To Love Anew (13 page)

Lydia sloshed her brush into the bucket and slapped it against the deck. “I wish we could go ashore. I’m about to go mad.” She stopped scrubbing. “We’ve months left, yet.” Momentary despair touched Lydia’s green eyes. “They’ll keep us locked up for sure.”

That night Lottie snuggled close to Hannah. As the child fell asleep, Hannah caressed the little girl’s hair.

“We have to take our comforts wherever we get them,” Lydia whispered. “She’s lucky to have ye.”

Hannah thought about the child she carried inside her. Soon everyone would know. What would she do? How would Lydia feel about her? Tears burned her eyes and she tried to hold them back, but tonight she couldn’t, not tonight.

Lydia’s manacles clanked as she moved closer to Hannah. She rested a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “What is it?”

Hannah didn’t respond right away, but then she rolled over and faced her friend. “I’m going to have a baby,” she whispered.

Lydia said nothing for a long while, then in her sensible tone she said, “Well then, we’d best see that ye get an extra portion of bread and meat, eh?”

“The man I worked for in London forced himself on me.” The frightful night rushed back at her. “I can’t have this child. I’ll be forever shamed. And I have nothing to offer it.” She glanced at the little girl sleeping beside her. “It’s the little ones who suffer the most.”

“Children are a blessing from the Lord no matter how they come to be. It will be a hardship, yes, but to have a child—”

“No. Not like this. Not now.”

“I’ll help watch out for ye. I’ve attended births before. Ye don’t need fear all that.”

“I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of living.”

Lydia didn’t say anything right away, but when she spoke she carefully chose her words. “I know. I can see despair in ye, in all of us. But we have to believe that God wants us to live. And we must.”

“Why must we?”

“There’s a time to live and a time to die. And while we’re living, we should fight for every breath.”

“God has no use for me or my life.” Hannah bit her lip. Dare she confess the request she’d made to God? As forbearing as Lydia was, Hannah doubted even she could forgive such a thing. “I’m tired,” she finally said and rolled onto her other side.

A burning pain cut through Hannah’s abdomen and wrenched her from sleep. She breathed slowly and evenly. The pain only intensified. Her stomach muscles felt tight. She clutched her abdomen and tried to silence a groan.
What is this? What is happening?

The minutes passed and Hannah found no relief. She lay on her back and sweat seeped from her pores, pooling between her shoulders and soaking her dress. Like a poker gouging at her abdomen, the pain continued to assault her. She rolled from side to side and moaned.

“What is it?” Lydia asked. “Are ye sick?”

Hannah knew it was the baby. Her prayer had been answered. How could she tell Lydia about her depraved request? Pain swept through her. “I think it’s the baby.”

“Oh, Lord. How many months are ye?”

“Only four.”

“That’s way too early. Ye can’t have the child now.”

Hannah writhed as a torturous spasm strengthened.

“Mum, ye all right?” asked Lottie, her voice laced with fear.

“She’s sick, Lottie,” Lydia said. “Ye ought to sleep somewheres else tonight.”

“Can’t I stay?”

“No. This time ye need to go.” Lydia’s voice was kind, but firm.

Lottie started to climb down, then she stopped and lay a hand on Hannah’s cheek. “Please, mum, don’t die.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Hannah rested a hand over Lottie’s.

After Lottie had gone, Hannah asked Lydia, “Do you know what to do?”

“This early? No. There’s naught can be done, except that ye try to lie quietly. Don’t fight the pain. It will only make it worse.” She grasped Hannah’s hand. “Are ye bleeding?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“All right, then.” Lydia was quiet for a moment, then in a calm voice she said, “Without light I can’t tell how bad it is. But it would be best if ye laid on yer back and tucked yer knees up a bit.”

Hannah did her best to obey in the cramped space. She closed her eyes and struggled to keep her cries of suffering to herself.
Lord, I ask for your help,
she prayed. But she knew there would be no comfort from him. This was her doing. She deserved to suffer.

Hannah labored several hours and finally just as daylight touched the gaps around the hatch a tiny, silent infant was born. Lydia helped bring the lifeless child into the world. She held it for a few moments. “It’s a little one, a girl.”

Hannah could hear the sadness in her friend’s voice. She couldn’t look. “Please, get rid of it.”

“How shall I do that?”

“Take it out in your skirt.”

