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Historical romance adventure novel set in 1850s Key West (currently ebook only) from Freya's Bower (July 27, 2010) |
The tall, wooden ship sliced through the waves, creating a diamond-bright spray of shimmering gold in the morning sun's rays. A fleeting treasure to behold.
To Livvie Collins, standing at the helm, all of life seemed to be. So fleeting, she intended to experience it to the fullest.
Ahead, hundreds of fish dotted the waters. They parted for the ship, their silver bodies leaping from the sea. Some skimmed along the surface and glided, their translucent fins extended like wings. A few bumped into the ship's sides. Others rose higher in the air, their fins unmoving.
Livvie laughed seeing one float alongside the deck rail and land right beside her. "Oh, poor fellow." She bent for a closer inspection. Another fish, and then another, thudded on board around her.
"Miss!" someone called.
She looked up into Peter's face as he lifted her to her feet and guided her to the side.
"Get down." The crewman crouched before her and held the rail to shield her from the dozens of fish raining around them. His lean frame belied its sinew. His ease of movement showed his strength, a grace she'd noticed watching him scale the mast to the lookout tower, or helping haul up the sails.
For the past week, their gazes had met more frequently. Livvie felt his sparkling brown eyes watch her wherever she went.
"What are they?" She touched his shoulder, and a pleasantness buoyed within her. The first real sensation since she'd left home. That her father would have frowned upon her action made it all the more exciting.
Her father was gone now. She alone steered the rudder of her destiny-until she reached Wendell's house, at least. Her brother would no doubt assert his opinion above her own. Yet, until the ship made port at New Orleans, she reveled in her short-lived freedom.
Peter angled toward her. Up close, his dark eyes shone even more warmly. "Flying fish. Harmless enough, unless you step in their path."
She gasped. "Flying fish! How incredible." She craned to see past him, delighting in the winged creatures. Peter's scent-warmth and sweat combined in a musky odor-stirred her.
He pointed. "They don't really fly. See how they spread their fins to catch the wind, much the same as our ship's sails."
The number of wayward fish dwindled to an occasional flop onto the ship.
Peter eased to a stand and peered over the rail. "It's safe now. The fish have veered away." He stepped back and extended his hand toward her.
Rising, she slid her fingers across his palm, its coarseness pricking her senses to life. "They aren't very good navigators."
A smile lit his face. "Cook loves them. The crew, too-it's less work for us when the food supply presents itself."
She giggled. "And without any argument. Oh, who could eat such a magical creature?" Akin to something out of a fairy tale, the way they'd appeared in the air. She couldn't wait to see her brother's face when she told him. He, of course, would tell her to stop dreaming. A favorite admonishment before he moved away.
"Magic or not, they're delicious." Peter gently squeezed her hand.
At home, Livvie might have blushed at such boldness and released him before her father's quick eye could glower in warning. Instead, it fueled her adventurous spirit.
Laughing, several of the crew scooped fish up in their arms, carrying them to a barrel. Any moment, Peter would be required to join them. And Livvie would be required to relinquish the lean strength of his hand, whose warmth spread through her.
A familiar high-pitched voice called, "Olivia, are you all right? I heard a terrible noise."
She withdrew from Peter's grasp to face the stern figure of Martha Locke, crow-like in her widow's dress. "I'm fine, Mrs. Locke. The noise was only dinner, delivering itself to ship's cook."
Ducking his head, Peter chuckled.
Mrs. Locke gripped the rail, picking her way toward them, daintily stepping over the wriggling fish. She fanned herself with her handkerchief and clutched the side. "You shouldn't stand so close to the edge. You could have toppled overboard."
"Peter saw to my safety." Livvie curtsied in jest. "Thank you, Peter." Her gratitude extended beyond her safety. She would cherish the memory of his gallantry, but also his musky scent, his tender grasp, his caring attentions.
He nodded once, a twinkle in his eye. "My pleasure."
Mrs. Locke's wide eyes narrowed, no doubt owing to his enthusiastic tone.
Peter bent to retrieve a flopping fish and turned to Livvie. Walking backward, his gaze locked on hers.
She gasped. "Peter watch out!"
Slipping on a fish, he landed on his derriere, legs splayed.
A mate looked from him to Livvie and guffawed. "Careful, lad. Ye'll get yourself in a slippery mess."
Livvie understood the double entendre all too well, yet no embarrassment tainted her good mood.
Jumping to his feet, Peter smiled. He caught the fish again and carried it to the barrel.
