Sea Change (5 page)

David looked down at his hands, clenched into fists on his knees.

"Captain Fletcher."

He looked up. The doctor was watching him.

"Your brother lives, Captain, and while there is life, there is hope."

Alcott rose from the table and washed his hands at the basin near the bunk, then picked up his satchel.

"Is my room ready? Take me there so I can prepare, and then I will take care of Mr. Fletcher."

David escorted him to the room near his own cabin. Abovedecks he could hear the crew, one watch eating their meal while the others went about their work. They all knew their tasks, and the sounds and rhythms of the busy ship normally would have soothed his frayed nerves, but not this evening.

The doctor's room would never pass muster on a Royal Navy ship, but the crew had, to David's eye, done an adequate job. There was a table with ropes attached that made David wince to see them. Alcott saw the gesture and only said, "It is necessary, Captain. I have no doubt your brother is a brave soul, but it is too much to expect of any man, not to try and run from the knife."

David watched Alcott go to his instruments and prepare them, tourniquets and knives, saws and sutures. There was no hesitation in the man, and his assured manner gave the captain hope that Henry would be in good hands.

And as the doctor himself said, what choice did they have?

When he was satisfied that all was in order, Alcott took a clean cloth and covered his instruments so Henry would not see them when he was brought in.

"It is time, Captain."

David took one last look at the doctor, who pulled a stained leather apron out of one of his cases and tied it on. Fletcher felt the bile rise in his throat at the sight, but he knew what he had to do, and gathered two sailors who were waiting outside the room with a board to carry Henry on. He spent a moment with his brother in the cabin, because Henry insisted on giving him messages for their mother.

"You will come through this to see her again, brother," David said.

"It is in the hand of God, and that surgeon you found for me," Henry said, pain etching lines in his face as he was lifted onto the board to be carried out. He wanted to walk, but David was afraid he might lose his balance and fall against his injured arm, and would not risk it.

Henry was placed on the table, and the sailors prepared to strap him down, but Dr. Alcott stopped them and turned to David.

"Leave now, Captain. I will send word when we are finished."

David Fletcher was a strong man and a seasoned warrior. He'd sent his share of foes to their graves, and captured ships of enemy nations, but at the moment he felt again like that little boy charged with taking care that his brother came to no harm.

"I will see you in a few hours," he said to Henry. David did not go to his cabin, but stood watch outside the door to the jury-rigged cockpit. The men stayed away, out of respect to the captain and the suffering mate. None of them saw the silent tears pouring down the captain's face as he listened to his little brother's muffled cries.

Charley sat next to Henry Fletcher's bunk as he slept the pain-free sleep of opium, and she stared at her hands. During the operation they'd been steady. Now they shook like she was standing in a blizzard, and for a moment she watched herself in a detached manner, before tucking her hands in her armpits to still them.

"You cannot doubt yourself while you're working on a patient," Dr. Murray had admonished her, the same wisdom she had heard from her father so many times. But afterward there was plenty of time for reflection, dark thoughts on what she might have done differently, might have done better.

He would have died if not for me,
she told herself again. And again. She knew it with a certainty that went deep into her bones, yet she needed to repeat it. Henry Fletcher might yet die. There were no guarantees in life, except that the same end awaited us all, for some sooner than for others.

But what I have done here today may yet allow Mr. Fletcher to live out his natural span,
Charley thought, and brought her no longer shaking hands out from beneath her arms. Her back and shoulders ached, and she rolled her shoulders to loosen them. It was no easy thing to saw through human bone.

The door to Henry Fletcher's tiny cabin creaked open. Charley straightened up in the chair as Captain Fletcher stepped in quietly, lines of concern aging his face.

And what a face it was, Charley mused, allowing herself the small luxury of a brief distraction. In all her days she had never seen a more handsome man than this American pirate. To say he had the face of angel would be wrong, for the pictures of angels she'd seen showed beings of gentleness and light.

