“I thank you for that consideration, Mr. Boyd. And believe it or not ...” She paused because a great deal had changed in her heart regarding him since his apology two days earlier, though she would never say so. Instead, she continued, “Eighteen hours in a cabin gives one ample time to reflect on recent conversations, and I have to admit that I am grateful for all you said.”
His mouth drew into a smile wide enough that she could make out the white of his teeth despite the dimness. “Does this mean you have forgiven me?”
Ann pressed her lips together and nodded. “It does.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Boyd. “I know it’s not easy to forgive an imbecile like me.”
He still stood there dripping but gestured to the table, and Ann invited him to sit down. After shaking off his hat and wringing the edge of his coat, Mr. Boyd sat across from her, and from a small drawer in the table, produced a tin of sea biscuits. “It’s not exactly a meal, but would you care for one?”
“Thank you,” Ann smiled, realizing just how hungry she was. She took it and rapped it on the table.
“Ah, I see you’ve learned the sailor’s trick to rid it of weevils.” Water was still dripping from his wet, although quite handsome, mop of hair.
“You just came from the upper deck then?” She pointed to the ominous, dark clouds visible through the one small window toward the deck. “Didn’t they—didn’t you—send everyone to their quarters?”
“There are six of us higher ranking crew members who trade off every half hour throughout a storm, manning the wheel, steering as best we can despite the tremendous waves, while a few of the crew stand ready at the forecastle in case anything happens.”
“I see. So you’ve been going above deck—”
“Five times since the start of the storm.”
Ann shuddered. She thought then on how calm and conversant he was during this storm compared to how out of sorts he’d been during the one at the beginning of the voyage. “How can you stand it?”
“I assure you I am much more composed now that I’ve left the helm. Thirty minutes can be far too much time to think up there.”
Ann didn’t wish to imagine standing alone at the helm. “Is ... the ship going to make it through all of this? I heard some dreadful cracks and commotion above us.”
“TheWindermereis a reliable vessel.” Mr. Boyd patted his hand against the serviceable table. “But we did lose the main topsail—torn to shreds—plus a few more sails. There will be major repairs, to be sure, when the storm passes.”
“It’s beginning to feel like just when one ends, another comes along.”
“I think this one is nearly finished,” said Mr. Boyd. “God willing.” He shifted his weight.
She wondered exactly what he did think of God and His part in the storms. She, too, had wondered why He’d allowed such poor weather thus far. She tilted her head. “I heard the boatswain say that he’s never been on a crossing with this many storms. Do you find the same?”
She watched his eyes flit to the side and then back. “I agree with Mr. Flynn.”
“He’s your good friend, isn’t he?”
His eyes pulled in the corners, a bit of mischief creeping in. “Yes, he is. But how did you know?”
“I have seen the way you talk with him, and it’s different.”
“Ah. So, it’s not just me who has been observing. I noticed where your cabin was, but you noticed my actions as well.”
She swallowed, caught. She felt herself blush, but she wasn’t sure he could see it in the dim light, though the smile that followed his words was kind and inviting.
As if sensing her embarrassment, he shifted the conversation back to his friend. “He’s the one I told you about, that took me to his homeland, Ireland. Good fellow to be sure.”
Ann felt her eyes widen.
He cocked his head. “Is that so hard to believe? Maybe you’ve misjudged him ...”
“No, it’s not that at all.” She stared at the uneaten portion of her sea biscuit. “He was very nice to some of the young passengers and seems a good sailor—”
“Then what is it?”
He was too perceptive by half. “Oh, nothing.”
