Mel kept her head down, trying to do whatever task she was assigned. Each day, they gave her another sailor to work with. Some of them were pleasant, but a lot of them were angry and willing to inflict subtle hurts on the newbies, enjoying the sadistic pleasure at their expense. Mel fared better than the others, her size weighing in her favor. When one of the sailors attacked her with a knife, she smacked it aside and smashed him in the nose, breaking it by accident. He and his cronies were out to get her after that and made her life hell, but Mel was prepared for them, eventually acquiring a knife of her own to slash out and nearly disembowel one of them. She was left pretty much alone after that but not completely, and she worried constantly. Her sleep was never deep because she knew they could and would come at her in any moment of weakness. Her biggest worry was when she was exposed by her twice daily absolutions over the bucket. She tried to make it only once a day, but that was difficult on the long days aboard ship.
Two of the shanghaied men suffered from seasickness, much to the delight of the more experienced sailors, but their vomiting, general queasiness, and disposition didn’t prevent them from working. That wasn’t allowed. If they were reluctant to work, the whips, slaps, and threatened mayhem kept them motivated to work.
Mel had thought she was in pretty good shape; however, the trials and tribulations of having brought a herd of cattle across the Nevada desert to the mining camps in northern California were nothing like those she was now experiencing. A few sailors tried to pick her out for extra abuse, and while she tolerated it, she kept herself aware, especially after the broken nose she inflicted on her one tormentor. That awareness kept her from being filleted like a fish as she worked day to day, hoping that she would somehow find a way off this horrible ship.
The captain and his other officers seemed unaware of the slovenly conditions that the common sailors lived in. Their quarters were better, sometimes just as cramped but at least they had bunks. Thinking about it, Mel realized having a bed or bunk on this ship wasn’t necessarily better. Bugs tended to thrive in the body heat they engendered, and few, if any, had sheets—clean or otherwise—over the mattresses, such as they were. At least her hammock and blanket were aired out daily, and she could, in a good rain, wash out her blanket. She followed others, knowing they were some of the few that had some clean habits.
Nights were the worst. She didn’t get much sleep, and the few hours she allowed herself were light. She spent a lot of her time thinking about things other than what she was doing. Whether she was hauling sails, working with ropes, or trying to sleep, she focused her thoughts on other aspects of her life thus far, hoping she would find an opportunity to get off this hellhole.
Melissa Lawrence was born far from the Pacific Ocean, where she now found herself. In fact, she was born into a very nice home on prestigious Fifth Avenue in New York City, all the way across the country from where she had been shanghaied outside of San Francisco. Her parents, Victor and Amelia Lawrence, were very happy with this daughter born to them. Victor went off to his offices, sharing them with fur barons, such as the Wendels and Rockefellers, learning and wheedling deals that they kept from each other to enhance their own wealth several times over. Victor, knowing that his competitors and sometimes partners were only after the next buck or the next opportunity to out-finagle their partners in a more lucrative deal, invested wisely in multiple and far-reaching enterprises, so he didn’t have to depend on the lucrative but cutthroat fur trade. He was right to do so as others were slowly gobbled up by these barons of industry. He kept his wealth quiet, not even putting it in American banks where loose lips would gossip about the total of monies kept there. Instead, he opened accounts all over the old world, England, and Europe for his enterprises.
When Amelia died of the influenza epidemic that spread through Manhattan one winter, Victor began taking his young daughter with him as he traveled for business, teaching her to survive in the world with him. He took great pride in her, introducing her to influential people in both the Americas and eventually, Europe as she grew up beside him. He kept her nursemaid well beyond the first critical childhood years and eventually replaced her with tutors, who could teach the young woman about history, mathematics, and science. Those who questioned teaching a female were replaced. “A woman can know as much as a man, more even, but she must learn to keep her knowledge to herself,” he told his young and impressionable daughter, a twinkle in his eye.
