“Ari, time for watch,” said Davey as he hurried by.
Our first task was to ready the deck for the storm, which seemed to have come out of nowhere. Kevin and I closed the forward hatches. We pulled the shutter-like doors closed over the fo’c’sle, and hefted the wooden cover into place over the crew cabin. By the time I made my way to midships, the hatches over the companionways were pulled into place, and the windows over the salon were closed and latched. Loose articles were stowed in lockers, lines were re-coiled and hung if possible to get them off the deck.
The rain began just as the wind picked up, howling across the deck, thrusting the mainsail and foresail all the way out to starboard.
The captain ordered us to strike the headsails. We had too much canvas up for the strong winds, and we needed to maintain control of the ship through the storm. After the headsails were lowered and everything on deck was secured, the captain ordered everyone to stay out of the rigging in case of lightning, and to stay on the port side unless told otherwise. The wind was from the port side, so that side of the ship was higher up off the water than the starboard side, and therefore safer. I carefully made my way aft, holding tightly to the rail.
Tristan stood at the helm, his feet braced on the deck as he pulled the wheel hard to starboard, steering away from the wind. He was wearing a bright green raincoat, and honestly, looked pretty ridiculous. But he clearly didn’t care.
He tipped his face into the wind and closed his eyes. He looked so at home on this ship in the middle of a squall. While the rest of us clutched the rail for support and slipped on the wet deck, he threw back his hood and embraced the fury of the wind, the driving rain.
He opened his eyes and saw me, the slight smile that had curved his lips widening into a huge grin. My stomach flip-flopped—and for once, it had nothing to do with the roll of the sea. Crazy. He’s crazy. But as the wind whipped against my face, and the ship flew across the wild sea, I felt it, too.
Exhilaration.
Our two-hour watch was relieved at 1800. Dinner was served down below, which wasn’t much fun. It wasn’t easy to balance a plate of food while sidling around the table to the far bench, with the ship rocking and rolling. My stomach fluttering, I ate as quickly as I could and returned to the deck—
—where the sky was insane.
The clouds were a violent, bluish purple against a steel-gray sky. But the insane part was that the clouds were twisting around each other like some kind of demented double helix. As I stared stupidly at the incredible cloud formations, a gust of wind blasted across the ship, sending the starboard side of the deck nearly into the sea below. I fell against the rail, the cold water drenching me.
I held tightly to the rail, knowing the ship would begin to roll back the other way any second now…
But she seemed stuck on her starboard side, her masts hovering over the roaring sea. Was the Meg able to weather a storm like this? What if she didn’t right herself? We hadn’t experienced anything like this storm before, and for the first time since the voyage began, I found myself questioning the safety of the ship. I heard Kevin shouting for me to hold on. No worries there.
I watched the sea pull away from me, it seemed like an inch at a time. Slowly, so slowly, the ship tilted the other way, the waters receding from the deck, the masts climbing toward the sky.
As soon as I could stand upright, I staggered forward. “Here, Red!” called Tristan, holding out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me over to the shrouds supporting the mainmast.
The ship rolled again, and he wrapped himself around me, trapping me between his body and the shrouds. With my eyes closed, I was hyperaware of his body against mine, and I huddled against him, uncertain if my unsteadiness was from the stormy sea or the feel of his strong arms around me. I held on tightly to him as the ship righted herself.
“Dude, this is crazy!” Kevin shouted from a few feet away, where he clutched the rail. “It came out of nowhere!”
And that was why I was certain that no technology, no matter how advanced, how precise, would ever truly stand against Mother Nature.
“Tristan! We need you at the bow!” someone shouted.
He leaned back and looked down at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I was still afraid, but he didn’t need to know that. I wiped the water from my eyes and smiled at him. “Thanks.”
“Be careful, okay? Make sure you hold on to something.”
“I will.”
He headed for the bow, shoulders hunched against the wind.
I pushed off from the rail and made my way across the deck. The ship rose up on a swell and dropped sharply beneath my feet, leaving my stomach somewhere up above. Oh no. I pressed my hand to my belly and automatically turned toward the leeward side of the ship. But the wave of nausea passed without incident.
The wind blew harder, stirring up the seas even more. We were “all hands on deck”—which was probably for the best anyway, since down below was surely not the place to be with the way the ship was rolling around. A few of the others got seasick, some of them for the first time on the whole voyage. I stayed as far away from them as I could to avoid puking by association.
“Hands to reef the foresail!” A bunch of people jumped up to obey, and I started to follow them. The sail had several rows of ties at different heights to allow it to be partially lowered and made fast to the boom. This reduced the sail area, but still left up some of the sail to catch the wind.
“Ms. Goodman!” shouted the captain. I turned back. “I’d like you to take the helm, please,” he said before disappearing down the companionway to the chartroom.
“Aye, Captain,” I said, pleased that he thought I could handle the ship in this storm. And steering would require all my concentration, which would take my mind off my fear that we were going to sink. I took over the wheel from Andy from B Watch, who was looking pretty green around the gills. “You all right, Andy?”
“No,” he groaned. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”
“Take a harness and clip into the shrouds,” I said. “We don’t want you slipping overboard, right?”
