by Kelley York
Once we’ve eaten and returned to our room, Benji sets to getting changed. I flop down onto my bed, which smells musty and of fish, but will do for a night. I pull out the packet of information we were given and spread the pages out across the mattress. “Ugh, reading.”
“Like school all over again,” Benjamin muses as he sheds his clothes. I make it a point to keep my eyes down, wanting to grant him some privacy. “Would you like me to read over it?”
Oh, would I ever. “You’re a saint, Benji.”
Once he’s dressed, we swap places. Not that I had any interest in dragging along anything to sleep in, but Benjamin insisted I pack ‘properly.’ As he pores over the papers, he relays to me the most important of the information.
“We’ve got a cabin to ourselves on the boat. The trip ought to be seven to ten days from here to Boston... Then the train to San Francisco will take two weeks. That’s going to be fun.”
I wrinkle my nose at that last part. “Why can’t we go it on horseback instead?”
“That would certainly turn our cross-country trip from two weeks into...well, significantly longer. Not to mention the bad weather, rough terrain, and bandits, I suspect.” He glances up then, and I catch him from the corner of my eye watching me, lingering several seconds longer than I think he means to.
I catch his gaze and grin, folding my arms across my bare chest. “Still beats being stuck on a train for that long.”
His cheeks redden and he swiftly drops his gaze. “I’ll tell you what. After we’ve delivered the box, if you’re still feeling that adventurous, we’ll revisit the idea.” Benjamin gathers the papers to tuck them back into their folder. “Five pounds says you’re ready to go home just after the trip there.”
I laugh, getting back into bed. “Ten pounds says I love it so much that I never want to leave.”
He stills a moment then turns to me, head tipped. “Do you think that might happen?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I tuck my hands behind my head. “If Whisperwood taught me anything, it’s to not to try to play psychic with my own life.” So much has changed since then. The friends I’ve made, the things I’ve encountered...the friend I lost. I certainly never would have predicted meeting someone like Benjamin.
This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it? To travel? To see the world? So why today have I been plagued with such nerves and second thoughts? Why is it so difficult to leave now?
You know why.
I glance over at Benjamin.
Could I stay in America and possibly never see my family again? Could I stay even if Benji would not stay with me? I was prepared to leave him once, to put an ocean between us. It was quite possibly the hardest thing I’d ever chosen to do. I wonder if I could have gone through with it. I wonder if I had, how quickly I’d have come to regret it.
Now, if I found somewhere to settle down, if I had to watch him gather his things and walk out of my life, could I stomach it?
I watch him as he blows out the candles, sets the paperwork aside, and lies down. He rolls onto his side to watch me too. So very reminiscent of our time in Whisperwood, staying up talking long past curfew.
He says, “Fair enough. Plenty of America to see. I suspect it’s very different from here.”
I let my gaze roam back to the ceiling. I do wonder what led him to the decision to come with me. Benji’s thought process has always been a mystery to me; he’s a difficult one to pin down. He’d grown up sheltered, and while his mother was a lovely woman that I adored, it was clear to me that she influenced much of Benji’s life. She fussed over him endlessly, worried about his well-being.
Yes, Benji has always been delicate. Gentle. Soft. It made me even more determined to look after him, to protect him, because the world can be a miserable place to people who are kind. It has a way of breaking a person’s spirit and Benjamin is the last person in my life I would want to see that happen to.
Looking after him at Whisperwood was one thing. I wonder how well I’ll do when we’re abroad in a setting so unfamiliar to us both.
“Are you sure about all this, Benji?”
“I won’t lie and say I’m not incredibly nervous, but that’s just sort of my nature, isn’t it? I’m confident this is the right thing to do.”
That’s so very much like him. He follows where I lead, no matter how many reservations he may have. I found it endearing once upon a time. Now, I just worry he’s forcing himself to do something he truly does not want to do. “I promise, if you find it so disagreeable that...”
