Aboard Providence

by Keely Brooke Keith

  Mr. Weathermon slowed his gait as the sand thickened on the path. His tubby cheeks became blotchy and remained so all the way to the harbor. He and Doctor Ashton discussed mutual acquaintances in Dover. Then Mr. Weathermon spoke loquaciously of ships and sailing. Doctor Ashton nodded attentively in the way a natural peacemaker does, but probably he had heard all the stories before.

  Jonah dropped back a pace when the ship came into view. He had often watched the schooners in the harbor when he lived in Chincoteague as a youngster, but Providence possessed a stunning regality with her three masts, tall and rigged to sail. The sight captured him with unexpected efficacy. He glanced away from the majestic ship only to gauge his footing along the rocky path to the spit.

  Mr. Weathermon waved an arm as they approached the ship and explained the vessel’s structure to Doctor Ashton. “She’s a three-master, built of oak and pine with an iron frame. They call her a tern schooner—not after the seabird, you see, but rather from the Latin word referring to a set of three. I chose this vessel for our voyage because with its fore and aft rig situated along the ship’s keel there will be no need for men to go aloft. Captain Frakes and I will train your men to handle the rigging. In no time they’ll build the strength to manage the halyards. The captain has extra ropes and pulleys for the men to learn on. We will arrange some rigging in your barn as not to draw attention to the ship while it’s docked.”

  “Excellent. We can begin training in the barn first thing tomorrow morning,” Doctor Ashton replied, his voice reflecting Mr. Weathermon’s confidence. Then he glanced at Jonah. “So long as Reverend Colburn approves, of course.”

  A middle-aged man wearing pantaloons, a straw hat, and frayed suspenders waved the men across the gangway from the dock to the ship. He held the gate of the ship’s railing open and nodded at each man as they boarded.

  First Mr. Weathermon shuffled to the ship’s deck, laughing at his own inelegance and saying how long it had been since he last boarded one of his vessels. Then Doctor Ashton took to the gangway, unsteady at first, arms out for balance even though it was wide and sturdy enough to walk a horse across. Once his feet reached the deck, he straightened his cravat and raised his chin as if reclaiming his dignity.

  Jonah followed his father across the gangway. He stepped aboard the ship and as he looked back to shore, Reverend Colburn was leading the rest of the men toward the dock.

  The man in pantaloons closed the gate and turned to Jonah. “Spencer Frakes, ship’s captain. Welcome aboard Providence,” he declared as he propped his fists on his hips.

  “You’ll need to leave the gate open, Spence,” Mr. Weathermon interrupted, pointing to the gate. “The elder league is coming.”

  “Council,” Doctor Ashton corrected mildly.

  Jonah turned from the men and surveyed the deck of the ship, surprised by its enormity. He walked toward the sterncastle, passed the ship’s wheel, and then circled back to the center of the vessel. Links of chain as thick as his wrists ran taut along the boom. He rocked back on his heels and let his gaze follow the complex rope system up the mainmast. As he calculated the height of the topsails, the sway of the deck beneath his feet disturbed his equilibrium.

  Turning to the sea, he gripped the starboard railing with both hands and focused on the horizon. The lowering sun broke through the cloud line of the overcast November sky. The piercing light cleared his mind. Voices from the men behind him blended with the wind as they all clambered aboard, portside. He kept his back to the party touring the ship as they passed him.

  Captain Frakes stepped to the railing. “The men are going down below to survey the bunk deck and the hold. Aren’t you going to join them?”

  Jonah glanced at him. “In a moment.”

  “She has bewitched you, hasn’t she?”

  “She?”

  “The sea.” Captain Frakes hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and looked out over the water. “She has a way of doing that to a man when he least expects it. If she has called your name, you must answer.”

  “No, sir. I prefer to remain on the land.”

  “Oh, then I am mistaken. You seemed to have the look of a man enchanted, but if you prefer the land maybe the sea will be kind and carry you to your new place without a fight.”