Convinced that she needed stability, he settled back in New York and sent her to an esteemed private school for young women, so she could learn the womanly arts. More knowledgeable than her classmates on subjects most girls had no interest in, she grew bored learning to needlepoint, sew, knit, manage a household, and subject herself to a husband. Still, not wishing to disappoint her beloved father, Melissa learned as quickly as they permitted her, so she could return to him at every holiday.
Seeing him with other women, she tried not to show her hurt over what she felt was a betrayal of her mother’s memory, however faint that memory was. Later, she would learn men had needs. Much later, she would learn women had needs too. Still, he showed no signs of remarrying, and this somewhat relieved her concern that she would have to compete with a stepmother, stepsiblings, or even half-siblings. Her father was special in her life, and she was special to him.
He took her with him when he traveled to the frontier, going to places in Virginia, Tennessee, and Ohio to look at land. He taught her to handle a gun, to load it, and to respect it.
“Victor, girls shouldn’t have this knowledge,” he was chided but couldn’t see the sense in that. One never knew what life would throw at them, and everyone should have this knowledge, even a girl…especially a girl of his. His point was proven when he was out for an evening and someone tried to break into the young girl’s hotel room. She shot through the door, wounding the man and sending him away before she could adequately reload. After that, Victor made sure she had at least two pistols available to her when he wasn’t about. He agreed she shouldn’t have had to wait to reload the pistol in order to shoot her assailant a second time.
“Melissa Lawrence looks like a boy,” the girls tittered behind their hands as they all learned to dance, to cater to their future husbands, and to become proper young women in their society. Mel heard them and learned to keep her head up, ignoring their nasty words and pretending they didn’t hurt. They did hurt, but she couldn’t show it, or they would make things worse for her.
Aunt Edith was a spinster of an eminent New York family that her father hired, or rather kept, and she helped to model the young woman coming into that fragile time—the teenage years, where young women of Melissa’s station began to form into the eligible women that would shortly marry into families of renown. Melissa learned to have a discerning eye for fashion under Edith’s tutelage. It was a sad thing that no matter how beautiful the dress or how expensive the fabric and the cut, Melissa still looked like it fit her uneasily. Her father couldn’t see that in his beautiful daughter, but Edith could, and Melissa could. Melissa’s contemporaries also could and frequently commented on it.
Eager to weed out the competition on the soon-to-come marriage mart, her contemporaries didn’t consider Melissa competition in the looks department, but her money would buy her the right man, and this concerned many. Some eminently suitable young man, who could be bought with Victor Lawrence’s wealth, might be snatched from under their very noses, and this couldn’t be allowed. Melissa began to be excluded from many of the more fashionable gatherings of girls her age, but she couldn’t be completely shunned. Oh, no. Victor Lawrence was too powerful, and his associates went out of their way to include Victor’s unattractive daughter in their own daughters’ gatherings. Their wives were forced to issue invitations through their reluctant daughters. Seeing the plain-faced young girl growing into a large and stocky woman, they discussed it among themselves within full hearing of their impressionable daughters. With all of Victor’s money, there was nothing th
at could change this fact.
Melissa tried to show it didn’t bother her, leaning on Edith, who couldn’t understand how a child of two such attractive parents could turn out to be such a drudge. She tried to instill in Melissa a strength of character that would hold her through the times and people, who would judge her on her looks alone. Included in their travels, Edith made some of it fun, making jokes behind her own hand at what some of the women wore. Having the means to dress in the height of fashion, which only enhanced her bulk, Melissa had to learn to take the knocks that were hurled at her by girls whose parents couldn’t afford the same. She learned that just because a woman had a pretty face didn’t mean she had a good heart. Even the mothers of some of these girls, forced to extend an invitation to the Lawrence girl, weren’t as kind as they could have been. Still, Victor Lawrence’s business acumen was sought after, so they must make his daughter feel welcome.