Benjamin shakes his head before I can finish the thought. “Everything will fall into place. If America isn’t to our liking, somewhere else could be.”
I like the insinuation that statement makes. That perhaps he just might stick around, stay with me, regardless of where we go. All the more reason to ensure I find somewhere he’ll be happy, right? “Maybe we should visit them all anyway.”
A soft smile tugs at his mouth. “Maybe China too, someday?”
He has a hand resting beside his face on the pillow, fingers curled. I wish we were close enough that I could reach out to take it.
I smile back at him. “Well, obviously.”
He sighs, content, his eyes drifting shut. “I would like that. I’ll need to work on my Mandarin. I’ve recently been told that I’m rusty.”
A fair sight better than mine. All I know are a few words here and there that Benjamin has taught me. I’d be useless trying to converse in anything other than English or a sad stab at French. “You’re a quick learner.”
“Mm. I’ll make you learn too. We can talk and no one will know what we’re saying.”
“I’m not a quick learner with things like that.” Or much of anything, really, that doesn’t involve me using my hands. I’m not so sure I’d have passed some of my classes without Benji’s help.
Benji makes a soft sound that I know all too well. The one that says he’s beginning to drift off. One of my favourite sounds in all the world. I smile to myself.
“Sweet dreams, Benji.”
“Sweet dreams, Preston,” he mumbles, and likely he won’t even remember having said it in the morning, because his breathing has already evened out.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him. And even if we’re kidding ourselves with this whole bloody affair, I’m going to hang onto this feeling as long as I can.
◆◆◆
We’re woken before dawn by a scheduled knock at our door. Or rather, Benji is. I don’t budge because it sounds an awful lot like Mum’s come to nag me awake and my brain doesn’t fully register what it means. But Benji whimpers, slowly proceeding to drag himself out of bed, and that is what ultimately causes me to let out a groan and force my eyes open.
Beyond that, I don’t complain. I may not enjoy being up before the sun, but I’m used to it.
As Benji sets to washing up and dressing, I remain seated on the edge of my bed, granting him space because there’s not enough of it for us both to get ready at once. I lean back on my hands, watching him tiredly. It truly is like being back at Whisperwood, with some subtle changes. We’re older, for one. Benji’s hair is shorter, no longer brushing his shoulders. I still have the strongest urge to run my hands through it.
As he slips out of his nightclothes to dress, I notice a glint of metal against his bare chest. A crucifix. Odd, really; Benji has never worn such things before. I’m just about to ask him about it when something else catches my eye.
Bruising.
It’s not terribly fresh. A few days old, perhaps. Starting to morph from blue-and-purple to yellow-and-green.
A bruise in and of itself ought not to be anything particularly alarming. Things happen. People bruise. But it’s the location—there upon his bicep—and the pattern of it that sets me on edge. As though someone grabbed him, hard, and did not let go. I can practically see the shape of fingers.
Anger surges brightly in my chest and I swallow it back. There could be any number of explanations for it
, though I can’t think of a single one that wouldn’t enrage me. My knee-jerk reaction is to reach for Benjamin and gather him up, to ask if he’s all right, but...
He’s already slipping on his shirt and waistcoat, and for some reason it seems like it’s too late and I find I haven’t a clue what to say. We have a busy day ahead of us. Perhaps I should wait until we have a quiet moment more appropriate for bringing up a heavy topic he may not even want to discuss.
I catch Benji reaching up for his hair as though to tie it back, and he sighs. He moves away from the washbowl, granting me room to get up and start getting ready myself.
Rucksacks over our shoulders and the box-satchel beneath my arm, we head outside into the sleepy morning. The shipyard is far busier than I would have anticipated. Men hurry about, loading and unloading ships, fishermen prepare to head out to sea, and, of course, the passenger ships.
Benji keeps close to my side as we scan the ships. He lifts a hand and points. “That one’s ours.”
