Aboard Providence

by Keely Brooke Keith

  “I will after I have a cup of tea.”

  Catherine reached for the door. “Would you like me to close this?”

  “No, I like the fresh air.”

  Her mother nodded and left the house. Marian wiped her nose with her kerchief again and considered stuffing it inside her nostrils and leaving it there while no one was around. Instead, she gathered the tea strainer, a cup and saucer, and a spoon from the wooden crate that held the family’s dishes.

  While waiting for the water in the kettle to boil, she sat in their only chair and flipped through Jonah’s botany book. Her eyes watered continually, making reading difficult. She closed the book and carried it to her mattress. Privacy was rare with six people sharing a one-room cabin, but the conditions were better than the ship’s bunk deck. She thought of the corner of the room as her private place and wedged the book between her mattress and the wall. Her journal and Jonah’s letter were securely hidden beneath the mattress there, along with a tea towel filled with dried leaves from the gray leaf tree.

  As she sniffed loudly, she pulled out the folded tea towel and examined the leaves. The oily residue that bled from the dried leaves had stained the towel. She rubbed it between her fingers and focused on the tingling sensation along her skin, remembering how the oil had quickly healed her paper cut days before.

  The kettle began to whistle, and even though she had promised Jonah she would use caution in her experiments, she could not restrain her inquisitiveness any longer. She crunched the dried gray leaves in the tea towel and carried them to the stove. After measuring a teaspoon of the dried gray leaf flakes into the strainer, she poured boiling water over it and inhaled the steam as the tea steeped.

  The pungent aroma of the gray leaf made her blink, but its warmth tempted her to inhale again. Feeling a degree of guilt as if her experiment were mischievous, she gave the yard a quick glance through the open doorway. After confirming her solitude, she drew a deep breath of the gray leaf’s steam and her nostrils began to clear. The pressure behind her eyes lessened and a crackling sensation vibrated her eardrums. The irritation she had felt, both physical and in spirit, was replaced with a calm curiosity and a desire to taste the tea.

  She closed the door and removed the strainer from the cup. The tea’s golden tone made it look weak, but its powerful scent bespoke medicinal potential. The bits of leaves that had escaped the strainer sank to the bottom of the cup.

  Since her hay fever symptoms were already disappearing, perhaps a sip could provide a complete cure. With the cup at her chin, she lowered her tongue to the liquid and tasted. It was strong and unlike any of her teas, but not unpleasant.

  She took a sip. As she swallowed, painless warmth lit her insides. Frightened by the gray leaf tea’s power, she rushed to the door and tossed the rest of the liquid from the cup. Each drip made a discernable sound as it spilled across the dirt.

  She stared into the empty cup and drew a deep, clear breath. Her symptoms were gone. It had cured her. This could be her great discovery and there was no one around to tell.

  A wave of fatigue pushed her back into the house. The gray leaf’s healing came with unexpected and heavy drowsiness. Unnatural light streaked through her vision as she closed the door. Feeling weightless and disoriented, she gripped the back of the chair as she passed and barely made it to her mattress in the corner before her eyelids closed against her will.

  Her bed was soft, but her pillow still smelled musty from the ship. She didn’t mind because being able to smell meant she could breathe clearly again. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense the light in the room. She felt both intensely awakened and blissfully lethargic. It didn’t matter. Her body was free from the irritation of hay fever.

  The light faded and all noise ceased. She should have been scared but wasn’t. Though strange and startling, the gray leaf’s healing warmth brought a peace so complete, she wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Her fingers went still. Her heart no longer ached for her lost siblings or from the homesickness she refused to acknowledge or for Jonah to return. She wished he were there so she could tell him about the medicinal value of the gray leaf. It cured her hay fever and removed her fear and it no longer hurt to think about his absence. It no longer hurt to think at all.

  Chapter Twenty

  At daybreak Jonah rolled up his bedding, tugged his boots onto his blistered feet, and waited outside Mr. Weathermon’s canvas tent for him to awaken. They were within a day’s hike of Good Springs and every fiber of his being longed to be near Marian. He couldn’t wait to tell her they didn’t have to leave the Land.

