All the Tea in China (11 page)

“You seem healthy to a fault. You’ll be out of that hammock and strolling about the deck in no time,” she said, handing me a bowl of broth. I had regained enough strength to spoon-feed myself. I tried not to gobble greedily, but I was famished. She pulled the wooden crate close to my hammock so that she might sit while I gorged myself like royalty . . . that is to say, ate.

“What is it like on deck?” I asked between swallows. “I have never been aboard a ship before.”

“There is a variety of activity with the sailors. They are perpetually tasked with myriad activities for the betterment of the ship. They move cargo about, scurry above and below deck, raise the sails . . .” She put her hands around her knees, smiling. “I enjoy watching them climb the rigging, for it’s a feat of daring I can only imagine. I get dizzy watching them so high aloft. They climb as high as the tallest sail sometimes. The captain said we caught a very good wind, so we are on our course, I suppose. I understand that with fair weather, the voyage should last only five months.”

“I should like to know the stops we are intended to make,” I said, thinking of Snowe’s vow to put me ashore. “I can’t say that I know of them, except for Cape Town, of course.”

I stopped with the spoon halfway to my mouth. “Cape Town,” I whispered. “It sounds so exotic.”

“I have heard of it but do not know where it is.”

“Why, everyone knows that it is at the southernmost tip of Africa on the Cape of Good Hope,” I said, then blushed with shame. Miss Whipple probably had not been given the education I had received. “I am sorry for speaking so knowingly. Mr. Snowe has called me a bluestocking, and I suppose he is right.”

She leaned back, smiling. “I have heard of Cape Town for many years, but no one bothered to tell me its location. It
has
always sounded a bit exotic. What do you know of it?”

“Only what I have read. It has been in existence for some two hundred years. It is a business town where ships stock up on provisions. There is also lodging, I believe, and families who live there year round. It is located between two oceans, the Atlantic and the Indian. Oh, and some call it the Tavern of Two Seas because there is apparently no lack of strong liquor.”

“Really?” Miss Whipple seemed amused by my last statement, her eyes taking on a calculated expression that worried me.

“I hope that you will tour the town with me,” I said hastily. “As we seem to be the only two unmarried women aboard ship, I would enjoy your company.”

She stared at me, and I felt that my impulsiveness had gotten the better of my speech. I should not have forced her to give me a cut. “Forgive me, Miss Whipple,” I said. “I did not mean to presume an acquaintance that you may not desire.”

“That
I
may not desire?” She continued to stare at me, and I felt quite unnerved.

I slurped the last of the broth in my anxiety then handed her the empty bowl. “Thank you so much. It was delicious. I appreciate your bringing my food.”

“It is Phineas who secured it for you.”

I made a face. “Then I thank you doubly for your service when he has thought himself either too busy or too important to bring it to me himself.”

Miss Whipple broke into a smile. “You don’t care much for him, do you, Miss Goodrich?”

“I care for his charitable work, but I cannot say that our personalities are well suited for each other. We seem to rub each other like flint and steel.”

“I have noticed the sparks,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

I flushed. “I should learn to curb my tongue. He has been kind to me of late, but I must convince him of the necessity of my staying aboard ship. He did promise to put me off at the first possible convenience.”

“Most likely Cape Town, then.” Miss Whipple rose. “I would like to hear more about your plans, Miss Goodrich. Especially what you hope to accomplish once we arrive in China.” She turned when she reached the door. “I feel certain that if we chat a bit, we can arrive at a plan to convince Phineas to keep you aboard ship. For I am quite certain that you could be a valuable asset to him in the future.”

“Since you have known him longer than I, I would appreciate any insight,” I said. “You have been kindness itself, Miss Whipple. I am certain that God led us both to this ship for a reason.”

“Let us hope that we both still agree to that thought by the time we have reached the end of our respective voyages—no matter where that might be,” she said, then left the cabin and me to my own reflection.

Well fed and refreshed, I fell into a dreamless sleep that night. The ship no longer seemed to rock beneath me but rather soothed me like a babe in a cradle. It is a wonder that someone does not invent a device whereby people may fall asleep in the safety of their own homes, yet lulled to dreamland on gentle water’s wave. I slept so deeply that I heard nothing save perhaps the ocean’s rhythm.

