He was like a tiger on the prowl in the early morning light, and he sought the comfort of coffee. Harry had the pot hot in the galley and noticed the nervous step, the exaggerated talk, even that Mr Olsen never came to the galley at this early hour - something was amiss.
Dawn had come far too slowly for Mate Olsen. He faced long, anguishing hours, after the midday meal in fact, before he would be off watch, before he would have any opportunity for some time with Miss Jessica. At 8.00 am Matthew was roused with the others by Mr Olsen and the watch began. Mr Olsen detailed Matthew to help him with repairs to the long boat; they were to cut away the smashed wood for the carpenter to fix.
By now Matthew and Mr Olsen were very close. Mate really enjoyed the quick young mind and Matthew never stopped plying him for stories of his adventures. When the bomb fell, it impacted like a powder keg exploding.
“Did you know Miss Jessica is getting married?” asked Matthew, innocently.
Mr Olsen’s hammer stopped mid-stroke. He went rigid, and Matthew looked with alarm at Mr Olsen’s white face.
“W-where did you hear that?” Mr Olsen said, with all the composure he could muster.
She told us at school before the storm.”
“W-what did she actually say, pray tell?”
“Oh, just that Mr Purcell had asked her to marry.”
Mr Olsen sat down with a thump; hammer held in both hands and looked blankly ahead. Matthew was aware something bad had just happened, but was at a loss to understand what it was. Surely they all got on really well and Mr Olsen would be really pleased for Miss Jessica, Matthew thought. Grown-ups were very hard to understand sometimes. But Mr Olsen kept his own counsel and Matthew was none the wiser.
“Please, could you ask Miss Jessica to meet me at the seat by the mainmast at midday?” he asked, after a while. “I would like to congratulate her.”
“Yes sir, I will. She likes you, you know, sir.”
Mr Olsen’s big heart did a thump. “Has she said so?”
“Well, no sir, but after every lesson she always wants to know more about your adventures. That is why I ask you so many questions sir, as she is really interested. Me too sir,” Matthew added quickly.
Even a storm at sea goes more quickly than the next four hours went for Mate. At noon he was clearly visible, pacing up and down by the mainmast, his face concentrating on some inner thought. By 12.45pm his pacing had slowed; when an hour had passed, he was leaning listlessly over the rail, staring blankly out to sea. At 1.00 pm, he felt a light tap on his arm. It was Matthew.
“Mr Mate, sir, I have a message from Miss Jessica. She said please wait for her if you possibly can. There is a baby being born down in steerage and she is trying to help. She also said it would be much better if you didn’t go down there, but please she really wants to see you.”
Mr Olsen brightened. “Please tell Miss Jessica to take her time. The baby comes first. I will wait here, I promise.”
At 4 pm it was time for Mr Olsen’s watch. He called the watch and gave the work details, but stayed at his station. The watch ended at 8 pm, and there was no sign of Miss Jessica. Matthew went down below for him and came back with sombre news.
“The lady is screaming like the devil,” he said, matter-of-factly. “There is one baby born dead and the other one is stuck between her legs.”
Mr Olsen remained at his post. He was at a loss to know what to do, but he did arrange hot soup to be sent down below. Two hours later, the terrible ordeal ended. Miss Jessica was the first to come out of the hatch, her hair dishevelled, rivulets of sweat running down her face. She looked utterly and totally drained. Blood smeared her bodice and dress and she stared at her blood-covered hands, uncomprehending, as if they belonged to another. Mr Olsen was the first to her side and only his strong grip stopped her from tumbling back down the hatch. With great tenderness he led her to the water cask and with the tail of his shirt washed off the blood as best he could.
“Mr Olsen,” she said in a quiet voice, “I am in much torment. The mother has died and the two babies also have died. I have never seen such a terrible sight in my life. I know this is improper, but I need comfort. Please, could you put your arms around me, just briefly?”
