by Liz Adair
Depositing her purse on the counter, Cassie hastily climbed to the captain’s station. With a trembling hand, she inserted the key. Making sure the lever was in the neutral position, she turned the key and waited for the pulsing throb of the engine coming to life.
Nothing happened. It didn’t even turn over. Frantically she tried again and again as the outgoing tide carried her past the mouth of the harbor.
22
Immediately outside the harbor mouth, the water turned rough, and the powerless boat was constantly in motion, rocking forward and aft or rolling side to side, depending on which way the bow was facing. The wind generally kept the boat perpendicular to the waves, but as they became bigger and the Red Swan slid down into deep troughs between them, she would yaw and tip violently sideways.
Seawater was now spraying over the cabin as the bow met the waves. Fighting nausea, Cassie prayed audibly for help and looked around for the boat that would answer that prayer. There was no one in sight. She noted that she was in the middle of a wide strait, but the wind was blowing her toward an island to the north, and Aaron had said that staying in deep water was safer than being close to shore. Suddenly she remembered that he was holding a sea anchor when he said that.
As the boat continued to pitch wildly, Cassie felt her face get hot. With saliva pouring into her mouth, she staggered to the back deck and vomited over the side, grateful for the coolness of the spray that struck her face as the boat headed into a wave. As the Red Swan plunged, yawed, and rolled, she decided her only hope would be to see if she could drop the sea anchor.
Lurching back through the cabin, she opened the cupboard and took out the canvas bundle and the rope it was sitting on. She spread her feet and braced herself as she considered how it needed to be deployed. She talked herself through the process: “If I unwrap these lead ropes now, I can fasten them onto the line with these metal clips. Right. Then, I need to tie the line to the bow first before I throw it over. It won’t do to have it pull out of my hands while I’m trying to tie it on. Okay. I can do this.”
It was harder than she had imagined. At the V-berth, she laid everything in readiness on the bunk. Before she could open the hatch, she was hit with another wave of nausea that had her sweating and retching. Shouting a prayer and holding an end of the rope in her hand, she unlatched the hatch and climbed up on the bunk, which put her out of the boat from the waist up. Immediately, a wall of water hit her and left her choking and sputtering, but the nausea was gone. She wiped her eyes and worked with fumbling fingers to put the loop end around the bow cleat and fasten it securely.
That done, she ducked down just as another wave came over the bow and poured through the hatchway. She grabbed the anchor and the coil of rope, stood again, and laid the rope on the bow. Unfurling the canvas parachute, she flung it over the side and watched the rope play out, heedless of the drenching, briny waves that were growing even as she was working and that took her breath away as they hit her full-on. When the last of the rope was overboard, she closed the hatch and wiped the wet hair out of her eyes.
Wading in an inch of water back to the cabin, she sobbed out her thanks when she saw that the Red Swan was now riding consistently with her bow into the waves. Cassie hoped there would be no more yawing and rolling, and no chance that the boat would broach and be capsized by a wave.
The wind intensified, and the waves grew bigger still, crashing over the bow and obliterating any chance of seeing through the windshield. Soon Cassie’s life consisted of bracing one way for the ride up the crest of a wave, and bracing another way for the plunge down into the trough. Intermittently, she checked to make sure the island to the north wasn’t getting any larger.
“I can do this,” Cassie chanted aloud like a mantra. “I can do this.” Then she began singing the only lines of “Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me” that she knew. Over and over she sang, until suddenly she remembered the flare gun.
Luke had had it in his hand on the day that the yellow crabbing boat tied up alongside. He must have found it in the cabin. Cassie braced against the cupboard and began opening and closing doors. At last she found it. Lifting the lid of the case, she was grateful to see that the directions were printed large enough that she wouldn’t have to peer at them and court seasickness again. With trembling fingers, she loaded the gun and carried it out to the back deck. Standing in water, and soaked by waves pouring over the top of the house, she held on to the handrail with one hand and extended the other high over her head. As she pulled the trigger, she took time to watch the fiery dart shoot skyward before she ducked back into the cabin.