I must confess that I gave but the barest moment of a thought to Mr. Snowe’s presence in the cabin that night. Yet I saw him only once after Miss Whipple brought my dinner, then not again. When I awoke in the morning, feeling completely like my normal self, he was not present either. However, laid fast on the wooden crate upon which Miss Whipple had perched was a brown dress and various undergarments.

I rose to examine them. The porthole to my right was still open, and I could see that the cabin was located at the rear end of the ship. A bit of wet salt sprayed my face from the hypnotic wake trailing our mighty ship. I drew a deep breath. This was preferable, indeed, to solitude in the dark with the cattle.

I paced the cabin’s length and width, if such it could be said to have, to regain my footing. I paused briefly at the large trunk on Phineas’s side of the cabin. What could that large leather box possibly store? It looked quite big enough to hold several dead bodies, which, I realized, I would not put past Phineas Snowe.

At last I felt that I had use of what I supposed would be vulgarly referred to as my sea legs, and I determined to relieve myself of the nightgown, dress in the provided clothes, and survey my new home outside the cabin. The undergarments were acceptable, though far from fancy, but I wrinkled my nose at the dress. It was of coarse cotton—cotton!—and had not a shred of beauty to adorn it. Flora would have said that she’d see me naked rather than in such attire. I knew such talk to be mere jest, but I did believe that she would find the cotton dress highly unsuitable. I would acquire no more notice than a common wren.

Thankfully, my own black shoes had been salvaged from my feet after my discovery, but I did pause a moment as I slipped them on to remember the beautiful silk pair that were now, apparently, forever left behind in Flora’s care. I would have taken some comfort in knowing that she, at least, could wear them herself, but as my feet were twice as small as hers, I knew the thought to be mere fancy.

The door opened. “Miss Goodrich!”

Thankfully, it was only Julia Whipple. I did not feel capable of seeing Phineas Snowe just yet. She approached me, concern furrowing her brow. “Are you quite well?”

“I believe that I am. And how fortunate that you have arrived at only such a moment, as I was about to venture forth from this cabin.” I leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “I fear I might need a steady arm yet, though I have managed tolerably well taking several turns around the cabin.”

“I shall be only too happy to lend you my own,” she said, crooking her elbow. “It’s a beautiful day, and I know that the captain will want to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh dear. I rather hoped that there would be no need for me to meet him before the voyage was concluded. I am sure he is quite displeased with my behavior.”

“And
I
am certain that he is a Christian man full of forbearance and willingness to see only to your current welfare.”

With that hope tucked away, I allowed Miss Whipple to lead me from the cabin. We passed through a dining area with a long table bolted to the floor. “This is the cuddy, the dining salon,” she said. “The captain eats here every night along with some of the officers and invited passengers.”

“Are there many passengers aboard?”

“Two married couples and you and Phineas.” She paused. “And me.”

“Yes, of course,” I murmured. I wondered whether she preferred being the only unattached female, but then I remembered that I was unattached as well, so I held my tongue on that subject. “I thought I heard footsteps overhead, but perhaps it was just people here in the dining area.”

“I’m sure it was people overhead, for your cabin is below the poop deck. I understand there is quite a lot of noise.”

“Where is your cabin?” I asked. “Are you not near mine?”

She shook her head, smiling. “I sleep in the great cabin, which is just below this dining area. I do not hear much noise at night, however, I have no window.” She opened a door, and we stepped out. “And this is the deck.”

The great ship lay before us. Men in sailor outfits bustled to and fro, moving barrels and crates, climbing the rope ladders that led up higher than I could see to the topmost masts. The sides of the ship creaked, and water seemed to lap on all sides. A sailor swabbed a portion of the deck with a mop and bucket amidships, and a higher deck stood at the bow. Behind us stood a similar raised deck, though not as large as the one at the front. “That is the poop deck?” I asked, recalling Miss Whipple’s words.

She nodded. “Would you like to see it first?”