Giggling, she covered her mouth. Her spirit hadn't felt so light in a year, since before her father had grown ill.
Mrs. Locke clutched her arm. "See, I told you it's not safe. Come below, where you will be secure."
The rocking of the boat beneath Livvie's feet didn't frighten her. The sensation was not dissimilar to riding her horse, which she loved to do with abandon. Although much larger than her beautiful gelding, the surge of the ship's rise and fall reminded her of the steady canter of her beloved Swedish Warmblood.
Mustering what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she turned to Mrs. Locke. "It's unbearably dark below. I much prefer the open view from here." The view of Peter, loading armfuls of fish into a wooden barrel. His gaze returned to hers again and again, his smile warm.
Peering out across the bow, Mrs. Locke muttered, "I feel faint." Her eyes fluttered, and she swooned with a low moan.
Livvie grasped her arm. "Hold tight to me. I'll take you below."
The woman aimed to get her way no matter what. She shuffled across the deck as though her feet were encased in leaden boots. "The rocking of the waves, the howling wind; it terrifies me, all of it. I fear we will be lost to the sea." Her grip on Livvie's arm tightened enough to leave a mark. Guiding the woman past Peter, she couldn't hold back her smile at his mischievous grin.
"Nonsense. We'll make port soon. Until then, you must keep your mind occupied. Worrying is useless."
"All I have left is worry in my life," the older woman moaned. "My happiness is past. My beloved Andrew is gone. I will only be a burden to my poor son." Her voice broke, and she held her handkerchief to her mouth.
Livvie adopted a tone her father used. "I'm sure that's not true, Mrs. Locke. You have many happy, useful days ahead. Engage yourself in worthwhile pursuits, and happiness will return." Those words rang empty to her now.
Mrs. Locke sighed. "You are too young to understand my dire situation."
Livvie steered the woman down the steep steps, toward her bedding. No use telling the old biddy she herself was in no better a position. All she loved, she had left behind. Her brother and his wife were opening their home to her, yet Livvie already knew their expectation was for her to marry-and soon-to relieve them of her presence.
To calm Mrs. Locke, Livvie sat beside her, though she soon grew uneasy. The gloom of the lower hold infected her, its still, dank air suffocating her. No wonder the woman was half-mad with worry, always retreating to this dim haven. The closed-in hold assaulted Livvie's senses and quashed her hopes. "Where is your book? I shall read to you."
Her hands shaking, Mrs. Locke handed her the Nathaniel Hawthorne novel, The House of Seven Gables.
Livvie opened to the page bookmarked by an embroidered strip of fabric and read aloud. The cadence of the words soon lulled Mrs. Locke, her breaths softening to flutters. The words enflamed Livvie's senses, fueling her desire to capture a reader within her own stories. In New York, she'd penned two novels, praised well enough by her best friend, though on reflection, she'd realized her writing lacked the most necessary aspect-experience. Leaving New York opened up a new world, a world she fervently desired to explore-without the binding oversight of a man. Unless, of course, the man happened to be an editor.
* * * *
A dim light cast a grey pall throughout the hold. Morning must have dawned, though Livvie had no idea what the hour might be. She arose quietly so as not to disturb Mrs. Locke, whose tiny snores sounded akin to a piglet's.
Livvie walked to the helm to lean against the rail, letting the wind riffle through her hair. It exhilarated her to stand there, the open vista of the world spread before her, but today, the wide skies loomed heavy, and their dark clouds reached into the ocean as if to cut off the ship's path. Aroused by the sharp winds, the seas frothed offering not even a porpoise leaping from the water in playful bounds to entertain her.
For a long while, she stood there, until soft huffs signaled Mrs. Locke's inevitable approach, pulling herself along the rail. "Do come away from there, Olivia. The ship rocks like a cradle this morn."
"I will soon." Did the woman think Livvie under her charge? She pestered her so. Livvie longed to escape Mrs. Locke's clinging embrace. If only the woman would attach herself to someone else. Unfortunately, the other two dozen passengers consisted of couples and families. Aside from Mrs. Locke, Livvie represented the only other single female aboard.
Releasing a long sigh, the widow cast her gaze heavenward. "Yesterday's glorious sunlight struck the deck prism and illuminated below enough to read. This dim light makes it impossible to sew this morning. I would love to have your pleasant company to help pass the time."
Livvie's sympathetic ear had already drawn out Martha Locke's life story. She couldn't imagine what was left to tell. Mrs. Locke had lost her husband when his carriage overturned, and his neck snapped, killing him instantly. Forced to leave her Boston home, the woman was headed for St. Louis to live with her son. Her constant frights had grown tedious. The widow startled at every creak of timber or snap of sail cloth.
