Jake watched with interest as Rachel paused, noting that she was able to regain her composure only after a brief struggle. She’s got a hair-trigger temper—if she gets that mad over somebody she doesn’t like, I’d like to see what she’d do if somebody hurt a person she really cared for.
Something of his thought must have been visible in his face, for Rachel, giving him a sharp glance, flushed slightly. “I hate to see sloppy work,” she said, then put the small case in his lap. “Time to go. Put your glasses on.”
She waited until he took the smoked glasses out of the single pocket in his loose white shirt and settled them in place. “We’re taking the chair with us,” she said as they left the room, turning down the hall toward the front of the building. When they passed out into the light, despite the dark glasses, Jake was forced to shut his eyes against the glare of the sun. The wheels grated on the walk; then the chair was stopped, and Rachel said, “You’ll have to give him some help.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Strong hands were placed under Jake’s armpits, and he came out of the chair. Opening his eyes to slits, he got a close view of a black face; then he was suddenly lifted from the ground as easily as if he were a baby. “Jest set right down,” a deep voice instructed as he was placed on a padded leather seat. “Now, miss, you get in and I’ll load your gear.”
“The chair goes, too,” Rachel said. She stepped into the coach, and soon the driver was back in the seat. “The Jupiter, is it, miss?” Being assured, he sent the team down the street at an easy pace.
When they got to the dock, Jake’s eyes had adjusted somewhat and he could see the outline of the ship waiting at the wharf. She was, he noted, a clipper-hulled vessel with three masts, which could be hung with canvas in a following wind. The engines sent their power through a big walking beam amidships to huge side paddles. As they pulled up, the driver leaped down, unloaded the chair, then helped Jake into it. “Thanks,” Jake said. “Wish you could be on the other end to help me off.”
The black man grinned but only shook his head. “You want me to wheel him on, miss?”
“No, I’ll do that, but please put all our luggage aboard.” Stepping behind the chair, she pushed Jake down to the gangplank, where a purser in a white coat was standing.
“I’ll do that, miss. My name is Smythe,” the purser offered, and soon Jake was in the cabin. It was plain and small—no larger than eight feet by ten feet—with two bunks, some built-in closets, and a small chair. Rachel took some money from her purse and handed it to the black driver, who grinned at her broadly then was gone. Smythe said, “Supper at six, Miss Franklin. Captain Stuart would like for you and your brother to join him. Shall I come down and help Mr. Franklin to the dining room?”
“No, thank you,” Rachel said. “I can manage.”
As the door closed, Jake looked around, then said, “Close quarters. This blasted chair of mine takes up all the room.”
“You won’t be running around much,” Rachel said briefly, then began to unpack their clothes. There was nothing for Jake to do but watch. As soon as she had everything put away, she took a small package from her purse and looked around the room. A bronze lamp was fixed to the wall by a bracket attached on the outer bulkhead, exactly in the center of the wall. She took what seemed to be a hoop from the packet, but it proved to be a roll of wire. She fastened one end of it to the lamp bracket, then unwound it and, finding another bracket on the inside wall just to the left of the door, secured the free end to that. As she returned to one of the bunks where she’d placed the packet, she noticed Jake watching her.
“It’s already quite dark in here. I’ll cover the windows with some cloth tomorrow. That way you won’t have to wear the glasses at all.”
“That will be better,” he commented, then asked, “What’s the wire for?”
“Privacy,” she answered briefly, then took some pins from the small package and began fastening them to the side of what seemed to be a piece of very lightweight canvas. When they were in place, she stood and began slipping them over the taut wire. When the last one was in place, she tested the makeshift screen by pulling at one end. The cloth slid along the wire between the two beds, which were on opposite ends of the small cabin. Satisfied, she pulled the curtain back until it bunched against the wall.
“You’re resourceful,” Jake conceded. “But wouldn’t it be easier to have two cabins?”
Rachel looked at him coldly. “You may have money to waste, Vince. We don’t. Cash is scarce now and it’s going to get more so. Do you want to lie down?”
“No. “He hesitated, then asked with a sarcastic tone, “Would it be too much trouble to push me around the deck?”
