One of the sailors dispatched from the crowd and stood beside him.
“Are you going, Major?” Nathaniel’s gaze landed on Major Paine, who, wringing his wig in his hands, had up to now stood silently by the foredeck.
The major’s gaze shifted from the brewing tempest on the horizon to the captain and then fixated on Hope. “Since I am in authority here, I cannot in good conscience leave these single ladies in the hands of such unscrupulous men.” Approaching the railing, the major swung his legs over the bulwarks and lumbered down the ropes.
Mr. Keese approached Hope and proffered his hand. “May I assist you, Miss Hope?”
“Thank you, Mr. Keese, but I believe I shall wait until everyone else is aboard.”
She tugged on Mr. Russell’s arm. “I beg you, sir.”
Nathaniel cast an approving glance her way that sent a wave of warmth through her, despite the cold wind.
A large swell rolled beneath the ship, tossing the cockboat against the hull with a thud as two more sailors climbed down to take their seats.
“We must hurry!” Nathaniel yelled.
“Mr. Russell?” She shouted over the rising wind and gave him her most pleading look.
Shaking his head, he backed away. “I cannot leave my cargo.”
Hope’s stomach clenched as a Bible verse her sister Grace often quoted floated through her mind: “For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself?”
Nathaniel held out his hand. “Your turn, Miss Hope.”
Taking his hand, she lifted her soaked skirts and eased over the bulwarks. Gripping the rope ladder, she clumsily made her way down as it flapped against the brig, scratching her fingers and crushing her knuckles against the hull. Numb with fear and pain, she wondered if she could descend another inch, when strong arms grabbed her waist and lifted her into the boat. Thanking Mr. Keese, she took a seat beside Abigail, noting the playful gleam normally present in Mr. Keese’s eyes had dulled. That sight alone frightened her more than anything.
“Last chance, Captain. Mr. Russell,” Nathaniel’s booming voice came from above. The tiny boat rolled over a massive wave and slammed into the hull. Mrs. Hendrick screamed.
“You’ll pay for this, Mr. Mason!” Captain Conway shouted in reply.
Lightning blazed across the sky as Nathaniel slid down the rope ladder and plopped into the boat, taking a seat beside Hope.
“Shove off, men!” Nathaniel shouted. “And row. Row as hard as you can.”
Using the oars to push the boat from the brig, the crew plunged them into the water and grunted as they fought against the force of the powerful waves.
Hope gripped the edge of the boat as the tiny vessel leapt and vaulted over the sea, lifting her from the thwarts and slamming her down onto the hard wood. Waves of pain shot up her back. Nothing but black ink surrounded them, slick deadly liquid that surged in hungry mounds.
Water crashed over the sides of the boat, drenching them. The wind tore Hope’s hair from its ribbons and pins. The saturated strands whipped through the air and stung her face. Perhaps it hadn’t been a wise choice to leave the brig, after all. She could no longer see the ship. Would they make it in this tiny boat? She could feel Nathaniel’s body heat beside her, the thrust of his muscular thigh against hers as he shoved his oar into the water over and over again. He glanced her way. “We shall make land, Miss Hope.” The confidence of his words gave her a measure of solace.
Black, monstrous clouds engulfed the moon and stars, stealing his face from her view and the warmth from her heart. He plunged his oar back into the raging waters.
The rain began. Drops the size of grapes pelted them, stinging Hope’s skin.
Abigail slid her hand into Hope’s and squeezed it, and Hope leaned on her shoulder, drawing strength from the peace that draped around the young girl like a warm cloak.
Wave after wave pummeled them. Hope’s wet gown clung to her. She shivered beneath the constant assault of the wind. Thunder opened its mouth and roared above the tiny craft.
Foamy fingers reached for her from atop the giant swells. Hope squeezed her eyes shut. An icy malevolence gripped her.
The boat lurched, then pitched, then wrenched up on its side. Muffled screams blared over the roar of the waves as the craft toppled, tossing Hope into the sea. She gasped for air. Swirling water enveloped her, muting the growl of the storm above. She kicked her feet, her arms flailing.
Her gown tangled around her legs, and she began to sink.