“And what reason have I for going above decks?”

Hannah thought and then she knew the horrible solution. The words came out, hesitant and remorseful. “The . . . slop bucket.”

Lydia said nothing, but she climbed down from the bunk, and a moment later Hannah heard the lid to the bucket being lifted off and then set back in place. Lydia quietly moved across the room and climbed the steps. She knocked on the hatch.

“What need have ye?” a voice asked.

“Got to empty the bucket.”

“It’s early.”

“It reeks something fearful,” she said.

The hatch lifted and Lydia disappeared into the gray morning. When she returned a few minutes later, she said nothing as she climbed back onto her bunk.

Hannah turned onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. She would never forgive herself. Only a contemptible person would do what she’d done. She didn’t dare ask for God’s forgiveness. Even he couldn’t love someone like her.

11

Heavy seas pounded the convict ship, lifting it atop huge swells and then dropping it into deep troughs. Many were sick, yet Hannah was thankful for the storm. It meant she could remain on her bunk without questions.

The physical pain from the previous night’s ordeal had decreased, but the ache in her soul had intensified. Again and again, her mind carried her back to the sound of the bucket lid being closed upon an innocent child, one she’d hoped would die.

Unable to look at anyone, even Lydia, she pretended to sleep. Her friend had checked on her twice since daylight, but Hannah only mumbled that she was fine and kept her eyes closed.

Late in the morning, Lottie nudged her. “Are ye still sick, mum?”

Hannah didn’t look at her. “Uh-huh. I need to sleep. I’m sure I’ll be recovered by tomorrow.” Hannah knew another day would not heal what truly ailed her; there were not enough tomorrows to mend that.

“Is there something I can do for ye?” Lottie lay beside Hannah, her face only inches away.

Hannah opened her eyes. She managed to smile. “No. Nothing, luv.”

“She’ll be better soon,” Lydia said, resting a hand on Lottie’s back. “She just needs a bit of time.”

The day passed and the storm grew more intense. Wind whistled through the rigging, and the ship rolled clumsily in deep swells.
It would serve me well if I were drowned
, Hannah thought. The idea didn’t seem so terrible.

“This looks to be a bad one,” Lydia said. “Lottie, will ye help me? There are things that will need to be tightened down.”

“Course, mum.”

Hannah pushed up on one arm. “Can I help?”

Lydia rested a hand on Hannah’s cheek. “So good to see ye taking an interest in things.” She smiled. “But best ye stay put.”

She climbed down, and grabbing handholds as she went, she and Lottie moved about the hold.

Hannah lay back down and wished for sleep. It refused to come as her mind repeatedly returned to her baby and her own hardened heart. How could any decent person wish the death of a child? What had happened to her?

This is no place for children,
she told herself.
I was only protecting it from torment and certain death. It is better to never be born than to exist like this.
No matter how sensible the words sounded, they did nothing to alleviate Hannah’s guilt and shame.

The ship rose and then rolled as it went over a large wave. They bobbed for a few moments and then swept down the back side of the swell and into what felt to be a bottomless trough. Hannah tensed. They truly could be swamped. The ship wallowed and then was picked up again and thrown upon another wave.

Cries of fear emanated throughout the hold. There were sounds of retching, and the smell of vomit merged with the foul odors that already permeated the prison compartment. Hannah pulled her blanket up under her chin and tried to close out the misery.

Lottie and Lydia returned and climbed in on either side of Hannah. “Things are pretty much secured,” Lydia said, her eyes moving over the hold.

Hannah didn’t respond.

“Ye need to liven up, luv. Ye can’t hang yer head forever.”

“Forever? It only happened last night. And you don’t understand all there is to know of it.”

“I know enough. And life goes on. We’ve got to endure.”

“I don’t want to endure,” Hannah mumbled.

“Enough of that. I’ll not hear that kind of talk.”

Lottie smoothed Hannah’s damp hair. “Why would ye want to die? Me mum . . . she tried to live. I wanted her to live.” Lottie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “What would I do if . . . ?”

Fresh guilt swept through Hannah. She was unbelievably selfish. Looking into Lottie’s worried brown eyes, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Of course I want to live. And I will.” She managed a weak smile. “But for now I need to rest. All right?”

Lottie kissed Hannah’s cheek. “I’ll keep watch for ye.”

