From The Deep

by From the Deep (anthology) [lit]

  Damnation, a female on board boded ill. His first mate had railed against it, the men had grumbled, but it was a done deal.

  At that moment, she glanced up at him. Her gaze pinned him, her sea-green eyes shone bright with humor. Somehow he knew that she knew exactly how he felt about her coming on board.

  Damnation. He ground his teeth and returned to his cabin to double check the manifest and update the log. His first mate could do the lady the honor of escorting her to her cabin.

  They got underway without incident. Once they were out of the harbor, Jonah sensed the deep blue depths that rolled beneath the ship. His body adjusted to the sway and roll without him having to think about it. He and Charles, his first mate, took a sighting and set their course for the Caribbean. It would take ten days to two weeks, depending on the winds and the waves. Jonah had what his men considered an uncanny knack of knowing just how those two dynamics of the sea worked.

  “Have you drilled the new men?” he asked Charles.

  “Not yet, sir. I wondered if you wanted our passenger to participate.”

  “That woman? What would she know of the sea? Bah.”

  “Then you’re expecting smooth sailing, sir?”

  “I always do.”

  With that, Charles left the wheel and took the newest of the crew aside to show them and have them practice drills that would help them save themselves in the unlikely event of a wreck at sea.

  Jonah turned towards his cabin. From the other end of the ship a ruffle of black caught his eye. The woman had come up on deck. She stood uncertainly before moving carefully around the equipment and men until she reached the starboard railing. If she didn’t mind the coarseness of his sailors then he hoped the sailors didn’t mind her presence either. Bad luck or not, she was here to stay.

  At that moment she looked up and stared at him. Her bold gaze and proud chin challenged him.

  Damnation, why had he ever agreed to have a woman on board?

  Marianne watched the captain turn and go through a door. It had been made more than clear to her that she was an unwanted passenger. Mr. Morrison had said so rather bluntly and the mate, Mr. Charles, had made mention of the crew’s misgivings in a more mannerly way when she’d come onboard.

  At least I didn’t bring a maid with me, she thought. Two women would probably cause them to mutiny.

  She smiled at the thought. Her in-laws would have insisted she bring a female companion, if only for the sake of propriety. That dimmed her smile a bit. The meeting with Silas’ parents two days ago had been just as painful and impersonal as she’d imagined it could be. When she’d told them her plans to return to Jamaica, neither of them had begged her to stay. She imagined a chagrined “good riddance” in their final goodbyes. After that she’d focused on packing and awaiting news of the Whelp’s return.

  At least that had been good news. The ship had finally turned a profit, and a hefty one at that. Marianne could return home as a well-off widow, not a poor relation. She made arrangements for her funds to be sent to Kingstown and had sent her trunks to the Poseidon. The only sad good-byes were to Mrs. McCann and to Mrs. Nelson. She was glad she’d been able to find them both employment.

  The bustle of the ship went on behind her. It wasn’t as if she was trying to ignore it, it just didn’t seem to have much to do with her at this time. She watched the sparkle of the sun on the waves and inhaled deeply of the freshness of the northern sea.

  Her home had been in the hills of Jamaica, the ocean visible but distant. It had called to her as a child. She’d begged to be allowed to visit it. Her papa, who shared her sea-green eyes, finally allowed a visit. Her nanny had strict orders to keep Marianne dry, but the child had been too fascinated to heed the woman’s calls. She’d plunged into the waves wide eyed. She swam as if made for the water, and when they finally were able to pull her out, she remembered crying for hours.

  That had been her one and only trip to the beach as a child. When she’d grown, she’d met Silas in Kingstown and sailed on his ship back to Nantucket without ever again feeling the silky coolness of the sea on her body.

  Sometimes she dreamed about it, though.

