A Ship Through Time

by Bess McBride

  “Okay, hurry back!”

  He stopped in midstride and turned back to look at me with a startled expression. I gave him a foolish grin before he turned to leave.

  Left alone, a quick study of the cabin confirmed again that it looked nothing like the one I’d been using for the past eight days since we’d left San Francisco.

  With one eye on the door, I slipped out of bed, straightened my nightgown and crossed the cabin to look out one of the portholes, surprised that the doctor didn’t rate a balcony. The moon glowed on the sea, spreading a lovely white sheen across the darkness.

  The door behind me opened much sooner than I anticipated, and I scurried back across the room and jumped into bed.

  Daniel coughed and turned his back.

  “Forgive me. I did not realize you were up and about. I should have knocked but am not used to doing so in my own cabin. May I turn?”

  “Sure,” I said, my cheeks hot with a flush. My light-blue nightgown covered me adequately, but something in the doctor’s tone made me blush. Maybe he didn’t treat women in his practice?

  “Thomas is preparing a cabin for you. He informed me that we have no vacant passenger cabins, so he has offered his cabin. He shares it with another steward, but they will bunk with the rest of the crew.

  “Thomas will fetch some tea to your cabin shortly. Frankly, we were not able to devise a scheme to obtain proper ladies’ clothing for you, but I will give that some further thought. Until I do arrive at a solution, you must stay in your cabin, Mrs. Wollam.”

  I was about to protest but thought better of it as I watched Daniel cross over to a trunk at the foot of the bed and retrieve what looked like a red velvet robe. If I protested, he might lock me in the cabin. If I kept quiet, he might leave the door open, and I could explore the ship.

  Daniel handed me the robe and turned his back. “If you would be so good as to don my robe, I will escort you to Thomas’s cabin.”

  I slipped out of bed and wrapped the robe around me. The hem dusted the floor, and the sleeves fell below my hands. At about six-feet-two-inches, Daniel was a foot taller than me.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Daniel turned around, and attempting to avert his eyes, he picked up the oil lantern before leading the way to the door. Easing it open, he peered into the hallway and stepped out. He signaled me forward and put a cautionary finger to his lips.

  I stepped out into the hall. Much narrower than the Century Star, the hall featured one dimly lit sconce and a well-worn strip of dark-red nondescript carpet. I followed Daniel down the hallway.

  He stopped at a wooden stairwell, and we descended to the next deck. The faded carpeting above gave way to varnished wood flooring that showed heavy use. In bare feet, I rose up on my toe tips to avoid the cold surface as I continued to follow Daniel. He stopped in front of a plain heavy wooden door and pushed it open, allowing me to enter first.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I entered the cabin. A wall sconce flickered, shedding faint yellow light onto the room. Daniel’s sparse cabin seemed luxurious compared to the Spartan furnishings and miniscule size of the stewards’ hovel. Two short wooden bunks had been jammed rather than built into one nook. A small wooden locker, desk and chair dominated another wall. The scratched and dented desk featured a dingy ceramic bowl and pitcher.

  “I’d rather have your cabin,” I muttered, staring at the cold wooden flooring under my toes. Daniel stepped in and maneuvered past me in the tiny cabin to set his oil lantern down on the desk. He put his hands on his hips to survey the area, the gesture seeming to take up any remaining space.

  “I apologize for the austere conditions, but we have only a few passenger cabins, and as I said, those are occupied. I could not place you in crew quarters, and Thomas did relinquish his cabin to you. The other steward does not know why he was forced to move.”

  I realized Daniel thought I was ungrateful, and he was right. I wasn’t happy. What a depressing dream! My hero had been unhappy to see me, greeting me not with passion and romance but as an unwelcome intrusion, a stowaway.

  I had no complaints about his looks though. He was as handsome as any hero I could have imagined with dark wavy hair, nut-brown eyes and a cleft chin.

  “I’m grateful to Thomas,” I said dutifully. I wasn’t in the least, but I couldn’t very well say so.

