The Deepest Waters, A Novel (15 page)

“We need to paddle faster,” Robert said. “Look how many have already boarded.”

John didn’t have the strength to keep up with Robert.

Robert noticed. “John, can’t you go any faster?”

“Robert, what difference does it make if we get there a few minutes faster? You heard the captain, they’re staying until everyone is onboard.”

Robert turned around, paddling just as hard, but Ramón slowed to John’s pace. “An amazing thing,” he said. “We haven’t seen a single ship since the
Vandervere
sank, and God brings one right to us on the darkest night yet.” He smiled. “Robert, I say let’s savor this moment.”

For the next few minutes, no one spoke as they paddled. They just watched the rescue unfold. John didn’t see or hear any stragglers behind or beside them. He kept calling out, just to be sure. He wished he had a lantern. The three men stopped paddling as they drew near the ship. The raft floated right into it, bumping it gently. A few yards away, three other survivors were being lifted from the small boat to the ship. A crewman held a lantern over the rail in their direction. “How many more are there?” he asked.

“I think we’re the last,” John said.

“Are you sure?”

“How many are already aboard?”

The man asked someone. “With these three, there are fifty. How many on your raft?”

“Three.”

“Does fifty-three sound right?”

“I can’t be sure,” said John. “I lost count. But that seems close.”

“Well, let’s start getting you men up here. Who goes first?”

“John should go,” said the ambassador.

“I agree,” said Robert.

John felt honored. He crawled to the front of the raft, stood up carefully. A crewman dropped a rope formed into a large loop. John stepped into it and two men lifted him aboard. As soon as his feet touched down, he crumpled to the deck. He quietly patted it with his hands as small puddles formed from the water in his sleeves. The deck felt rock hard, like land.

“Who’s next?” John heard the crewman say. “You go, Ambassador,” he heard Robert say. He heard them groan as they pulled Ramón up. John turned to watch when suddenly several men yelled all at once.

A splash, then another.

“The raft flipped over,” a crewman shouted.

“I can’t swim.” It sounded like Robert. The next phrase, garbled.

John stood up and rushed to the rail. “Robert,” he said. Robert didn’t answer. A crewman dove in. John dove in behind him. He splashed around in the darkness, grabbing for anything. He felt an arm and pulled.

“Let go.” It was the crewman.

John wiped the water out of his eyes. “Robert, say something.” Still no reply, but he heard splashing and coughing in the darkness beyond the raft. He swam toward it, but when he got there, it stopped. “Robert.”

“You men,” the captain yelled. “Jump in and help him. You others, bring your lanterns here.”

Treading water, John took a deep breath and descended into pitch blackness. His arms reaching every which way. He didn’t feel a thing. He went back up for another breath, heard voices calling out Robert’s name, then went under again a few yards away. This time he went deeper. He was almost out of breath and ready to return when his fingers brushed something.

He grabbed at it, a collar.

Robert.

He grabbed it with both hands and kicked upward. And kicked. Where was the surface? He had energy for one last kick, then he must let go.

He kicked again but still didn’t break through. Strong hands grabbed his shirt and pulled. He gasped as fresh air rushed in. “Help me, I’ve got Robert.”

“You head back,” one of the crewmen said. “I got him.”

John swam toward the lantern light, but he just couldn’t make it. His arms suddenly became too heavy. Instinctively, he rolled over on his back and tried to float, tried to catch his breath. He felt so sleepy. He started drifting off.

“Where’s John?” he heard Ramón shout. He sounded far away.

“There he is,” someone shouted. “Pull him here.”

The doorbell rang at Joel Foster’s brownstone on East 22nd Street in Gramercy Park. He and his wife, Evelyn, had only three house servants, hand-me-downs from his parents’ staff. Lounging in his library in his favorite chair, puffing on a fine cigar, he awaited the coming interruption. He was actually surprised it hadn’t come hours ago.

“It’s the new driver, sir, sent from your mother.”

Joel pretended not to hear a moment, then set his book on the table. “Let me guess, Edward. He’s here to pick me up.”

