Voices Beckon, Pt. 1: The Voyage

  “I UNDERSTAND MR. OLIVER is kind enough to include you in his daily lessons,” Wilson said, rising from the bench, reaching over to grab David’s cup and pack it, along with his own, back into their trunk. “He asked if I’d mind sharing a bit of the gospel with you boys in the mornings. I told him I’d be more than happy to.”

  David grinned, recognizing at once the exchange his uncle had made on his behalf. “Well, I think they got the better end of that, Uncle John, ye’ve a talent for making the Book exciting.”

  “High praise indeed,” Wilson said cheerfully, reaching out an arm to steady himself as the ship rolled heavily to one side. “But best not to raise expectations too much I’ve found, especially with young men who’ve much more on their minds than the word of the Lord. Are ye still hungry, lad?”

  He was, but he knew his uncle was worried about the amount it took to fill him. They had already dipped into the supplementary provisions and they were only out a day.

  “Nay, I’m good.” He grabbed the trunk and hoisted it up onto their berth.

  “I’ll join you on deck at four bells then. Be careful up there, will you? The sea is rough today.”

  “Aye, Uncle John.” Leaving his uncle to his Bible, he climbed the companionway ladder and walked to the mainmast. Many passengers had stayed in their berths this morning, owing to the weather. He wondered if Elisabeth suffered from seasickness.

  Someone needed to kick some sense into him.

  “David! You’re right on time, man! Can we be getting started then?”

  “Morning, Liam, Rob. Where’s Sean?”

  “He’s still in his bunk, no’ taking well to the roll of the sea,” Rob said, his hand massaging the ankle of his lame leg.

  “Ache?” Liam asked. “I can get—”

  Rob scowled and shook his head, moving his hand, tucking the leg under his other. “It’ll just be the three of us till he wanders up,” he said, cutting Liam off. He brought the die out of his pocket, tossing them three times until they read a number from five to nine.

  “Six. Shoot this time, will ye, David?”

  David took the die, casting a six on his first try. “Nicks. That ship we saw last night? She was a slaver. Alex said so.”

  “Thought so. She had an evil look about her,” Liam said, wrinkling his nose. “Smell as well.” He groaned when David won the next toss as well. “Ye take credit?”

  “Don’t think I know ye well enough to loan ye my stash,” David said, grinning as he reached for the balance of the stake. They had found a small dowel down in the hold yesterday and had sliced it into wooden coins, distributing them evenly amongst themselves to use when wagering.

  “Hmmph,” Liam said. He looked up as Wilson joined them, Sean in tow. “Rev’rend Wilson, good morning.”

  “Good morning, lads. Gambling with the ship’s timber I see.”

  “Just waiting for ye, sir. Mr. O warned us ye’d be by.”

  Wilson chuckled. “Oh? Ye needed fair warning, did ye?”

  “No’ me, Rev’rend. Canna account for what Mr. O thinks I might need. I’m willing enough to listen to any wisdom you’re willing to toss my way, so’s Rob here.”

  “Rev’rend Otter often thought Liam’s questions rude, sir,” Rob offered.

  “I welcome your questions, Liam, as well as the segue into the story of King Solomon and his gift of wisdom,” Wilson said. “But I can’t promise I can give ye an answer to all of them.”

  “Fair enough, sir. And tomorrow, mind, I think a chat on charity wouldn’t come amiss. Remind your nephew here on the meaning of the word.” Liam motioned to the empty spot that had held the stash now in front of David. David rolled his eyes.

  “Best carry on, Rev’rend. He’ll talk til ye forget what ye were about,” Rob advised.

  Wilson skillfully steered the banter to the story of King Solomon, two mothers, and one baby. The conversation was lively as they discussed the wisdom of Solomon and the merits of his actions, Wilson contributing only when he thought it necessary to keep the exchange on track. David kept silent, listening to the responses of the others.

  “The odds were against the man. No woman alive would willingly see a child cut in two, her own or no’,” Liam said.

  “Mayhap the King just gave the bairn to the Ma that spoke out the quickest?” Sean said. He spoke haltingly, pressing his lips tightly together after the words were out.

  “Ye’re spilling too much sentiment into it, Liam. There’s plenty enough women do ‘bout anything to achieve what they be after,” Rob said.