“Of course! I want to see everything on board the ship.”

We climbed a small ladder and stood on the poop deck. I shivered. The sun shone bright, but the wind chilled. Overhead flew an East India Company flag, its Union Jack in the corner and red and white stripes snapping in the breeze. I felt somewhat disappointed, for other than the boards of the deck itself, there were only crates of squawking chickens and ducks. So I had not imagined their noise!

“Good morning, ladies,” a sailor said, tipping his cap.

We nodded, watching as he fed grain to the chickens through their wooden cages. “Is it your job to tend to them regularly?” I asked.

“Yes, miss,” he said, tipping his cap. “I am the poulterer, John Swinney.”

Miss Whipple and I watched as he gave them their grain and made certain they had water, making soothing noises that sounded oddly akin to their own. I felt somewhat amused by the thought of fowl riding on water. “Do they have a great need for chickens in China?” I asked cheerfully.

“No, miss. These birds will depart from us long before we reach the Orient. They’ll be food for the captain’s table.”

“I see.” I wondered that I had not been intelligent enough to deduce this for myself.

Several large lanterns hung at the end of the ship. “Excuse me, Mr. Swinney, but what are these for? They are not intended as a side dish with the chickens, are they?”

Mr. Swinney grinned, rubbing his hands together to disperse the leftover grain. “No, miss. They are for signaling other ships. Excuse me, miss, but I wouldn’t want the captain to find me dawdling about.” He departed with a slight bow.

During our exchange, Miss Whipple had ventured to the edge of the ship. She stood transfixed, scanning the horizon behind us and the divided path of the water our ship made. “If you don’t mind the fowl, it’s quite beautiful here.”

“It is interesting to see the wake of the
Dignity
,” I said. “To think of where the ship has gone, and no one to know we were here . . . unless we are spotted, of course.”

“And we pray that does not happen,” she said. “I have heard tales of French privateers boarding East Indiamen. I have no desire to see crewmen or passengers killed in such an exchange.”

“Of course not,” I murmured.

“But come,” she said, linking arms with me again. “Let’s put such horrible thoughts behind us and examine the rest of the
Dignity
. Who knows but that we might run into Phineas Snowe?”

The thought made my nerves jump. Naturally, I should thank him properly for rescuing me, but seeing him now somehow seemed too soon. “I believe I could travel the entire voyage and not miss his presence,” I murmured.

Miss Whipple squeezed my arm playfully. “And yet you long to serve alongside him as a missionary?”

I could not respond. Uncle Toby and Flora had each told me—on separate occasions—that spontaneity was my dear friend but a more potential worst enemy. I sometimes rushed headlong like an adventurous calf but took no notice of the gate securing my safety.

I found walking a trifle precarious, but Miss Whipple assured me that I would quickly gain my sea legs. Amidships, she paused beside the lifeboats lashed to long, thick poles. “What are those?” I said.

“Spare spars. They can be used to replace a mast or boom or gaff.”

“The poles that hold the sails?” I struggled to remember any nautical terms I might have learned.

“Yes,” she said, then drew a deep breath of air. I did the same, thankful to be outdoors instead of cramped below deck or even in a cabin. The sun shone warm and the air held a tang of salt that tickled my nose in a not unpleasant manner. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” she said. “I can understand why men long to go to sea.”

“Have you been aboard a ship before?” I asked.

A peculiar expression crossed her face. “No, but I was raised in Portsmouth. I am familiar with ships and those who sail them.”

Remembering her own reason for being aboard the
Dignity
, I endeavored to change the subject. “Perhaps, then, you can tell me the names of some of the sights, for beyond the three masts that I see, I am at quite a loss.”

“I thought you had learned much from books?”

“I confess that I know a smattering of names and a general idea of their location aboard ship, but I cannot place the two together.”

As we slowly made our way forward, I found myself clinging to Miss Whipple as my legs found their bearing on the unsteady deck. I also needed her emotional support as well in these unfamiliar surroundings. She, however, walked gracefully with her head high, nodding at the sailors, some of whom politely responded and others who only grinned and went about their business.