The Cold Beneath (16 page)
Yes, Lightbridge in his infamous wit and wisdom assigned the remaining men to my care.
Unlike the rest of the planning, my staying behind made sense. Aside from Geraldine, I possessed the most medical knowledge and would put it to good use by tending to the wounded while the others set off after their goals. Geraldine could have tended to the sick, as one would suppose her caregiver’s oaths would have bound her to do. But the call of True North was like that of a siren for the woman. She insisted on accompanying Lightbridge all the way. I suspected it had less to do with genuine interest and more to do with the worry that he would give up halfway through and return defeated. With Geraldine following him, that wouldn’t happen.
I couldn’t understand her reasoning for wanting to toss a group of men into the frozen tundra in such a manner. Of course now her motives are as apparent as glass. But, as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Though the bodies were willing, the exits were weak. It was a few days before anyone could go anywhere because of our lack of egress. The ship’s landing plowed snow around the Fancy at an angle, curling great swaths of ice up around her at least twenty feet deep and partially burying us in the ice. Even if we could get the shutters open at the proper exits, we were in too deep to get out with ease. That left the bow as our only exit, and even it was a good ten feet under the curled ice. The men had scooped and shoveled all throughout the day following our meeting, but it was still a full day before the exit was deemed a safe passage for anyone. We ended up with a single tunnel, twenty yards long or so, that stretched from the Fancy’s bow to the surface at a slight grade. It was a slippery climb, but passable.
Albert’s group left first. The atmosphere of their departure was grim; an aura of seriousness hung over the crew right up to the hour of their leave. He and four other men kitted up, armed themselves, filled a small makeshift sled with supplies and set off in the direction we had spent so long leaving behind us. It must have been devastating to go backwards like that. To blaze a trail in reverse after so many days moving the opposite way. The four men voiced their desires to join Lightbridge’s team, but were assured of their place in history as saviors of the Fancy. It seemed little consolation, for they did little to hide their continued grumbling as they disappeared into the tunnel of snow.
Lightbridge’s team had a better sendoff. The night before his foray into the wild held an air of celebration. There was a small banquet for the volunteers—though the food was limited thanks to the new rationing schedule—while an excess of speeches were delivered. To top it all off, Geraldine even sang a round of the Star Spangled Banner, much to the hooting and hollering of the men. I was disgusted by the garish display and returned to my room while they continued to carouse and revel in the glory they had borrowed from their supposed future success.
Later that night, Geraldine came to my berth. I supposed at the time that she was just reaching out for comfort. Comfort she found, and comfort she gave.
I was seated at my desk penning what I thought would be my memoirs of this tragic voyage. I have since scrapped those writings, but at the time I supposed them to be of great import. While I sat, in mid-musing about the events thus far, I heard a gentle knock at my door.
“Come,” I said.
The door creaked, and I heard her voice from the hallway. “Philip? Are you busy?”
I leapt to my feet and scrambled for a dressing gown before I met her at the door. Geraldine stood in the soft glow of a burning lantern. She wore a man’s pajama set, for her entire wardrobe had fallen victim to the explosion, yet she was as beautiful as always. I averted my eyes to avoid staring. “Dr. Goode? What brings you here at such a late hour?”
“I just wanted to be sure you were well,” she said. “You left the celebrations so suddenly, I supposed you to be sick.”
“I’m fit enough. I just …” here I paused, not wanting to dampen her high spirits with my foul attitude. “I just grew weary of the rabblerousing. You know I’ve never been one for such things.”
“No, you never were.”
We both fell quiet at the stirring of memories, and for lack of anything better to say, I suggested she come into my room. I realize it must seem a scandalous notion, a young woman, even a widow, slipping into my bedroom at such a late hour. But I assure you, my intentions were of the utmost good.
They say the way to Hell is paved with myriad such cobblestones.
She took me up on my offer, joining me in my bedroom. It was the first time since her declarations of love that we had a chance to be alone. I was beginning to wonder if she remembered those words, or if I had imagined the whole affair. I returned to my writings rather than stare at her in silence.
She made herself at home in a small wooden chair by the door, sitting in silence a full minute before she announced, “I wanted to speak to you about something else.”
“Oh?” I asked. “What is that?”
“Us.”
I stopped my writing and turned to face her. “Us? Is there an ‘us’ anymore?”
She smiled, and my world exploded with beauty. “There could be. If you wanted such a thing.”
Of course I wanted such a thing, but how could I trust her after so much abhorrence had festered between us? Closing my eyes, I turned away again. “Geraldine, even now I cannot lie to you. I have lain awake many a night dreaming that you would return to me. And my love. But so much has passed. I don’t know if there can be an ‘us.’ Now or ever.”
“I understand,” she whispered. Rising from the chair to leave, she added, “As a widow, I’m secondhand goods. All used up. No longer your virginal bride.”
I was out of my seat and holding her in my arms within a single heartbeat. How could I be so callous as to let her imagine such things? “No, never. I never thought that. Not for a single moment. You are as beautiful and gracious as always.”
Her breath was warm on my neck as she said, “Thank you, Pip.”
My heart stirred at the sound of her pet name for me. I had waited so long for this moment, to feel her in my arms again, to hear her call me Pip. I almost didn’t know what to say or how to act. But it all flooded back to me in a torrent of passion. Everything.
I held her at arm’s length, and said, “My beautiful Gere-bear.”
She sniffled. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
“How could I?”
Geraldine made to hug me again, but I held her away.
“Speaking of remembering things,” I said. “I have something for you.”
While she watched with wide-eyed wonder, I fetched the token of my old affections from my baggage. Holding my breath, unsure what her reaction would be, I held aloft the chain-bound cog she returned to me years before. A small gasp told me she recognized it at once.