  He imagined spotting her as he neared the settlement. The sunlight would illuminate the gold of her hair, her pretty smile would reach her eyes when she noticed him coming into the village, and she would drop whatever was in her arms—a book or kindling or a teacup—and rush toward him until he wrapped her in his arms and pressed their bodies together, casting one entangled shadow across the awestruck elders. He shook his head, ending the nonsensical fantasy and sat on a boulder near the cinders of last night’s campfire.

  Mr. Weathermon’s snore climaxed in a cough and he stirred inside the tent. A skink-like lizard dashed away from the tent stake and passed the boulder where Jonah was sitting. He too had considered fleeing from Mr. Weathermon’s booming snore many times in the past two weeks.

  While he waited for Mr. Weathermon to emerge for the day, Jonah took his journal and a pencil from his satchel to review his notes on this fascinating place they were calling the Land. He found the page where he had begun a list of the Land’s fauna and added a description of the lizard beneath his descriptions of seabirds, deer, heron, crickets, and falcons.

  They had walked some forty miles north on their journey. The northeast coast’s flora had boasted more fern and fewer gray leaf trees than the area around Good Springs, but the fauna was the same throughout their hike. They had found no sign of large predators. Jonah hadn’t expected the island to be filled with a hodgepodge of climatically impossible creatures like the stories his father read to him as a child, but he had expected to see at least a snake.

  Even five years of college study had not removed a childhood of storybooks. He recalled a pitiable tree house he and his father had built after reading Wyss’s Swiss Family Robinson. His father had probably dreamt of this adventure since childhood. Perhaps in the spring his father would enjoy going with him on an exploration. They could document the Land’s animals and topography together. The more he accepted this place as his new home, the more it seemed as though he had always longed for an adventure like this.

  Mr. Weathermon grunted as he withdrew himself from the canvas shell and stretched his arms overhead. “Last day,” he said as he lumbered toward the nearest tree. He stood with his back to Jonah and talked over his shoulder. “Roll up the tent and take out the last of the jerky. I’ll break my fast as we walk this morning. I’m anxious to get back and I assume you are as well.”

  * * *

  Marian cuffed her dress sleeves, welcoming warm sunlight on her skin. She hummed as she helped her mother pin the family’s washing to a line strung between the front of their house and the trunk of a gray leaf tree. The baby’s cries came from inside the house where he fought his afternoon nap. Marian glanced at the open doorway and then over the clothesline at her mother. “Is Cecelia with the baby?”

  “No. I’m trying to teach Asher to fall asleep on his own. He’ll be fine. Cecelia went to the grove with Olivia.”

  “More figs?”

  Catherine shook her head. “This time they’re after honey. They found a beehive. Mr. Owens has his netting and is going to teach them how to smoke out a hive. I have a feeling Benjamin followed them down there after lunch even though I told him to go help his father clear land this afternoon.”

  “I hate bees,” Marian mumbled.

  “I’m surprised, seeing as how you love plants.” Her mother handed her another clothespin. “Benjamin really should be working wi
th his father in the afternoons. The men decided all eldest sons are to learn their father’s work. I’d hate to be the only family with a wayward son. Go and check the grove for me, would you? If you see Benjamin, tell him to go help your father.”

  “Must I? I don’t want to go near a beehive.”

  “The hive is at the back of the grove. You won’t have to get close to it to see if Benjamin is there.”

  “Fine.” Marian blew a stray wave of hair off her face. She secured her wet blue dress to the end of the line nearest the tree then stopped and studied the gray leaf tree for a moment. Entranced by the memory of the tea’s effect, she touched the gray leaf’s smooth bark and trailed her fingers along its rough exterior.

  Catherine smoothed a shirt on the line and snickered. “If I didn’t know you expected Jonah back today, I would assume by the way you are caressing the tree that you’d found a new love.”

  “You still don’t believe me about the tea, do you?”

  “I believe you believe it happened.”

  “Olivia said the same thing.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell too many people. I’d hate for the children to start eating the strange leaves, hoping for some magical experience.”