  The slap of the waves against the boat and the cry of the gulls lulled Marianne into a semblance of peace. When at last she turned back to her tiny cabin, it was with a happier heart. She was returning home a woman in charge of herself. She had the means to live alone if she wanted to, or to live with her lonely papa in the hills. At that moment she decided she would buy a small house on the beach where she could indulge her longing in privacy.

  That first night aboard, a sailor brought Marianne a tray of food.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. “I thought the captain might invite me to dine with him.”

  The man averted his eyes as he set the tray on the only flat surface, her bunk. “No, ma’am. The captain don’t dine with no one, especially not with ladies.”

  “I see. Well, would you send him my regards anyway,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in a bit for the plates.” He backed out of the small chamber.

  Odd, Marianne thought. Silas had enjoyed the occasional visitor to the Whelp. Not that a whaling ship carried many passengers, it was a business ship after all, but he’d done occasional favors for the shipping company. Perhaps Captain McAdams was unused to women. Many sea-going men were, not having the opportunities to learn about the fairer sex.

  In any case, she assured herself, it would certainly be improper to dine with a man alone. It would be a long voyage; there was time to know the man.

  The next two days were cloudy and wet. The sea, like a sullen child, pushed the Poseidon in the opposite direction from their heading. The winds gusted in unusual ways, according to the grumbling Marianne could glean from the crew when she made her daily way onto the deck.

  Though the crew seemed to be getting used to seeing Marianne, she’d been unable to get more out of any of them except for a growled, “Good day, ma’am.” Even Mr. Charles hurried his greetings, always busy, always with something to do. Marianne had never been one to sit around idle. Her books did not intrigue her as they generally did. Her knitting and crocheting were nothing more than games to keep her hands busy. In short, she was lonely and bored, and didn’t much like herself for either feeling.

  On the third day, the sun rose in a clear sky. After Marianne broke her fast, alone again in her cabin, she made her way onto the deck. The fresh sea breeze blew away the dullness of the past two days. She removed her bonnet so that her whole head could enjoy a bit of freedom. Her unruly curls whipped about her face as they escaped their neat knot.

  She dearly wished that she could rip away the dark mourning clothes as easily and replace them with something less somber. But in fact she was in mourning and would remain so for the better part of a year. Even in Jamaica she’d be expected to abide by such rules as society restricted women with.

  For a moment she railed against the unfairness of it, then she remembered that Silas was dead and she should be grateful. Not for his death, he had not been a bad man, but rather because of it she now owned a measure of freedom that had been denied her as an unmarried young woman. Freedom that now extended to making her own decisions with her own money.

  Confused feelings of elation and sadness warred within her. Yet, the sadness could not hold sway on such a glorious day. As if to push the last remnant away, Marianne caught sight of a pod of dolphins that took its place directly below her in the wash from the prow.

  “Oh!” They moved with such grace and abandon. She leaned over the rail to get a better look, and laughed when one of them leaped from the water and the spray of its return wetted her face.

  Mr. Charles moved to the rail next to her. “Dolphins are a sign of good luck, Mrs. Shore. The men will be happy that they are escorting us.”

  “Escorting us? They are just fish of the sea, Mr. Charles.”

  “Perhaps, but many a sea faring man owes his life to such fishes.” He sti
ffened. “Captain,” he said and moved away.

  The hairs on the back of Marianne’s neck tingled. She pulled her blowing hair until it was under control again then stuffed it under her bonnet before turning around.

  Captain McAdams didn’t look at her. His attention was focused on the dolphins who chattered in the sea below. Marianne also glanced down. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they were saying something to him.

  For a brief second, she imagined she actually heard words from the large beast that was staring up at the ship. She shook her head. Such fancies, she’d had many as a child, but she was grown now and such things were fairy tales at best. Talking dolphins, really.