There was nothing gentle, or light about Captain Fletcher. One could see him as the angelic being who went after evildoers with a sword, not one of the ones who played the harp.

His eyes were like a tumbler of smoky whisky catching glints of firelight, his teeth were white and even, and his black hair was thick and lustrous, making her itch to run her fingers through it. What she saw of his skin, from the chiseled cheekbones down to the firm jaw and the broad column of his neck, was tanned and smooth. Even his voice was smooth, like cream laced with honey.

Really, it was not fair that all of this bounty had been bestowed on some sea-thief. No doubt when he went ashore the women flocked to him like bees to a blossoming rosebush, and he had his pick of the beauties in various ports-of-call. Miss Charlotte Alcott would never have been one of those buzzing around him, though. Ducks fly with ducks, and swans fly with swans, she reminded herself ruefully. Ah well, it didn't hurt to look.

"How is he?"

The question was asked in a low voice, but Captain Fletcher's eyes were all on his brother, not on her. Charley saw how his glance was drawn to the bandaged stump that looked so empty compared to the hand resting at Mr. Fletcher's side. She knew he was trying not to stare, but he couldn't look away.

"He is resting. Come, we will talk outside his cabin."

Charley preceded the captain into the narrow corridor and stepped back to give him room when he exited. Captain Fletcher's shoulders filled the space, but she no longer felt threatened by him, at least, not at this moment. He was just another family member standing by helplessly as someone he loved suffered. She had seen that before, and been there before, and felt a little of her anger at him recede.

"I have done what I can, Captain Fletcher. Your brother will need observation and care until the stump heals."

He flinched at her words, but he might as well face the reality of the situation. Nothing was to be gained by pretending all would be as it was.

"Yes, Captain, his stump. Mr. Fletcher is a strong young man, and I am optimistic he will make a full recovery, but it is no small thing for a man to lose a hand. He will have a difficult enough time dealing with it, and you will not help him by pretending there has been no change in his circumstances.

"However, you also will not help him by over-coddling him. Does he favor his right hand, or his left?"

"His right hand," Captain Fletcher said. He was watching her intently, as if by concentrating every ounce of his energy on her he could absorb more information, help his brother more. It was somewhat disconcerting, but she reminded herself that all he was seeing was Dr. Alcott, and right now, that was who he needed to believe in.

"That is a mercy then," Charley said. "It would be more difficult to train him to write and eat using his weak hand. It won't be easy for him, not by a long stretch, but it will be easier this way than if he'd lost his strong hand.

"He will need you, Captain, and the other members of the crew, to assist him without stopping him from doing that which he is capable of doing for himself. And while it is an example pirates may not favor, remember that having one arm did not keep Lord Nelson from achieving great things."

Fletcher did not smile, but her comment lightened his features as he acknowledged her words.

"Even pirates can appreciate an able commander like Lord Nelson, Doctor," he said.

Charley realized that while they'd been speaking she was leaning against the wall, and her eyes were drifting shut. She snapped them open and straightened herself.

"Now, I need to return..." Charley started to say, but Captain Fletcher interrupted her.

"When was the last time you ate a full meal, Doctor? Or slept through the night?"

Charley couldn't remember what it felt like to sleep, but he no sooner said the words than tiredness washed over her, pulling her down like syrup oozing onto the deck. She shook herself, and forced her eyes wide open.

"I will nap in the chair in--"

"No, you will sleep in a real bunk, Doctor. I had the men scrub down the sick bay and arrange quarters for you there. It will do for now, until better quarters can be arranged."

"I do not intend to stay aboard this vessel long enough for that to be a necessity, Captain."

"You do not want to have that discussion with me now, Doctor, not when you are so weary you're swaying on your feet. I will sit with Henry, and promise to get you when he awakens. That is an order, Doctor. You are no good to him or anyone else as exhausted as you are."

She wanted to argue further with him, but the lure of sleep was a siren call to her weary bones. She nodded, and when he hailed a passing sailor, followed the man back to sick bay. The
Lady Jane
had been far from commodious, but this pirate ship was crowded with more men and gear--as well as purloined cargo--crammed into its nooks and crannies 'tween decks, and she fretted for a moment about how she would preserve her disguise.