  “Half a bloody baby’s an achievement?” Liam said, scoffing. “Off with ye, Rob.”

  “Liam does have a point,” Wilson said. “But I think we’re best served not to belabor the details and take away, instead, the message intended.”

  Liam nodded, considering, then stood, grabbing Sean by the hand. The boy’s eyes had gone round, the muscles in his throat visible as he gulped convulsively. Leading him to the rail, he took off Sean’s hat and placed a hand under his chin, aiming his face to catch the cold spray of the sea.

  “Aye, I’ll give ye that then, Rev’rend. In this case the message is clear,” he said, turning back to look at them. “Tomorrow, then, come with one a bit more untidy in the interpretation, then we’ll talk.”

  Wilson laughed. “All right Liam, I’ll give it some thought.” He stood and announced with a wink at David that he was needed elsewhere. “Sean, ye look a wee bit green round the gills. Would ye want to join me then? Lie down in your berth for awhile?” Sean managed a nod and Liam handed him over.

  Liam looked at the sun, gauging the time. “D’ye want to keep playing?”

  “Nay.” Rob eyed the mast before them. “Ye think we’d see land from the perch atop the first yard?”

  David grinned, thinking it a grand idea, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to him first.

  “Mayhap. I’ll go first.” He started up the ropes, welcoming the pull in his muscles as he climbed.

  “I’ll have ye all locked below,” one of sailors bellowed from above, “iffin you don’t keep your bloody feet on the bloody deck.”

  David dropped.

  “Can he do that?” Rob asked, squinting up at the man high in the yards.

  “Dinna ken. Though Ritcher likely can, well enough,” David answered, watching the First Mate march toward them.

  “JUST IN CASE we were feeling homesick, aye, Davey?” Liam said as he shoveled, mucking out the livestock hold. Ritcher had descended fast upon them, grumbling he had no use for idle hands on his deck. Rob had made his getaway timely, claiming Mr. O needed his help.

  “Ye don’t want to be getting soft as a lass on the passage, do ye?”

  “Och, I wasna complaining, mind ye, just making conversation. And don’t be mixing soft lassies in with the manure. It’s no’ right.”

  David laughed. “We’re done here. Suppose we ought to go below so ye can rest up a bit afore your class.”

  “Hmmph,” Liam said. He sprinted past David and leapt into the hold, missing the ladder by a mere fraction of an inch.

  “Eijit, I’m no’ nursing ye if ye break a leg,” David said, climbing down after him.

  “I expect not, Davey, but there’s where I give ye leave to mix in the soft lassies.”

  ELISABETH STOOD TO CLEAR the evening meal from the tiny table, catching her plate just before it crashed to the floor. Bracing her feet against the roll of the ship, she quickly grabbed the bowl that had held the stew, pouring the small amount left into her father’s bowl.

  He’d been on her mind for days now. David.

  She had recognized him immediately. He was the boy on the quay, the one she’d caught staring; the one she had stared back at. And couldn’t seem to stop staring back at.

  And it wasn’t his appearance she was drawn to, though David was every bit as handsome as Liam was, if one took the time to look. And she was taking the time. Too much time, she was afraid. She’d do well to take a page out of Rhee’s boo
k before she made a fool of herself. Rhee could be head over heels with a boy and he’d have no inkling of it.

  But his face was such a study in contradictions, who could blame her for noticing?

  It was a stern face; full of harsh lines. Full lips formed a mouth that often rested in a scowl, a scowl that could change in a heartbeat when it lifted and the lines rearranged themselves into the deepest dimples she’d ever seen. Heavy dark brows framed his eyes, large doe-brown eyes lushly fringed with thick lashes. And the curls he kept hidden beneath his cap . . .

  “Elisabeth, be careful. You’re spilling it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Papa.” She took her cloth and wiped up the stew that had spilled. Maybe they should just eat bread. Surely it was less of a mess.

  He’d smiled at something Liam had said today, and she’d been relieved that smile and brief display of dimples hadn’t been turned on her, for she suspected her knees would have turned to pudding if it had.

  But no, it wasn’t his appearance that was responsible for her fascination. It was his strength. It was a quiet, inner strength, and it drew her in.

  “Elisabeth, the captain said you were talking to one of the boys on deck last evening.” Her father pushed his empty bowl away, folding his well-manicured hands atop the table, calling an end to her distraction.