  She turned her attention to the man standing beside her, actually towering beside her. He must be over six feet tall. With his broad shoulders and commanding presence she could see why he was a captain. He wore no hat against the breeze, his bald head shone faintly in the sun. She had an odd desire to reach out and stroke it. The very thought brought warmth to her cheeks just as he turned to look at her. His eyes, sea green like hers, gave away nothing. They showed cool depths with a hint of interest that she could only guess at. Their regard caused more warmth, but this time it pooled lower down and deep inside.

  Even Silas had never been able to make her feel like this.

  She stared back at the man as she tried to ignore the way her traitorous body felt. A taut silence hung between them. When she thought she must speak or drown in his eyes, he nodded to her and turned away.

  All she could do was stare at his back as he strode across the deck, and fume. He hadn’t even introduced himself. Clearly his manners were the same as those of his men, with the noted exception of Mr. Charles, she amended in an effort to be fair.

  Captain McAdams stayed on deck for a while. He stopped to talk to the sailors and to exchange words with Mr. Charles. She observed the deference with which each of the men spoke to him. There was an underlying current of something else, more than the expected respect with which someone interacted with their betters, she thought. What was it?

  The answer came as she watched a man who was coiling a rope jerk and step back when the captain took him unawares.

  They were afraid of him.

  She narrowed her eyes and took note of the rest of the crews’ reactions. With the exception of Mr. Charles, who was an educated man, each sailor put more than the expected distance between himself and the captain. Nobody cringed, she noted. Nobody shook or grimaced in any way, but still, the air of fear or even … distaste remained in her observations.

  What was it about Captain McAdams that caused the men to feel that way? This was a merchant ship, not a whaling vessel or a naval ship. The men were not constrained to remain aboard. If they didn’t like the way the captain ran his ship, all they had to do was to leave at the next port. Yet she’d heard that men jumped at the chance to sail with this captain. He had a reputation for fairness and courage and an uncanny sense of the sea.

  It was quite curious.

  Marianne decided that it was much too nice a day to stay in her tiny cabin below decks. She went down only to find her bag of knitting and her diary and a piece of charcoal for drawing. It was the first time in a very long time that she had leisure to sit and enjoy pursuits other than those of a whaling captain’s wife. She’d sketch scenes from the ship into her diary to create a pictorial record of her journey.

  She found a box that was fairly out of the way, and settled in to watch and sketch and daydream a bit. The daydreams took the form of the bald headed captain and his remarkable eyes. When she examined her diary after a couple of hours, she found that she’d made any number of sketches of the same man.

  She dropped the charcoal and slapped her book shut. It was a good thing he was keeping his distance. This voyage was turning out to be more disturbing than she’d ever imagined it could.

  Chapter Three

  Jonah felt her gaze on him as he made his way around the ship. It was like a caress. It tugged at him, urged him to return to her. He would not.

  He walked the ship daily, talking to the men, checking on their living conditions and the condition of the ship. He knew that Charles was a competent first mate, but it was Jonah’s ship and Jonah’s responsibility. He took neither lightly. The responsibility to his one passenger weighed on him briefly. If she had to, could she swim? Doubtful, most well brought up ladies would prefer to sink rather than remove their heavy, restrictive clothing in order to be more buoyant.

  He found himself staring at her. She sat on a coiled rope on top of a box. In one of her hands was a book of some sort, in the other hand a writing implement. Every now and then she would raise her head, look around, and then go back to whatever she was writing in her book.

  Jonah watched how her ebony curls peeped from under the somber bonnet. He ached to yank the ugly hat from her head and run his hands through her hair until it ran like dark fire in the wind.

  No, that would not do. He could not afford the mesmerizing effects this human had on him. By the whale, he was half aroused just thinking about her. He thought of the warmth she’d exuded as she stood next to him at the rail, the way the wind molded her dress to her form, making it very clear that she was full bosomed and long limbed. The color of her eyes had him wondering about who she really was. He’d never yet met a human, male or female, with eyes the color of his own people.

