Miss Whittier Makes a List (5 page)

Somehow Captain Winslow pulled her toward the gangway. The steps were gone. As they stood there in water waist deep, someone above her grabbed her long hair and
tugged at her. She raised her arms
and he pulled her onto what remained of the deck.

In another moment, Captain Winslow stood beside her. Before she could gather her wits about her to speak, he picked her up again and half ran, half staggered to the ship
’
s railing. She pushed against his chest in a sudden surge of fright as he lifted her over the railing.

“
Oh, please, no!
”
she shrieked.

“
Hannah, thee has no choice,
”
he said.
“
When thee hits the water, swim away fast!
”

She tried to clutch at his bu
tt
ons, but he pulled her hands away and threw her into the water. She reached out for him, even as she sank below the water
’
s surface. The water was colder even than the water on the sinking ship. Her hair streaming above her, Hannah sank down into the darkness. When her panicking brain told her that she must surely touch bottom, she began to rise. Her lungs desperate for air, she kicked with her feet to hurry the return to the water
’
s surface, which seemed to boil above her.

When she reached the surface, she took a huge gulp of air
,
and looked around.
By the light of the full moon,
she could clearly see the
Molly
on her side, her keel oddly out of the water. Sailors were leaping off the wreck and into the water. She started to swim toward them, then stopped.

Bearing down on the
Molly
was another ship, much larger
,
with gunports open on two decks, the cannon pointed down at a steep angle. Her heart almost stopped beating as the ship opened fire again
,
blowing the swimmers apart. She took a deep breath, ducked below the water
’
s
surface, and swam away.

When she dared to look back, the the span>
Molly
was gone. Like a wolf circling a wounded deer, the larger ship wore around the wreckage that popped to the surface. Through ears still ringing with the percussion of cannon, she heard the mate calling orders in French to the seamen in the rigging. Soon the sails were set on a new course, and the ship slowly tacked away, its aft lantern light winking red in a silent sea.

Her mind a curious blank, for all the crowded sensations that filled it
,
Hannah started toward the wreckage, then stopped, treading water. She could not bring herself to go closer and risk the further terror of dead men
’
s bodies. And what of sharks? The water was boiling suspiciously, evidence of some force at work. She closed her eyes and held still, waiting for a tug on her legs that would drag her under. When it did not come, she swam slowly away, in what direction she had no idea. The sky was filled with stars, but their direction was a mystery and revealed nothing to her of the compass points.

She drifted on her side, fixing her mind resolutely against what swam below the surface, making as little movement as possible. And then she saw it up ahead.

She stopped, too numb to do anything but watch, as a dark form about ten feet long bore down on her. It was futile to swim below it, for it would only tu
rn
and come back at its leisure.
Th
en, silent and swiftly running, it was right upon
her;
she closed her eyes and put up her hands in pitiful defense.

She grasped wood, almost fainted with relief
,
then hung on more tightly than a barnacle, feeling the object like a blind woman. It was a grate from the
Molly
Claridge
, maybe the one she had sat on only yesterday and observed the insolence of the British Navy.

As she hauled herself onto the grating, she remembered Captain Spark
’
s words about dousing the running lights.
“
Well, the French got us,
”
she said out loud as her teeth chattered in the freshening breeze.
“
I hope thee is happy, Captain Sir Daniel Spark.
”

Considering that it was summer, she was colder than she had ever
been
before. She shivered until her stomach ached. Her long hair hung sopping down her back, and she wore no more protection than her chemise. Goosebumps marched up and down her shoulders, back, and legs as she drew herself together as tightly as she could and willed the dawn to come.

If this is death, then I have not been very good, Hannah thought to herself. She lay with her eyes tightly closed against the spectacle of a daunting eternity that must stretch before her. She was
hot
, so hot
,
boiling from too close contact with hell
’
s
fires
, surely. Nothing else could possibly account for the
heat and
pain that was rendering her immobile. Her wickedness must have thrust her straight down to Hades.

Thee has not lived a blameless life, she told herself as she lay there in a crypt that was rocking gently from side to side. But surely the Almighty was more forgiving than this? Was it possible that the sin of wishing a captain of the Royal Navy to the devil had earned her a place in Beelzebub
’
s kingdom, too? The heat was almost more than she could bear, and rendered more unrelenting by the knowledge that it would be her own burden for eternity. The thought made her groan out loud.

“
There now, didn
’
t I tell you that she was coming round?
”

The words registered slowly in her brain. Somehow, it came as no surprise to her that the devil, or at least one of his minions, would have such a pronounced British accent. It seemed fitting that she would be
tormented
through eternity by someone who sounded distressingly like Captain Sir Daniel Spark. She thought it thoroughly unkind of the Lord.

But there was this matter of the pain that throbbed through her body. Still keeping her eyes resolutely closed against her first view of hell, she tried to move her legs, and groaned again. Her skin felt too tight for her body, as though it had been stretched across a drum, and then heated almost past bearing. All that was missing was for some demon to pound on her.

Then she felt a hand resting lightly on her wrist. She flinched and drew it away, yelping in pain. She lay there another moment, gathering her courage, then opened her eyes.

Her first sight of hell was a compass tacked to the deck directly over her head. How odd that Satan should require direction, she thought
.
She stared as the needle jiggled lazily in the compass box.
“
East by northeast.
”
she said out loud.

