Another half laugh gusted through his nostrils. “We ... should try ... to stop.”
“I agree.” She nodded. He closed his eyes, and she could tell he was exhausted from speaking so much. “Now, rest is the recipe for health. Time to sleep.”
At these words his eyes shot open. “My grandmother used to say that exact thing when I was a little boy. I sometimes had a hard time sleeping, and she’d say it over and over: ‘Rest is the recipe for health.’”
“Like I said before, I like this grandma.” She paused for a minute, wanting to know more. “Does that mean your mother and father died young?”
With the slightest motion he shook his head. “My mother did—but my father was a sailor until about seven years ago.”
“Did you sail together then?”
“For a time—” His face tightened, and she wondered if it was because of the sickness or his memory. “I was there the night he died. A rope he tied himself to was too long. When water washed over the deck in a storm, he was dragged. I tried to pull the rope, but I was not strong enough. When the line got tangled, he was slammed against the capstan. I couldn’t save him.”
His right hand flinched, and she noticed again the scar there, the smallpox having manifested only around the scarred skin. He must have received that injury that night.
His face was full of pain, and his voice was weak. “I don’t know why I told you that ... not a memory I wish to recall any more than I already do.”
“I appreciate you telling me,” she whispered.
He sighed, his eyes etched with exhaustion. “I guess I feel like I can trust such things with you. Like you’ll help me share the burden in some way.”
“Would that I could share more of this burden.” She gently stroked his hand. “But I knew you were a fighter since I first met you. You will make it through this.”
This time a tired smile melted onto his lips as he closed his eyes and finally succumbed to his fatigue.
After speaking with Will and attending to other sick passengers for the rest of the day, Ann craved a respite. She waited until the sky grew dark and the steerage quieted so she could catch some fresh air above deck.
Above her, the stars glittered, and a pang of loss lodged deep within her. It was as though every sparkle reminded her of a bit of life extinguished. Addy had died and several others too; some already from smallpox and some from other causes. As Will grew more and more unresponsive, she feared he might never recover. The doctor had told her in many cases—nearly one out of every three or four—people died.
She shuddered just thinking about it.
The sick bay was constantly full now, and she was always needed. Three days before, she’d moved her belongings out of the cabin and started sleeping in a small berth outside the sick bay.
She missed being near her family on the ship. Yet poor Adelaide still suffered both emotionally and physically from losing Addy and was growing more anxious about Cyrus. Ann knew better than to put their family more at risk.
Tears sprang to her eyes, the weight of everything catching up to her. Was God punishing her by taking her away from the very people she came on the trip to care for? She gazed at the stars. No. She could feel God’s presence, even through the heaviness. She didn’t have to buy His love by being perfect. God’s love always existed.
But God didn’t take away hard things from those He loved. No, He helped people through them instead.
Caring for the sick had taken its toll, and she needed sleep. For a few more moments she drank in the cool night air, buoyed by the calm that enveloped her, as she rested her head in her hands. With one more breath, she wiped away the last of the deluge of tears and bid farewell to the fresh air.
She’d almost reached the hatchway when she heard heated voices on deck. She stole behind a barrel of supplies, not wanting to be seen.
“This crew is terribly trained, and I blame Mr. Boyd for that!”
The raspy tone was one she recognized; it had to be Mr. Crenshaw, the second mate.
“I won’t have you speaking that way, Crenshaw,” said a voice she thought was the captain’s. “I’ll demote you if I hear another word.”
Silence skipped across the open space. Ann pulled tighter behind a mast as the captain spoke again.
“Now listen, with the adverse winds these past ten days and the many storms, we are very much behind course.”
“Every sailor knows we ought to be nearly to the Caribbean by now, and thanks to that nosy Mr. Garn and some of his men, the passengers now know too,” said Crenshaw darkly.
“The passengers would have caught on soon anyway—they know the voyage is usually six to seven weeks.”
She heard a fist pound into something wooden. “We’ll all catch the bloody smallpox before we can get ourselves off this ship.”
