The Celtic Key

by Barbara Best

  “Who says—”

  “There is Dramamine, madame,” Colette breaks in, skillfully stepping between her feuding friends. “Dramamine works in many cases. You will see. I will do everything I can to make you comfortable.”

  Sophie cracks her first smile, seeing Colette’s sincerity. “What don’t you have in that medicine-cabinet bag of yours? I’m pretty sure I’ll need it.”

  “Who knows, I may need it too,” Colette chuckles. Then again, she can’t say she has ever been seasick. “When do we sail, Father?” she asks.

  “In three days, weather permitting. They say she has a clean reputation for a tight schedule. We are a few of the last to sign on.” Cambrio had to do some finagling to make arrangements for their passage and paid a hefty sum to secure their upgraded cabins. “That means it won’t be as long a wait for us. Many passengers bought their tickets days ago. Their meager budgets for lodging have already run dry.”

  “Where are we headed?” Sophie tries to mollify her sulk with the thought of going home to America.

  “The Nannie Dee sails for Boston. Then, on to the gulf port of New Orleans, Louisiana. Our final destination.”

  Chapter 28

  A BUBBLING BOIL

  The sea engulfs them in a bubbling boil. Every rise of the ship’s prow is usurped by a bone-jarring drop. The relentless pitching has made Sophie sore and stiff all over. Hunkered down with Colette, the chaos of unnatural confinement and dangerous rocking of their kerosene lamp casts a gloomy light on their cave of a dwelling. She is out of touch with reality as if she is living in someone else’s skin, disconnected and alone.

  They roll as the ocean rolls in ceaseless motion. Any hopes they had for an uneventful crossing were dashed on day one.

  As they knife a jagged path across the Atlantic, the mighty power of nature dredges up age-old superstitions — visions of serpents that lurk beneath and monstrous killer waves that will smash them to splinters. It is only natural when faced with inexplicable events that unfounded beliefs provide reasons for their occurrence.

  Lo and behold, on the very first day out of port a passenger ventured on deck and abruptly lost his hat overboard. Word spread quickly it was a sign they were in for a long and grueling trip. Because they sailed on a Friday, the day Jesus was crucified, it surely meant bad luck of some kind.

  Whatever is in store for the seasoned crew and wary passengers, all agree they have had a turbulent and unforgiving start. They sail with little more than charts, a sextant and compass to steer their course in a vast and unpredictable body of blue water, fathoms deep.

  Sophie gulps back a wave of nausea, but admits it is not as bad at the moment. “We’re gonna need a lot more Dramamine,” she moans.

  Their cabin smells sour no matter how often they empty the barf bucket. Luckily, they have been issued two. The other bucket is made of hammered brass with a sturdy swing handle. It is used for water.

  Colette kids the amenities are an upgrade, and the only thing that is missing in their cozy little cabin is an ocean view. Though Colette loves to go on cruises and can sail a skiff, she is suffering from seasickness too.

  “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” she frets. “I love being on the water. I can’t imagine rice and beans and a bit of cured mutton could cause a problem. It is still safe to eat.”

  Rations, stored beneath the between-decks, are plentiful and have not had time to spoil yet. Passengers who paid a hefty fare can expect a well-prepared diet. The galley is serving a variety of salted and dried foods to include pork and beef, flatbread, ever-popular peas, cooked porridge, butter, and soft whey cheese. Fresh fish will also be added when the sea relaxes enough for fishing. The clever Father Cambrio even brought a chest with their own food, along with kegs of milk and beer.

  “We should wash up. Father will be ready for tea on the hour,” Colette says, pouring water into their washbowl. Cambrio is adamant they join him in his cabin for noon-tea each day. He worries they are not getting enough exercise, since going topside for fresh air is just short of suicide.

  “I’m not up to it,” Sophie moans. Her body wants to curl up on her berth and succumb to her misery.

  “Come now, we cannot give up our civility. It is what keeps us separated from the animals.” Colette tosses her head toward the cabin door, meaning the motley crew she encountered the night before. On her way to wash their bucket and get fresh water a small band of drunken sailors had assailed her with offensive language and obnoxious gestures. “Please madame, Father would be so disappointed. It will do us good to get out. Nous devons continuer à lutter. We must keep fighting.”