Satan
chuckled
.
“
Aye, miss. At least your eyes work.
”

There was that disconcerting voice again. Steeling herself, she turned her head slightly to the right, and then opened her eyes wider.

Captain Sir Daniel Spark
sat beside the berth she lay in,
watching her with a half smile on his face. The man standing next to him reached for her wrist again, holding his fingers in practiced efficiency against her pulse. As she watched in dumbfounded silence, he raised her wrist
,
and she saw how sunburned she was. So much for the fires of hell.

She was dressed in a man
’
s shi
rt
and nothing more. There was no sheet over her legs, bare from the knees down. She closed her eyes in embarrassment, unable to look at the two men so close beside her in the cabin.

The man holding her wrist let it down at her side.
“
You are too sunburned to be wearing anything, but we weighed that against the proprieties, Miss ... Miss
...
.
”

“
Hannah Whittie
r,
”
she said, barely moving her lips.

“
Charmed,
”
said the man.
“
And I am Andrew Lease, ship
’
s surgeon.
”
He cleared his throat.
“
I believe you have already met the captain.
”

She opened her eyes again and turned her gaze on the man seated beside her.
“
Oh, yes.
”

Although he was not dressed in the full uniform she remembered, but in white canvas trousers and a well-darned shi
rt
, she could never have mistaken Daniel Spark. He perched on the edge of his chair, back straight, as one unaccustomed to the luxury of sitting down often. Again she was impressed by that tightly contained air he possessed, rather like a watch on the edge of being wound too much.
His dark hair,
which she had not noticed yesterday because of his hat, was curly like her own, and a needed relief to the seriousness of his face, now that his half smile had retreated to wherever it was those things went.

But was it only yesterday she had last seen him? She tried
to raise herself up on one elbow and gasped with the pain. She sank down as
a series of shivers racked her bod
y, and gritted her teeth against this unexpected additional to
rm
ent
.

“
A natural reac
tion to shock,
my dear,
”
said the surgeon,
his voice kind, his eyes full of sympathy.

“
Is it possible to feel so cold and hot at the same time?
”
she managed,
even as her teeth chattered.

The captain rose and placed a sheet lightly across her.
“
There, now,
”
he said.
“
Is that better?
”

It was. She nodded. In another moment, her convulsions passed, and she was merely hot again.

“
How long ...
”
Even words seemed to take a vast effort. She felt drained and wrung out like laundry on a line.

“
We don
’
t know, Miss
Whittier
,
”
the captain said.
“
We fished you off that grating this morning.
”

She lay there in silence, vaguely remembering a day spent on the grating, staring out at the empty sea as saltwater washed over her reddening skin. She remembered a night of terror, with sharks or dolphins rubbing against the grating as she sat in the middle, her fingers digging like claws into the lattice. She tried to push her memory farther, but all she could call to mind was lying down finally in resignation and staring up at the stars.

“
It was at least a day,
”
she said,
“
and then another night
.
”
She turned
her
head on the pillow to look at the captain.
“
I was so afraid.
”

He nodded.
“
Shipwreck
’
s not a pleasant event, Miss
Whittier.
”
She heard not an ounce of sympathy in his voice, but there was something of understanding, as though he had been shipwrecked before himself.

She thought then of the others.
“
Did thee find anyone else?
”
she asked.

Spark shook his head.
“
We sailed through some debris. That was all.
”

She closed her eyes again, feeling hot tears behind her eyelids, appalled at how quickly living, breathing men with wives and children could be reduced to a few b
ar
rels and cracker boxes bobbing on a deserted ocean.
“
I think it was the French,
”
she said, when she could speak. She y
e
arned to cry for the
Molly
Claridge
, but her body was too dry for tears.

“
I am sure it was,
”
Captain Spark said.
“
And until your
President Madison realizes that neutral ships are safe from neither side, others will suffer the same fate.
”

There was nothing to say to his harsh observation, so she was silent, thinking of Hosea, looking for her day after day and pacing up and down on the
Charleston
docks. She could imagine the letter he would be writing to Papa. She reached out gingerly and touched Captain Spark
’
s sleeve.
“
Sir,
can we not put in to
Charleston
? Surely we are not far.
”

He pointed to the compass over her head.
“
East by northeast, Miss
Whittier
,
”
he reminded her.
“
We are bound for
England
, as I seem to recall mentioning to you a couple of days ago. An
d you,
apparently, are our guest.
”

She thought of Papa and Mama in mourning for their youngest child.
“
And thee is a perfect beast,
”
she said.

To her surprise, his lips twitched. He nodded to the surgeon.
“
What do you say, Andrew? Should I pitch this ungrateful shark chum overboard? Here she is, in my berth, and wearing my shirt ...
”
He shook his head.

“
Thee wouldn
’
t,
”
she began.

“
No, I wouldn
’
t,
”
he agreed, unruffled by her vehemence, which sounded exhauste
d and puny to her ears. He rose,
stooping to avoid striking his head on the deck above.
“
A gentleman would at least wait until the lady was healed. Then I
’
ll set you adrift in a boat with a compass and some ship
’
s biscuit, you wretched baggage!
”

The surgeon turned his head away, but Hannah could see his shoulders shaking.