Will looked down at his hand. The pain in his palm throbbed with menacing intensity. “Worse than the other storms so far, I’m afraid.”
Jack winced and then ran across the deck to help a few of the seamen.
Will’s mind was on high alert as an ominous cloud, as dark as tar, rolled toward them.
He sucked in a breath. “Once you have done your duty, every man below! After that, mates and upper crewmen will take thirty-minute watches at the helm, with a skeleton crew at the fore in case of problems.”
Sailors scurried to and fro, making the deck as secure as possible, but Will noticed how sloppy some of the canvas lay, the ropes poorly coiled. They ought to be running drills more often.
It took nearly fifteen minutes to stow everything to a passable station, but every minute brought a stronger wind, the deluge relentless against them.
Finally, all sailors had retired except Jack, who helped eight sailors tie themselves to the rigging at the forecastle. Jack left them and came back toward Will, swearing again under his breath as icy cold rain pelted down on them.
Will turned toward his friend. “Get down below, Jack. I’ll call you if you are needed, and I’ll take the first watch at the helm.”
Will waited for his friend to nod and head out, but he leaned in despite the soaking he endured. “I know ye don’t like it when I say it, but they’ve cursed the ship, Will.”
Will set his jaw. The storm had already put him on edge; he was in no mood to delve into why their weather had been so poor as of late.
Jack steadied himself as the deck pitched. “I’m telling ye. They are a Jonah. God isn’t pleased with them all coming up with new ideas and callin’ it religion, so He’s punishing ’em.”
Will focused on the wheel in front of them. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d had the same thought every time a new storm came upon them.
“Ye agree, don’t ye?” Jack challenged.
Will wiped water out of his eyes. “Get below deck.”
“Somethin’ must be done.”
“Get below,” Will said through clenched teeth.
Jack finally scurried away, and Will was left alone at the helm. He grasped the wheel. He could survive for thirty minutes, even with the terrorizing memories of his past that threatened to consume him. He was the first mate, and storms, even if they were as persistent as they’d been on this voyage, were something he’d agreed to deal with no matter his personal struggles.
Chapter 12
March 13, 1854
20 days at sea
“That makes eighteen hoursof constant storm,” Job announced as he rubbed his beard and studied his pocket watch in the dim light.
Tension and worry filled every bit of breathable air in the cabin.
They said their family prayer, and then Ann’s mother began quietly reciting a few scriptures to little Cyrus. Adelaide’s wiry frame lay on the small mattress next to them, her body still quite weak from childbirth and heartache.
Ann put a hand on Adelaide’s taut shoulder, but immediately her sister drew toward the wall. More and more, Ann felt she could do nothing to help Adelaide, and Adelaide even pushed away their mother, encouraging her to spend more time in the galley. Mrs. Fowles did spend a good amount of time there; clearly she was strong and well and didn’t need a daughter to look after her.
Ann’s lack of usefulness grated on her almost as much as these confining walls seemed to trap her. She couldn’t handle another minute in the cabin. No one would miss her anyway.
Her destination was the table in the little vestibule between all of the cabins on this level. She opened the door slightly and let herself out and shut the cabin door securely behind her. Another wave rocked the boat, and she heard the crash of the water. The force was so strong, some water crawled under the door that separated the deck from the cabins.
She sat at the table and steadied herself with her left hand against the nearest wall. As the rocking continued, she closed her eyes, knowing the darkness would help with the seasickness she often felt. When she opened her eyes, a wet crew member was coming her way, taking off his sopping hat and walking swiftly as he approached.
“Oh, beg pardon,” the sailor said, slowing. Then his eyes narrowed, adjusting to the lighting of the darker space. “Miss Fowles,” a familiar chuckle came from his mouth, “I knew we’d finally meet at the cabins.”
“And I should have known that as soon as I attempted to go anywhere while being dry in a storm, you would quickly find me and douse me with water.”
He smiled, but then his eyes went serious. “I still feel awful about how I acted in that situation.” His words were genuine, almost as genuine as his face at that moment.