Through the back window, Cassie searched with stinging eyes for the sight of a boat coming to her rescue. Nobody was foolish enough to venture out in this storm. Help was not to come.
After an interminable wait, Cassie began thinking about the second flare. There were only two, and one should not be profligate, she told herself. Wait awhile longer.
The wind continued unabated, and the waves continued to batter the little craft. Cassie began to think that she wouldn’t make it. The rope on the sea anchor would fray and the boat would turn sideways in a trough. One of the monster waves would come crashing down as the boat rolled, spinning it like a water wheel. The sea would pour into the cabin, and Cassie, if she managed to make it out into the frigid water, would drown or die of hypothermia.
As she thought these dismal thoughts, she realized she had been so panicked that she hadn’t even put on a life vest. Though she wondered if that wouldn’t just prolong the agony when she capsized, she decided to do it anyway and carefully made her way to the closet to put it on.
She looked at her watch and saw that it had been half an hour since she fired the last flare. Thinking that it seemed like years, she decided she was going to shoot off this one and then resign her fate to the Lord.
She reloaded the pistol, watched for the right interval that would keep her the driest, and stepped outside. She fired off the flare and watched the high, arcing trajectory. Before she could duck back into the shelter of the cabin, a deluge of water washed over the house, almost knocking her off her feet and inflating her life vest. Sputtering and wiping her hair from her eyes, she glanced over the stern and saw behind her a huge burst of spray and then another. Though she was almost thrown to the deck by another wall of water, she stayed outside, mesmerized by the sight of spray flying up in front of what she joyously perceived to be a boat. An open boat. Someone was out in this maelstrom in an open boat! But whoever it was, he was coming straight toward her, and Cassie began to hope again.
As the boat neared, Cassie could see through the matted-down hair that covered her eyes that it was Aaron. No one ever looked so good. He ran his boat alongside the Red Swan and tossed her a line, then pointed to the midship cleat. Leaning far forward, Cassie made it fast, though she was almost thrown overboard in the process.
Aaron’s boat banged against the Red Swan, but Aaron held it steady and tossed Cassie another line. As she tied it to the stern cleat, Aaron cut the motor and hauled himself over the side.
“Get inside,” he shouted, and Cassie obeyed, closing the door and trying to keep from crying in relief.
She watched through the window as he dropped bumpers between his skiff and the Red Swan and made sure that Cassie had done a good job of making it fast. Then he also came inside and, kneeling down, opened a little door under the captain’s station.
“What are you doing?” Cassie asked.
“Turning on the batteries.”
Cassie’s heart sank as she realized that she would not have been in this situation had she known.
As they rode up and down the waves, the Red Swan began to list. Alarmed, Cassie looked out the window. “Your boat is filling up with water,” she called to Aaron.
Without saying a word, Aaron went out and set the skiff free, tossing the lines in as it floated away from them, foundering.
“Oh, Aaron, your boat!” Cassie exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”
> “Never mind that,” he said, climbing into the captain’s chair and starting the engine. Though filled with humiliation for causing the problem, Cassie thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard.
Taking out his pocket knife and opening it to a serrated blade, Aaron said, “You are to go forward and cut the line holding the sea anchor.”
“Cut the line?”
“You’d never be able to haul it in. It’ll eventually drift to shore and will be someone’s good luck. Now, go do it. As soon as it’s free, I’ll start to power forward.”
Holding the knife gingerly away from her body, Cassie lurched forward, bending over when she reached the berth. She opened the hatch, braced herself for the briny onslaught, and climbed up on the bunk. Standing up through the hatchway, she leaned way forward, reaching out as far as she could and began to saw at the rope stretching out from the bow.
