The Blue Enchantress

by Marylu Tyndall

  “’Twas God, not me.” Nathaniel still couldn’t believe ushering the man into heaven had been that simple.

  Miss Sheldon swiped away a tear. “Perhaps I do not have my parents’ gift of spreading the gospel, after all. I wonder if I will be any use in Kingstown.”

  If we make it to Kingstown. Nathaniel stood, bracing his feet, and wondered why the waves seemed to be growing in size and intensity instead of lessening. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful missionary.” Truthfully, he hadn’t the time to discuss it at the moment. He must get on deck and determine their course. He held out his hand. “Will you come with me now?”

  She gazed at Mr. Boden. “Should we leave him?”

  “He is no longer here.”

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  Holding her lantern with one hand, she clung to Nathaniel’s arm with the other as he led the way out into the hold. Spotting a pile of ropes, he grabbed them from atop a crate and carried them up the ladder.

  His heart squeezed in his chest as he approached the door to the forecabin. He’d managed to avoid Hope for two days, the storm having kept her below. But he couldn’t face her. Not yet. Anger still simmered within him over the way she had offered an open invitation to Mr. Keese to spend time with her whenever he wished. A most inappropriate thing for a lady to say to a man she’d just met.

  “Here we are, Miss Sheldon.” Nathaniel halted, taking the lantern from her. “Tell the other women to tie themselves to their beds.” He plucked a knife from his belt and held it out to her, along with the ropes.

  Nodding, she took them and disappeared within, not an ounce of fear on her face.

  Nathaniel dashed up the companionway ladder. Why didn’t his heart jump when Miss Sheldon was near? Why did it leap only for Hope—a woman who reminded him too much of his mother? Yes, she had vowed to change, but his mother had made similar promises—none of which she had kept. And he doubted Hope would either.

  But at the moment, he had more important things to worry about. From the way the ship lurched and vaulted beneath the growing waves, it appeared Captain Conway had changed his mind about heading south. If so, it would be too late to change course. Nathaniel must convince him to seek shelter before the full force of the hurricane struck. The merchantman would sail close to Puerto Rico, and with luck they could find a safe harbor among the bays on the south side of the island.

  If they did not, and Captain Conway insisted on running before the wind, Nathaniel feared they all would die.

  CHAPTER 10

  The brig heaved to and fro like a seesaw. Hope clung to her bedpost, refusing to allow her surging fear to drive her to panic. The raging storm outside, coupled with Abigail’s conspicuous absence, had coiled Hope’s nerves into a tight ball.

  The door burst open, and Abigail rushed into the cabin, bundles of rope in one hand and a knife in the other. With her back she forced the door shut against the buffeting wind, then squinted into the shadows.

  “Oh, finally, there you are.” Mrs. Hendrick cackled from her bed, where she and Elise hugged the wooden frame for dear life. “Where on earth have you been? Wandering around a ship full of men in the middle of the night is no place for a lady, especially during a storm.” She squeezed Elise tighter to her chest. “And leaving us here with no word as to what is happening above. Where is my husband? He shouldn’t leave Elise and me here alone. I hope he hasn’t fallen overboard. We are beside ourselves with fright. I can’t imagine what he’s doing. No doubt he has taken to his brandy again, as he always does.”

  Hope rubbed her ears, which buzzed from hours of Mrs. Hendrick’s incessant complaining. At one point, Hope had even considered going to find Mr. Hendrick and dragging the negligent husband to his family, or better yet, staying with him in whatever quiet haven he had found for himself.

  The brig quivered beneath the growl of a massive wave, and Abigail leapt to her cot, gripping the wooden side as the cabin pitched. She tossed a bundle of ropes to Mrs. Hendrick. “I am sure your husband is fine, Mrs. Hendrick,” she shouted over the storm. “No doubt he’s strapped himself in somewhere. Which is what we need to do, as well.”

  Abigail handed one end of a long twine to Hope. “Mr. Mason instructed us to tie ourselves to our beds,” she shouted.

  “Mr. Mason?” Hope’s stomach soured. So that explained where Abigail had been all this time, as well as the shimmer of fading lantern light Hope had spotted in the hallway before Abigail had closed the door. Of course Nathaniel had not stopped long enough to inquire after Hope’s welfare.