  Life below decks is grossly limited. Sophie and Colette know about the ship’s common areas, but neither can stand the idea of being crammed into a smoke-filled space with stinking bodies and boisterous behavior. They also know any exposure to the other passengers will likely mean being drawn into conversations and having to come up with smart answers to probing questions.

  As they stumble down a narrow passageway, trying to stay upright, Colette complains her French bath will simply not suffice. “I am so nasty, you can smell me coming.” Spraying Colette’s perfume on their bodies after a clumsy wash-up from a bowl is a futile way of cleaning themselves.

  Colette teases, “I’m about ready to be hosed-off by the offices of the boatswain on deck.” This is a practice the crew and even a few of the passengers took advantage of.

  Just as Sophie’s loud hoot exceeds the rumble of the ship, an elderly couple followed by a manservant turns a corner into their path. With eyebrows arched, they smile and nod in passing. The man tips his hat, “Ladies.” He is American.

  In Father Cambrio’s cabin, which is slightly bigger than theirs, Sophie takes a straight-backed chair made in embossed leather that has discolored and cracked with age. Colette perches on a small stool beside her and Cambrio props across from them on the corner of his berth. He has moved his trunk temporarily to serve as a table.

  “I am delighted you could join me,” Cambrio smiles and hands them each a napkin. “Allow me.” He insists on pouring. Maneuvering the teapot, he carefully fills Sophie and Colette’s teacups without spilling a drop. They drink their tea with no cream to conserve their supply of milk on board. Thrifty chips of sugar add sweetness.

  “Well done, if I do say so myself,” Cambrio chuckles, returning the pot to the tray.

  “I see you’ve started without us?” Sophie observes Cambrio’s steaming brew rock in his teacup.

  “Oh yes, I can never wait. My tea is molto bene.” He lifts his cup, blows and takes a sip.

  Sophie watches the man’s pinky finger stick out. His snobbery is a joke. But in all fairness, the dainty piece of porcelain is small for his hand.

  “I am very sorry to hear you are under the weather. We have had a treacherous beginning.” Cambrio’s brows tilt with care. He pauses briefly, “So, you have both been to sea before? Perhaps you have a story?” Seeing Widow Downing is as closemouthed as ever, he dips his chin, “Colette?”

  As Colette happily begins, Cambrio listens politely. His mind, however, wanders to more stimulating matters of importance. So far he has been successful in making a favorable first impression on a group of Americans and some delegates from Washington who are on their return trip to the states.

  His attention flits back to the women when Colette suggests she has never been seasick before.

  “The tea helps, I think,” Colette concludes. “Thank you, Father.”

  “My pleasure,” Cambrio beams. “Although an untimely malady has befallen you, the Lord will give grace. It is His unfading promise.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Sophie points out, heeding the man’s good color. “You look well, totally unaffected by whatever plagues us.” There is an uncomfortable quiet. “I’m just saying.”

  “O ye, of little faith.”

  Sophie bristles at the sanctimonious attitude. Cambrio’s morph to 19th Century saintliness makes her want to gag. She has g
rown tired of his conceited airs. His character has a false ring that no one seems to notice.

  Completely absorbed, Cambrio continues, “I pray for those who are tested. That they may have patience. For God can rebuke the storms and bring the seas to silence.”

  “Really, Father, you are preaching to the wrong congregation.”

  Colette swiftly intervenes. “I am teaching madame how to embroider.”

  Her friends’ stiffened bodies warn another kerfuffle in the making. Sophie and Father Cambrio continue to be at odds. Living stuffed to the gunwales, confined in a crowd as thick as bees in a hive, raises tensions and causes personality clashes.

  “You have found satisfaction in needlework, have you?” Cambrio smiles, yet his eyes still glitter his disapproval.

  “Not particularly,” Sophie counters.

  “But you have a knack, madame,” Colette says. “Her work is good. She is a quick learner.”

