Ann’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”
“Just get close enough to listen,” Elizabeth urged. “It will be good for your soul. Please?”
Ann didn’t want to move; she didn’t want to think. Wouldn’t the sound of a violin just bring more ache to her heart and remind her of what else she’d lost? But when Elizabeth nudged her a second time, Ann realized she’d never told her friend that she played the violin. But God knew of her love of music and the instrument. Was He trying to cheer her up through her friend’s suggestion? Maybe Hehadheard her prayer.
Her body seemed to move without her brain giving instructions, and in a haze, she followed Elizabeth out to the deck.
Cool air whipped through her already mussed hair. Not that she cared. A low barrel was lashed to one of the masts, providing a welcome seat. She sat down and slumped against the pole, resting her head against it.
Exhausted, her eyes fell shut, and for one moment she let the music wash over her. The timbre of the violin rolled across the deck, clear and strong and beautiful. The fiddlers hadn’t chosen the cheeriest of melodies, and at this moment, that seemed just right. Some of the songs were Irish fiddle tunes that she recognized, and from somewhere, a penny whistle joined them.
As the notes continued to shower the deck, Ann listened, eyes still closed. When she opened them again, Elizabeth was a good way down the deck, looking out to sea, but it didn’t matter. She needed this balm. It wouldn’t take away the pain forever, but it lessened it for now, and that felt like a blessing far greater than she could have hoped for.
Chapter 10
Noon, March 8, 1854
15 days at sea
Scotty Rollins swung aroundthe base of the main mast and stopped directly in front of Will. “I feel like the ship is movin’ at a right good clip, sir.”
“That she is,” Will smiled, grateful for at least some wind today. “Now, Mr. Flynn will show you how we capture most of the breeze. Right now, we are using eighteen sails, but with this weather, we can get up to twenty.”
Jack grinned at the young boy. Will knew there wasn’t a better tutor around when it came to learning rigging.
The passengers were in a fine mood, much improved since yesterday, and now that the fiddlers had been identified, it seemed they’d been called upon again to play. Today, upward of sixty passengers milled about the deck. As Will walked toward the waist of the ship, he saw a few couples lining up.
“Do play us a tune,” one of them called. “We were married just before we set sail, and I haven’t danced once with my husband!”
“Yes, do,” another woman cried out, tugging the man next to her into a circle. The main fiddler, a man with ruddy cheeks, looked at the other two fiddlers near him and gave instructions. Within a minute or two, several pairs of people had fallen in line. Will noticed that the blonde friend who often accompanied Miss Fowles was eagerly dancing with a partner, but Miss Fowles herself sat quiet on one of the barrels. He wanted to speak with her, and perhaps he ought to do so now, while most of the people around her were occupied.
He skirted the edge of the company and leaned on the lid of the barrel next to her.
“Good day, Miss Fowles.”
“Good day,” she murmured, her sunken, tired eyes never leaving the dancers.
“You do not dance?”
“I have not the strength nor the desire.” Her words were cold and quiet. When he did not budge, she glanced at him. “Have you lost your way about the ship, Mr. Boyd? Shall I point you in the right direction?”
Very few women were as direct as she was, and he couldn’t help but smile. “I am not lost, no.” Still, she didn’t react. “I have lost your favor, though, so I came to beg for your forgiveness. I was out of sorts the day of the storm, and I should not have behaved as I did.”
She adjusted her skirt and continued to watch the dancers.
Will rubbed his hands together. “I thought you wouldn’t be of the mind to grant my pardon.” This was turning into a very one-sided conversation. Without asking, he took a seat next to her on the barrel. She didn’t shimmy away, but he could feel tension spreading out from her petite shoulders.
“I’ve, uh, lost someone very close to me on the seas before.” It felt strange opening up to her, especially as she didn’t respond, but he wanted the words off his chest. “So I think I know something of the pain you are feeling.” He twisted the buttons of his jacket and then reminded himself to stop. “I ... know how it replays in your mind, and you sometimes feel you can’t outrun it, especially on a ship in the middle of the ocean.” He watched her shudder and swallow. Maybe he shouldn’t go on, but when she remained silent, he knew he needed to continue.
“You said you caused Addy’s death, but you didn’t. No matter what, you can’t blame yourself for what happened.” He watched her head drop as she glanced at her lap. “Living and dying is out of our hands, and if you continue to feel the weight of guilt, the misery will eat at you until it destroys you.” Almost unconsciously, he clenched and unclenched his right hand. The tight, scarred skin pulled taut, a constant reminder of his own terrible day at sea. He dropped his voice and nearly rested one hand on her elbow but then drew back. “I know because it almost destroyed me once.”
For the first time that afternoon, she turned and looked at him. She said no words, but the deep chasms in her hollow, tearstained eyes conveyed an entire story in themselves.
He didn’t understand all the pain and hurt behind that beautiful face, but he knew it was there. Something in her look seemed more esoteric and complicated than he could articulate.
Her gaze held his for a few moments longer. The fiddlers ended their song with a “ho!,” their bows soaring off the strings and into the air. Will came back to himself. He hadn’t meant to bear his soul, merely to ask forgiveness.Now he’d been talking with just her for far too long. He remembered the captain’s orders and stood and took a step away from her. The main fiddler studied both of them before turning back to the other musicians.
Will swallowed and, with a slight tip of his hat, made his way over to the man who played the fiddle.