  “I already know my place.” Jonah looked down at the waves that rolled toward the hull. “And my fight is not with the sea.”

  Captain Frakes pointed at the open hatch that led below deck. “Another man in your group said he would rather fight the sea for his life than an army for land. Apparently, you don’t share his zeal. But you are young. You’ll be useful at the rigging for your strength. You’ll be too busy sweating and tailing halyards to worry about plans and politics.”

  “I have my own plans, sir, and they do not include the politics of these other men. It is my father who requested this ship for their voyage. He is a longtime friend of your employer, Mr. Weathermon. I’m simply here with them because…” Jonah had already said more than he intended to the stranger and despised feeling led into conversation. He buried his hands in his pockets and turned to leave the ship. “Excuse me, Mr. Frakes.”

  * * *

  Marian rubbed her palm across her horse’s swollen middle. The foal inside moved. She began brushing the mare. “Mr. Cotter says you only have two more months to go, Gypsy.” She glanced out of the stall at the men who were untangling yards of rope in the center of the Ashtons’ massive barn.

  She kept her voice down, even though they wouldn’t hear. “You and Mother will both give birth in our new land.”

  The horse turned its head and nudged Marian with its nose as if it understood the complication.

  She stepped to the other side of the horse and squeezed between the animal and the stall gate. There was barely enough room for the horse, let alone the row of sealed barrels stored in the stall. She pushed Gypsy away from the stall gate and winced when the motion shoved the day-old splinter farther under her fingernail.

  She instinctively stuck her stinging fingertip into her mouth to relieve the pain.

  “Don’t do that.” Jonah stopped in front of the stall gate and furrowed his brow at her. His deep-set brown eyes added severity to his annoyed expression.

  Marian removed her fingertip from her mouth. “Do what?”

  “Don’t put your finger in your mouth while you’re working with animals. It’s unsanitary.” Jonah looked at her as one scolds a child with a stare.

  She felt a wave of self-consciousness. It was unsanitary and the handsome medical student appeared to be as disgusted with her as she felt with herself. She glanced at her throbbing fingertip then back at Jonah. “I have a splinter. It’s been wedged under my fingernail since yesterday. It won’t come out.”

  Jonah held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  “The splinter?”

  “Your hand.” He blew out an impatient breath, but it was followed by a slight grin.

  She surveyed the men in the center of the barn. They were fully occupied with their ropes and pulleys. No one seemed to notice Jonah speaking to her. Still, she feared giving him her hand might appear flirtatious. She held out her hand and let her fingers hover over his. “It’s the middle one—under the nail.”

  He pulled her hand over the stall gate and examined her finger. When he touched the aching fingertip, she flinched. He didn’t let go of her hand. “Do you want the splinter out or not?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then hold still.”

  Marian was leaning over the half wall of the stall gate with Gypsy pressing against her back. She hated the feeling of being confined by the gate and the horse and being restrained by Jonah’s grip on her hand, but she liked his attention and the notion that a former classmate could now care for her, though it was only to remove a splinter.

  She left her hand in his and studied his face. Most fashionable men his age had a mustache or thick sideburns, but his skin was smooth and freshly shaven. His ungreased hair fell ac
ross his forehead; its color was not the simple brown she had remembered but had thin strands of blond scattered throughout the top and was as dark as treacle underneath at the back where it touched his collar.

  He glanced at her as he drew tweezers from his vest pocket then back at her finger as he turned it over. His hands were warm and had a firm but professional gentleness. It would be immature to consider his touch affection.

  The pressure under her fingernail intensified. She sucked in a breath, but the pain ended quickly.

  “There.” Jonah released her hand. “It’s out.” He held the splinter up for her to see, shook it from the tweezers, and dropped the tool back into his pocket. “Try to be more careful.”

