He needed to clear his head. Pushing over the side of his hammock, he pressed his feet into his boots, tugged on his vest, and made for the deck. He had at least two hours until his watch, but after that nightmare, there was no use trying to sleep. Only the still, cool air would help him now.
He exited his cabin, walked across the small vestibule, and out into the open air of the waist. He crossed the deck, and one sleepy sailor snapped to attention, righting himself against the foremast he sat against. Will dipped his head briefly and made his way closer to the bowsprit. The deck was, as expected, completely silent, with only four or five required sailors on the periphery at their posts. Far behind him, he knew Crenshaw was on watch, but here at the front of the boat, he relished having the whole expanse to himself.
He took a few more strides forward, and as his eyes adjusted, he made out a silhouette in the moonlight. It was the large skirt that stood out the most, for no sailors had that kind of outline.
What was a woman doing outside at such a time? He didn’t wish to disturb or startle the lady, so he curved right.
He pulled up to the bowsprit, clutching a hand on either side, letting the wind blow through his hair. If only the sea breeze could wash away every part of his past.
Suddenly, he heard a few sounds coming from the woman. He didn’t turn, but from what he could tell, she was sniffling, maybe even crying. Itwasn’t a wholly unfamiliar sound; people often did miss their homeland or grow nervous for their future during their journey.
But this woman seemed far more distraught than the usual passenger. He glanced sidelong. The woman had buried her face in her hands. For one moment she drew back her hands, brushing them on her skirts, and Will recognized her profile. It had been nearly two days since he’d noticed her on deck, but now, of all the hundreds of people on the ship, Miss Fowles was crying just a few feet away.
His feet immediately made their way to her. The rest of him followed, and his head reminded him that consoling crying females was something he knew little about and had even less experience with.
“Miss Fowles,” his voice came out higher than he liked, but he grasped the rails and tried to meet her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
She turned her head away from him.
Why had he asked her that? Of course something was wrong. People did not come to cold, dark decks in the dead of night and cry if everything was all right. He tried again. “I am sorry. I can see something is quite wrong. Is there any way I can help?”
He took one step closer and decided it was best to wait.
“Help?” she said. Her jaw clenched as her hands came up and covered her face once more. “Not now, there’s nothing anyone can do. Oh, it’s all my fault.”
“What has happened?”
“If only I’d been faster getting her blankets. If I hadn’t caught cold. If only I hadn’t let the wind get to her ...” The utter turmoil was evident in every bit of the young woman’s posture.
“Please, whatever it is, there must be a solution,” Will said.
“There’s no solution, Mr. Boyd.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and stared out to sea. Her voice was low and broken. “It is too late.”
“What do you mean?” He asked, still not understanding.
“My infant niece. The doctor came to see her earlier today but said her condition was very poor. She died just an hour ago.”
Will’s heart plunged into his stomach. He knew all too well what it felt like to lose a loved one, especially at sea.
He stepped nearer. “I am so very sorry.” What else was there to say? He wished he were better with words. She grasped the railing with her hand, and he remembered how one of his mates had put an arm around him when he’dbeen at his lowest, so he put his hand over hers on the railing. “What can I do to help?”
It was as though his touch was a scalding kettle against her skin. She drew away, fierce anger in her eyes. “Help? Oh, it is far past the time for your help.” She folded both arms in front of her. “You didn’t care one bit when I tried to find her a dry blanket. You delayed me by yelling at me and caused me to catch cold. I probably spread my illness to her ... and worsened her exposure.” Her eyes skewered him as she drew up to her full height. “Good night, Mr. Boyd.”
Her skirts swirled over his boots, and she was halfway across the deck before Will let out his breath. That poor little baby had died?
His tense shoulders fell, and that too-familiar ache settled in his gut. He clamped his eyes shut. Such a sweet, innocent little person didn’t deserve to die, especially here on this ship and in these harsh conditions.
When he opened his eyes, Ann had disappeared.
She hadn’t only been distraught; she’d been angry too. At him.
He thought back to the last storm. It’d put him out of sorts, that was certain. It reminded him too much of the time in Antigua ...
He couldn’t focus on that now. She’d been near the hatch that night, and he had yelled at her. He should’ve apologized for the way he treated her when he had the chance.
He glanced to his right, where she had been standing only moments earlier. She was blaming herself for her niece’s poor constitution. It had been one of the harshest winters and passages that he could remember. Ann hadn’t caused any of that. It was mere coincidence. Or perhaps this voyage really was cursed.
He knew it was easy to blame oneself in such a situation. He curled the hand that had touched her. If only he could comfort her somehow and let her know that some people just die, that she hadn’t caused the death, and that holding onto the belief she’d caused it could eat away at a person faster than any sickness.
