“I won’t hurt you, Merry,” he said, his tone kind, warmly sensual, full of humor; the spider in a ladybug’s shell. “Come to bed with me.”
“No. I’m going to sleep on the floor.”
After a short hesitation he said a very cheerful “Better you than me,” and in an irritatingly short time the even pace of his breathing revealed that he’d fallen asleep.
There was nothing for Merry to do but dim the lamp and sit in the corner staring morosely into the dark, listening to Devon inhaling and exhaling quietly with intense (and undeserved) peacefulness. Perhaps she should wake him up and try to make him go, but there was no guarantee she’d have any more success than she’d had already, and there was no telling what he might do if she forced the issue. Better you than me, indeed.
On his boots Devon had brought in wet sand and water; Merry’s resentment increased as rivulets of gritty water found her and began to creep stealthily to her skin through the nightshirt. It was fortunate that the air curling through the window was warm and soft. After a long time the ocean’s roll lulled Merry gently to sleep despite her troubles. The tense column of her neck, which had so long held her head stiffly upright, went suddenly lax, and her head fell hard against the wall, painfully waking her.
Devon was awakened as well; Merry saw his light head rise from the pillow. He kicked off the blanket and came to her, dropping to one knee by her crossed legs.
“You hit your head?” he said.
“No,” she said grouchily. “Thewallhit my head.”
“My, we’re in a nasty mood. Was it my idea that you sit on the floor?” His fingers felt for and found the low bump on the side of her head. “You’ve got quite a knock. I had better get—”
“Don’t get anything! It’s just a little lump,” she said, and her tone was so sullen he had to hold back laughter.
As he dropped his hand it touched the hem of her skirt. “You’re all wet. What happened?”
“You forgot to use the mud mat.”
“Did I? I’m sorry. Well. You can’t sit in a puddle.” Gentlyinsistent, he made her stand up. “Be reasonable. You can’t keep this going all night. Let me take this wet thing off you and put you in bed.”
Merry retreated, a white cotton streak, to the other side of the table. Thrusting a forehead that was beginning to ache into his palm, Devon let the helpless laughter overwhelm him.
“Merry, I’ve got enough liquor in me to—God knows what, float a bugle corps or something. If you think I’m going to play chase around the table with you like an aging roué and buxom Bess the chambermaid… If I found you a hammock, would you sleep in it?”
It was a respectable compromise, and a way to preserve pride. Inside Merry snatched gratefully at the offer, but all she showed Devon was a nod. She was a little less grateful in a moment or two, when Devon returned with the hammock and strung it across the cabin for her. Merry had never slept in a hammock. As she stared doubtfully at the swaying band of cotton mesh Devon said, “It’s simple to use. But for the first time, you had better let me help you get in.”
“No!” snapped Merry, in no humor to be patronized. “I’ve slept in hammocks before. Will you go into the corridor, please? I’d like to change my nightshirt.”
“Why should I? You didn’t while I was undressing. I’m going to bed. Put out the lantern if you want to be modest.”
After a moment’s indecision she killed the lantern, then gracefully let the wet shirt fall and drew a clean one over her head and shook it down around her. She sighed with relief as the dry cloth warmed her skin, and with fading gooseflesh she tossed the old shirt over a chair.
From the bed Devon said innocently, “I probably ought to have mentioned that I have excellent night vision.”
It would have been nice to strangle him with the hammock and have the bunk to herself, but Merry was too tired to spend time in that happy fantasy. The sagging line of the hammocksmiled expectantly at her in the dark. She felt for and tried to smooth a place to lie in the tangled webbing. When she thought she had one, she turned quickly and jumped backward onto it. The hammock jumped too and dumped Merry facedown on the floor.
The hammock was obviously a creature to be approached with caution. She was so mad at it, swinging to the ocean beat above her, that a moment went by before she thought of Devon on the bed. She knew he wasn’t asleep, even if he was preserving a discreet silence. Very likely the man was mute from ecstasy.
“It’s been a while since I’ve slept in a hammock,” she said from the floor.
“You might try giving it a sugar lump.”
“Thank you,” she said coldly. “If you have any other advice to offer—”
“Lie on the diagonal. I’m still perfectly willing to help you.”
If he hadn’t made the jibe about the lump of sugar, she might have softened. As it was, she’d rather break her neck than give him the satisfaction of putting her in the hammock. Raw determination got her into the hammock, on the diagonal, her arms and legs splayed for balance, and she lay like a capitalX,rocking with the swell until theJokedipped. Bucking enthusiastically, the hammock twirled a pirouette and slung Merry into Devon’s hastily prepared grip.
“I make that Hammock-two, Merry-zero,” Devon said, though he didn’t have much breath left from laughing. “Before you’ve catapulted off every surface in the room—” He set her on the bunk. “Good night, Merry friend. I’ll take the hammock.”
Merry woke to a morning sparkling with sharp reflected light. Devon and the hammock were gone.
Moving stiffly, she dressed in the boy’s clothes that no longer seemed to embarrass her: coarse gray leggings, knee breeches of a darker gray with a red patch, and a red and gray striped shirt with a square missing that matched the patch. Patch over patch, and a patch over all, they said of a sailor’s wardrobe. Considering that, it was surprising how generous other men on the ship had been in offering to lend her their clothes; Raven said several times that he wished she was as eager to get into his britches as she was to get into Cat’s.