Rachel’s face flushed for a moment; then she shook her head. “It’s almost time for dinner. Let me change; then I guess we can go around the deck a few times.” Pulling the curtain, she changed her dress, then emerged and pushed him out of the cabin. For the next half hour she maneuvered him around the deck. There were few passengers there—most had gone to the dining room early—but the loading of the ship was still going on, with sailors wrestling the last of the cargo into the hold. Some of their language was fairly raw, but Jake saw that Rachel was able to ignore it. She was, he considered, the sort of person who would refrain from complaining about things that she could not help. Finally she said, “Let’s go to the dining room.”
She pushed him into a large room of mahogany, ivory paint, and crystal lamps. Still, though the design of luxury remained and the paint was fresh and the glasswork glittered, the original elegance had quietly vanished with the ship’s youth. The same purser who had taken them to their cabin saw them enter. He came across the room to say, “Let me help you, Miss Franklin.”
“Thank you, Smythe,” Rachel murmured and stepped back to let the man move the wheelchair to the table. Captain Stuart and the other gentlemen at the table rose gallantly. The captain was a short man and thick as a stump. He had a pair of icy blue eyes, but he said warmly, “Miss Franklin, we’re waiting for you. I take it this is your brother?”
“Yes, Captain.” Rachel nodded and slipped into her seat while the captain named the guests around the table for the newcomers. Afterward Jake sat silently, listening to the talk that flowed around the table, noting how Rachel drew the attention of the men. She wore a dark blue dress that fit snugly, and her neck and shoulders were coral against the shining of the lamps. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of sapphire earrings, their deep blue accenting her eyes.
The talk was of the war, or the effects of it. One of the men, a tall man named Prince with a startling crop of dundreary whiskers, wore the uniform of a Confederate Major. He had been at Manassas and, at the request of Captain Stuart, gave an account of what his regiment had done there. One of the ladies at the end of the table said, “I suppose it will take another battle or two to convince the Yankees to stay where they belong, Major Prince?”
“Well—it’ll be a little more difficult than that, Mrs. Lowery,” Major Prince said. A thought struck him and his lips curved in a smile. “Did you hear about General Anderson? Well, after Fort Sumter fell, he became quite a hero in the North. Don’t understand why, when all he did was surrender! But in any case, he had a nervous breakdown and had to be replaced.” He laughed softly, adding, “His replacement was General William T. Sherman, and the joke is that Sherman’s had a nervous breakdown of his own. But you know that new fellow Grant? The one who’s in charge in the West? Well, he’s had a drinking problem, and Sherman said, ‘Grant stood by me when I was crazy, so I’ll stand by him when he’s drunk!’”
A laugh went around the table, and one of the men asked, “Is that who we’ve got coming against us, Major? Drunks and crazy men?”
Prince shook his head, seemingly reluctant to speak, but finally he said slowly, “Lincoln is listening to General Scott. He’s old and too fat to ride a horse, but he’s got the best military mind in the country, I do think. Scott wants to get control of the Mississippi and blockade the coas
t. If that happens, there will be no way we can win.”
“They don’t have enough ships for that, Major,” Captain Stuart commented with a shrug.
“No, but they have the shipyards to build them, Captain. And they’ve got the ironworks, the factories, and the know-how to arm them. Do you know we have only one Major ironworks in the South, the Tredgar Ironworks in Richmond?”
“We’ll buy ships from England!”
“Not if the coast is blockaded,” Prince replied. “If we’re going to win, we’d better win in a hurry.”
“I think, sir, our only hope is to be recognized by England.” The speaker was a tall man with a crown of silver hair. “If we kill enough Yankees in a hurry, the North will refuse to fight. There’s already a strong antiwar party there, and if we won the next two or three battles, I think Lincoln would be forced to declare a peace.”
“That is indeed our only chance, sir,” Major Prince said, nodding. “Without that, we will fight gallantly and to the last, but in the end we will be worn down by the North’s industrial power and sheer weight of numbers.”