  At a tap on the door, Daniel put his finger to his lips again, and I bit my lip as he eased open the door. A creak from ungreased hinges thwarted his attempts at stealth. He stood back and allowed a pint-sized teenage boy carrying a tray with a plain white porcelain tea set to enter the room. Probably about seventeen, Thomas wore a misbuttoned dark jacket and brown trousers. His rumpled short blond hair suggested Daniel had roused him from sleep, though the bunks appeared neatly made with gray blankets.

  The boy’s blue eyes widened when he saw me. He set the tray down on the desk beside the lamp and turned toward Daniel, throwing glances my way out of the corner of his eye.

  “Will there be anything else, Doctor?”

  “No, Thomas. Thank you. Please bring Mrs. Wollam some breakfast in the morning.”

  “Aye, sir,” Thomas said, touching a finger to his forehead in a small salute. He threw one more look at me over his shoulder as he left the room.

  I turned and sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk.

  “Please do not leave the cabin, Mrs. Wollam, until we can find you some proper clothing. I shall return in the morning. I trust you have everything you need for the evening?”

  I quirked an eyebrow. Surely Daniel wasn’t really leaving. He wasn’t actually planning to leave me in the closet-cabin, was he?

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  Daniel had picked up the lantern and turned for the door but stopped and pivoted when I spoke.

  “I beg pardon?”

  “Are you really just going to leave me here?”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Wollam. What else would I do with you?”

  Daniel’s tanned cheeks bronzed, and my own face flamed. Didn’t people normally skip all the awkwardness of life in dreams?

  “This is about the most unromantic dream I could have imagined,” I muttered.

  “Ro...romantic?” Daniel stammered. “Good gravy, Mrs. Wollam, whatever can you be thinking?”

  “Well, if I’m dreaming, why would I stick myself away in this microscopic hamster cage on a ship bound for Tahiti? What kind of a dream is that?”

  “You are not dreaming, Mrs. Wollam. This is as far from a dream as I can possibly imagine!”

  Chapter Two

  I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Light peeked in through the blue-and-green curtains of the balcony, allowing me to see that I was in my cabin on the Century Star.

  I hopped out of bed and ran to the curtains to draw them apart. Sunlight streamed into the cabin. The events of the previous night had truly been nothing but a dream.

  A knock on the door startled me. Daniel? Thomas? I ran for the door, almost expecting to see one of them, but the sight of the young dark-haired room service attendant convinced me that I was fully awake and in the present. Dressed in a trim black coat, matching trousers and clean white shirt, the waiter bid me good morning as he delivered my breakfast on a stainless-steel tray.

  He set the tray down on the tiny round coffee table in the cabin, and I looked for my purse to find tip money. I realized at that moment that I was still in my nightgown, but the room service waiter hardly seemed to notice. Accepting the tip with a bow, he left after wishing me a good day, and I sank down onto a chair in front of the food, eyeing the oatmeal, fruit, coffee and juice without really seeing it.

  What a terribly unsatisfactory dream! I felt cheated. Not only had it been extremely odd and not a little unpleasant, I had awakened somewhere in the middle of the dream. Surely Daniel’s final frustrated words as he prepared to leave me in a tiny crew cabin couldn’t have been the end of the dream.

  You are not dreaming, Mrs. Wollam. This is as
far from a dream as I can possibly imagine!

  I’d wanted to tell Daniel that it hadn’t been my idea to dream myself into his cabin, that if I’d had my way, he would have been happy to see me in his bed.

  I picked at my breakfast, trying to dispel the remnants of the strange dream by reviewing the ship’s daily calendar. An at-sea day, the program showed a myriad of activities, which I normally sampled. Unable to shake my sense of dissatisfaction though, I tossed the program aside and finished my breakfast.

  I showered, dressed and headed out to stroll on the promenade deck. My fellow walkers passed me easily, desperately trying to work off the calories of the plentiful free meals offered by the ship.

  When the combination of fresh sea air and light exercise failed to ease my restlessness, I made my way to the computer room to dash off a few e-mails to several friends and my mother-in-law.