It’s being loaded up with cargo as well, and plenty of other passengers are waiting in line.
“It doesn’t look so bad,” I offer, remembering his nervousness yesterday about being at sea. It’s so massive, especially up close.
Benji bites his lip briefly before offering me my ticket. No one gives us a second glance as our tickets are checked and they gesture us on board. Passengers are funnelled along, directed where to go below deck.
Everything smells damp and fishy and humid, and below deck is no better. The halls are narrow and crowded and it takes a few tries to locate our assigned cabin. That we get our own space at all instead of being put into steerage is a blessing, so I don’t want to complain.
Granted, our cabin is far from first class. It’s even smaller than our room last night: a two-tier bed against the wall, a wash table, and nothing more. “I call top bunk!”
Benji laughs softly, stepping into the room. He closes and locks the door behind us. At least we can secure our things when we go above deck, including the box. “Not so bad, is it?”
“I’ve been in worse places.” I toss my satchel on the top bunk and place our box beneath the wash table in the corner.
Benji takes a seat on the lower bunk, looking around, as though there’s anything at all worth looking at. “Good, because we’ll be spending plenty of time in here for the next week and a half.”
“No one else I’d rather be stuck in such close quarters with.” I swing myself up onto the top bunk. I can’t recall ever getting to sleep on one before. The novelty will wear off quickly, I’m sure, but for now it’s fun.
I feel something bump beneath me and realise Benjamin is lightly kicking the top bunk above him. “I’ll remind you that you said that.”
I laugh, leaning over the edge to peer at him. “So long as I’m on top, I’m good.”
He smiles. “It appears that you are, yes.”
“It’s a height rule, I think.”
“That the taller person gets the top bunk? That seems backwards.”
I stretch back out as much as my small mattress allows. “I don’t make the rules, Benji. I just enforce them.”
Benji chuckles. “You’ve never followed a rule in your life.”
Well, that’s not true. I’ve followed so many unspoken rules between the pair of us that it makes my heart hurt.
For a while, we alternate between chatting and dozing off, until we can hear men up on deck and someone in the halls calling out the final warning that the ship is about to depart. Any nervousness I feel is promptly shoved down as deep as I can manage.
“I suppose it’s time for us to find out if we like sailing.”
“Indeed,” Benji murmurs, having trouble masking his own uncertainty.
I remind myself of the number of times people have made this trip. On boats far less safe than this, no less. Steamships are faster, safer than sailboats. Ten days is no time at all to cross the world.
Now that the boat is moving, I see no reason to lie around in bed. We venture back topside, find a section of railing towards the back of the boat that is unoccupied, and watch as Liverpool steadily vanishes into the distance. Most of the crowd upon the deck disperses quickly enough, once there’s nothing to see but fog and an endless stretch of ocean in every direction. Benji, though, looks content to remain where we are, his head tipped as he breaths in the ocean air.
The view is lovely, but I can’t help but grip the railing a little tighter every time wave rolls beneath the boat and my stomach rolls with it. The sensation is a difficult one to describe. It’s not that I can feel the ship rocking, but I cannot quite seem to find my sea legs.
The moment I straighten up and attempt to turn around, for that matter, a wash of nausea sweeps over me.
“Preston?” Benji calls, concerned. “Are you all right?”
Not in the slightest. It’s all I can do to whip around and lean over the railing to be sick. Not that I had anything for breakfast, but clearly no one informed my stomach. Benjamin, bless his heart, begins to rub my back until I’ve got nothing left to throw up.
“Well, now we know you get sea-sick. Come along,” Benji croons, taking my elbow. “Let’s get you some water and lie down.”
He helps me below deck, where I continue to wobble on my feet and feel as though I might not be done getting sick after all. We make it to the cabin without incident and Benji leaves me there a moment alone. I slowly sink onto the bottom bunk, draping an arm across my eyes. Lying down seems to alleviate the sensation, at least somewhat.