“It would appear so, sir.”

“Right. He didn’t hand you a message?”

“No, Mr. Foster. As before . . . your mother says to come right away.”

He stood up and followed Edward to the foyer. Edward moved so slow these days. Out of respect, he didn’t pass him.

“Your hat and coat, sir.”

“Thank you, Edward. I believe my wife is upstairs with the nanny. Tell her not to wait up for me. I have no idea what to expect.”

“Very good, sir.”

Joel hurried down the steps. The driver already had the carriage door open. As he ducked his head getting in, he said, “Any news?”

The driver closed the door. “The courier from the steamship company still hasn’t come, sir. It’s why Mrs. Foster sent me. She’s quite upset and insisted something must be wrong.”

Why couldn’t she believe him? He’d told her you couldn’t rely on ship schedules.

“Mr. Foster, begging your pardon, sir.” The driver’s eyes pointed to something lying on the seat across from Joel. “Took the liberty of picking that up on the way here. A newsboy was selling it on a corner. Looks like this newspaper agrees with your mother.”

Joel held the newspaper up to the window, letting it catch the light from a street lamp. The
Herald
, late evening edition. The headline read:

SS
VANDERVERE
MISSING?

Beneath it, a smaller line said:

Ship Carrying Over 500 Passengers, 20 Tons of Gold Fails to Arrive.

“Great . . . just great.” Joel tossed the paper down.

“I do something wrong, sir?” the driver asked through the carriage window.

“No, Eli. I’m glad you caught this. My parents have the morning edition delivered. I need you to make sure my mother doesn’t see it, unless that ship arrives overnight. If it doesn’t, they’ll be saying worse things than this by tomorrow. Let’s get over there now.”

“Yes, sir.” The driver climbed into his seat, and the carriage took off.

Joel picked the paper back up. He longed to keep reading, but the light was too dim. The press was so irresponsible; they had no regard for the consequences of their wild speculations. He knew they couldn’t have gotten any new information from the steamship line. They’d never say anything to the newspapers. Now the families of hundreds of passengers, not to mention the unstable financial markets, were given all this fuel to pour on the fire of their fears. He must keep his mother from seeing or hearing anything about this, until the ship came into port.

Just then, an image flashed into his mind—the panicked look on the vice president’s face earlier that evening. The sense Joel had that he
was
holding something back. Joel wondered what it was. And how much longer he’d have to wait before he found out.

“Land ho!”

Laura almost dropped her plate of ham. Everyone rushed to the port side to look. She set it on a barrel and joined them. The sailor in the crow’s nest proclaimed the news again.

At first she didn’t see it. A dozen hands pointed in the same direction. She followed their lead and finally saw it. Just a thin brown ribbon stretched over a small fraction of the horizon. But it was there. It had been just over a week since they’d boarded the
Vandervere
, but it felt like a month or more.

Land
.

She wanted to be excited, and a part of her was. These emotions warred against more dominant, melancholic themes. This sighting meant they were closing in on New York, maybe the entrance to the harbor itself. This thought became the first domino in a string of dreadful thoughts and images, each seeking to take a turn to torment her.

She looked at the faces of the other women, those she knew had also lost husbands. They were still smiling and pointing. How did the sight of land change anything? Was she alone in this struggle? Or were they all just putting up a good front as she was?

She looked but didn’t see Micah or Crabby anywhere on deck. She hoped to spend at least a few minutes with him before they docked. Somehow, being around him could pull her away from these dark feelings. She thought she knew why. Every day of his life was, and would always be, so much more difficult than hers, even now without John.

Lord, let me learn what you’ve taught him, how to find joy even if
 . . .

She didn’t finish her prayer, didn’t want to say the words. She looked at the doorway leading down to the galley and crew quarters. The women weren’t allowed there without special permission. Micah must be doing chores for Smitty. All the food they received yesterday had also created more work for him.

But it was so delicious.