  Like me, Kathy suffered during November, the month my husband died two years ago of an aneurysm. Jeff had been her only son, and my heart went out to her. My husband and I hadn’t even managed to provide her with a grandchild in our short two-year marriage. We had been thinking about starting a family but hadn’t yet conceived when Jeff died unexpectedly.

  His life insurance had left me well provided for, and I made an additional living painting. I had sold a few pieces here and there, mostly Pacific coastal scenes near my home in Washington state, and I had hoped to lighten my canvas and include some works in Pacific island colors.

  I had deliberately booked a monthlong cruise to the South Pacific to get away from my grief and to immerse myself in something that didn’t remind me of Jeff.

  Oddly, I’d had no dreams since Jeff died, not until the previous night. One would have thought that if I was going to finally dream—and remember it in vivid detail—the dream would have eased my loneliness, not added to it. Dr. Daniel Hawthorne, stern and unyielding, the complete opposite of my sociable easygoing blond husband, had definitely not welcomed me into his world, and I felt lonelier than ever.

  I returned to my cabin and stepped out onto my balcony. Warm salty air blew through my shoulder-length hair, relaxing me, enveloping me in its sweet humidity. I sat down in one deck chair and propped my feet up on the other. The gentle sway of the ship lulled me into a state of drowsiness, and I closed my eyes.

  “Did I not expressly forbid you to leave the cabin?” a harsh male voice spoke near my ear.

  I popped open my eyes and bolted upright. Seated not on my balcony but in a wooden chair somewhere on the deck of a creaking ship, I looked up to see Dr. Daniel Hawthorne, now resplendent in his black uniform. Brass double-breasted jacket buttons complemented the gold braid on his sleeves. At present, he wore his wheel hat, and he looked unbearably handsome. However, the dark glare he directed at me from under the shiny black visor unnerved me.

  He had whispered into my ear and now straightened. I looked down at my clothing, startled to see that I wore nothing but my short cotton nightgown. I couldn’t blame him. I was largely undressed and apparently sitting on the upper deck of the Vigilance.

  I jumped up.

  “I’m back!” I whispered.

  “You never left,” Daniel muttered. He took me by the arm, forcefully but without pain, and he maneuvered me through a nearby wooden door. Just as the door shut behind us, I saw two women come around the corner, promenading in fabulous costumes from a historical era. Their blousy sleeves, tightly corseted waists and broad skirts reminded me of Victorian-era dresses. Dark bonnets and draping shawls completed their ensembles.

  The door slammed shut, and Daniel urged me down a hallway. I recognized the faded-red carpet, and I wasn’t surprised when we stopped in front of his cabin. He opened the door with a bronze skeleton key and pulled me inside.

  Daylight poured through the portholes. Daniel grabbed up his red robe and wrapped me into it before dropping me into a wooden chair near a small tea table. He stood back to glare at me, hands laced behind his back.

  “Well?” I asked. “I see you found your robe.” I burrowed into it. The Vigilance was much colder than the Century Star.

  “Well indeed,” he said. “You are causing me a great deal of trouble. Do you have any notion of how distraught I was to find you gone? I had no notion of what happened to you, whether some mishap had befallen you or whether I might find you firmly ensconced in the dining room en dishabille. Or perhaps seated in the captain’s office, explaining that I had secreted you away in a cabin for nefarious purposes. At one point in my search for you this morning, I wondered if in fact you had been a dream, as you suggested.”

  “Oh!” I murmured. I dropped my eyes to his well-polished black shoes. “Well, thank you.”

  “I did not mean that kind of dream, madam!”

  “You don’t really need to be so rude, Dr. Hawthorne.” To my chagrin, tears formed in my, eyes and my voice grew husky. I blamed my heightened emotions on the anniversary of Jeff’s death.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath and a muttered curse, and a clean linen handkerchief appeared in front of my face. I took it without looking up and wiped at my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this sensitive.”