Melissa was smarter than they gave her credit for. Not only was she educated well beyond her contemporaries, but Edith had shown her how to hide such intellectual pursuits, not revealing what she knew to men or women. As a result, she was quiet-spoken, thoughtful, and listened well. When others were gossiping and chattering around the men, she was sitting there, politely listening. Many men enjoyed talking to her when she opened up, surprised that she understood things that weren’t normally within a woman’s domain. Eyeing her as a potential mate, after all she was Victor Lawrence’s daughter, they were always surprised by her.
As Melissa approached her sixteenth birthday, she began to realize that she wasn’t talking to men because she was interested in them as a potential mate. Instead, she was more interested in emulating them, learning from them, and secretly challenging them. When the other girls her age began to titter on about who they might marry, sixteen being a prime age for marriage, Melissa was more interested in the young men’s potential future, their investments, and what they might do with their lives. Her father’s investments and travels were far more interesting than these young men, who hadn’t yet made a name for themselves. Even their fathers, her own father’s competition or contemporaries, were much more interesting to listen to and occasionally engage in conversation. Flattered by her interest, many of them spoke much more than they should have to the young woman, and as a result, Melissa was well-informed and even shared some of that information with her father from time to time.
Victor was so proud that Melissa could outshoot many of his friends, and he finally realized there was no man in New York good enough for his unique daughter. Totally oblivious of her plain looks, which to him were familiar and like his own plain mother, he decided to travel more, taking his daughter with him. He hoped they would meet a suitable man, perhaps an older and more mature man, who would appreciate her exceptional mind, which was so unlike the young women of their day.
Europe was always exciting, and when he conducted business there, he used Melissa as a sounding board instead of the many hangers-on that would have financially benefitted from his business acumen. When they returned to the states and New Orleans, Melissa lost her virginity at eighteen to a woman, who recognized the unique qualities in the young woman. Surprised at the seduction but feeling sexual for the first time in her young life, Melissa realized she wasn’t attracted to men, which explained a lot more than she thought. The woman, another socialite, took Melissa with her to a special party held at the home of one of New Orleans’ famous madams. Ducking into a room to hide from her father, who also frequented this bordello, she learned there was a whole lot more going on below the surface appearances in these places.
Under these women’s tutelage, Melissa became Mel and learned to enjoy a woman’s body and get her own pleasure. She impulsively tried new things and eventually, became the teacher, causing some of these women to seek her out as a partner. While in New Orleans, she learned to gamble, smoke an occasional cigar or pipe, and become the “man” in a relationship when it was required. She wasn’t willing for her father to learn what she was becoming; he was still oblivious to the fact that his daughter was too masculine to fit the mold that society drew for a woman of her means.
There would always be men who would overlook the fact that she was bigger, stronger, taller, or more masculine than they. There were also some men who liked the idea of conquering this type of woman, some who were attracted to men but settled on a woman such as this, and some that felt she would be a good companion for her brain alone. To Mel, it always came back to her father’s money. At twenty-one, when her father took her back to London with him and headed north for business dealings, she fell in love for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, it was to an impoverished earl’s daughter. Lady Abigail Baxter was charming, vivacious, and pleased to make the American woman’s acquaintance.
“Oh, that outfit is divine. Did you have it made in London?” she asked by way of introduction as they all stood about in the rain waiting for the race to begin.
Melissa, dressed in a riding habit that she had had made in New York, looked down at the petite, blonde woman, who looked up at her so ingenuously. She was struck by the fact that her eyes weren’t blue but an odd shade of purple! Smiling at her, Melissa shook her head. “No, I had it made in New York City.”
“Oh, you’re from the colonies,” she said, clapping her hands together in delight at having discovered this, Mel’s accent giving her away.
Mel smiled at the reference. America hadn’t been a colony in quite some time. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you ride there?”
“I do try. I enjoy a nice horse.”