  “The gray leaf tree isn’t magical at all, Mother. It’s medicinal, and I haven’t told any children.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Catherine picked up the empty laundry basket and as she began to carry it to the house, she looked back at Marian. “When you’re done with that, go check the grove for Benjamin, please.”

  “I will.” Marian’s hand was still on the trunk of the gray leaf tree. It was true she was in love on both accounts: with Jonah and with the astonishing gray leaf trees. Her experiment with tea made from the gray leaf had proven its healing potential. She had spent the days since gathering and drying leaves to take with her whenever Jonah said they had to sail away.

  Anticipating Jonah’s return, she smoothed her hair and checked the path into the settlement. If the Land were bigger than Jonah had estimated, he would come back from the north; if he and Mr. Weathermon had made it all the way around the island, he would come from the south. Either way, he would return to the settlement any moment. She felt dizzy with expectancy.

  Marian pinned the last garment to the clothesline then she resumed her humming as she went to find her young brother. She passed the Ashton’s cabin, and took the path through the forest toward the grove. The long grass had been stomped low around the fig trees.

  As she ambled between the trees, she spotted Ben and Cecelia and Olivia about twenty yards away. They were watching Mr. Owens, who was covered in netting, standing on a stepladder. He was holding a cone-topped bee smoker near a conspicuous brown lump that dangled from a tree limb. He said something to them and they all took a few steps back, except Ben.

  Afraid of the bees, Marian could not will her feet to walk any closer. “Ben!” she yelled across the grove. When he didn’t reply, she cupped her hands around her mouth and tried again. “Ben!”

  Olivia glanced over her shoulder and waved. She lifted the front of her skirt and hurried across the grove to Marian. “Is Jonah back?”

  “Not yet. I came to get Ben.”

  “He’s watching my father smoke out the bees. You can come closer to watch if you want.”

  “Oh, no!” Marian stepped back. “I won’t go near them. Mother sent me to tell Ben to go to help my father in the pasture. Would you tell him, please?”

  “I will, but he won’t be happy about it. He’s eager to get the honey.” Olivia turned to walk back across the grove, but stopped and tilted her head. “Are you really going to leave with Jonah if he finds a way?”

  Marian glanced behind her, although no one was around to hear. “Yes, we belong together.”

  “I must admit I was hoping your time apart would make you feel differently about him.”

  Marian shook her head. “Quite the opposite actually. I love him and I want to be with him no matter where that takes me.”

  Olivia tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. “I hope it doesn’t take you away. I know you love him and I’m happy for you, I truly am, but after how long and hard the voyage was to get here, I hope you don’t have to leave.”

  Marian hoped she would not have to leave either, but thinking about it only made her feel worse. “I want to be with him.”

  Olivia nodded. She walked back to where Cecelia and Ben were standing and watching Mr. Owens. When Olivia relayed Marian’s message to Ben, he turned and glared at Marian. Then he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and kicked the dirt.

  It embarrassed and angered Marian to watch her ten-year-old brother demonstrate his selfishness like an undisciplined toddler. She opened her mouth to scold him but stopped in shock as he picked up a rock and chucked it at the hive.

  Mr. Owens dropped the smoker and jumped down from the stepladder. Olivia and Cecelia dashed along the path toward Marian, followed by a laughing Ben and a net-covered Mr. Owens.

  “Run!” Olivia yelled, as she fled the chaos of the disemboweled hive.

  Marian turned and ran out of the grove with the hum of the angry swarm swelling in volume behind her. She had never been stung by a bee, and she was not going to risk it now.

  Her skirt swished as she ran down the grassy path and the muscles in her legs warmed. Behind her, the cacophony of screams and laughter and buzzing began to die down. She glanced back to see if they all made it out unscathed.

  Once clear of the forest, Ben and Mr. Owens ran in one direction and Cecelia and Olivia ran another.

  Marian stopped and scanned their faces. “Did anyone get stung—”

  Before the words left her lips, she felt a pinch on her forearm. She gasped and swatted. Another sting pierced her hand and then the opposite wrist then her elbow. As the venom’s fire burned beneath her skin she unrolled her sleeves and began running toward the cabins. Both arms pulsed with radiant pain, but she fought the urge to cry. Buzzing wings brushed her ear and more stingers stabbed her skin. A scream escaped her throat.