He stumbled toward the mainmast shrouds, snagging a harness from the box along the way. He reached the rail and clipped in just in time before losing his dinner. My own stomach twitched in sympathy. “Don’t you even think about it,” I muttered.
The captain came up from the chartroom. “That was quick thinking, telling him to clip in.”
“I was just remembering back to when I was sick and clutching the rail for dear life, and that was in a calm sea. It must be a million times worse now.”
“It’s not pleasant, I’ll give you that. I’m glad to see that your sea legs are holding up.”
“Believe me, I am, too, Captain.”
I squinted at the compass. I was drifting a bit to the right, and I turned the wheel slowly toward port until we were back on course, bracing my feet against the burden on the wheel caused by the strong wind. It had finally become apparent that the Meg was perfectly seaworthy, more than able to handle this storm, and I was no longer quite so afraid.
“You’ve been doing an outstanding job at the helm.”
I grinned. It wasn’t the first time he’d complimented my helmsmanship, but it always filled me up with pride to know he thought so highly of my steering. “Thank you, Captain,” I said. “It’s my favorite part of sailing.”
“Why is that?”
“I love guiding the ship across the water, the feel of the wooden spokes of the wheel. It’s such a rush to have all that power in my hands, and to be able to control it.” God, I sounded full of myself. “That is, I’ve controlled it so far. I didn’t mean to imply that I—”
He smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.” He looked up at the ominous sky. “This storm is going to get worse before it gets better, so we’ll be in for a long night,” he said, moving to stand on my left. “It’ll be much harder to control the wheel in this wind, so be prepared for tha
t. I’ve no doubt you’re up to it, but if you need to be relieved at any point, just say so.”
“I’m good so far,” I said. I looked out over the ship, pounded by rain, forced to lean to one side by the gusting wind, and thought about how crazy it was that I was steering the ship through a storm. And doing it well.
I had the helm for well over an hour, and the captain stayed beside me nearly the entire time. He didn’t speak for most of that time, other than to ask if I was okay or to compliment me on getting through a rough patch. The wind finally started to die down a bit, and I was able to relax, rolling my head along my neck to ease some of the tension.
“I was looking at your application to Marine Classroom,” the captain said, out of the blue.
I glanced at him in surprise. He’d looked over my paperwork? Why?
“I’m always curious about the students who stand out,” he explained. “It’s clear to me that you’re an outstanding student in the classroom as well as on the sea. I thought your essay was brilliant. I also read over the medical form that was in your file,” he added casually.
I’d sent in a medical form when I first applied to the program, but had to send in an updated one after my injury, given that I’d had surgery and I could have physical difficulties as a result. Where was he going with this?
“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. Of course I’d reviewed your file before the semester began, but as I hadn’t seen any evidence of any physical or mental trauma, I admit that it slipped my mind.”
“There was plenty of trauma—physical, mental, and emotional,” I said quietly, unable to keep my voice from catching. “Pain in my thigh, nightmares, fear of the water. I’ve just tried to hide it as best as I can.”
“Why are you hiding it? You survived a shark attack—that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I just didn’t want to be given special treatment.” I swallowed hard. “Or looked at with pity. The scar is pretty awful. I just figured no one needed to know, unless it became necessary to tell them.”
He nodded. “I understand. You can rest assured I won’t discuss it. Does anyone else on the ship know about it?”
Though I prided myself on my honesty, there were times I wished I could lie. This was one of them. “Uh, Tristan, actually.” His eyebrows shot up, and I hurried to add, “He found out when we did the dive in Cabo Rojo. I…had some issues and he helped me out.”
He nodded. “Aye, he’s been diving since he was a wee laddie, and he’s quick on his feet in a crisis. You were in good hands.”
I was glad it was dark and he couldn’t see my face turn red at that. “Yeah, I’m grateful he was there.”
“You jumped into the water with those whales yesterday with absolutely no hesitation.”
“That was the first time I hadn’t thought about my fear of the water.”
“Well, I’m very glad to see how far you’ve come, then. You’re an incredibly strong young woman, Ms. Goodman, and we’re lucky to have you on board.”
I’d never received such praise from someone I respected so much, whose opinion of me was so important. “Thank you, Captain. I’m really happy to be here. Being on the Meg has made me remember why I love the sea so much.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” He looked at the sky. “Storm’s easing up. But I don’t think she’s done with us yet. Are you okay for a few more minutes?”
“No problem, Captain.”
We were relieved from all hands around 2030, and I went below to try to catch some sleep before my midnight watch. I stripped out of my foulies, hung them on the peg, kicked off my sandals, and climbed into my bunk, my body aching from fighting with the wheel for so long. I pulled the blanket around me and closed my eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
The wind roared across the deck, sending the starboard rail toward the swirling sea below. The torrential rain stung my skin like a thousand tiny needles. I couldn’t see anything.
A flash of lightning lit up the dark sky, followed by a thunderous Crack! A feeling of dread swept over me, and I looked up to see the main mast, split in half by lightning, toppling toward me. I leaped to the side, but the deck was slippery from the rain, and I fell against the rail.