  Marian inspected her fingertip. A red streak marked the spot where the wood had separated her finger from its nail. It had only taken a moment for him to fix something that had bothered her for two days. She almost wished she had another splinter to have a reason for him to touch her again. “Thank you. It feels better already.”

  “You’re welcome.” His half-grin returned, betraying the boyish charm beneath his mature veneer. Perhaps he was not so annoyed with her after all. He looked at her for a moment, lips parted as if about to speak, but he didn’t. She felt desperate to know what he was thinking, and if he liked looking at her. He leaned his palm against the frame of the stall and lowered his voice. “Thank you for your kindness to my little sister.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sarah told me how you’ve been acting as her sister since the families moved in.”

  She tucked a loose wave of hair behind her ear. “Sarah likes to pretend—”

  “It’s brought her comfort. She’s too young to know how to handle the voyage and our mother has been busy with the full house and all the preparations. Your pretend sisterhood has given Sarah a sense of security. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t realize—”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted to tell you how important you are to her.”

  His acknowledgement did more than polish her vanity. It seeped into her heart. “Oh,” she said, finding her tongue at last.

  Her horse pawed the stall floor with a hoof and drew its head back toward them. Marian didn’t want to take her eyes off Jonah, so she passed the brush over the horse’s flank in slow, repetitious strokes.

  Jonah pointed at the brush. “Is that what she wanted?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your horse.”

  “Oh, Gypsy?” She chuckled at herself. “Yes, she loves being brushed.”

  “Gypsy,” Jonah repeated. He drew a shiny silver watch from his trouser pocket and wiped its face on his sleeve before checking the time.

  “That’s a beautiful watch.”

  He slid the watch back into his pocket. “It was my grandfather’s.” He glanced over his shoulder at the men behind them in the middle of the barn, and then returned his gaze to her. “Captain Frakes is about to start teaching the men the ropes for sailing. They won’t want an audience while they learn. You should leave.”

  “What about you?”

  He leaned an inch closer to the gate as if conveying a secret. “I can stay because men don’t mind learning in front of other men. It is the presence of the fairer sex that breaks our concentration.” He smiled then briefly glanced at his feet.

  She liked his humor and felt flattered that he might share it with her. “No, I meant won’t you be learning to sail also?”

  Jonah’s grin vanished. “You should go to the house now.”

  Marian nodded, accepting his suggestion but feeling perplexed by his vicissitude. They had not spoken over the years since he had gone away to college at sixteen and her memories of him as a schoolmate before that were hazy at best. As a youngster he seemed pleasant, but more solemn than the other boys. Who was he now and how had years of study and experience changed him?

  “Thank you, again,” she said as she held up her finger, “for removing the splinter.”

  He nodded then walked away from the horse stall and toward his father.

  Doctor Ashton held an iron pulley out to Jonah and pointed up at one of the beams in the barn’s loft.

  Marian tried to listen to the men as she hung the horse brush on a hook on the wall and said goodbye to Gypsy, but between the captain’s commands and Mr. Weathermon’s pompous laughter, the words of the other men were obscured.

  As she opened the side door, icy wind blew into the barn. She took one last look at Jonah before stepping outside. He and Doctor Ashton were climbing the ladder to the loft, each with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder.

  She closed the barn door and inhaled the fresh cool air outside. As she walked away, she heard a hollow thud followed by the deep groans of a wounded man and a scurry of footsteps inside the barn. Fearing for Jonah, she turned back and threw the door open.

  Doctor Ashton was lying supine on the barn floor, one leg angled unnaturally to the side with a broken beam covering his foot. Jonah hurriedly climbed down from the loft while the other men encircled the injured doctor.

  Chapter Four

  Jonah checked the muslin bandage wrapped around the splint on his father’s broken leg then he returned to his medical textbook to reread the paragraphs on setting a fractured tibia. No matter how many times he read it, he still felt like he was forgetting something. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and studied the text again.