Torn between joy and sadness, he encircled her small frame in his big arms, willing his heart to give her strength. She stood there, slack, her head on his chest and it was a moment or more before she began to cry softly. They were tears of sorrow, tears of pity, and tears of great loss. It was some time before she pulled away and looked up at him, the look of a lost child. She looked deep into his eyes as if to find an answer and when there was none, said nothing. She pulled away and walked to her cabin, shutting the door behind her.
Mate Olsen took charge of the funeral detail. The bodies were wrapped in muslin then carried respectfully to the sick bay. It had been a difficult time for all the steerage passengers, for Mrs Paterson was well liked and her working class husband was left with two young children. All were aware of their agony and there was great sombreness below decks. That night, a lone harmonica player carried a lament that brought tears to the eyes of many.
The next afternoon, nearly everyone, passengers and crew alike, attended the funeral. The spectre of death on board had been remarkably limited. It was a terribly sad sight to see the father crying with wracking sobs, while the burial service was read by the Captain. The end of the plank was raised and the deceased committed to the deep.
Rising wind kept them awake most of the night and though there was a small easing in the morning, it increased during the day. Mr Olsen seemed to be everywhere at once, giving orders and working at clearing and fixing. It was a further two days before Jessica emerged from her came out of the cabin, her needs having been cared for by Matthew and Douglas, with Mr Olsen quietly supervising in the background. He had been secretly pleased that Mr Purcell never made an appearance at her door.
At the first opportunity she sought out Mr Olsen. She seemed fully recovered and was back to her charming self.
“You wished to see me sir, I believe?” Her smile lit up the deck, the boat, the world, his universe.
“The time then was most inappropriate and I am so pleased to see your face is happy again,” he said.
“It was a terrible time. It was as if my own heart was being torn out,” she agreed. “However, we must move on and I face each day with pleasure,” she smiled again at him.
“And you, Mr Olsen? Are you happy?”
“I-I, may I fetch us both a cup of coffee, Miss Jessica?”
“Delighted, thank you, sir.”
Jessica had seen the red around his ears, for she was enjoying watching his handsome face. With a smile in her heart and on her lips, she watched him hurry away. “I do hope he gets back before that awful Mr Purcell sees me,” she thought.
Mr Olsen came back, his brow furrowed, his big hands holding two coffees, rock steady. His composure was together, though she could see doubt and worry behind the blue eyes.
“I believe that congratulations are in order,” he said firmly.
“Congratulations?”
“Yes, I heard you are to be married to Mr Purcell, and I am sure he is a fine man.”
“And just who told you that, may I ask?” She was nearly bursting and only politeness of speech with this dear man stopped her laughter.
“Well, young Matthew.”
“Well, Mr know-it-all First Mate, there is the world of difference between being asked and accepting now, don’t you think?” Now she burst out into a tinkling high laugh that was music to his ears.
“But… I thought…”
“Perhaps you should not think so much, kind sir?” The world suddenly stopped for Mr Olsen. It was the moment when civilisations mingle, parallel universes collide, butterflies mate. The time when sopranos hit their highest notes, volcanoes erupt, gorillas wrestle, and ships are launched. It seemed the moment had to be now “I…” Nothing else came out
Sir?”
H
is eyes went down to the deck. A cockroach sat there, whiskers twitching. It gave him no answer, was no help what-so-ever. He took a big deep breath. There was no one close by, just the two of them; it had to be now.
“Miss Jessica, we have been together on this boat for three months now. In that time, I have seen you daily and my respect for you grows with every hour. I admire your skills with the children and the compassion you have for others. Your kindness and goodness has touched every person on this boat. I dream of being a doctor and settling down in a new world, with my family around me. I want to give my heart and my soul to someone like you. Indeed, to you alone, Miss Jessica. Would you consent to marry me? I would promise to be faithful, to love and cherish you with every breath I ever draw.”
Jessica stayed seated, coffee cup still in hand. The cup began to tilt, until the liquid slowly fell to the deck. She looked at his face, his sincerity so touching that tears welled up in her eyes.