The broken mast slammed into me, sending me over the side. I grabbed on to the rail at the last moment, catching myself before I tumbled into the sea.
I screamed for help, but my cries were carried off by the wind, unheard by the people on deck.
The ship rolled back to port, carrying me away from the sea. But before she could fully right herself, another gale force gust knocked her back to starboard. My fingers lost their grip on the slick railing. I screamed again as the roiling sea rose to meet me…
I slammed into the wood around the opening of my bunk, saved from falling out only because the opening wasn’t wide enough. There was a loud creaking—the ship was rolling hard to starboard. Then I heard a thud and “Shit!” from below.
I peered through the curtain. “You okay, Amanda?” I asked, my voice shaky.
“Yeah. Rude awakening, though,” she muttered, rubbing her head.
The hatch at the top of the companionway slid open and footsteps rang on the ladder. It was Maria, dripping wet. “All hands on deck, guys. We’re taking in the mainsail.” She continued past us to spread the word throughout the cabin.
We pulled on our raingear and ran up on deck, ducking low to avoid hitting our heads on the hatch, which was pulled forward so the rain wouldn’t come down the companionway.
It was like a scene out of a movie. The ship was heeled over to starboard, her rail nearly in the water. The deck was drenched from the waves that kept crashing over it, creating slippery, treacherous conditions on that side of the ship. Amanda and I staggered to the port side and held on to the rail. Jenny and the boys came up a minute later and joined us. Then Tristan emerged from the midships cabin in his green foulies.
“How’s it goin’, guys?” he asked, as if the wind wasn’t howling around us and the ship wasn’t half submerged.
“Just grand,” said Amanda. “Ari and I both nearly knocked ourselves out in our bunks. And you?” she asked sarcastically.
“Oh, I slept like a baby. I love weather like this—the rocking puts me to sleep.”
“Dude, you’re not right in the head,” Amanda muttered.
He just grinned in response.
The captain appeared before us. “As you can see, it’s a wee bit stormy out here, so we’re going to strike the mainsail. Listen to the crew, and let’s get this done safely.”
My group carefully made its way to the starboard side to man the throat halyard. Tristan came over with harnesses. “Guys, I need you to put these on and clip into the shrouds or the posts.” No one argued with him.
Tristan and Nick took hold of the halyard above the pin and dug in. Steve knelt at the pin and slid the coiled halyard line back to us.
“Listen up,” said Tristan. “Given the strength of the wind, we’re going to lower the mainsail the same way we raise it, rather than one person manning each of the halyards. This will give us control over the sail as it comes down. Everyone, take a strain.” I clutched the line and bent my knees slightly, bracing my feet against the wet deck. “Steve, take two turns off,” said Tristan.
Guarding the line with the palm of his hand, Steve carefully obeyed. “Good. We’ll leave those remaining turns on. Ready on the throat!” yelled Tristan. “Ready on the peak!” came the answering shout from the port side. “Lower away together!”
We passed the line forward from hand to hand, slowly lowering the sail. Suddenly, the ship rolled hard to port, sending us all tumbling to the left before being caught by our safety lines. “Hold!” Tristan shouted. He needn’t have wasted his breath—there was no way we could lower the sail with any sort of coordination when we could barely keep our feet beneath us. “Don’t let go of the line!”
I held on as tightly as I could, ignoring the ache in my leg and fighting the urge t
o let go to catch myself against the top of the salon.
Then the ship rolled to the right. I had just enough time to close my eyes before I slammed against the rail. When I opened them a moment later, my face was mere feet from the churning sea.
My heart pounded with fear, and my hands were slick where they gripped the line. I barely had time to gasp before the ship righted herself, and we were able to stand once more. We continued to lower the sail, as quickly as we could while keeping it under control.
“That’s well!” Tristan shouted. I looked over and saw that the sail was all the way down and being furled. Thank God. But I couldn’t let go. My hands were cramped from holding the line so tightly, and I couldn’t get my cold fingers to cooperate.
“Hey, Kevin? Can you help me out?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I can’t make my fingers let go of the line.” He snorted with laughter, but stifled it when I snarled at him.
Tristan came over. “Everything all right over here?”
“Ari needs some help.”
Tristan traced a finger over my clenched hands. “Wow, look at that,” he said with a grin.
“Why is this funny?” I asked. “It wouldn’t be funny if it was your fingers, would it?”
“Actually, yeah, it would be.” He pried my fingers open enough to free the line, then wrapped his hands around mine, gently chafing my fingers to warm them.
Heat flooded my body at his touch. He stared at me, his eyes glittering in the moonlight that suddenly peeked through the clouds. I started to thank him, but then his gaze dropped to my mouth, and I forgot what I’d been about to say. He leaned closer, then stopped, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. He jerked his eyes back up to mine.
“Your hands all right now, Red?” he murmured.
Hands? Oh, my hands. “I think so,” I said, flexing them slightly.
“Good. I’d better go help Davey.”
“Okay. Um, thanks.” He nodded once, then slipped by me, heading for the quarterdeck.
I stared after him. Maybe he hadn’t been as unaffected by my impromptu kiss as I thought.
A Star to Steer Her By Page 13