The wind was howling around her ears, and she was hit with a wave that took her breath away. She felt the water go down her back and through the hatch, but she kept on sawing at the rope, and after a few moments, it gave way.
She dropped back through the hatch and quickly pulled the cover closed. “Done!” she shouted. Immediately she felt the boat respond to the rudder, and though they were still rearing and plunging, it seemed to be a more controlled ascent and descent.
“What time is it?” Aaron’s voice was grim as he shouted the question over the sound of the wind and the pounding waves.
Wondering why he would ask, Cassie looked at her watch and came to stand by him. “It’s four o’clock.”
“I think we have enough time,” he said, looking intently out the window. “Hold on. I’m coming about.” Gauging the waves just right, he spun the wheel and the Red Swan turned completely around, facing the opposite direction. She rolled a bit, but righted immediately. They now had a following sea, and the going was a lot smoother. As the waves came upon them, instead of crashing over the bow, they would lift the stern of the boat way up high and then roll on under.
They had traveled for only a little while when Aaron spun the wheel, warning her that she might roll a bit. Cassie braced herself but was thrown against the middle cupboard when they rolled to port so hard that the gunwale almost touched the water.
“That’s the understatement of the century,” she said through clenched teeth.
Then there was nothing. No more bucking and pitching and rolling. Just a gentle rising and falling as they chugged into placid waters.
“What did you do?” Cassie asked unbelievingly.
Aaron switched on the radio. “This is Chinaman Cove. If the tide is too low, you can’t get in, but I know Red Swan can manage on a six-foot tide. Another half hour and we wouldn’t have made it. Instead, we’d have been two hours beating back to Quarry Harbor.”
While the engine continued to idle, Aaron went forward and opened the hatch. He hauled the anchor out of its locker and dropped it overboard. Then he took the helm again and said, “When I tell you to, I want you to tie the anchor line off on the bow cleat.”
Cassie took her place in the hatchway while Aaron backed the boat and the anchor line played out overboard.
“Tie ’er off,” he called.
“Got it,” Cassie called back as she made the line fast. Then she looked around at the high sandstone cliffs surrounding on three sides. Huge cave-like holes that had been eroded out of the walls showed up black against the lighter rock.
Dropping back down into the cabin, she closed the hatch. “That’s really something, all those caves out there.”
Aaron turned down the radio. “That’s why it’s called Chinaman Cove. In the late eighteen hundreds, they needed cheap labor for the salmon canneries, so people started smuggling in Chinese immigrants. The traffickers would drop them off here, and the Chinese would hide in the holes until people from the canneries came and got them.”
Switching off the engine, he got down from the pilot’s seat and went to the hall cupboard. “You’re drenched,” he said. “You’re probably soaked to the skin.”
“That’s a fair assessment,” Cassie said lightly. “You know, I still feel like I’m rising and falling. It’s weird.”
Aaron grinned as he handed her a towel and a pair of sweats. “You can change in the head. Here’s a plastic bag to put your wet clothes in. You can take a shower if you want and wash the salt out of your hair. There should be hot water in the tank by now.”
“A shower? You’re kidding!”
“’Fraid not. Try it.”
“You’re every girl’s dream,” Cassie said over her shoulder as she headed aft. “First you save my life, and then you provide a hot shower.”
“It may be just a warm shower,” he cautioned.
“Good enough,” she assured him and ducked into the head, emerging a quarter hour later in baggy sweats to find that Aaron had changed into dry clothes as well.
“We’re twins,” she said, running her hands through her damp hair to fluff it up. “How many more pair do you have in there just like these two?”
“There’s one more set. Are you hungry? We have Top Ramen, kippers, and hot chocolate.”
“Are you kidding? When you wouldn’t let me finish my pancakes? I’m starved.”
Aaron laughed and pulled out a stool for Cassie to sit on, then sat beside her. He handed her a spoon for her noodles and said, “I had a hunch this blow was coming. They said in Quarry Harbor that it moved in so fast from the Pacific that the radar didn’t pick it up. There was no advance warning. The radio said that winds were to get to fifty knots and then die down after midnight.”