“Do you ride astride,” she lowered her voice at that word, “or sidesaddle?”
“I’ve ridden both,” she admitted, wondering at this woman, who was so full of questions. She was a pretty little thing, her eyes shining in her delight.
“Isn’t it decadent to ride astride?” she asked, keeping her voice lowered as she glanced about, hoping no one would hear the indelicate conversation.
“It’s more comfortable,” Mel admitted. She looked up in time to see her father coming over.
“Melissa, I’ve managed to commit myself to the race for Sir McKenzie,” he told her, rolling his eyes but grinning delightedly.
“Father don’t tell me you didn’t finagle that invitation,” she admonished him, shaking a finger at him in mock outrage.
“Well, I did imply that I wanted to see how good his offspring were,” he said as he patted the horse he was leading.
“That is Grover. He is a bit of a dud,” the blonde next to Mel told him knowledgeably.
“And you are?” he asked, surprised at the young woman and her opinion.
“I am sorry. We haven’t been properly introduced,” the woman said, holding her hand up to her mouth in shock at her manners as she glanced at Mel.
“I am Melissa Lawrence, and this is my father,” Mel quickly amended. “Since no one else is about to introduce us, this will have to do.”
The woman nodded before curtsying prettily to Mr. Lawrence. “Mr. Lawrence, Miss Lawrence, I am Abigail Baxter.”
“Miss Baxter.” Victor Lawrence doffed his hat to the young girl, wondering how his daughter had met this pretty little piece of baggage.
“Lady Baxter,” she corrected almost automatically, and her hand went to her mouth again in surprise at her audacity.
“Lady Baxter,” he repeated dutifully, never fully understanding the complexities of the European aristocracy. Not too many of them were in business, finding it beneath them and instead, depending on rents and inherited wealth to sustain their lifestyles. Few understood that eventually that would all change, and to sustain their livelihoods they would have to diversify into such common pursuits as business. “And how do you know of this horse?” He indicated the horse he was leading.
“Sir McKenzie bred his mare to a truly bad stallion,” she said, lowering her voice again as she shared the information. “Ask him to let you ride Roy-Boy. Now, there is a ride I’m certain you will
enjoy.”
Victor Lawrence studied the girl, wondering how she knew horses so well, but smiling, he thought perhaps she was as astute as his own daughter, and with a nod, he led the horse away to seek Sir McKenzie. He knew it wouldn’t be beyond the odd English sense of humor to put him on a dud. He would ask for Roy-Boy, the horse the girl had recommended.
“Are you really a lady?” Mel asked with an impish grin.
The girl nodded. She couldn’t have been much more than sixteen, maybe seventeen. “Are you really an American?” she teased in return. It was the first time in a long time that Mel had seen the tentative beginnings of a friendship, and she was delighted it was with so pretty a gal. She returned the young woman’s grin.
At night as she lay in her hammock aboard that miserable ship, Mel thought of Lady Abigail Baxter, pangs of sadness and longing assailing her. It made it difficult to sleep when her body responded to thoughts of her first love, and frequently, she’d find the results of that response when she tried to clean herself in the morning while hiding to make her absolutions. The odor was rather distinctive. She wished she could bathe but knew that no one else on the ship did. She also knew it would be considered a waste of the precious fresh water they needed for drinking. Perhaps, the captain and his men indulged, but probably not often. The smells of body odor were strong in the enclosed confines of the ship.
CHAPTER THREE
Mel learned that they were heading for the Sandwich Islands and then on to Asia. In the weeks it took their ship to sail between San Francisco and these far-off islands, she learned as quickly as she could, trying to become proficient in all jobs they deemed to teach her. She saw the results of any who balked at working. One of the men from San Francisco was laid up for two days as the whip marks on his back and legs healed, and even before he was ready, he was put back to work. He was sullen but worked despite the pain throughout his body; fear, pain, and ultimately, being thrown overboard if he didn’t work were good motivators.
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