She walked back to finish her ham and fresh bread, savoring every bite. The captain had announced they could eat as much as they liked this morning. He expected this breakfast to be their last meal onboard. When she finished eating, she walked back to the rail. Already the land filled more of the horizon than before, another section appearing to the north.

“That’s New York, I’m sure of it,” an older woman said. She looked up at the sails. “With the winds like this, we’ll be there in no time.”

Laura didn’t get it. She had heard this same woman talking two days ago about losing her husband of forty years on the
Vandervere
. Now she sounded excited.

Just then she heard a dog bark. She turned in time to watch Crabby slide across the main deck and snatch the toy crab in her mouth. She ran it back to Micah, who’d thrown it from the bow. He noticed her watching, nodded, and smiled. Crabby scrambled up the stairs and dropped the crab in Micah’s hand. He threw it again. Laura walked over and climbed the same stairs as soon as Crabby ran past.

“Good morning, Micah.”

“Mornin’, Miz Foster.”

“Didn’t think I’d see you for a while, with all that extra food to deal with.”

“Me neither,” he said. “A number of ladies came in, insisting they clean everything up. Cap’n said okay.”

“I should go help them.”

“No, you stay put, ma’am. These ladies say they the ones that couldn’t help before. Every time they try, too many others volunteered. You helped plenty already. Ever been to New York City?”

“No.”

He walked to the port side and looked toward the land. Laura walked up and stood beside him. She felt something land on her feet. It was Crabby’s crab. She was about to pick it up when Micah said, “Enough for now, Crabby. Come sit.” She picked up her crab, walked behind them, and sat beside Micah. “I never been, neither. Furthest north I ever been be Baltimore.”

“When I left for San Francisco with my brother, we sailed from Philadelphia.”

No one said anything for a few moments. “You got kin to meet you?”

“Oh, Micah, I don’t even know what they look like.” Tears filled her eyes. “And they don’t know me. I was supposed to meet them standing next to John.”

“Well,” he said, “I have a feeling things will be all right. You’ll find each other somehow. But you cry if it helps. ’Spect all you been through, you have it comin’.”

She wiped her eyes and looked at him. “But that’s just it, Micah. I don’t want to cry anymore. All I do is cry, and I think it’s all I’m ever going to do. I don’t think I will ever be happy again.” She wiped her remaining tears. “How do you do it?”

“Ma’am?”

“How do you . . . keep happy or get happy again so quickly after something goes wrong? Your life is so much harder than mine, even with all I’ve been through. But whenever I see you, you are joyful. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

He smiled. “So you want to know my secret?”

Laura smiled back. “Yes, very much.”

“Nobody ever ask me this before.”

“Well, I’m asking.”

“I guess it be this . . . live in the day, ’cause that’s all we been given, trust God fo’ the rest.”

“Live in the day,” she repeated.

“And trust God fo’ the rest. Yes’m.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He looked out over the water. “See . . . we got no control over things that happen in life. Not just slaves, white folk got no control neither. Even rich and powerful ones got no control. Nobody got control. Only God. Rich folks got they money and power, make them think they do. But all they do is worry and fret over what might happen next . . . tomorrow, next week, next year. Got no joy in what God do for them today. Don’t even see it. Don’t thank him for it. Just run right by it, trying to stop all these things they afraid might happen, things that can’t be stopped. And it gets them no place. No place but angry and sad.”

Laura realized she never lived in the day, never kept her thoughts anchored in the day at hand.

He looked at her, smiled, and said, “See, it’s all them heavy thoughts steal our joy, the one’s we ain’t meant to carry.”

It sounded so simple to hear him say it, but these weren’t just words for him. Micah was describing how he lived. “I wish I could make myself do what you’re saying. But I’ve been this way . . . maybe all my life.”

“Well, you don’t have to grab hold of it all at once,” he said. “Just one day at a time.”

He bent down, reached his hand out. Crabby dropped her crab in it. He tossed it down to the main deck, and off she went, tail wagging. “Or you could do like Crabby. A day’s way too long for her. She live moment by moment, and she got way more joy than me.”