“How fast is fifty knots?”
“About sixty miles an hour. If you step outside you’ll hear it whistling. We’re lucky to be sheltered here like we are.”
“I’ll say. My knuckles are still white! What a ride! Oh, Aaron, I’m so sorry about your boat. All I could think of was saving the Red Swan when that burning boat was coming toward it.”
“You were right to do what you did, Mrs. Jordain.”
“How can you speak to me so formally? We’re marooned together. Call me Cassie.”
“All right, Cassie. You were right to save the Red Swan. They weren’t well prepared for a fire like that. They lost one boat and another was damaged. Besides, I should have showed you the battery switch and taught you how to start the engine, but I was too . . .” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.
Cassie looked at him over the rim of her mug of chocolate, and her eyes crinkled. “You were certainly fierce,” she said. “If looks could kill, I’d be dead. But I know why, now, and it’s all right.”
Aaron blinked. “You do?”
“Yes. Mr. Knuteson told me you built the Red Swan. I can understand how you didn’t like me coming along and announcing that I was the owner.” All of a sudden Cassie realized that she was getting into territory that covered how Aaron had lost his boat. She took a spoonful of noodles to cover her confusion and tried to think how to turn the conversation into another vein.
Aaron did it for her. “I didn’t realize you were a widow or I might not have been so rude. When did your husband die?”
“October second. It was a Monday, and he was home from a trip, bringing me flowers. He was hit by a car while crossing the street. I saw it happen.”
“That was just two weeks ago,” Aaron said. “How do you deal with it so well?”
“I don’t. It’s worse at night. But so many things—like today—have happened since I came to Quarry Harbor, that it doesn’t seem like he’s been gone just two weeks.”
It was getting dark, and Aaron reached to turn on an overhead light. Leaning back against the middle cupboard, he cradled his mug in his hands. “You said he had been on a trip. What was he doing?”
“He worked for the government, undercover, in drug enforcement. I’ve only found that out since he’s been dead. The police are investigating whether his death was murder resulting from his work with drug traf
fickers coming down from Canada into the U.S.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Aaron said.
“Thank you.”
They ate quietly for a moment, and then Cassie said, “I’ve been so concerned with my own problems that I didn’t think to ask about that man. The one who blew up his boat.”
“He’ll be all right,” Aaron said. “Singed and scared is all.”
“I didn’t see you turning on any blowers when you started this motor.”
“That’s because the Swan has a diesel engine. It’s much less volatile than gasoline. Safer.”
“Oh.” Cassie yawned and began clearing up the supper mess.
“Tired?”
“Yes, I am all of a sudden. Must be the emotional letdown. Where do I put this garbage?”
“There’s a bin under the sink. Why don’t you lie down for a while? We’re here until the tide comes back up to where we can clear the rocks at the entrance.”
“That sounds so good, but I imagine the bunk is soaked from all the water that poured in when the hatch was open,” Cassie said wistfully.
Aaron went to the closet in the hallway. “We’ll cover it with a tarp. It may not be the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but it will keep you dry. Here. Spread this over the wet place. Take this blanket, too, and I’ll get you a pillow.”
Cassie took the covers from him and grinned. “You’re just like a magician! Is there anything you don’t have in that closet?”
“Lots. But I do have one more thing for you. Socks,” he said, producing a heavy woolen pair. “It didn’t make sense to give them to you while you were walking around, because the floor is still wet. But put them on when you get in bed, and they will keep you nice and warm.”
“Luxury indeed,” Cassie breathed. “Thank you.”
She went forward and spread the tarp as directed. Then she folded the thick Hudson Bay blanket in half and laid it so she could lie on one part and cover herself with the other. Lastly, she sat on the bunk and pulled the wool socks onto her cold feet and then lay down.