Once again, Livvie found herself in the role of comforter and caretaker, a less difficult role to assume when she imagined the woman to be her own mother, lost ten years earlier to pneumonia. Until her father's death, Livvie had been his caretaker as well.
Mrs. Locke's fears of sailing hadn't tainted Livvie's love of it. In New York, her father had taken her sailing on his schooner since she was old enough to walk. For both women, this trip proved their first time on a tall ship. The glorious billowing sails overhead filled Livvie with an indefinable yearning.
Above, Captain Richard Pierce stood and pointed a brass telescope to the horizon.
"I would like to speak to Captain Pierce. I shall come below afterward, I promise."
Smiling feebly, Mrs. Locke turned in a wobble and made her way to the descending steps.
Livvie crossed the deck and climbed the steps. "Where are we now, Captain Pierce?"
The captain collapsed his looking glass. "Mornin', Miss Collins. According to my calculations, we are off the coast of southern Florida."
"I see." Her voice fell as flat as her hopes.
"You're not eager to land ashore?" The captain's amusement showed plainly in his arched brows and suppressed smile.
She drew herself tall. "I prefer sailing-the wind in my hair, the absolute freedom of the wide ocean."
He shook his head, chuckling. "You're the first woman to say so."
"Perhaps I should captain my own boat." She crossed her arms over her chest, as much to appear steadfast as to steady herself against the increasing winds.
Her remark drew a hearty laugh from the captain. "Aye, I'll retire-so you can captain the Elizabeth Rose."
"Why are ships named for women, Captain?" In her limited experience, the men she'd known had all proved fickle. Sailors, she suspected, committed to a ship because of the lack of competition. At sea, a ship made for a steadfast companion and could present no argument.
Captain Pierce leaned against the rail. "Not all are. I imagine it's because, for us sailors, our lives are bound to the ship, much the same as other men are bound to their wives. It's a means of comforting ourselves, I suppose. You'll forget the ship when you get to New Orleans."
Her gaze found Peter, striding toward her. Likely his flirtations sprung from loneliness too. It seemed equally likely his memory of her would fade when new passengers boarded.
She forced a smile. If only she could extend this trip indefinitely. The boat would dock soon enough. Upon landing in New Orleans, no longer would her life be her own. "I suppose I should go below and see how Mrs. Locke is faring. Thank you, Captain."
"Aye, best you stay below awhile." The teasing had left his voice.
She paused at the stair. "Why?"
He set his mouth in a grim line. "There's a storm ahead. The seas may soon be rough."
In the few minutes they'd been speaking, dark, roiling clouds had blackened the skies.
"Oh, dear." She would be holding the pail for Mrs. Locke, whose feeble stomach did not abide rocky waters. She took her leave of the captain, descending the steep steps to stroll below. The stench of sweat and sickness stung her nostrils, more depressing than the dank atmosphere.
Even in the dim light, Mrs. Locke's sallow skin and sunken eyes warned of impending illness. She held her shawl tight, her gaze fixed on the glass prism hanging from the ceiling as if she could will it to disperse more light.
Sitting beside her, Livvie placed her hand atop the older woman's trembling shoulder. "Tell me more about your son."
A wan smile crossed her face. "Thomas is strong and kind. His blacksmithing business keeps him very busy. If only he could have met you before marrying! You are exactly the kind of girl I hoped to have as a daughter-in-law." She patted Livvie's hand.
The ship leaped from the ocean. Mrs. Locke gasped and clutched her tighter.
Livvie squeezed her hand. "Don't fret. The Elizabeth Rose will carry us safely to our destination."
Whimpering, Mrs. Locke nodded. The others on board huddled in tight groups, clutching one other.
"Do Thomas and his wife have any children?" If Livvie could engage the woman in a subject dear to her heart, perhaps they could weather the storm without sickness.
"One-a little girl." The woman squealed as the ship rocked. Akin to the flying fish, it rose from the water. Upon its return to the sea, the deafening crash resounded through the hold.
Livvie held the nervous woman tighter. Mrs. Locke's fear began to infect her. "What's her name?"
The stern reared upward, faltering in its descent.
Mrs. Locke opened her mouth to reply, but halted. A loud, eerie groan echoed through the ship like a woman's sad cry of desperation. The Elizabeth Rose shifted sideways in a disorienting whoosh, too quickly to have been caused by the rudder. The ship must have caught on something-what could it have struck at this distance from shore?