  Doctor Ashton stirred from his drug-induced sleep. He mumbled something and turned his head side to side on the pillow.

  Jonah wedged a slip of paper into the gutter of his textbook, marking his place. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat as he stepped to the bed. “Father?”

  “Jonah? Is that you or is it George? It is so dark in here.”

  “It’s me, Jonah.” He reached to the lamp beside the bed and turned its brass knob increasing the flame. “Is that better?”

  Doctor Ashton blinked rapidly then widened his eyes. “My vision is blurred.”

  “That is an effect of the ether. It will clear.” Jonah sat on the bed beside his father and held a finger close to his face. “Can you see my finger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Focus on it.” He moved his finger back and forth then in a slow circle and watched his father’s eyes, observing responsiveness and pupil diameter. Everything appeared to be normal.

  “You didn’t give me laudanum, did you?” Doctor Ashton’s speech had a slight slur. “I hate that rubbish.”

  “No, of course not. I share your sentiments.” Jonah lifted a near-empty pitcher of water from the bedside table and poured its final drops into a glass. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “I fell from the barn loft and broke my leg.” Doctor Ashton closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands. When he opened them again, Jonah offered him the glass. He accepted it and raised his head from the pillow. After taking a paltry sip, he pointed at his splinted leg. “Have you been checking the wrap as my leg swells?”

  “Every quarter hour.”

  “Sounds like you’ve gotten my money’s worth out of Penn’s Medical School. I’m proud of you. You’ve become a fine doctor, son.”

  “Not yet.”

  “You only lack a few more lectures—that’s close enough.”

  “Not to me.” Jonah did not want to tell his father goodbye, especially now, but the sun had set on his second day in Virginia and he needed to be on his way back to Philadelphia. He stood, picked up his textbook, and looked at his injured father. “Is there another physician in Accomack County I could send for?”

  “The nearest medical doctor is in Cambridge, Maryland.” Doctor Ashton patted the edge of the bed and Jonah sat back down. “I need you, son.”

  “You have me.” He glanced at the bluish flesh of his father’s swollen foot; telltale black lines marked the skin above the fractures. “The break in your tibia felt clean, but there is damage to the tendons, and the proximal phalanx in your little toe is crushed.”

  �
��If you suspect gangrene, amputate it.”

  “It’s still warm and has a pulse. Please, send for the Cambridge doctor.”

  “No one else is coming or going from this estate. We are quarantined to ensure no illness is taken aboard the ship. This is what life is like for pioneers; we must be rugged men, self-reliant and hungry for adventure. You are my doctor now.”

  “I’m not qualified.” Jonah stood and raked his fingers through his hair. Not only was his training incomplete and his reputation in jeopardy, a voyage to a new land was not the adventure he was hungry for. His life and his passion were knit together with his education and his plans in Philadelphia—even if those plans were being challenged by a false allegation. He could fight that charge. Frederick had been right: Jonah knew physicians who would testify on his behalf, and his aunt would surely fund his defense if only to protect her social standing. But he could not fight any of it if he left the country. And there might not be any charges filed at all. He paced to the desk and rapped his knuckles on the cover of his textbook. “I must return to Penn at once. It is imperative that I do.”

  “You’re just nervous about the voyage. You must trust the Lord for guidance.” Doctor Ashton shifted in the bed and winced. “You’ve had plenty of training and I will teach you what you lack, though I don’t believe it’s much. Look how well you treated me.”

  “Father, you used to speak harshly about the men who called themselves doctor without earning a medical degree, and Grandfather always said a man is worthless without a proper education. I must go back to—”

  The bedroom door creaked as it opened, commanding Jonah’s attention.

  His mother stepped inside carrying a pitcher of water and little Sarah followed with a bundle of rags. His mother placed the pitcher on the bedside table and began to wipe a wet cloth across Doctor Ashton’s forehead, whispering words of comfort. Sarah stacked the rags atop the dresser and glared at their father’s splinted leg.