Miss Whittier Makes a List (10 page)

She tucked in her shirt again, wished briefly for shoes, and left the cabin. The Marine clicke
d to attention outside her door,
bringing his long musket to port arms, and then stamping it again by his side.

“
Thee really doesn
’
t need to do that,
”
she said, embarrassed that a Quaker would elicit such military attention.

“
Regulations require it, miss,
”
he said, his eyes straight ahead.

“
Well, if thee must ...
.
”
she said, and hurried up the gangway to the main deck above.

The sky was so incredibly blue that she could only stare in frank admiration as it contrasted with the white of the sails and the great tarred mast that seemed to go up and up, prepared to puncture the lazy clouds overhead. As she stared upward, shading her eyes with her hand, she saw the topmen balanced on the foot ropes that ran along each yardarm, reefing the mainsail and topsails above, and then on command through the speaking trumpet from the lieutenant on deck, unfurling them. They dropped with a bang and snap that made her jump.

They did it once, then twice, and then Captain Spark, who paced the quarterdeck, held his watch on them. When the last sail was reefed, they waited.

“
By damn, that was slow as my fat Aunt Mabel,
”
he roared,
snapping his watch shut
“
Try it again,
you sons of the guns
,
and put some back into it!
”

The exercise was repeated four more times, Spark
’
s eyes on his watch. Finally he clicked it shut and tucked it in his pocket.
“
Better
,
”
he hollered.
“
Your lives may depend on your speed, lads,
mark you.
”
He glanced at the lieutenant on the main deck with the speaking trumpet.
“
Tell them to stand down, Mr. Futtrell, lively now.
”

“
Aye, sir.
”
The lieutenant barked an order through the trumpet and topmen scurried down the ratlines to the deck one hundred and fifty feet below.

“
My,
”
Hannah whispered out loud as she watched them descend. She looked at the captain on the qua
rt
erdeck, expecting to see some show of appreciation. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, telescope tucked between his
arm
and his side, his expression sour. As she watched, he peered beyond her into the waist of the gun deck.

“
Mr. Lansing, tomorrow we will run out the guns for target practice. I trust you will be more efficient than Mr. Futtrell and his nervous Nellies.
”

“
Aye, sir!
”
came a voice from the gun deck.

Hannah sighed. My, but thee is difficult to please, she thought. Hosea would call thee a grouch. She turned away to look out across the water, but her view was obscured by the hammocks rolled into the netting that lined the railing. What an odd place to store one
’
s bedding, she thought. It quite ruins the view.

She looked up the companionway to the quart
erdeck, where the captain stood,
telescope to his eye, gazing across the empty sea. I did promise to thank him, she remembered. And the view is better there. She crossed the deck to climb the ladder to the
quarterdeck
.

Her foot was on the first tread when she heard the helmsman at the wheel suck in his breath. She looked at him in surprise.

“
Miss, I wouldn
’
t ...
.
”
he began.
“
Not there.
”

She shook her head. Couldn
’
t he see that was where the view was? And she did have a word of thanks to express to Captain Sir Daniel Spark. She skipped up the narrow treads, looking over her shoulder in surprise as Lieutenant
Futtrell
bolted from his post by the mainmast and ran toward her, his hand raised.

“
How odd these people are,
”
she muttered under her breath as she stood on the quarterdeck. Mr. Futtrell had stopped now and was watching her, his mouth open.

The view was better. She strolled to the railing and
stood
beside the captain, who still had the telescope to his eye, his concentration intense on nothing that she could see. Hannah admired the play of the sinking sun slanting across the water, suddenly mindful that everyone on the main deck was watching her now. Even the seamen hung suspended in the ratlines.

“
How peculiar,
”
she said out loud, raising her face to the wind that ruffled her hair from the back. She cleared her throat, in case Captain Spark had not heard her remark.

The telescope came down slowly. How
formidable
he looks with that monstrous hat on, she thought as she watched him slam the telescope together with a cracking sound that could be heard all over the ship. I wonder why he stares that way.

“
Captain, I wanted to thank you for
—
”

What she was going to say, she could not have remembered, not even one second later, not in the glare of Captain Spark
’
s expression, which hardened into granite.

“
What in God
’
s name are you doing on the weather side of this quarterdeck?
”
he roared, his voice as loud as though he were addressing the topmen who still hung in the ratlines.

She stepped back in surprise, her hands to her ears in fright
.

“
You don
’
t need to shout,
”
she said.
“
I just wanted to thank
—
”

“
You
are a monstrous lot of trouble,
Miss Whittier,
”
he rasped, as though speaking over firing guns. His voice seemed to echo, as though the sails caught words as well as winds, and flung them back at her. Tears started into her eyes as she looked about for an avenue of escape. Everyone on the
Dissuade
was absolutely still, as though turned to stone in a fairy tale. She slowly backed toward the ladder.
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
she begas her knees began to
smote
together.

He was at her side in two strides. She shrieked
in
terror as he picked her up
and held her suspended in his arm
s over the railing onto the main deck.

“
Mr. Futtrell! Do something with this!
”
he shouted and let her drop.

Mr. Futtrell caught her handily. She gasped with pain as his arms came in contact with her sunburned back, and burst into loud tears.

“
I
’
m sorry,
miss,
”
he apologized as he quickly stood her upright on the deck.
“
You never stand between a captain and the wind. It just isn
’
t done.
”

“
I didn
’
t know,
”
she sobbed as she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and wished the sea would swallow her. Her face burned with shame as she looked around her, but the men had returned to their tasks. The topmen continued down the ratlines, and the helmsman, his feet wide apa
rt
on the slanting deck, steadied the wheel, his eyes on the sails.

“
Are you all right, Miss Whittier?
”
the lieutenant asked, his eyes kind.

She nodded, too ashamed to give him more than a glance.
“
I just wanted to ... to thank him for pulling me from the water.
”
She tried to take a deep breath, but she only
hiccupped
.

“
Take it below, Miss Whittier,
”
came the captain
’
s voice from the
quarterdeck
above her.
“
I cannot conduct a poll here
,
but I suspect at least half of us go to sea to get away from women
’
s tears!
”

Without a word, or a glance in his direction, she hurried down the ladder, grateful for the darkness settling below deck. Her eyes filling with tears, she stumbled into her cabin and closed the door quietly behind her. She tucked herself into a little ball in the middle of the hammock andcried until her eyes hurt, her hands over her mouth so no one would hear. Exhausted finally, her eyes burning, she stared into the gathering gloom. Soon the smell of bilge that filled every cranny below deck was superseded by the odor of boiling coffee. It was time for dinner.

“
I shall never eat again,
”
she said and clasped her hands across her stomach.

Her eyes were closing again when she heard the sentry outside click to attention.
“
Miss Whittier,
”
came that voice,
softer this time, but still ripe with command,
“
eat with me tonight. We have to discuss your presence on this ship.
”

She waited a long moment.
“
I would rather swallow burning coals than take a bite with thee, Captain Spark,
”
she said, her voice fi
rm
.

Her mou
th grew dry at her own temerity,
and she waited for him to slam open the door. The passageway was silent.

“
Very well then,
”
he said, and walked away.