Benji returns in short order with water. I know we only get limited amounts each day, but my mouth feels disgusting now, and when I sit up enough to take it and gulp it down, the coolness against my throat feels wonderful.
I finish off the glass and lie back. The mattress shifts with his added weight as he settles at my side.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not so bad so long as I’m lying down.”
“Stay put then.” Benji brushes the hair back from my forehead. “So...is that a no on boats?”
My face scrunches up. “Maybe I just ate something that didn’t agree with me.”
“Perhaps. Take it easy for now, hm? Get some sleep if you can. I think I’ll venture topside for a bit longer, if you’re all right on your own.”
I wave him off, not expecting him to stick around if I’m nursing an upset stomach. He fusses over me a few moments longer, making sure that I don’t need anything before slipping out of the room. Honestly, the silence is better and less embarrassing in the event that I throw up again.
Surely, I just need some time to adjust to being at sea. It’ll pass.
◆◆◆
It does not pass.
In the days that follow, my seasickness does not wane, making it difficult to keep anything down. Benji assures me I’m not the only one. He enjoys being up on deck and there is apparently no shortage of people heaving the contents of their stomachs over the railings.
For the most part, though, Benji stays in the cabin with me. We play chess and cards, and he excitedly describes to me the dolphins and flying fish he’s spotted out on the ocean. I scoff at first at the idea of fish flying, but as the trip wears on and I’m able to force myself out of bed to explore a bit, Benji eagerly takes me topside and I see precisely what he was on about.
They dart out of the water like strips of silver, glinting in the waning orange sunlight. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of them. It’s certainly a sight to see, especially after five days of being cooped up in a cabin.
“Preston, look!” Benjamin grabs my arm and points almost straight down. The view of water rushing alongside the boat makes me momentarily dizzy, but then I spot the dolphins arcing in and out of the water.
It isn’t even the sight of them that makes me smile so much as Benjamin’s expression. His wide eyes, the way the sea-salted air caresses the hair back from his face. His cheeks have got a bit pink from spending time on deck in the sun.
&nb
sp; I don’t know how anyone could look at him and think he was anything less than perfect. How anyone could ever be cruel to him. Why any of these people around us would bother watching the sunset when they’ve got a personification of a sunrise right here.
Benji looks over and catches me staring. “What’s wrong?”
It occurs to me that I’m smiling like an utter fool. “Nothing at all. Hungry?”
CHAPTER 4 - BENJAMIN
The ship is eerily silent at night. Quieter than home, quieter than Whisperwood. The few times throughout this trip that I’ve woken in the middle of the night, the silence has been almost unsettling. I would find myself unconsciously seeking out the sound of Preston’s breathing to lull me back to sleep.
Tonight is just as quiet. However, I’m distinctly aware that something has woken me.
A shiver crawls its way down my spine. I pull the blankets up around me, face pressed into the pillow, waiting for the sensation to pass. Perhaps I had a nightmare that I don’t remember and I’m simply shaking the remnants of it off.
Except it persists. Nagging. Pulling.
I roll over, staring into the room. I lean forward, peering over the edge at Preston, still sound asleep in the bunk beneath. Given his frequent seasickness, I ended up with the top bunk after all. Nothing seems to be amiss with him. He’s sprawled on his back, ever so graceless, chest steadily rising and falling.
There is that tug again. An almost physical sensation of being watched, being beckoned.
I can just barely make out a piece of the satchel containing the chest peeking out from beneath the wash table. My pulse picks up.
Before I’ve realised it, my feet are on the floor. I do not recall moving or getting out of bed. Just as I am only vaguely aware of my legs carrying me across the short distance and bringing me to my knees before the satchel. I’m anxious to unveil the box for no reason at all. I just need to see it.
I slide the small chest out of its bag. With no proper lighting in the room, the wood looks almost black. My fingertips slide across the iron fastenings and embellishments, across the peculiar dial on the front.