  “It is I who should apologize, Mrs. Wollam. There is no need for me to treat you so boorishly. I do not have a vast amount of experience with the sensitivities of women, treating sailors more often as I often do. I was concerned when I could not find you this morning. Thomas said the bed in the cabin was tidy, appearing not to have been slept in. My robe had been left on a chair. Did you sleep on deck? You must have been chilled.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, hanging on to his handkerchief. “I remember laying down on top of the covers of the bottom bunk in the stewards’ cabin, and then this morning I woke up in my own cabin.”

  “On this ship? Do you have a cabin on this ship then?”

  “No, on the Century Star.”

  “The Century Star? You are on the Vigilance, Mrs. Wollam. I thought I made that clear.”

  “I’m dreaming,” I said flatly with a shrug of my shoulders.

  “Yes, you said that. But you are not. This ship is not a dream. I am not a dream.”

  I actually thought he was kind of dreamy, but I remained silent.

  “Do you suffer from memory loss, Mrs. Wollam? Have you had episodes such as this before? That might explain why you are on the ship, although not really how you managed to board without a ticket. You mentioned that you are widowed? Did your husband die recently?”

  I shook my head.

  “No, not really. He died two years ago this month.”

  “Ah! This month! I see. Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Wollam.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “It is quite possible that you are suffering from some form of psychosis stemming from your grief.”

  “Psychosis? So you think I’m nuts?” I wasn’t offended. His theory probably had some merit.

  “Please, Mrs. Wollam. I would never use such a vulgar term. It is a possible explanation, however, for your delusions.”

  “Doc, I’m dreaming, not deluded.”

  “And I say you are not in a dream, madam.”

  “How do you know?”

  He looked around as if to find proof. Finding none, he returned his attention to me.

  “I simply know.”

  “I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree, Dr. Hawthorne. Besides, if this is a dream, it’s not going to last long, right? I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream that encompassed a period of years, weeks or even days. Have you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I must say that I have not. Do you dream often?”

  “No, actually. I haven’t dreamed in years, not that I know of. I’m not sure why I am now.”

  “Perhaps the onset is stimulated by the anniversary of your husband’s death.”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  Daniel gave himself a visible shake.

  “No! I will not allow myself to become distracted by such notions
. You are not dreaming at this moment.”

  “I fell asleep on my balcony on the Century Star just a few moments ago. Last night I laid down on a bunk in the stewards’ cabin. Before that, I’d been sleeping in my bed on the Century Star. That’s three for three, Doc. If it walks like a duck...”

  Daniel opened his mouth to speak, but at a knock on the door, he put his finger to his lips—yet again—and moved to the door. He opened it a crack and then let Thomas in.

  “Madam! There you are!” the teenager exclaimed.

  “Thomas, remember your place,” Daniel said, though he put an affectionate hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Please be so good as to bring us some tea and sandwiches. Mrs. Wollam will stay in my cabin for the time being. I will sleep in the infirmary office tonight.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.” Thomas threw another relieved glance at me and left.

  “I doubt I’ll be here by tonight, but thank you. Your cabin is much larger than Thomas’s.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that.” Daniel crossed the room to open the trunk. He spoke over his shoulder while searching for something.

  “I have struggled with the notion of asking one of our two lady passengers for a gown but cannot devise a suitable explanation. Even I cannot in all conscience keep you trapped in a cabin for the length of the trip. We will not reach our next port at Tahiti for five more days.” He closed the lid of the trunk with a sigh.

  “I do not want to bring your presence to the captain’s attention. I am not at all certain that he would not lock you up as a stowaway. And that would be in steerage, though I am not quite sure where. I have nothing with which to dress you, nothing that would fit, but you and Thomas are of a size. I will ask him to bring some clothing for you to wear. I warn you though, Mrs. Wollam—you will only be able to leave the cabin for fresh air when accompanied by me, and probably late at night or before dawn.”

  I smiled at Daniel and shrugged but said nothing. Moonlight walks on deck. Sure.

  Thomas returned in a moment with a tray, which he set on the table nearest me. Suddenly hungry, I grabbed a sandwich and bit in while Daniel poured tea. He took the seat across from me and looked up at the teen.