Ned and I took a seat at the table, and we began our breakfast with their leftovers. I didn’t bother to take my food to Marcus’s cabin after breakfast or lunch, since I had chores to do. It was only the evening meal that I ate there.
“A bath he wants,” Ned scoffed as he shoveled oatmeal into his mouth with a chunk of bread. “Someday I’ll be the captain or the quartermaster and I’ll get me own bath, whenever I want. And I won’t be toting the water, either.”
I didn’t care about Ned’s plans. All I wanted was to speak to Marcus and see if he had any other ideas for getting me to Nassau.
As soon as we finished our breakfast, we brought the empty platters and pitcher to the galley where we cleaned them. The cook could understand enough English to get by, so when Ned told him we needed hot water for the quartermaster’s bath, he went to work.
As I washed the breakfast dishes, Ned hauled the bathtub from the captain’s outer room up to Marcus’s cabin. By the time he returned, the water was hot enough to start hauling it, two buckets at a time, from the galley to the cabin on the third floor.
The sun was hot on my shoulders as I moved under the weight of the buckets. Sweat ran down my back and into my binding. It trickled past my temples and made my scalp itch.
Marcus was on the quarterdeck with Jack, looking over a map, while Captain Zale was speaking to Hawk. The launch team had not returned with fresh water, so we remained anchored. But it appeared that the men were still trying to decide which way to go next. I hoped Marcus was advocating for Nassau.
For thirty minutes, Ned and I carried water back and forth until the tub was finally full.
Marcus was in his cabin when we brought the last buckets in.
Ned and I poured first one bucket and then the next. Steam rose in a tantalizing swirl from the tub as we finished.
“Take the buckets,” Marcus said to Ned as he removed them from my hand. “I require Carl’s assistance.”
Ned grabbed the two extra buckets and was about to leave when Marcus said, “And have the cook warm more water to clean my clothes. Set it outside my door for Carl when he’s done helping me.”
With a nod, Ned exited the cabin without a backward glance, closing the door behind him.
My heart pounded hard as my defenses rose. What kind of assistance could I give him? Unless...
Panic made me move toward the door as Marcus went to the chest where he kept his clothing and other personal items.
“You needn’t fear, lass,” he said quietly, evenly, without looking at me. “The bath isn’t for me.”
My hand paused on the doorknob.
“You can borrow some of my older clothes while you wash and dry yours, and you can stay close to the cabin today, so no one sees you.” He turned from his chest with a bar of soap, a comb, and a pile of clean clothes, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue like velvet to my ears. “You’re a wee thing, and I fear you’ll drown in my clothes, but ’tis the best we can do for now.”
I swallowed the rush of emotions that clogged my throat. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
He stood on the opposite side of the tub, tall, broad, and strong—though his hands were full of a sweet offering. He slowly set the things down on the nearby table. And when he faced me again, he said, “I can’t free you like I want, not yet. But you don’t need to feel like a captive—at least, not with me. I’d treat you like a guest, if I could, but I can’t draw attention to you. ’Tis a risk to let you bathe and clean your clothes, since the others will notice, but I know how it feels to be dirty, and no one should have to feel that way if they don’t want to.”
My throat felt tight, and tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I blinked hard to keep them at bay, but one escaped and rolled down my grimy cheek.
It was the first tear I’d shed since I was very young.
“Don’t cry, Caroline.” His voice was almost pleading. “’Tis just a bath.”
I shook my head and wiped away my stubborn tear. “’Tis not just a bath. ’Tis a gift.”
My tear seemed to undo something within him. He swallowed and looked around at the items he’d gathered, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He moved the comb and fidgeted with the soap, and I wondered if he was trying to find the right words to express his own emotions. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Don’t let the water get cold. I’ll watch the door to make sure you’re not bothered. Take your time.”
With that, he was gone, and I let myself cry. My tears were almost as cleansing as the bath.
But I heeded his warning, and I didn’t let a moment pass before I started to undress, tears and all.
I stripped down until all I was wearing was the binding around my chest. I loosened it and took a deep breath for the first time in over a month, feeling freedom as it slipped to the floor. But I didn’t linger. I untied the ribbon holding back my hair and then grabbed the bar of soap and climbed into the tub.
With a moan, I submerged my body, relishing the sensation as the hot salt water eased my sore muscles. Though I bathed frequently in 1927, a full body bath was a luxury here, and I enjoyed every blissful moment, always aware that Marcus was just outside the door.
As much as I wanted to savor the bath, I cleaned my body as quickly as I could, lathering and rinsing my shoulder-length hair twice, not knowing when I might have another opportunity.