CHAPTER 12
Water filled Nathaniel’s mouth, his ears, his nose. The raging of the storm grew faint, muted by the gurgling and bubbling around him. Thrusting his hands through the water, his lungs burning, he broke through the surface and heaved for a breath of the saturated air. A wave crashed over his head. Squeezing the water from his eyes, he scanned the liquid darkness. Cries for help blared at him from all directions. To his right, part of what remained of their boat floated on the crest of a wave. The Hendricks, their daughter, and two sailors clung to it for dear life. Wheezing, Major Paine gripped a barrel as it rose atop a massive wave. In the distance, Abigail and two more sailors hugged another section of the boat. Mr. Keese swam up to him.
“Where is Miss Hope?” Nathaniel shouted.
Gavin shook his head as another swell took him out of Nathaniel’s view.
Nathaniel dove into the dark churning waters, driving his hands out before him. He kicked his feet. Deeper and deeper. Salt stung his eyes. Dark shadows like giant sea monsters rose to greet him from the depths.
Hope. God, help me find her. Don’t let her die!
Terror sped through him at the thought of losing her, propelling him deeper. His chest burned. Panic closed his throat. He whipped his arms about, slicing through the liquid wall. He must reach her. Then his hand struck something solid yet soft. She floated through the water as if she had willingly sacrificed her life to the ravenous storm.
Hope.
He grabbed her waist and sped toward the surface. When they broke through, her head bobbed lifelessly against his shoulder. “No!” he screamed, heaving for a breath. Lord, please. Pressing her against his chest, he paddled through the violent swells toward the sound of waves crashing on the shore.
His feet struck sand. Struggling to rise, he hoisted her in his arms and carried her to the beach, gently laying her in the sand. She did not move. He turned her on her side and gripped her by the waist, lifting her from the ground. “Come on! Come on! Don’t die on me. Spit it out!”
Her body flopped like a dead fish in his grasp. Sorrow choked in his throat and burned in his eyes. Releasing her, he sat back, panting. He clenched his fists and began to pound the sand, rage and agony searing through him.
Then she coughed. He looked up. Her body convulsed. Grabbing her, he held her as she spewed lungfuls of water onto the sand.
“Thank You, God. Thank You.”
Hope gasped, sobbing, and fell into his arms.
***
Nathaniel dug his toes into the cool sand, saturated from the night’s storm. Hurricane, not a storm. One of the most vicious he’d encountered. He rubbed the blisters on his hands and gazed across the troubled sea. Angry waves pummeled the shore. Lightning sparked from black clouds retreating on the horizon. Behind him, water drip-dropped from the leaves of palms and ficus trees—tears shed for those who had fallen prey to the deadly storm.
Bowing his head, Nathaniel thanked God for delivering them. Although the hurricane had tried to drag them all to the depths of the sea, by God’s grace, it had not entirely succeeded. He also thanked God the cockboat had overturned so close to the island. Only Nathaniel, Mr. Keese, and one of the sailors knew how to swim, but the three of them were able to find and tow the cockboat’s passengers to shore.
As Nathaniel shivered in his damp clothes, the glow of the sun peeped over the gray horizon as if trying to determine whether it was safe to rise and shed its light on another day. The golden orb must have liked
what it saw, for it rose a little higher, chasing away the clouds with its bright rays and eliciting a cacophony of chirps and twitters from the tropical forest behind him.
“Did you not get any rest, Mr. Mason?” Abigail’s cheerful voice startled him. The folds of her salt-encrusted skirt made a grating sound as she plopped down in the sand beside him.
He smiled at her apparent ease with her natural surroundings, but then again, she had no doubt dwelt in rustic conditions most of her life.
“Not much rest, no.” He had woken to find Hope fast asleep in his arms. Heat had swept through him as his body tensed. Ashamed at his reaction, he had slipped quietly away.
Abigail stretched her arms above her. “As soon as the wind died down, I must have dozed off. ’Twas advantageous you found that cliff to shelter us. However did you see it in the dark?”