  Her mother stepped into the doorway of their house and said something but Marian could not hear. All she heard was buzzing and her own cries and the pounding of her pulse inside her ears as she ran. Only a few more strides to the door and she would be safe. Her mother would know how to get the stingers out and stop the pain and tell her everything would be all right. The skin on her arms tightened as her flesh swelled and her heart’s rapid pounding dropped into slow, hard thuds. Her head felt light, not in the pleasant way as it had with the gray leaf tea, but with a wickedly quiet confusion that told her nothing was right or ever would be right again.

  The distance between her feet and the cabins closed slowly and then not at all. She could not run any farther. No matter how she tried, her body would not respond. Her knees hit the ground followed by her burning hands and finally her face. The world went still and spun all at once.

  She wheezed out a breath as the feet of the others kicked up the dust around her. Her tongue and palate swelled and she parted her lips, desperate for air. She could not tell herself it would be all right because nothing felt right.

  Her mother’s panicked voice rose in a call for help and more voices followed. If Jonah were here, he could do something to make it better. He could care for her and fix this, but he was not here.

  The sidelong view of the cabins faded as the corners of her vision filled with white light.

  * * *

  By mid-afternoon Jonah and Mr. Weathermon were walking along the stretch of shoreline north of the settlement. The day had warmed, and the sun’s rays cast light that looked more like spring than autumn. Nothing felt normal here to Jonah, but perhaps that was what lent fascination to adventure.

  He would soon be enjoying his reunion with Marian. He cuffed his sleeves over his forearms then pointed toward the scuffed path worn through the grass by the settlers. “Almost there.”

  Mr. Weathermon nodded, his patchy ch
eeks jiggling. He began to reply but halted abruptly, mouth open. His gait slowed to a stagger. He clutched his shoulder and gasped. “Oh, what a mighty pain!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Mr. Weathermon breathed heavily and stared into the distance, glassy eyed. “This is quite an episode.” He began to lean as though he might fall over.

  Jonah gripped his shoulders to steady him. “You should sit down on the ground.”

  The pack strapped to his back wobbled as he lowered himself to the sandy soil. “I’m too old to hike for days and sleep on the ground.” He panted. “It’s unnatural for a man of my years to take up exploring a new land. We were walking much too fast. That must have triggered it.”

  They had been walking at a reasonable pace. “Triggered what, exactly?” Jonah asked, fearing the older man’s heart might fail. He lifted Mr. Weathermon’s wrist and felt his pulse. It thumped irregularly. He reached for the straps of Mr. Weathermon’s pack and helped remove it from his shoulder. “You need to lie down.”

  “Nonsense.” Mr. Weathermon fanned himself with his hands. “Palpitations, that’s all it is. They’re harmless.”

  “Not if accompanied by pain and shortness of breath.”

  “This episode does feel strange.”

  Jonah twisted off the cap of Mr. Weathermon’s canteen and handed it to him. “Where is the pain exactly?”

  “My shoulder mostly, but it passed as quickly as it came. Perhaps it was just the weight of the pack. Yes, I’m sure that was all. The pain passed quickly enough. No need to worry.”

  “Does my father know about your heart condition?”

  “Heart condition?” Mr. Weathermon balked. When Jonah raised an eyebrow at him, he dropped his pretense. “Yes. It was your father who treated my first episode when he was a young physician in Dover. My physician was down with influenza and your father made the house call.”

  “Mr. Weathermon, you can wait until you catch your breath to talk.”

  “I’m fine,” he continued unabated. “I’d lost my wife, had no children and no friends to speak of. Even though your father said I would be fine, I didn’t want to be alone. He could tell and stayed for a while. We played a game of cards and talked like old chums. He called on me the next day too. He was being kind is all, but we became friends.” Mr. Weathermon took a swig from his canteen. “Yes, your father knows about my heart condition. But I’ve lived many years with it and I’m not going to worry anyone about it now. This is as far as this information goes, understand?”