“Calm yourself,” the captain insisted. “I have to rely on you now with Boyd so sick, and I lose trust in you when you are this angry.”
More silence. Ann could just imagine the generally sour man’s face contorting into something awful.
The captain spoke again. “More people will get sick. But also, we may have to ration our food.”
Ann closed her eyes. This was a problem she hadn’t considered.
“How long do you calculate until we run out?”
The captain cleared his throat. “We are still thousands of miles from New Orleans. At this rate we’ll starve before we reach port.”
After more silence, she heard the scraping of shoes across the deck as they walked away. She couldn’t be caught here. As quickly and as quietly as she could, she opened the hatchway and disappeared down the ladder.
A cold chill riddled her body as she found her small berth. Her tears over Mr. Boyd and not seeing her family had dried up, scared away by a greater fear she hadn’t thought possible.
Without food,no onewould make it through the journey.
March 30, 1854
37 days at sea
Ann woke early the next morning before the sun. Her sleep had been fitful at best, and though still tired, she couldn’t stand idly by. During the nightshe’d come to the decision that she must act on what she heard between the captain and the second mate.
Last night she’d been reminded of the God she had chosen to believe in when she was baptized. Her God didn’t extinguish all of His people’s struggles; He carried them through the hard times. And like a wise parent, He expected His children to take action. She couldn’t take away the impending threats. But she could do the same kind of good God did—she could help othersduringthis trial.
The Saints had prayed and the storm had ceased. She knew she couldn’t make the wind blow, but they’d already experienced one miracle, so another one might be possible.
Instead of entering the sick bay, she let herself into the corridor and peeked inside the steerage. Elizabeth had been given—as a young, single person—one of the poorest berths nearest the door.
“Elizabeth,” Ann whispered. “Elizabeth,” she said louder, and the young lady’s head craned outward. “Come here.” Ann gestured toward herself.
Elizabeth shimmied out of the small space and swung down over the side in one silent motion. She slipped into the corridor beside Ann. “I thought I was in a dream,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“No dream,” Ann answered, keeping a few feet of distance between them to make sure she didn’t pass any germs to her friend. “More like a nightmare.”
Elizabeth’s eyes went wide. “What is wrong?”
“I need you to gather people, since I’ve been near the sick and could spread the disease. We need everyone awake and praying. Fasting too. With more fervor than before. Our prayers haven’t been enough. We need more concerted faith. And action!”
Elizabeth started nodding. “For the wind?”
“Yes,” Ann said. “I overheard a sailor. At this rate we won’t make it to port before running out of food. We need a miracle. The way I see it, the storm was stilled by God, so the wind can be blown by God.”
“Absolutely,” Elizabeth said, her smile growing. “I’ll wake Sister Brower. If anyone can rally the troops, it’s that woman. And I’ll try to get the courage up to talk to President Garn about instructing the group.”
“Thank you,” said Ann. “I’ll start fasting right away.”
The two friends parted, and Ann returned to the sick bay where she should have reported much earlier. Within an hour she could hear a rumbleof voices through the corridor, singing the songs of Zion. If their prayers could become more focused and more faithful, they just might witness another miracle.
Chapter 28
April 2, 1854
40 days at sea
Will’s eyelids felt too heavyto pry open. Somewhere in his addled brain he recognized the screeching of a door. The dull soreness down his back reminded him that he still lay on a stiff cot in the sick bay. He’d thought the pain couldn’t get worse, but from what he felt on his arms and face, he was covered in red, pus-filled sores and the ones in his mouth had begun to erupt with their horrid yellow substance.
He should be eating and drinking, but he could hardly manage to open his mouth. He thought he recalled Ann trying to help him with some broth, but how recently that was, he could not say. A few of their heartfelt conversations would drift across his memory like wispy clouds he couldn’t quite catch. Sometimes he questioned whether she said those things or they were dreams. Days and nights melted together into a seemingly never-ending nightmare of hot sweats and half clarity.