Nathaniel picked up a shell and squinted at the rising sun. After ensuring everyone was safely ashore, he’d known he must protect them from the torrential rain and thrashing wind. But where to go? If they stayed on the beach, a surge of seawater could snatch them back into the rabid ocean. If they hid in the forest, the trees could topple and crush them beneath their weight. But as the ferocity of the waves increased, he chose the former and led them into the dense thicket.
He shrugged. “I felt the wind lessen as we neared and knew, whatever it was, it had to be large and sturdy.”
“You’re very wise, Mr. Mason. I doubt any of us would be alive without your quick thinking.”
Throughout the long night, they had huddled in groups, bracing against the rough cliff wall to avoid being blown away. Fists of wind punched them. Arrows of rain stabbed them. Nathaniel had engulfed Hope in his arms to shelter her from the onslaught. She had clung to his chest throughout the night, trembling, but uttering not a word.
She had been so strong aboard the brig, helping Mrs. Hendrick and her daughter onto the cockboat and then pleading with Mr. Russell. Although terror had burned in her eyes, she had waited until the last minute to leave the brig, and not once had she given in to her fears and blubbered like Mrs. Hendrick.
Nathaniel tossed the shell into an incoming wave, and it splashed into the swirling water. Hope’s strength had surprised him. When he’d asked for her help, his intention had been to keep her calm and thus avoid the problem of two hysterical women. But she had accomplished much more than that.
He glanced at Abigail as she stared out upon the ribbons of sunlight winding their way across the deep blue waters. The warm golden fingers seemed to have a soothing effect upon the waves, stroking away the tension caused by the storm. Nathaniel released a sigh and soaked in their warmth, his own muscles easing from the stressful night.
Abigail had been naught but calm and peaceful throughout the storm, putting his own fears to shame. Then as if contradicting his unspoken praise, she shivered and gripped her arms. “There was something ... something different about that storm.”
Nathaniel rubbed his eyes, still stinging from salt. Indeed. A storm like none he had encountered.
Abigail wiped a strand of tangled hair from her face. “Something evil, a wicked presence. Did you not feel it?”
He nodded, relieved he hadn’t gone completely mad. “Aye, I did. It seemed to have a purpose, a deep hatred aimed directly at us.”
Drawing her knees to her chest, Abigail wrapped her arms around her legs. “Perhaps we angered the forces of darkness when you saved the ill sailor in the hold.”
“God saved him, you mean.”
“Yes.” She smiled and brushed dried salt from her stiff gown.
“Or perhaps something or someone wants to stop you from going to Kingstown,” Nathaniel offered.
“I assure you I am no threat to the enemy.”
“No threat, you say?” He chuckled. “Aren’t you going there to be a missionary like your parents?”
“I am not so sure.” She began fingering the sand. “May I speak freely, Mr. Mason?”
“Of course.”
“My parents spent their lives spreading the gospel to the descendents of the Arawaks and Caribs on Antigua. And what did they get for it? Murdered.” She looked away. “No, not just murdered, sliced to pieces in their own bed.” Her voice cracked. “I cannot shake the sounds of their screams from my ears or the vision of their mutilated bodies from my mind. Why did God allow that to happen? I know He loved them. They gave up everything for Him. And they were butchered for it.” She gazed out to sea and bunched fistfuls of sand in her hands.
Nathaniel’s gut wrenched. He wanted to tell her God must have had a reason. He wanted to tell her things would work out for good. But the words seemed so condescending in light of what she had suffered. “I don’t have the answers, Miss Sheldon, but please don’t give up on God.”
She gave him a half smile. “I’m not giving up on Him. I know He loves me. But I don’t know if I can make the same sacrifice my parents did. It frightens me, Mr. Mason, frightens me more than anything.”
A band of waves pounded the shore, sending a misty spray over them. “Yet you were so calm through the most violent storm I’ve ever seen.”
Abigail squinted toward a massive plank of wood floating atop an incoming wave. “The wind and rain don’t scare me. Drowning at sea doesn’t frighten me.” One side of her mouth tilted upward in a smile. “Being hacked to pieces does. Besides, God told me we would survive the hurricane.”