Several men disagreed with Prince, and the talk grew lively. The food was good, but Jake was humiliated when Rachel had to cut up his meat, a fine steak. “Feel like a blasted baby!” he muttered to her, though she seemed to ignore him. He was glad when she finally said, “Captain Stuart, thank you for your invitation. I must get my brother to bed now.”
The men rose, and Smythe came to take Jake out. When they were outside, Rachel said, “Thank you, Smythe. I can manage now.”
“Yes, Miss Franklin. Let me know if you need anything.”
The air was cool and fresh after the stale air of the dining room, and Rachel pushed the chair past the churning paddles, coming to the fantail. The night was cloudy, and after a while, Jake said, “Any stars out, Rachel? I still can’t see all that clearly.”
She gazed at the sky, then said, “No, I don’t see any stars.”
“Good thing we’re not in the middle of the ocean.”
Rachel looked up at the dark skies, shook her hair loose, then said, “I wish I knew more about the stars, but they weren’t included in my education.”
The throbbing of the engines was like the beating of a mighty heart, and as the ship drove into the darkness, Jake said finally, “I always envied sailors, knowing how to find their way by the stars.” Then he looked up and added, “But you said there’s no stars out now. I guess the fellow who’s lost at sea could be a man without a star.”
Rachel glanced down at him, saying, “That’s a poetic way of putting it, Vince—a man without a star.” She reached her hand up as if to touch one of the dark clouds that was racing along overhead, then withdrew it, saying, “That’s a sad thought. Every man and every woman ought to have a star, something that doesn’t move so they can tell where they are.”
Jake listened to the sound of the wind as it whipped over the deck, then turned to see the pilothouse, which emitted only a faint pale and golden glow, and laughed shortly. “Guess that’s what I am, Rachel—a man without a star.”
She looked at him, a curious light in her eyes. “That’s a strange thing for you to say. You’ve always seemed to know exactly what you wanted.”
Suddenly Jake knew he was in danger, for she was studying him carefully. He realized that he’d spoken out of his own feelings, not out of the role he was playing—and what he had said had been out of character. Vince was not a man for philosophical thought. He looked at her and smiled coldly. “Never realized you were one to be fooled by pretty talk, Rachel. If that’s all it takes to change your mind about a man—”
Rachel cut him off by grabbing his chair and pushing it toward the cabin. Her voice was tight with anger as she spoke. “You’re right, Vince. I should know better than to listen to anything you say.” She took him to the cabin and helped him out of the chair onto the bunk. He was wearing only underwear and the long shirt, and was embarrassed as he struggled to get his leg onto the bed. Reaching down, Rachel took careful hold of it, lifted it to the bed, then pulled a sheet up over him. “Are you hurting much?” she asked, though he doubted she cared.
“Not too bad.”
She studied him, then made an abrupt decision. “You’d better have something for the pain. I’ll fix you a toddy.” He lay there as she took the small medicine box from the drawer, poured some whiskey from a small bottle into a glass, then added some liquid from a vial. He took it and drank it down; then she said, “Call if you need something.”
He grunted in response.
She moved quickly, drawing the curtain, then got undressed and put on a gown. The lamp threw off enough light for her to see, so she sat on the bunk reading a chapter of the Bible, then put it down and went to bed. She lay there listening to the man’s heavy breathing as it grew slow and rhythmic.
Finally fatigue caught up with her, too.
The pounding of the engines beat steadily, and her eyelids grew heavier. In spite of herself, the last thing she thought of before she fell asleep was what Vince had said: “Guess that’s what I am, Rachel—a man without a star.”
CHAPTER 7
STORM AT SEA
The Jupiter darted around the Florida Keys, sighting only one Federal ship, which she easily outran. The weather was favorable, but after a quick stop at Savannah, Captain Stuart told his first mate, Alvin Sears, “We’d better skip Charleston, Sears. I don’t like the feel of this weather.”
Sears, a saturnine individual with a full black beard and the shoulders of a wrestler, agreed. “Be better, I think, Captain.” He studied the horizon, his eyes drawn to slits, then added, “That sky reminds me of a woman. All nice and soft and pretty. But she’s likely to change ‘fore we can blink, and then we’ll feel her claws.”