A loud crack traveled along the ship's sides. Near the helm, wood splintered, and water bled through its wound in a spray. Mrs. Locke's scream mingled with others. People scattered.
Livvie took hold of her arm and tugged her upright. "We must get up top. Now."
The older woman rooted her feet in place, stiffened by panic. Livvie pulled hard. Short bursts of screaming interrupted Mrs. Locke's constant moans. The wood continued to collapse inward, and the stream of invading water became a waterfall.
Livvie dragged her toward the stairs. "Climb to the top. Quickly." She set the woman's hands on the rail. Mrs. Locke stared in horror at the advancing water swirling across the hold's floor. A man shoved ahead of her and helped another woman up.
"Martha-we must go now." Livvie couldn't leave her below, it would mean certain death. At least up top, they had a fighting chance. To rouse her from the grip of terror, she slapped the woman's cheek. "Climb up, now!"
Nodding, Mrs. Locke took hold of the rail and set one foot on the step. Livvie followed close. The woman's shaking limbs were too slow for those behind, who yelled in anger and fear for them to move faster. The cluster grew.
Despite prodding, the widow resisted all urgings to hurry.
Livvie glanced back. "She's going as fast as she can."
Mrs. Locke's whines intensified when the ship tilted crazily up, and then drifted down. Her steps became increasingly more halting. Nearing the top deck, water surged into the entryway, drenching their clothing.
"Get up top now, Martha-now!" Many hands pushed at Livvie's back, crushing her against Mrs. Locke.
The gale-force wind tossed waves over the rail and across the unnaturally angled ship. At the top step, Livvie gave a final shove at Martha's back, and she fell across the drenched planks. Livvie climbed up, grabbed the woman's arm and dragged her to her feet. "We must take hold of the mast." She tried to put on a brave face, not allow her mounting panic to heighten Martha's fears.
The ship rocked upward, and Livvie's boot slipped on the slick wood. Wind-driven spray lashed at them. People scrambled to take hold of whatever was nearest. All along the rail ahead, men and women clung, some holding crying children. Relentless waves drew sputtered moans and screams from all, soaked through to the bone.
The captain's voice carried over their heads. "Take down the remaining sail, men! Look lively!"
Livvie clutched Mrs. Locke's waist, pulling her along the slippery planks. Someone grabbed Livvie's waist. She gasped.
Peter's body warmed hers. "I'll help you," he yelled against the gale's roar.
His strong arms comforted Livvie while he propelled them to the mast, a rope dangling from his outstretched hand. "Take hold. Don't let go for anything." His wet hair hung in wisps around his face.
Livvie placed the rope in Mrs. Locke's fingers before she grabbed it.
Peter yelled, "I'll check back in awhile. I have to go-"
The ship lurched sideways. His arms and legs flailing, Peter skidded to the rail, his gaze locked on Livvie's. Her hand shot toward him uselessly, reaching as far as she dared. For a moment, he splayed, pinned against the side. Another tilt, and he flipped over. Churning waves swallowed him.
The sight dumbfounded her. For a moment, her lungs could take in no air. She let out a cry and whispered, "Peter."
Another man followed Peter's awful path. A girl descended to the sea, too terrified to even scream.
The deck tilted further, and Livvie held fast to Mrs. Locke. The hold must be filling up. The ship seemed somehow unable to move past whatever barrier had captured it. Uttering constant, high-pitched cries, Mrs. Locke clutched the rope, her eyes wide yet unseeing.
Emitting a great groan, the Elizabeth Rose rolled on her side. Men and women drifted past, their screams silenced when they plunged into the water.
Livvie's grasp of Mrs. Locke gave way. The woman floated down through the air until she landed in the water, small as a rain drop. A splash flew up around the outline of her form, and she disappeared.
The very axis of the world tilted. The mast split from its base in a loud crack and drifted down. Livvie lost her foothold on the planks when the ship lurched sideways. Clutching the rope, she hung above the water, rising to meet her. Through the driving rain, a fleet of shadows bobbed across the white-capped waves toward the ship like phantoms coming to claim the victims.
Unable to sustain her grip, one hand gave out, and then the other. Dreamlike, Livvie sailed down into the jagged waves. The water closing around her erased the awful sounds of screams and chaos. A terrible peace settled over her until long shadows passed overhead. Forms jettisoned into the sea above her, bubbles exploding around them like cannonballs. Death sought her in the depths. Even owing Hell as penance, she wouldn't give herself over without a fight.