“Pip,” she said softly. “You still have it? After all these years?”
“Yes. And I want you to have it. Again. If you will.”
“Oh, Pip. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes. Say you’ll wear it again for me. Like you used to.”
Another smile brightened my mood as she nodded. “All right. I’ll wear it. For you.”
She allowed me to once again situate it about her delicate neck. As I clasped it into place, she gave a soft, delicate sigh. The sound sent shivers through my very being. She turned to face me as I took a step back to admire her. Before I knew what was happening, she was on her toes, pressing her lips to mine in the sweetest kiss God had ever conceived. The taste of her mouth was pure honey in the rock. Angels would weep for the chance to rejoice in such beauty. After a century of sharing this passion, we pulled away and stared at one another. There was an undeniable look of longing in her eyes such as I had never seen during our innocent years of courting. She clutched me to her in a tight embrace as her hands wandered to places I had waited so long for her to touch. Harsh as it was, she was correct in her own assessment. She was no longer a virginal bride.
Her experienced body was hungry for attention, and I responded in kind.
I am not ashamed of the love we made that night. It was sweet and gentle and much needed for the pair of us. I will not relate the details, though I could fill a second journal with the glorious sensations her affections brought to me after so many years of abstinence. History might edit the knowledge of our coupling in the face of common decency, but I only share the deed to illustrate that we still had some shred of humanity left. That despite all that has passed, regardless of the monsters our crew became, underneath it all, we were and still are human.
Frail and fragile and oh so very human.
Once more through the omniscient eyes of retrospect, I see that she was manipulating me just as she had Lightbridge. In giving herself to me that night, she assured my obedience to her, and obedient I was. Overnight I turned from the sole dissenter in the True North plot to its largest supporter. I couldn’t help enough. With the enthusiasm of the newly converted, I threw myself into preparations. Whether it was packing or plotting, I wanted to assure the success of the party more than anyone left aboard the Fancy. I even found myself wishing I could join them on their fantastic journey.
Such is the folly of man and what makes the ‘weaker sex’ so often the stronger one.
Late the next afternoon, Lightbridge and his party set out. Their travel plans were tight: a trek to the North, plant the party flag, then return. Based on our coordinates and the final deck observations, the estimated time was a week total. A few days there, a few days back. It seemed unbelievable that we were that close to our goal. Despite the manipulation and after some reflection on the matter, I still believe Geraldine was correct in some ways. It was a shame to let such an opportunity go to waste. Of all of the deeds that came to pass, I am pleased Lightbridge was able to seek his heart’s desire. As I am glad to have held mine, if but for a single night.
Five men accompanied them, bringing their party to seven and mine to thirteen, though six of those were down with injuries. I bid my farewells to my rekindled love, hugging and kissing in such a passionate way that none could mistake our renewed vows. Lightbridge congratulated me on making peace with my past before he set his mind to the future. I and my men stood on the ruined bridge and watched as Geraldine and Lightbridge led his men to glory. My heart swelled at the sight as pride filled my once-doubtful soul. It felt good to be a part of the team now, rather than bucking every turn with fear and worry.
True, the new worry for my Geraldine’s safety could not be denied. But I trusted Lightbridge and his very capable men. They would take her to True North and return her to me. No complications. No disasters. It was one of the few things on the trip that worked out just as planned.
I should back up a bit to explain that an interesting discovery came to light during the preparations for both excursions. The head of the kitchen was the first to point it out, though I had suspected the very same thing for weeks as we crept along the Arctic Circle. The North Pole was not as cold as we assumed it would be, or rather, we were not feeling the effects as we had expected. Most of the sensitive instruments were destroyed either by the explosion or the jolting touchdown, but at least one thermometer remained, and what it reported was unbelievable.
The outdoor temperature was a constant five degrees Celsius below zero, yet to the crew it felt no colder than a chilly winter’s day back home. When we measured the crew’s body temperatures, the whole of the truth came to light. With the lack of heating and the intrusion of cold upon the broken seals of the ship, we all maintained an average temperature of seventy degrees, much lower than a human body should have been able to survive. Geraldine confessed that our core temperatures had been dropping steadily since we left Kentucky. It didn’t take a leap of logic to realize it was all because of the woman’s concoction.
The injections.
Whatever mix she had chanced upon shifted our core operating temperature low enough to help us adapt to the extreme cold. In short, the injections kept us from freezing to death. The only one who seemed unaffected by the brew was the doctor herself. She admitted that it could be the fault of her sex, that the mixture might have been enhanced by testosterone or some other male characteristic. She spent most of the time before the accidents in fluffy coats and furry muffs, and since her wardrobe met its doom, she sported double and triple pairs of donated shirts and pants in an effort to keep warm. At the time I felt very sorry for her. It must have been a wretched thing to be so cold while everyone else seemed almost comforted by the deep chill.
By sheer chance, the very same injections keeping us alive were stored in the kitchen cooling unit and thus had avoided the fate of the other medicines and equipment. This meant there were plenty of doses left to keep our core temperatures low enough to ensure our survival. And we were grateful for it.
Grateful because we had no idea what it meant in the grand scope of things.
****
****
The First Uprising
I should explain that I never, in all of my time aboard the Fancy, expected to gain a position of authority. When I signed on, I assumed I would act as an auxiliary staff member and nothing more. Granted, I had spent the last few weeks becoming familiar with the workings of the ship and even doing the odd job here and there when needed. But most of that was out of boredom, not ambition. I was, and still am at heart, a timid scientist, not a bold sailor. There has never been a time when the idea of rank or clout excited me. I just wanted to be left alone, not left in charge.