“Miss Jessica?”
“Mr Olsen, I am short on words. I knew you cared for me and over these months your company has been more than a pleasure but I never thought about this.” She wasn’t being totally honest and she knew it. She had fantasised about this wonderful man more nights than she cared to remember. He had filled her mind and entered her head, heart and body with some very impure thoughts indeed. That it would come to this... she felt her cup runneth over. Her mind was in a whirl.
“Mr Olsen, I can think of few things more wonderful than being married to you.” She took a big breath. “But will you give me twenty-four hours to consider?”
“Miss Jessica,” he replied earnestly, “I want to be with you for life. The next twenty-four hours will be the longest I have ever known. I find this difficult to say - in fact, never before, have I said this to anyone - but I know in my heart that I truly love you like no other.”
Jessica would have liked to have hugged him around the neck and even kissed him in public, but a seaman came urgently into their space with a demand. Mr Olsen was off, promising to be in the same place, the same time tomorrow.
She sat there a long time, an encompassing warm glow spreading through her body. That she would say yes, there was no doubt - she would say it a thousand times. Yet she wanted to savour the time, the next twenty-four beautiful hours, before she could look into the gloriously deep blue eyes of… her fiancé - that made her shiver with delight- and at last say, “Yes, I will marry you.”
Her first husband was an escape, but this time she was marrying for pure unadulterated love, love, love...
Chapter Eighteen
Marriage at Sea
The next day at 12.30 pm, Mr Olsen was waiting at the main mast step, but there was no sign of Miss Jessica. Fully five minutes elapsed before young Douglas came up to him and said his mother wished to talk to him privately in her cabin. He made his way aft, and down to the furthest starboard cabin. The door was open and the beautiful woman inside perched herself on the bunk, and beckoned him in. She looked more desirable than ever, a flush on her high cheeks and purest white hair cascading in ringlets down on to her shoulders.
She sat upright, not in a chaste fashion, but somehow glowing with an urgent beauty that was nearly overwhelming. His sense of propriety would not allow him to close the door. He fumbled with the door handle and tried to appear at ease. In the meantime, Jessica appeared to be having problems of her own, half sitting, then rising, then straightening her dress, all the time acting like a nervous kitten. They were in reality both a mess, for neither had slept much during the night and it showed on the dark rings under their eyes. Finally, Jessica took a deep breath and started.
“Mr Olsen, do you really want to marry me?”
“Absolutely,” said Mr Olsen. “There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that I want to be with you today, tomorrow, and in one hundred years’ time.”
Jessica laughed her lovely laugh. “I might be a bit crinkly in one hundred years’ time. Should we marry, I think it should be a little bit sooner than that.”
He relaxed, slightly. “Today?”
She stopped laughing. “Are you serious Mr Olsen?”
“I have asked the Captain and he is qualified to perform a marriage ceremony whenever it suits.”
“But wait! There is much you need to know about me.” She inhaled, chest rising visibly. “For instance, I am but recently a widow.”
“You have already told me of your first husband’s accident, Miss Jessica. I would not dishonour your first husband and I would be honoured to consider young Douglas as my own. I will accept him with as much love as I give you. But I have a request too,” he said. She looked up at him. “I have grown very fond of young Matthew. I would like to consider seriously the possibility of adopting him, or at least taking care of him.”
“Can we survive with two young children in this new country?”
“Others are emigrating with that number. If they can do it, so can we.”
“Mr Olsen, I am going to say yes to your wonderful proposal. I am going to promise to be faithful to your honour ‘til the day I die. I am going to ask you to kiss me. Then I am going to ask you, how on earth are we going to survive?”
The happiness was flowing out of her; like a flood it reached up through her arms as they encircled his neck. Their lips met, and somewhere on high, a choir sang. It was a tender touch, little more than the brush of a butterfly wing, a touch they would remember until the day they died. The room revolved till it disappeared, carrying them to heaven. Finally, they broke apart. He was leaning for support against the door; she was now with her arms around him.
