“You are looking well, even despite the storm.” He smiled and took her hand to kiss it. He stood so close to her that she could feel the warmth from his words on her cheek. Trying to gather her courage, she told herself now was as good a time as any.
“During the storm,” she began, thinking about all that had happened since they spoke last, “I had a great deal of time to think on our last conversation.”
“And?” he jumped in hastily.
His look was so eager it pained her, but she knew it was best to proceed. “I cannot accept your proposal.”
“You—cannot?” His brow turned down. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No ...” What could she say to explain? “I do not feel as I ought to, under the circumstances.”
“You mean you don’t have feelings for me?”
Her stomach contorted again. “I am so sorry to say it, but I do not. And you deserve someone who does.”
Resentment tightened the space around his eyes. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Miss Fowles, for being so clear.”
He created immediate distance between them and Ann winced. He was halfway across the deck before she started to walk again. That had not gone well, but she wasn’t sure it could have gone any better under the best of circumstances.
She sighed and looked about her. It seemed the prayers of the united passengers had affected the storm, and the sun made its presence known through some of the clouds. The wind continued to gust, but she prayed that maybe some fresh air and time above deck would help Brother Wheatley resolve the obvious anger he felt toward her.
Once down the hatchway, the galley was abuzz with people.
“Ann,” her sister said, clasping her hands. “Our prayers are answered!” Little Cyrus clung to her skirts. “Job has been talking to the other men, and it is certain. As soon as everyone started to pray, the seas began to still.”
“I am so glad to hear it,” she said, returning a squeeze to her sister’s thin hands.
Adelaide’s cheeks almost looked full, and it was the first genuine smile she’d seen in weeks on her sister’s face. Ann hoped that meant she’d be more accepting of help in the future, especially with little Cyrus. This version of Adelaide reminded Ann of Adelaide’s old self—strong and full of faith. Buteven with Adelaide’s unwavering belief, little Addy had passed. Some prayers weren’t answered as one hoped.
“And how are you?” Ann said to little Cyrus, tousling his hair.
“Glad not in cabin.”
“Of course!” She bent down to give the little boy a squeeze. As she did so, Rhuben and Levi Davies ran past her.
“Go run around on deck, you two!” called their mother. Those boys had far too much energy to remain cooped up so often. With their sister Sarah trailing dutifully behind, they scurried up the nearest hatchway.
Ann took her leave from her sister and was nearly to the corridor that led to the sick bay when she saw Elizabeth and took her by the hands.
“How did you weather that storm after the singing?”
“Never been more scared,” she said. “The pitching of the boat didn’t upset me, mind you, but thinking the masts might crack or we might capsize nearly did me in.”
For a moment Ann wished she could tell her all she’d learned through the night and all the turmoil that had happened not only externally but internally too, but there were too many people about to explain all of her feelings.
“Join me on deck?” Elizabeth tilted her head toward the ladder behind them.
“I can’t,” replied Ann. “I am needed in the sick bay.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth gasped, dropping her voice low. “Everyone was rejoicing so much about the storm easing up that I almost forgot. How many people have fallen ill?”
“At least four since I heard last.” Ann sighed, looking around at the hundreds of people so close together. Invisible infection could be spreading anywhere.
“I pray to God that we are spared,” Elizabeth said.
“Get as much fresh air as you can,” Ann urged her friend. “I’ll join you when I am free.”
Elizabeth nodded, and Ann finally made it through the press and into the sick bay. The doctor turned, his face gaunt and tired.