But that would have to wait for when her mind was clearer. In the meantime, the sailor directed her to the hastily constructed sick bay. The cabin reeked of vinegar and soap with a whiff of coppery blood. She feared the lingering dampness from its scrubbing would give her an ague, but it was still better than sleeping on her feet. When the door closed behind her she used the covered pot kept on hand for sailors too ill to walk. She almost fell asleep there, which would have made a pretty picture in the morning, she chuckled to herself. Instead, she got up one more time and made it to her bunk, which was reasonably dry. Dry enough, anyway. She pried her boots off her tired and swollen feet and fell into the bunk fully clothed, her eyes closing as her head hit the pillow.

A knock at her cabin door brought Charley sitting straight up, blinking at the light coming in through the small window set high in the stern. She pulled her father's watch from her pocket and swore, thrusting her feet back into her boots and running her fingers through her short hair.

"One moment!" she called out, checking herself to make sure her breast bindings and the padding in her trousers was in place before opening the door.

She was stunned to see the deck lined with sailors, some gossiping, some carving at pieces of wood, some braiding macramé like the sailors aboard the
Lady Jane.

"Wha--?"

"Good morning, Doctor," said Lewis, the steward. "The captain's compliments, and would you please come to Mr. Fletcher's cabin? He is awake."

"Yes, I will be right there. But who are all these men?"

Lewis glanced over his shoulder at the sailors watching the doctor with interest.

"Oh, the men wanted a real sick call, now that we have a doctor aboard. They will wait for you."

Charley looked out over the crew of men watching her expectantly.

"Are any of you bleeding, or have broken bones?"

They looked at each other and shook their heads, some with a muttered, "No, Doctor."

"Then you can all wait until after I have seen Mr. Fletcher and had my breakfast and seen to myself. If Captain Fletcher is agreeable, I will hold sick call then."

Some of the men grumbled, but they accepted her words as law and dispersed back to their various tasks. It looked like Lewis was having trouble keeping a grin off his narrow face, but she grabbed her satchel and followed the steward, his bald pate catching the gleam of the lanterns.

Lewis knocked softly at Henry Fletcher's cabin door, and it was opened by the captain, who looked relieved when he saw Charley.

"My brother is awake, Doctor."

Charley nodded. "Step out of the cabin, please, and I will examine him. Oh, and if someone could find me some breakfast for afterward I would very much appreciate it."

This last was punctuated by a loud growl from her belly, and a smile twitched at Captain Fletcher's firm lips.

"Lewis will have it for you in my cabin, Doctor. If you need me, send him."

"Thank you, Captain," Charley said, and waited for him to leave. He looked back at his brother one more time, then sighed and exited the cabin, heading back to his duties.

Charley stepped in and smiled at Henry Fletcher.

"Good morning, Mr. Fletcher. How are you today?"

"Maimed," the young man said sullenly, and waived his bandaged arm at her, then winced as the movement brought fresh pain.

"Stop that," Charley snapped. "Of course you are maimed, to pretend otherwise is foolish! But self-pity will only cause others to treat you like a cripple instead of a whole man. Is that what you want?"

This wasn't what she'd planned to say, but it seemed to be the only thing she could say. Perhaps in time she would develop skills to soothe patients, but for now she had to work on getting Henry Fletcher to accept that his life would be different, but not ended.

Her harsh words took the young man aback, and he stared at her. "You do not coddle your patients, do you, Doctor?"

"Not unless they need coddling, Mr. Fletcher. Is that what you need?"

"No, Doctor," he said meekly.

She made that "hmph" noise her father and other doctors she knew used when they didn't want to waste words in idle chit-chat, then sat alongside him on the bunk and felt his forehead and neck for fever. His temperature was slightly elevated, but not enough to be alarming. She took his pulse and listened to his lungs with her ear on his chest.