CHAPTER FOUR
Contrary to the usual brisk sea wind, today, the heavy moisture-laden air on the main deck of the Knave’s Secret became an extra burden. Patience lifted the hair from her neck, desperate to cool it, but the air did not move.
The sailors’ grumbling added to her discomfort and made her want to scream.
When she’d arrived on deck, Sven, a Norwegian tar, looked to the heavens, as if for deliverance, and spat, “Vimen,” in disgust. Others grumbled and walked away. They thought the women were, Jonahs, jinxes, pure bad luck.
Patience wiped the perspiration from her brow. They blamed her and her girls for every problem. As if it was their fault sharks followed the ship, or the flying fish weren’t flying.
True, Grace should not have left her book at the top of the ladder this morning. But the steps were steep and she’d planned to grab it once she was down. And Izzy had looked comical sprawled at the bottom, black tar crawling over his face and chest.
And the Boobies yesterday. How could it be their fault that a swarm of stupid birds took naps in the rigging? Hundreds of little brown fellows had flown toward them as one, masking the sun as they came like a huge black umbrella. How appalled the men had looked when the flock landed, and what a monstrous mess the little feathered creatures had made.
Blaming the women was so ludicrous; it might be funny, if it wasn’t so sad.
And, of course, today the sailors said it was the girls’ fault the wind had died. Who were they supposed to be, God? Enough was enough. Someone needed to speak to his superstitious men. Ignoring the beads of sweat dripping between her breasts, Patience approached the Captain with singular determination.
But, he, leaning on the rail, staring into the distance, did not so much as acknowledge her presence with even a turn of his head.
“Captain, I must protest your crew’s disrespect toward the women.”
He acted as if he had not heard, and Patience itched to grab his arm and force him to face her. “Captain?”
His brows furrowed and, without turning his head, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close beside him. “Look. Out there,” he said, pointing. “About ten miles distant.”
Patience ignored her heart’s quickening, something that occurred often of late. This, however, was most pleasant, because the Captain was neither yelling nor growling, and she rather liked being just here tucked neatly into his side. She considered this new teasing sense of belonging, and decided to enjoy it, despite it’s false face, for the Captain sought only to bring her range of vision as close to his as possible. His arm around her meant nothing, and she did not wish it did.
When, despite her ruminations, the object to which he pointed managed to fix itself in her sights, Patience gasped. “My God. It’s Aunt Harriette’s notion of judgment day.”
The Captain looked at her then and nodded ominously. “An accurate description, I’m afraid.”
Heeding his worried expression, she wondered how much danger they were in. The air around them could only be termed sultry . . .and dead calm, like the ocean. But in the distance, even as they watched, two furious rain squalls met, head on. Within the silent collision, a huge black cloud formed in the squall’s center, tapering into a thin shaft. The tapered cloud then dropped its stem into the ocean stirring a turbulent whirlpool and sucking water up into itself. It grew larger and stronger, like a massive, black balloon trailing its tail in a swirling sea.
“My God,” Patience whispered. “It looks as if the cloud, the rain and the sea are fighting.” She shivered.
The Captain pulled her closer.
Despite her anger and fear, Patience was certain that Captain Grant St. Benedict would protect them all, even his women passengers . . .especially his women passengers. “It’s not an ordinary storm, is it?” she asked.
“It’s a waterspout, and it’s gaining speed and strength and heading our way.”
“And?”
He looked into her eyes. “It could tear us in two.” His words told her they were in danger, yet his look remained intrepid.
“And we can’t sail away from it, can we?”
He shrugged. “There’s not enough wind to fill the spritsail. We’re becalmed.”
As the evil black billow came closer, the air temperature dropped and Patience appreciated the warmth of the Captain’s body beside her. “How far away is it, do you think?”
“About a mile I’d say, but at the rate it’s traveling, it’ll be here in a few minutes. Are the girls below?”
Patience nodded.
He pulled her imperceptibly closer and tapped her nose. “You go too. You’ll be safer down there.”
When he let her go, Patience stepped from his view, but she stayed on deck.
The Captain, in bearing as well as name, examined flaccid sails, fore to aft, monitored the dangerous formation, and then considered the sails once more. “Let go your royals and t’gallant-s’ls, and stand by your tops’l halyards,” he called.
Shane echoed the instructions.
The blocks choked a death rattle as the sails slipped down the mast. The sky turned a peculiar, bruised cast as the churning cloud severed the ship from the sun. As the spout twisted and spiraled pulling itself into irregular shapes and masses, Patience held her breath, glad the girls were safe below and unaware of the danger.
So close was the tall hulking spout to the ship, Patience imagined she could extend her hand and touch it. Then, as if from nowhere, icy wind whipped at her clothing, slapping the cloth against her arms and legs. Sails billowed and snapped, and the Knave’s Secret rocked like a paper boat in a hand-splashed puddle.
Shivering, Patience heard the ominous creek of the vessel, smelled the misty brine and wished the Captain’s arms were about her once more.
The ship listed. Patience lost her balance and fell against a rope coil, where she stayed, eyes closed, and prayed.
The Captain shouted frenzied orders. Stopped.
Silence.
Patience dared look. Fragments of the dark billowing cloud glided up and away in all directions proving it was made of mist not menace.
Patience screamed. In happiness. In thanksgiving.
The Captain bent before her lifting her to her feet. He bestowed a rare, jubilant smile and practically threw her into the air. The sun, freed of its black cloak, embraced them with its brilliance.
The moment etched itself on Patience’s heart.
Then, in a wink, the uppermost portion of the black cloud floated above them, blocked the sun and shrouded the ship in darkness. Rain came down in torrents.
Patience gasped.
Rivulets ran down the Captain’s surprised face, his wet shirt shaped every muscle. He grinned.
Patience did too; she couldn’t help it.
The Captain barked orders as the wind returned to drive their vessel. “Let’s get you below,” he yelled over the torrent. Hand in hand they ran across the deck and down the ladder. “Go, put on some dry clothes before you get sick,” he said, launching her, with his hands on her bottom, toward her cabin.
Patience stored the shocking, tantalizing intimacy away for later scrutiny. She could not fathom him. He was as unexpected, mysterious and fickle, as that baleful black cloud. Filled with furor one minute, admitting the sun the next. Floating warm and carefree, or hard, angry and glacial—all were facets of the same tempest . . .all of the same man.
He was, in short, one of nature’s great puzzles, one she would like very much to solve.