  “Yes, Papa, I was. He’s one of the boys I met in Mr. Oliver’s group.” She went to him and straightened his cravat. He was usually so impeccably groomed; he must still be feeling poorly. “He’s on the ship without his family. He’s headed to Philadelphia to become an apprentice to a printer; I thought he might be feeling alone.” Timing the movement so she didn’t drop it, she quickly picked up his bowl and wiped it clean, storing it back with the others in their small box of kitchen ware.

  Hale stood and reached for his book and bottle of whisky from the shelf. “Well, be that as it may, you need to remember your place. You’re aware, are you not, of the social status of an apprentice? Be sure he’s someone you have no cause to spend time with.” He carefully poured out a measure of whisky into his cup. “For that matter, most of these people you have no cause to spend time with.”

  “Papa! You know Mama always said you could learn something from people in all walks of life. Why, learning a trade to support one’s self is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s quite the thing in America.” She put the last utensil away and paced back and forth in front of her father, her fingers pulling at the cloth in her hands. At the sound of it ripping, she set it aside. Calmly, she must approach him calmly, or she would be spending the next six weeks in this room. She stood in front of him, placing her hands gently over his.

  “The trip is to be so long, Papa, and there are only a few people my age. I miss my friends, I miss home. No one here would cause me harm.”

  Her father sighed, softening immediately. “There are many ways to invoke harm, Elisabeth. Ideas may harm. Whether employment in the trades is ‘quite the thing in America’ or not, it shall not be for you, nor for the people you choose to surround yourself with once we arrive.” He reached over to set the bottle back on the shelf. “But I’ve no wish to lock you up in these wretched circumstances. I only mean for you to remember your place. You mustn’t form any attachments on this ship, is that clear? Absolutely clear?”

  It was clear. She nodded, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Papa. You know I’d never want to disappoint you. Would you like to walk on deck?”

  “Oh. Well, all right, I suppose. The book will keep.” He set it and his cup in a secure spot and donned the overcoat and hat that hung from the rack at the foot of the companion ladder, taking care to straighten the white ruffles at the edge of each of his cuffs. Elisabeth threw on her cloak and followed him up the stairs.

  Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, she guided him in a slow circle of the deck. Mr. Oliver stopped them as they passed, delivering news of the day’s class. She suspected Mr. Oliver was hoping she would be one of the students at his new school in Philadelphia, but even if her father allowed her to attend a school, it would depend less on the teaching skills of the schoolmaster and more on the attributes of the other students enrolled. Which was a shame, because one had only to talk a brief time with Mr. Oliver to be impressed with his depth of knowledge.

  Liam, David, and Rob were just behind Mr. Oliver, and Elisabeth took care to introduce her father formally to the boys. She wasn’t quite sure she could count on him to be polite, and she held her breath as he shook each of their hands. But he made courteous inquiries about their trip so far, and Liam, not as reserved as David and Rob, actually made him laugh at one of his anecdotes. She tried not to look at David any more than she did the others. Papa wasn’t stupid.

  The wind picked up as they continued their walk and the roll of the ship made each step a little more difficult. When they reached the companionway again, Elisabeth suggested they go below.

  She was anxious to be alone with her thoughts, to mull over everything David had said to her. She and Rhee used to talk for hours at a time about a boy one or the other of them might have a fancy for on any given day; analyzing and deciphering the meanings that might be read into each phrase the one in question had uttered. Eventually they’d laugh and give up, deciding that the boys were much too simple to have their words taken at anything other than face value.

  Somehow, she didn’t think that was the case with David. Actually, she was quite sure there was nothing simple nor superficial about him.

  Heaven help her. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself, but, mercy, he did intrigue her past reason.

  November 9, 1783—Cold today. Started classes with Mr. Oliver, passes the time.

  November 10, 1783—The day promises to be a fair one, although again cold. Wind strong and steady, and according to Mr. Ritcher, we are on course. Alex says the log reads nine knots with regularity, which I gather is a respectable speed. Some of the passengers have an ongoing wager on the distance traveled each day. Many still confined to their berths, unable to recover from the constant roll of the ship. Deck has been empty of passengers for the most part.

  November 11, 1783—The sea has stilled some, will be a relief to many. Wind steady.

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