  He rubbed a hand over his smooth head and turned his attention to the foremast, anything to bring his gaze away from the picture of temptation on his deck. A youngster Charles had hired in Nantucket was sitting on the topmost spar keeping watch. They didn’t watch for whales blowing on this ship, rather the eye was kept for other ships that flew a rogue flag. Jonah had some mastery over wind and waves, but pirates, though no longer a huge threat, were still about nonetheless.

  The deck was scrubbed, the gear stowed, Charles had the bearings and the wheel was under control. There was no reason for Jonah to remain on deck. He had work in his cabin to see to. He had the dolphin’s message to ponder. There were myriad duties that awaited him.

  He eyed Mrs. Shore once more. Her head came up and her gaze met his at the same time. Her hands stilled at their work. Long moments passed as they stared at each other from opposite ends of the ship.

  He saw warmth creeping in a telltale blush up her cheeks just before she ducked her head back down. There was more than curiosity in her gaze, he warranted, just as there was more than idle interest in his. She was attractive, more than attractive. She shone like the finest mother of pearl, glowed like tropical corals in a bright sunlit day.

  Damnation, he was attracted to her without her even trying. He left the deck.

  Sitting at his desk in his sparse cabin, he turned his attention to the message of the dolphin elder. Dolphins often cavorted around the Poseidon. They knew they had nothing to fear from humans when Jonah was in command of a vessel. Whales knew too and could often be seen in large groups, their young safe with their mothers nearby.

  Though Jonah and his people ate fish and squid and other sea creatures, to harm these large sentient beings would be a crime in their world. Jonah felt an obligation to keep them safe when he rode on top of the waves.

  He stared out the portholes and considered. His time in the world of men was almost over. He must return home before the moon was full again, or never return at all. His father, the king, was anxious for Jonah to marry and fulfill his duties to the throne. Though the Mer people were long-lived as compared to human lifetimes, they did have finite lives. Dynasties depended upon princes like Jonah to propagate and secure the throne.

  Duty, he thought. He’d been lucky to be born a prince. Lucky because he was allowed to indulge his curious nature as others in his kingdom could not. Not that many of them wanted to, he admitted. All his life he’d been different. His curiosity about what happened above the waves was not unheard of, but to the extent that it occupied his mind, that was the difference.

  He’d been enth
ralled by the tale of Ellyra, a mermaid who was said to have lived in the world of men. Once she returned to the sea she’d aged rapidly and one day had swum into an abyss, never to return. But her tales of bright sunlight on deep green trees, of houses and of people who walked on two appendages, and mostly of the strong emotions these people felt and acted upon had drawn him.

  He’d been allowed to spend time above the waves, with two appendages–-legs–-to walk upon the land and feel sand between his toes. The magic that was part of him, strong because of his royal birth, gave him some mastery over his destiny, but it was limited. He could transform into a human, but if he was submerged in the sea he immediately lost his legs to a tail, his lungs would breathe water as if it was air, and the vestiges of webbing between his fingers became fuller enabling him to swim and pivot like a fish. If a human saw him, he’d be done with his sojourn above the waves. When he came ashore in his Mer form, a word of magic would change him back to human form but at the risk of great pain. In all his years of walking upright, he’d only had to do that once.

  He’d lived among these humans for almost fifty years, never aging, always moving from port to port. He’d learned about anger and lust and pity. Though he’d been unable to feel more than a sense of comfort or irritation, he was grateful for the time granted him to experience this different life.

  The one emotion he’d heard about and was truly glad he could not experience was love. It seemed that one emotion was surely too strong. It compelled men and women to actions both mad and sublime. How could anyone control such a thing that would cause a man to betray his best friend, or a woman to leave all she knew behind simply because she loved a man? Such emotions and actions were inconceivable to him and to all of his race.

  His people had become complacent, in his mind, of all that they knew. They possessed no interest in learning new things. They had no desire to see what was above the crest of the wave or beyond the shore. At most, they would dare each other to sing sailors to their dooms on rocky outcroppings along coastlines.