  “This is madness,” Mrs. Hendrick whined from across the cabin.

  Hope peered toward her but could make out only the outline of her body and the small shadow of her daughter perched on her lap. The woman held the rope out before her as if it were a snake. “How am I supposed to tie myself and Elise up with this?”

  “I will help you, Mrs. Hendrick,” Abigail shouted over the crash of waves; then she faced Hope. “I was caring for a sick patient in the hold, and Mr. Mason came to escort me back to the cabin.”

  Hope grimaced as she peered through the shadows, trying to determine if the young girl’s expression matched her gleeful tone, but the darkness mottled her features. “How can you sound so peaceful and happy during such a violent storm?” Hope’s loud voice sounded surlier than she intended.

  Abigail didn’t seem to notice. She continued tying one end of her rope to her bed frame as casually as if she were latching a horse to a hitching post. “The most marvelous thing happened below.” Her loud voice rose musically.

  Something wonderful. Below? With Mr. Mason? Hope clutched the wooden frame as the ship vaulted over a wave and then tumbled downward, sending her heart tumbling down along with it. No woman sounded so peaceful, so happy in the midst of such a fearful tempest. Unless a man had expressed his ardor for her, or worse—kissed her.

  But before Hope could inquire what wonderful thing Abigail referred to, thunder exploded in a series of enormous cracks and growls. Angry waves rammed into the hull. Their punches reverberated like a massive gong.

  Abigail clambered over to where Mrs. Hendrick slumped in a puddle of despair, fumbling with her rope. “Mr. Mason said the storm worsens and it isn’t safe to be unfettered.”

  “Oh my, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have ventured on this trip with William,” Mrs. Hendrick wailed. “This is all too much. Too much. I cannot bear it. We are all going to die.”

  Gripping the bulkhead, Hope hoisted herself up and tried to peer out the window. The maelstrom outside the tiny glass oval writhed in an undulating vision of raging black clouds one second and a hissing caldron of white-capped water the next. She braced her feet, mesmerized by the ferocity of the sea. Fear clawed her throat like none she had ever known. What if she were to die in this storm? She would never see her sisters again. She would never see her father again. But most of all, she would never have the chance to put her past behind her and become a true lady.

  A massive wall of water thrust from the sea and loomed over the brig, curling into a fist. Two flashes of lightning shot from within the churning water, sparks from demon eyes. Flinging a hand to her mouth, Hope stumbled back from the window. A roar of thunder shook the tiny merchantman. Talons of ebony water snatched at Hope. She screamed. The watery claws slammed against the window. The glass rolled as if it had melted, and a ripple sped through the cabin bulkhead. Hope collapsed to the deck. Her heart thrashed in her chest. A spike of pain jolted up her back.

  “What is it?” Abigail yelled from Mrs. Hendrick’s berth.

  Hope stared at the window. A shiver ran down her as she struggled to her feet. The brig bolted and tossed her onto one of the cots. She yanked the quilt over herself, attempting to hide from the evil presence. The same evil that had sought her on deck earlier. The same evil that had nearly consumed her back in Charles Towne and before that in Portsmouth—a dark, maniacal power that had followed her from England to the colonies. It followed her still.

&
nbsp; Even hidden beneath the quilt, Hope couldn’t escape the window’s prying eye. She drew a shuddering breath and dropped to the deck, crawling over to assist Abigail.

  Elise huddled beside her mother, clinging to her waist. When she glanced up and saw Hope, her eyes widened, and she dashed into Hope’s arms. Embracing her, Hope rubbed her back, trying to still the girl’s trembling. “Shhh. Don’t be afraid.”

  “Please stay still, Mrs. Hendrick. We shall be safe.” Abigail fought with the tangle of rope.

  “How can I stay still?” Mrs. Hendrick continued her tirade. “The ship jumps like a grasshopper. Why must I be tied up? What if the ship sinks? How shall we escape then? Oh, where is my husband? He is never around when I need him. Will you go find him?” She lifted her pleading, moist eyes to Abigail.

  “It is not safe.” Loosening the rope, Abigail swung it around Mrs. Hendrick a second time. “I assure you, we will all be fine right here. And I have a knife should we need to free ourselves in a hurry.”

