“Then you’ve read Melville’s tale, I suppose?”
Will inclined his head. “Sure have. I would like to catch one someday, but the whale in that story is scary enough to send shivers down any man’s spine.”
Mr. Haddock agreed and then resumed his humming. Far below, the portly figure of a woman weaving between groups of passengers caught his eye. Mrs. Brower, supervising as always. By the looks of it, she had her ever-present leather book in her hand and was probably writing down grievances.
She passed three women with their heads close together, and Will didn’t have to look twice to know exactly who at least two of them were: Ann and her friend Miss Cherry, whom he’d met formally a few days before. Most of the passengers were on deck, scrubbing floors and airing bedding as had been agreed upon by the captain and the president of their company. Everyone had to help mitigate the disease on board as much as possible.
Despite the reality of the dreaded smallpox, he thought pleasantly on his last meeting with Miss Fowles. She had thought he had a lady in Ireland, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was glad when she learned it wasn’t true. Despite Jack’s warning, Will was still curious about Miss Fowles and wouldn’t mind having another conversation or two with her.
“Can I ask you another question, Mr. Boyd?”
Will came out of his thoughts and focused on the ropes in front of him.
“You’ve been tracking our latitude, sir?”
Will swallowed. He had, and he wondered just how many people had noticed.
“Seems to me that we haven’t made much of any progress for the last few days, especially with the storms.”
“You are right, Haddock. Though I don’t want to worry the passengers.”
“I understand, sir. It’s just, if it continues, won’t we—”
“Yes. We should be much farther along being three weeks into the journey. If the wind keeps letting us down, we’ll run out of food.”
The carpenter rubbed his blade more quickly over the wood before him. “I don’t agree with Flynn that the passengers cursed this voyage. But I am starting to worry.”
Will stared at the man. “I’m sure you realize, Haddock, that the only thing worse than a ship with smallpox, is a ship full of people worrying and starving,whilethere’s smallpox.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t say anything, you have my word.”
“Good.” He finished his part of the repairs and didn’t want to be tangled up in rigging or tangled up in his worrisome thoughts any longer.
“Thank you for your good work, Haddock,” he said, and shimmied down the mast.
“Follow me, Ann,” called her mother. “Mrs. Brower said once we’ve scrubbed the linens, we are to take them to that vat and rinse them.”
Ann lifted the heavy, soaked cloth and followed her mother across the deck. They were both barefoot, like so many aboard the ship. Several of the passengers had taken advantage of the fine morning to wash bedding and clothes. Her mother walked quickly. Ann kept pace, but her pile was so large, she could scarcely see in front of her as she made the short trek toward the starboard. She had traveled halfway down the ship when the shoulders of a man slid down into view directly next to her. The movement was so sudden she stopped herself, barely catching her swaying bundle before it tumbled to the ground.
“Beg pardon,” said the man as he turned around. His mouth immediately erupted into a smile, his head inclining toward her. “Miss Fowles.”
She didn’t even attempt a curtsy but clutched the bedding tighter. “Mr. Boyd. You are always dropping in from somewhere.”
Ann’s mother looked over her shoulder, and upon not seeing her, turned all the way around. “Ann, dear, this way—”
It took a moment for her to realize why Ann had stopped, but she came back to where Ann and Mr. Boyd stood.
“Good day,” she said expectantly, looking to Ann for an introduction.
“This, Mother, is Mr. Boyd, the first mate, whom I’m sure you’ve seen commanding the ship. And this is—”
Mr. Boyd’s eyebrows rose. “Your esteemed mother, the original Ann Fowles?”
“Well, yes, sir.” A smile spread across her mother’s wrinkled face, still beautiful and pleasant despite her age. “And I know you’ve interacted with my daughter a few times.”
“Mother,” Ann whispered through clenched teeth, “how did you—”
Her mother’s eyes went wide, and she winked at her daughter. Any semblance of discretion was gone, but Ann hoped at least they could be about their business now.