“Not a great admirer of the ladies, are you?”
“Had my hide ripped too often,” Sears grunted. “And I got a feeling about that sky. We’d best make the fastest run we can, or you’ll see the canvas ripped to shreds.”
Sears would later have reason to call Captain Stuart’s attention to the accuracy of his prophecy, for as they rounded Cape Hatteras, the sun disappeared and the seas began to rise. Soon the waves were so high that the passengers staring through the portholes could see the ripped-up surface of the ocean directly in front of their eyes.
Rachel and Jake became aware of the seriousness of the matter as she pushed him around the deck toward the stern and the Jupiter took a trough coming around, falling into a deep gully between two waves. The ship went into the gully heavily and lay solidly there as a great ridge of water fell into her and buried her. For much too long a moment, Rachel and Jake both felt the inertness of the ship. Then the sea came aboard a second time and the well deck filled, and the port wing of the hurricane deck touched the lifting waves. Rachel grabbed a chair, bracing herself, while Jake sat there clenching the armrest of his chair with his good hand.
In the wheelhouse, Captain Stuart held the wheel of the Jupiter as she plunged and bucked like a half-wild horse. He waited until the ship rose and slowly swung into the seas. He peered through the misty foam and cupped his ears to catch the possible sound of surf breaking. He knew this coast too well—it was a graveyard filled with the bones of ships and men scattered on some rocky point or sucked into a remote reach of sand.
“Take in all sail, Mr. Sears,” he commanded, then called down to the engine room, “Give me all you’ve got, Carl!”
Sears stared at the wild seas, then at the captain. “I told you she was a hussy,” he muttered, then left the wheelhouse. When he got to the stern, he saw a woman pushing a man in a wheelchair and cursed under his breath. “Get below! Get below!” he bellowed, shaking his head in disgust as the woman hurriedly moved along the tilting deck and disappeared through one of the doorways. “Woman’s got no sense! Acts like we’re on a ferryboat!” Then he began yelling commands to the crew, who scurried aloft to take in all the canvas.
Rachel had to brace herself to keep the w
heelchair from getting away from her, but finally she made it to the door of their cabin. It was a struggle to open the door while holding on to Jake’s chair, but she managed it.
With a sigh she said, “Better get out of this chair and into the bunk.”
Jake used his left hand and pulled himself free from the chair to stand on one leg as she moved the chair back. A sudden lurch caught him off balance, and he fell across the edge of the bunk, striking his bad leg and sending a flash of pain along his nerves. As he rolled over onto the bunk, Rachel stooped and lifted his leg. Placing it carefully down, she glanced at his face but said only, “If this gets worse, I’ll have to tie you in.”
“If it gets worse, the ship will go down,” he answered tightly. His leg was throbbing like a sore tooth, but he ignored it. “This ship can’t take much of this!”
Rachel stared at him, then asked, “Is the Jupiter a bad ship?”
“No, but she’s made for rivers, not oceans. If this keeps up, she could break in two.” Jake had been on riverboats for some time and knew their limitations. As the boat seemed to hesitate, he asked, “Feel that? The paddles came out of the water—they were beating the air. That means that the captain can’t get much speed out of her. Not much hope of outrunning this thing.”
Rachel was thrown forward suddenly as the ship rolled, and she saved herself only by raising her hands as they slammed against the bulkhead. She stood there, waiting for what seemed like a long time, until the ship recovered. Then she cautiously moved to sit down on her bunk. There was no sign of panic on her face, Jake noted—only an expression of heightened alertness. She said nothing, as did he. The roar of the wild water, which was kept from them only by a thin wall, was joined by the high-pitched keening of the wind. The wind was like a wild animal that prowled around the Jupiter seeking entrance, shrieking at times before it subsided into a low moaning sound.
For an hour the two kept to their bunks, Jake lying flat and Rachel sitting up, balancing as if she were in a small boat in tricky waters. Night came and the stygian darkness swallowed the Jupiter, seeming to magnify the sounds of the storm.
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 74