  Mrs. Hendrick’s sharp gaze landed on Hope. “Get away from her, Elise. Come here!” She motioned for the little girl to return to her then pressed a hand over her stomach. “Oh, my poor baby.”

  Prying Elise from her arms, Hope clutched the little girl’s shoulders and leaned toward her ear. “You must be strong for your mother. She needs you.” Nudging her toward Mrs. Hendrick, she gave Elise a reassuring smile.

  The girl took her place beside her mother, who threw an arm around her and pressed her close. Abigail looped another rope around Elise, then tied both of them to the bed frame.

  Turning, she grabbed Hope’s arm and scrambled back to her bunk. “Tie yourself up, Miss Hope.”

  The growl of the storm grew louder, deeper, angrier, as if they were surrounded by a thousand warriors bellowing their battle cries.

  Hope laid a hand on Abigail’s arm. “How bad is the storm, really?”

  Abigail shifted her gaze above. “By the look on Mr. Mason’s face when he left, I suggest you pray, Miss Hope. Pray as hard as you can.”

  ***

  Nathaniel clung to his lifeline and thrust headlong into the raging wind as a giant swell toppled over the stern of the brig and swept him off his feet. The bow of the vessel dove, and he gripped the rope with all his strength. A cascade of water pummeled him as the ship darted headfirst down a mountainous wave. His feet scrambled over the near vertical deck, seeking a hold. The brig slammed back level again. He must make his way to the foredeck and convince Captain Conway to take shelter in one of the nearby islands.

  He struggled to his feet. His hands burned. His eyes stung. And the wind struck him with the force of a hundred fists. He shivered, shaking off the water that ran from his waistcoat like ale from a spigot. Wiping his face, he squinted up at the helm, almost hoping—God forgive him—that Captain Conway had been swept over with the last wave. But he made out a blurred, bulky shape clutching the wheel and thrusting a fist into the air. Wild, haughty laughter ricocheted over the ship like some villain’s in a playact.

  Above Nathaniel, the oscillating dark shapes of two sailors clung to the foremast, their arms and legs circling the wooden pole in frozen terror as they tried to obey their captain’s command to raise the storm canvas. But as the mast swung like a pendulum over one side of the brig and then the other, all they could do was hang on for dear life. Several other men huddled across the deck, gripping the capstan, the railings, the ladders, or anything else solid they could latch onto as they waited for the next surge to strike.

  And strike it did. Like a raging sea monster, the water lifted the ship up by the stern, rolling beneath it until the bow pointed toward the swirling clouds. Diving to the deck, Nathaniel grabbed the hatch combing, grateful he had convinced the captain to lash relieving tackle onto the tiller, for he feared the wheel wouldn’t last much longer under this stress. Even so, if the rudder smashed, they’d be without steering ability. And steering was the one thing they needed right now.

  Nathaniel struggled to his feet. Lightning flung white arrows toward the foundering merchantman, casting a ghostly light over the vicious seas that had been hidden behind the curtain of night. Thick gray mounds of water rose from the ebony caldron, their mouths foaming in search of victims. Fear squeezed Nathaniel’s chest. A sense of pure evil pricked the hair on his arms. The same evil he’d felt below deck earlier. A relentless, hellish force. Only this time, it seemed all-encompassing and more determined than ever. A living, breathing entity that focused all its maniacal intent upon swallowing the tiny brig.

  Nathaniel closed his eyes and tried to voice a prayer of protection, but the only word he uttered was a name—the name of the only One who could help them. “Jesus.” Shaking the terrifying vision from his mind, he made his way to the quarterdeck ladder, shoving his arms against the blasts of wind as he went. His legs ached from trying to keep his balance aboard the teetering deck. Salt stung his eyes as an explosion of thunder deafened him. They were in the thick of the storm. He must convince the captain to keep the thrust of wind on the starboard quarter or the brig would broach and offer her vulnerable side to the oncoming swells.

  If that happened, all would be lost.

  Nathaniel lugged himself up onto the quarterdeck and turned his face from the wind to catch his breath. The captain gave him a cursory glance, then the lines in his face flattened as he strained to pull the wheel to larboard. Mr. Keese clung to the binnacle by the railing. When the second mate saw Nathaniel, he released his grip and forged toward him, reaching him as a wall of water cascaded over them. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at Nathaniel, frustration and rage burning within them.

