Mr. Boyd had crossed the deck before Ann realized he was gone. It was like he’d just dropped a clay jar from a high window, and she was the shards of the pot that shattered all over the ground. Grief and anger had been swirling within her for days, warring with one another, sometimes even feeding off each other. She’d been blaming him, she realized, for everything. He was the physical representation of this ship, this voyage, of storms, and sickness.
But his apology had been genuine. She hadn’t the wherewithal to form words and forgive him, but he’d continued his speech notwithstanding. Who had he lost at sea? Whoever it was, that loss still affected him deeply. She hadn’t missed the way he tightened his gnarled hand. The scars she’d noticed before, but now she was nearly certain they were linked to whatever had happened the day he lost the person he loved.
Her gaze had been focused on nothing but the chop of the ocean, and now she realized Mr. Boyd was speaking with Brother Wheatley. The wind had grown stronger, so she couldn’t make out the words, but the way Mr. Boyd moved his hand, she thought maybe he was describing a song.
Elizabeth was near them too, and Mr. Boyd extended his hand, and it seemed they exchanged introductions. Then Mr. Boyd turned back to the man next to Brother Wheatley, who Ann thought was named Brother Naylor, and both fiddlers started to pluck a few notes on their violins. Just watching their fingers on the strings made her long for the instrument. If only she still had hers with her. Maybe in Zion she could borrow one and play occasionally.
Zion. It felt so far away; it felt like somewhere they’d never reach. Ann shuddered, although the temperature wasn’t too cold, especially under her shawl. She could not shake the feeling that she was falling short. That God knew acutely all her personal doubts, and she was supposed to increase her faith after the stove and after Addy, but instead she just felt discouraged. It was one thing to feel no relationship with God, but a far harder thing to feel like He was there and she wasn’t measuring up. At present, her faith was too weak to do herself or anyone any good.
Mr. Boyd started clapping his hands. “Gather round, men,” he yelled, beckoning the sailors near him. “Our fine violinists have something for us.” Brother Naylor started a rolling tune while Brother Wheatley played a secondary part on the lower strings. She had noticed what an adept musician Brother Wheatly was and wanted to talk to him about his background.
In one swift motion, Mr. Boyd leaped up onto one of the barrels and grasped the mast near him. Once the introduction finished, his voice rang out in a warm baritone.
“Oh, Nancy Dawson, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
She rubbed the Bo’sun, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
That was a caution, Hi-oh!”
Then all the sailors drew breath and joined in: “Cheerly, man, O! Haulee, Hi-oh, Cheerly, man.”
Mr. Boyd sang another verse, with all the men echoing on the “Hi-oh” bits. He smiled and swayed, and Ann found it hard to take her eyes from him. The wind, which seemed even stronger than minutes before, ruffled through his thick, chocolate-colored hair as he stowed his hat under his arm. The more he sang, the more she realized that not only did he possess a beautiful singing voice, but his heartwarming tone also lifted everyone’s spirits. The whole deck came alive. People clapped and swayed to the beat, the fiddles accompanied, and Ann was sure by the merry twinkle in his eye that Mr. Boyd enjoyed himself as he sang another verse.
“Oh, Sally Racket, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Pawned my best jacket, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
And sold the pawn ticket, Hi-oh!”
Each different verse mentioned another woman’s name and the ways she’d jilted her sailor. Each time the rest of the crew sang the refrain, “Cheerly, man, O! Haulee, Hi-oh, Cheerly, man,” with hearty gusto.
The volume swelled and the tempo slowed as Mr. Boyd sang what she guessed was the final refrain. As he did so, he glanced directly at her and gave a wide smile. Heat immediately drew to her cheeks.
“Oh, Polly Riddle, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Broke her new fiddle, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Right through the middle, Hi-oh!”
As soon as he sang “broke her new fiddle,” he winked at her. Her own fiddle wasn’t broken, but she was missing it. His wink merely fit the mood of the song, but something about the way he did it felt friendly, welcoming. How ironic that he did so when it talked about a fiddle, and the action actually cheered her up despite being instrument-less herself. Deeper inside, her heart still ached for Addy and her sister, but for the first time in days, she felt her mouth draw into a small smile.
Mr. Boyd had learned to be happy, despite his losses. Did that mean she could too? She wanted to believe that. But her heart still felt heavy, heavy with the loss of Addy and heavy, too, because she should be trusting in God more, but it felt so difficult to do so.
Mr. Boyd didn’t have that kind of baggage, she was sure.
Perhaps he didn’t even believe that God was real.