  Colette’s eyes move to the door and sudden ruckus beyond Father’s cabin. The commotion in the hall recedes slowly to the natural drone of life on board and reminds them there is no privacy. All three are holding their cups out from their bodies in a balancing act to keep from tipping hot liquid into their laps.

  “You’re just being nice, Colette,” Sophie sighs. “Sewing. The perfect domestic pastime of Victorian women. I’ll do it, of course. But frankly, it’s not my cup of tea.”

  During a brief silence, Sophie studies the brown transparent beverage in her cup. “This is different. Definitely not like the tea I used to make with ready-made tea bags from the grocery store.” She takes another sip. “It’s stronger. Sort of minty with a slight aftertaste.”

  “Tea is tea,” Cambrio shrugs. “Perhaps the mint will settle your stomachs. Drink up, ladies,” he says, and checks his timepiece like he should be somewhere else. “When you are improved, I expect to see you at my daily prayer meetings. The more, the merrier.”

  Cambrio is trying to establish relationships and develop a need for his spiritual guidance among the passengers and crew. Currently, there are only a handful of practicing Catholics on the Nannie Dee who wish to attend mass. He also has some stiff competition.

  Reverend Clayton Post, a bright and devout young man with a pristine reputation, serves as adviser to the Washington delegates and is well regarded on board. A flock of Mormon immigrants bound for Salt Lake City and led by Bishop Leonard Ashby also assemble. The pious shepherd Ashby keeps his sheep close.

  “Making a show will thwart needless natter,” he advises, “People talk.”

  “They can talk all they want,” Sophie hears the faint snarl in her voice.

  “I understand how you feel, my dear,” Cambrio sympathizes with a fatherly tolerance that is inclined to strike a nerve. “We get on with life and living. Need I remind you, you are—”

  “Pregnant?” Sophie says, glancing down at the front of her dress. Contrary to losing weight brought on by her daily puke-fest, Colette helped to loosen the laces on her corset a smidgen. If she must wear it, it will be without constricting the poor child growing inside.

  Father Cambrio clears his throat, feigning embarrassment. “I, er, I wasn’t referring to your—”

  “What is wrong with you? As if you haven’t heard the word pregnant in public before. You forget I know where you’re from, Cambrio. Ever since we got on this floating death trap, you have been acting way too pretentious for my blood,” Sophie’s temper erupts. “I just don’t appreciate it. Especially when it’s the three of us alone.”

  “Please, don’t excite yourself, madame. The sickness has been a strain, Father. She is not herself,” Colette apologizes, her French accent thick.

  “I am every bit myself,” Sophie scoffs, shooting a wide-eyed expression of annoyance their way. She takes a deep breath and the last swallow of her tea.

  Later that night like clockwork Sophie and Colette share their bucket, taking turns upchucking their dinner. The sickness seems to let up in the morning, but comes back with a vengeance in the evening hours. Both are very much aware their developing weakness can lead to disease.

  “How long do you think this will go on?” Sophie asks after they both settle in for the night. “I’m worried about my baby. This can’t be good.”

  There is quiet for a minute or two as the women listen to the snapping of sails and creaking of rigging.

  “I wonder what time it is?” Colette yawns. Her voice is scratchy.

  “With no windows, who knows.”

  “Maybe, we should see the ship’s doctor.”

  “What? That quack? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Father Cambrio had introduced them to the frumpy, overweight man when they were boarding.

  “He is always mopping his face and neck with that large hankie of his,” Sophie pokes fun. “Father said his soul leaks like a sieve. I say he sweats like a stuck pig!” Her colorful description makes them giggle.

  Sophie says more seriously, “Doctors in this time do weird stuff.”

  “Oui, they still bleed people.”

  “Bloody Christ! Scare me to death, why don’t you.” A chill runs through Sophie, and she pulls her blanket up to her chin. Suddenly, she feels like crying, but she is too exhausted to spend energy on it.

  “I am afraid for us, madame.”

  “I am afraid for us too, Colette.”