“Thank you.” An ache squeezed Hannah’s heart. She ought to be comforting Lottie, and instead, the little girl was comforting her.

Night fell and darkness enveloped the ship. The storm raged, seemingly angrier than before. Lanterns were lit, and those who weren’t sick gathered together. Some prayed and sang hymns, others talked of better times, but nothing shut out the screeching wind and the fear that invaded their souls.

All of a sudden, the ship was lifted high on a cresting wave and then slammed into a deep swell. “Lord, save us,” Marjorie cried, her voice quaking as it often did.

“He’s not ’ere,” a bawdy Rosalyn shouted, tossing long brown hair off her shoulders. “If he was, then none of us would be ’ere either.”

“He is here,” said Corliss Browning, an elderly woman of faith.

Hannah had great respect for her. It was good to hear her voice.

“He promises to never leave us nor forsake us. And I believe him. We’ll not perish. He’ll see us through.” Barely able to keep her feet under her, she moved to Marjorie, who was crying and huddled on a loose bundle of hay. Sitting beside her, the elderly woman put her arm about the frightened captive.

Hannah wanted to believe as Corliss did. But she couldn’t. “Pray for us, Corliss. Please.”

“I’ve been praying.”

“It’s all a lie,” Rosalyn said. “Every bit of it.” Keeping a hold of a corner post, she stood beside her bunk. “He’s never once come to my aid and I don’t expect he will now. He don’t see me. Or none of us. We’ll be lucky to end up at the bottom of the sea. At least we’ll be free of this torment.”

Lottie’s hand fumbled for Hannah’s and gripped it tightly. “Is it true, mum?”

“You need not worry. God loves you,” Hannah said.

“Does he love everyone?”

Hannah thought for a moment. What should she say? She believed he only loved some.

“Course he loves everyone,” Lydia said. “And he’s watching over us. I know it.”

Lottie was silent for a long while, then she asked, “Why didn’t he take care of me mum? She loved him. And she was a good mum.”

“Sometimes, God wants the best of us to be with him,” Lydia said. “And yer mum is in a better place. This world can be cruel. I’m sure she’s happier now.”

That seemed to satisfy Lottie. She snuggled closer to Hannah. “I’m hungry. They didn’t bring nothin’ to eat tonight.”

“They’re most likely working hard because of the storm,” Hannah said. “We’ll be fed in the morning. And they might feed us yet. Try to sleep.”

“They’ll not be down this night,” said Marjorie. She looked at the hatch. “They got us locked in. If this ship goes down so do we, drowned like rats.”

Lottie whimpered.

Lydia pushed off her cot and stood. “I dare say, that’s enough out of the lot of ye. Have ye forgotten there are children ’bout?”

“They might as well know the truth,” Rosalyn said.

“Ye wouldn’t know the truth if it bit ye,” Lydia said. “Now shut yer trap.”

Lottie sniffled. “Are we goin’ to drown, mum?”

“Of course not.” Hannah pulled Lottie closer. “This is a sturdy ship. I’m sure she’s seen worse storms than this.”

“But the ladies said—”

“They don’t know about such things. Now, don’t you worry. We’ll be fine.” Hannah found it ironic that she comforted this child even though she’d thrown away her own. She stroked Lottie’s hair and held her protectively.
Lord, why does living have to be so full of trouble?
Her own tears came unbidden.

“Yer cryin’ now.” Lottie wiped tears from Hannah’s cheeks.

“We all cry sometimes.” Hannah sniffled. “I’m tired and not well. When I’m feeling poorly, I cry more easily.”

“It’s that way for the lot of us,” said Lydia.

The wind grew stronger and a rumbling sound swept toward them from outside. The ship rolled dangerously and then was thrown upward by a huge wave.

“What is it? What’s happening?” cried Marjorie. She fell and sprawled out on the floor.

Shrieks and screams broke out all over the hold. Women were dumped from their beds and others fell as they reached for something to hold on to.

“We’re going to swamp!” someone cried.

Hannah pulled Lottie closer.

“Oh, Father in heaven,” Lydia prayed.

It felt as if the ship leaped over the top of the wave before it descended the other side. Timbers groaned and buckets tipped. One rolled wildly across the floor. It slammed into a stool holding a burning lantern, knocking the stool and the lantern on their sides. Oil seeped out of the lamp and fire erupted in the hay scattered on the floor. Flames flickered, casting light and shadows.