low. “During the storm.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned it. It made her seem like she remembered every interaction with him. Which, in fact, she did. But that was definitely not something he should know. She wasn’t sure she dared ask her next question, but it had been weighing on her for the past several days.
“You—you were so altered during the storm. What happened?”
Mr. Boyd’s furrowed brow became the clouds above the storm inside his eyes. “It was a very intense storm. Did you want me to sing sea chanties and tell you to waltz up the ladder?”
“Well, no, it’s just—”
“Best not to question a sailor about his actions during a gale.”
He crossed his arms and glanced out to sea.
The wind blew between them, the air a little colder. She should leave his presence, for she could almost see the steam rising off his coat.
She turned to go, but he stepped his foot out, blocking her path.
“Uh, before you go ... may I take a glance at the baby?”
Ann stopped. One thing she’d learned about Mr. Boyd was that she could not predict him. She peered at him a long moment and then capitulated, tipping little Addy back against her hand, so he could see her face beneath the blanket. For one moment the baby’s eyes flickered open.