  Chapter 29

  THIS IS REAL

  Sophie stirs to wakefulness in the wee hours of the morning, her hands stacked comfortably on her tummy. For a brief time, the sweaty, throbbing sickness has diminished. She is restless, but not in a bad way. It is almost like she is intentionally up to enjoy a quiet moment when the lining of her stomach is not twisted into a knot or turned inside out. She listens to the ship’s rasping whine as it rocks and shakes. Colette’s breathing on the berth overhead is regular and almost the same tempo.

  Yesterday, the Sea Captain of the Nannie Dee paid them a visit. Captain Varney expressed genuine concern for their condition and rendered his officers at their beck and call. The captain said his passengers are his greatest responsibility. When Colette asked about a case of measles Father Cambrio had mentioned at tea, the captain firmly denied any record of illness other than bouts of seasickness on board.

  At Colette’s question, Sophie thought she saw the flesh between Captain Varney’s eyebrows crease. However, he quickly masked his aversion to bothersome rumors and assured them wholeheartedly, the mal de mer will pass.

  Captain Royal Varney surprised them both, especially Colette, with a string of flattering remarks in fluent French. He has all the outward signs of a well-educated man — a perfect sailor and gentleman. Virile and thickset, his skin is a rich brown from years of exposure to the sea. The lines on his face etch a fulfilling life. His clear blue eyes and handsome silver-gray beard exude honesty and fairness. The captain is master of his ship and a skilled and respected seaman.

  Before departing their cabin, Captain Varney reminded Sophie and Colette that with God’s blessing and Father Cambrio’s fervent prayers, they are in good hands. He politely offered his personal collection of books as a diversion and promised fine weather to come so they may take the air.

  The kerosene lamp swings precariously on its hook from the ceiling. They keep the wick burning day and night, as neither of them can bear to be left in total darkness. If an emergency arose, it would take much too long to generate a source of light. It is not like they can flip a switch. There is a black smudge of oily residue on the ceiling above and Sophie notices a thin haze in their badly ventilated room. To help relieve stinging eyes and burning sinuses, they made it a habit to leave their door propped open several times a day, whether it offended protocol or not.

  Sophie is starved for fresh air and sunshine and tempted to venture outside, no matter how rough the seas. This notion, of course, is strongly advised against. At the slightest mention, Colette rattles off her list of vulnerabilities, a broken record of hazards awaiting those who dare to take a
chance. More importantly, she can hardly overlook Captain Varney’s strict orders for passengers to stay below decks and preferably in their cabins until further notice.

  Remembering her first impression of their so-called first class cabin, Sophie covers her mouth to keep from laughing again.

  Colette warned her what to expect on ships like this, but it still came as a surprise. In good form, her friend was able to drum up some hilarity to ease their formidable circumstance. When Sophie ducked through the doorway and cracked her head on a low beam, Colette made a snide comment about the Nannie Dee’s designers. She suggested the men must be the runts of their litter with small feet and small hands. Her double meaning had them in stitches at the time. Following her jest, Colette also expressed sympathy for those who cannot afford a cabin like theirs.

  While their cabin contains two berths with linens, a chair, washbasin, mirror and cabinet with drawers for necessities, passengers who travel steerage have little, if no privacy. Several hundred passengers occupy what is called the ship’s ’tween decks. It can only be reached by a ladder at the fore and main hatches. Conditions there are cramped, the food is poor and the atmosphere is as bleak as the weather that restricts them even more.

  Sophie wiggles her toes, enjoying the luxury of having a berth that is long enough for her to stretch out. Her mind drifts softly on other events from yesterday.

  She had started the day with a small bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, having a restored appetite upon rising. Then, she and Colette exercised to help keep up their strength. Practicing yoga poses from classes Sophie had taken with Jane in Savannah suits their small space.

  Colette is actually a wonderful teacher. Each day, they set aside time for embroidery and general sewing techniques. Sophie is learning the various card games of the period and how to speak French. Her new knowledge of the language had come in handy during Captain Varney’s visit.

  Since Colette plays the role of personal servant to Sophie, she enjoys certain liberties in roaming the ship and is always eager to share things she has seen and heard. They want to understand the ways of 19th Century people.