“Indeed?” Nathaniel eyed the streaks of honeyed gold cast by the sun on her brown hair, amazed at her courage, saddened by her fear, and suddenly envious of her open communication with God. How long had it been since he had heard a word from the Almighty? All the more reason why she should continue her work for Him. “Then surely God will give you the same assurance in your missionary work.”
The freckles on her forehead scrunched together. “My parents had assurance. They believed God would protect and bless them for their sacrifice.”
Above them a clear patch of blue pushed the dark clouds aside. “Do you think they feel blessed and protected where they are now?”
She flattened her lips, gave him a sideways glance, but said nothing.
The birds continued their cheerful chorus behind them as the full sun rose above the cloudy horizon. The petulant waves calmed to tumbling rollers depositing debris above arcs of bubbling foam.
“What does it matter?” She chuckled. “We are stuck on this island and, from all appearances, will not be going anywhere soon.”
Nathaniel raked a hand through his hair—sticky with salt. If he didn’t meet up with his other ship in Kingstown soon, Captain Grainer might set sail without him. A spindly crab skittered across the sand by his feet, then plunged into a tiny hole. “Never fear. The island has fresh water and a good anchorage. I’m sure a ship will come along soon.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“We survive. I will build shelters and gather food, and we will pray for God to deliver us in His good time.” Nathaniel had been formulating a plan since he’d arisen hours before. In the predawn glow he had seen bamboo, plantain, and palm trees aplenty on the island—great for making a sturdy shelter. Once he crafted a suitable hut for the ladies, he could set about finding all of them food to eat.
Abigail laid her hand on his arm. Dark lashes framed her glimmering hazel eyes. She smiled. “You are a godsend, Mr. Mason.”
Returning her smile, he ignored the heat rising up his neck. Why couldn’t he be attracted to a woman like Abigail? Innocent, pure, godly, devoting her life to others. Yet as becoming as she was, he could conjure nothing more than thoughts of friendship. It was Hope who made his blood heat, his thoughts jumble, his stomach flip. Why was he drawn to such an unprincipled, wanton woman?
Nathaniel released a heavy sigh, wondering whether he would ever free himself from his past.
CHAPTER 13
A dull ache throbbed behind Hope’s eyes. She rubbed her temples and tried to form a rational thought. The hurricane. The brig damaged
. Nathaniel. The cockboat. Water, an ocean of water surrounding her, filling her, weighing her down. Sinking. Peaceful and dark. Then strong hands grabbed her. Pulled her toward the surface. Gasping for air. Waves crashing all around her. Muscular arms surrounding her. Her feet dragging over sand, solid land. A bad dream.
A nightmare.
She shot up and opened her eyes. Her chest heaved and beads of perspiration slid down her neck. A muted blur of green and brown coalesced into trees and branches and clustered foliage. Pressing her hands against the sandy soil, she struggled to rise. Her legs wobbled, her feet hurt, and the throb in her head turned into hammering. Stumbling, she reached behind her. Her hand scraped over something sharp and cold. She gazed up. Above her, a craggy cliff towered beyond the treetops.
Where was she? How had she gotten here?
The sound of snoring drew her attention to a scatter of people lying about the filthy ground, sound asleep. Mr. and Mrs. Hendrick lay to her left—he with his back to his wife, while she cradled little Elise in her arms. Hope smiled, relieved to see the young girl alive and well. Mr. Keese, Major Paine, and several sailors lay off in the distance. But no Nathaniel. No Abigail.
Hope froze. Her throat constricted. Had they drowned?
Forcing herself into action despite the thumping in her head, she brushed aside the thick foliage and forged through a tangle of green. Drops of water sprayed over her from the ruffled leaves. The musky smell of moist earth enveloped her. Insects began to swarm around her head like the thousand terrifying thoughts buzzing through her mind.
If Nathaniel had drowned in the hurricane, who would escort her to Charles Towne? Who would protect her? And Abigail, her friend, her first real friend, gone before they had a chance to form a lasting bond? Following the sound of the crashing surf, she swatted aside a maze of vines and burst onto the beach.
There on the sand, watching the sun rise, sat Nathaniel and Abigail. Abigail’s hand lay on his arm in a familiar touch. She smiled and they chuckled together like old friends.
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