“In the interests of decency I am glad the door is open,” she said, “I will love you, Mr Olsen, as no woman has ever loved a man.”
“And I, you, Jessica.”
It was the first time he called her just Jessica, less formal, more comfortable, more intimate, more touching. Even that brought a blush to her cheeks. It may be true that miracles do happen. Mr Olsen talked to the Captain, Jessica talked to Douglas and of course the news spread like wildfire. Even the weather listened, for an hour later the decreasing wind had died altogether and the sails hung like heavy drop-cloths off their yards.
At 2.00 pm there was an urgent ringing of the ship’s bell. This usually meant one of two things: fire or disaster. In great anxiety, two hundred souls streamed on to the main deck, the first class, second class and steerage all together, to hear the Captain speak from the poop deck.
The Captain, for all his faults, was a born leader and he addressed the crowd with an excellent speech. He praised Mr Olsen for his capable handling of the ship and sound leadership; he praised the beauty and qualities of Miss Jessica. Then, before a stunned crowd, he announced that their wedding ceremony would be held that very afternoon. There was an intake of breath - and then clapping turned to cheers, which turned into a roar. Caps were thrown into the air, there was backslapping, and there was hugs all round. The time was set for 5.30 pm, when the sun would be setting. The Captain turned over his cabin to the women, to do whatever women do on these occasions.
Meanwhile, Mate was first dunked head first into a barrel of precious fresh water. He was then hauled out and put back in the right way up, while it was considered what clothing might be available for him. Finally he was emptied from the barrel, teeth chattering, while various crewmembers searched for towelling. He was then taken to Judge Littlewood’s cabin, in first class, to share a rather large handle of sherry. By now it was only 3.00 pm. Mate wasn’t certain how many of these jugs of sherry he could handle over the next two hours or so, but the judge was in his element.
It transpired that Judge Littlewood knew a lot more about Mate Olsen than was expected. Although he hadn’t initially connected the First Mate with the events of times past, he knew Dean Sando of Oslo University very well. He knew Mate’s father, knew of the scandal and he even knew the Dean’s daughter, Jean. Now, as they sat sipping sherry, he revealed the connection to Mr Olsen.
“Always
did like your father, you know. I knew him in Oslo, actually.” The judge seemed to consider the wisdom of what he was about to say and lapsed into a short period of introspection. Soon, however, he snapped out of it.
“Oh,” he said, looking brighter, “I have something for you. Do you believe in miracles?”
“No, sir, though I am often surprised by coincidences, which sometimes seem to border on the edge of miracles.”
“Did you know what happened to Dean Sando’s daughter and did you know that she had a baby son?”
“Jean was living with her parents. I wrote letters every month without fail. She never wrote back, but my parents told me. Is she happy? This question had been on his mind daily for ten years.”
“You can rest assured that she is. She married a young professor. They are as happy a couple as I have ever seen, I am delighted to say.”
“I had a letter from my father. He said my son was Thommy, but I don’t know the surname.” The judge took a swallow of sherry, reflectively savouring both the wine and the moment. “Their name is Littlewood. I am their children’s grandfather and godfather. I have rather a strong connection with you, if not by birth.”
Mate’s hand shook and a small amount of sherry dropped unnoticed by either on to the carpet. The two men stared at each other, eyes locked, seeking an inner truth. There was further news and the judge continued.
“Never in my wildest moments did I ever think our paths would cross. Jean has never replied because she has never had a letter from you. All her mail was directed through the Dean and he probably burned them. He may be a good friend but he is a very stubborn man. The message she gave me when I set out on this voyage was that, should we ever meet, she wanted you to know that they’d like you to visit sometime and meet your son. He is a fine lad and he does look like you. Before the voyage is over I will give you their contact details.” He paused. “That is, if you want them,” he said carefully.
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