  “We must convince Conway to steer to starboard!” Nathaniel yelled into his ear.

  Mr. Keese nodded and leaned toward him. “I have already tried. He refuses to listen.” Water poured off his nose and chin onto Nathaniel’s shirt.

  Jerking his lifeline over the quarterdeck railing, Nathaniel stumbled around Mr. Keese and approached the captain. Bracing himself beside the man, Nathaniel turned his face from the wind so he could speak. “Captain, you must steer her to starboard. Keep the wind on her starboard quarter!”

  “I do not take orders from you, Mr. Mason!” The captain shouted without so much as a glance his way.

  “This is a hurricane, sir. I’ve been in one before. It is the only way to break free of it.”

  “Coward. ’Tis but a squall. I know what I am doing.” Captain Conway bellowed into Nathaniel’s face, rum heavy on his breath. “A storm like this took my first wife from me. But I’ll not let it get the best of me again!” He shrieked, a sinister, depraved laugh like a man just escaped from an asylum.

  Nathaniel’s heart stopped as the realization struck him that the captain had gone mad.

  Conway glared at him. “Go tie the additional shrouds to the mainmast like I ordered you, or I’ll have you locked up below with the women!” He waved Nathaniel off, resumed his clamp on the wheel, and let out another blood-chilling laugh. “No storm gets the best of Captain Conway!”

  Fury sent blood rushing to Nathaniel’s fists, and he longed to smash one into the foolish man’s jaw. If he did not, the captain’s stupidity would kill them all. God, what do I do? But he already knew. Lives were at stake: the sailors, the women below—Hope.

  He glanced at Mr. Keese, who remained at the railing, watching the altercation. Keese gave a nod of agreement—a nod between two men who knew what must be done. Nathaniel drew the extra knife he kept strapped to his side while Mr. Keese crept toward them along the railing. They would not harm the captain, simply relieve him of his duty.

  The wind howled as if protesting his decision. Lightning flashed. The sharp smell of electricity filled the air. The brig jerked violently, sending Nathaniel and Mr. Keese toppling to the deck. Gripping his lifeline, Nathaniel pulled himself toward the quarterdeck railing and wrapped his arms around it. A mountainous swell forced the vessel upward toward the sky and tossed it as if it were a toy in a child’s han
d, then plunged it back onto the raging waters in a vicious spin.

  An eerie silence consumed the merchantman as if the storm were pausing before the final crushing blow. Nathaniel clambered to his feet, coughing and spitting water. A towering swirl of black death rose over the starboard side. The ship had broached and now faced the storm with its broadside bared to the wind.

  Captain Conway stood aghast, staring at it as if he just noticed the true ferocity of the storm.

  Mr. Keese shook his head at Nathaniel and flattened himself on the deck.

  “Hold on!” Nathaniel bellowed and grabbed the railing.

  Lord, please save us. Please save Hope and everyone on the ship.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as a wall of water crashed over him. The salty shroud enveloped him, clawed at him, sucking the life from him. Something solid rammed into his chest. He swallowed water. Choking, coughing, gasping for breath. His lifeline tugged him and flung him like a doll through the swirling mass. Darkness pulled on him, drawing him into its black void. His rope went taut, then slack, then taut again. He flailed his limbs, seeking any foothold. Salt burned his eyes, his nose, his throat—like acid. Terror consumed him. Not only the terror of dying, but the terror of dying so young—before he had a chance to prove himself, before he had a chance to serve God.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nathaniel’s hand struck something solid, and he clung to it. The sea receded. He heaved for air, spewing water from his lungs. Grasping the capstan, he struggled to his feet and glanced over the brig. Though naught but a lifeless hull, she was still afloat.

  The sharp crack of wood split the air—a loud snap followed by eerie creaks and groans. The mainmast toppled over as if some giant executioner had taken an ax to it. Through a salty haze, Nathaniel saw blurred figures of the remaining men scrambling to escape the falling timber. The mast pounded into the angry sea with an ominous boom, crushing the bulwarks and hurling walls of water into the air.