Threads of Faith

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “What about the Bible, Captain?” Her sweet voice wafted over from the cell.

  “Yes, I’ll get you one.” He kept one onboard as something of a good luck charm. His father had given it to him for his confirmation.

  Hours later, Julianna sat on the edge of her bunk and leafed through the delicate pages of Captain Sundberg’s Bible. Questions pummeled her like Griswald’s fists. She’d never had much religious training—she’d only attended those long and inexplicable church services as ordered by Mr. Tolbert. In her nearly two years on the street she’d seen the well-attired church people as they went to and fro from the monstrous cathedral. She begged for a coin or two. They shooed her away like a repulsive insect.

  Was God like those church people? Did He speak another language that she didn’t know?

  Julianna pushed aside strands of her damp hair. Her dry mouth yearned for a cup of cool water. It had been hours since Jeremy brought her supper, and she’d begged off another bedtime story, so he wouldn’t likely be returning anytime soon.

  Moisture collected around her forehead, ears, and neck. Lifting the hem of her pinafore, she dabbed it away. The temperature had risen in her jail cell today, and the air felt suffocatingly thick. If only she had a little round window in her cell like the one in Dr. Morrison’s infirmary.

  Minutes later the cabin door opened, and Captain Sundberg entered. Julianna smiled. A knight in shining armor if she’d ever seen one.

  “Captain?”

  “What is it?” His curt tone caught her off guard. Only this afternoon he’d been kind and sensitive.

  Hadn’t he? Or had she imagined it?

  “I don’t mean to trouble you, but I wondered . . . would it be possible for me to get some fresh air?”

  He shrugged out of his uniformed jacket without giving her so much as a flick of a glance. “I’ve told you several times now why I must keep you behind bars.”

  “Yes, I know, but . . . ” Carefully setting the Bible aside, Julianna rose from the berth and walked the few steps to the secured door. “It’s quite stuffy in here, wouldn’t you agree? I wondered if I could spend a few minutes in the infirmary, beneath the open window there.”

  “I’ll open the porthole in my quarters. That may help.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Julianna fought to keep the disappointment from her voice. But perhaps a bit of wind would indeed reach her cell.

  She watched the captain make long-legged strides across the office area and into his private quarters. She heard the creaking of the window as he opened it. Seconds later he returned to his desk and sat down.

  Leaning on the barred doorway, Julianna watched him open his logbook. He was a man she could watch for hours. She especially liked the way his eyelids narrowed and creased at the outer edges while he contemplated the pages before him. And, speaking of eyes—with that reddish-brown beard covering half of his face, the blue of them seemed ever so much brighter.

  “Captain, are you a married man?”

  “Excuse me?” He looked her way, eyes wide with surprise.

  “Married?”

  “No.” He looked back at his desktop. “I’m of the opinion that a sea captain doesn’t make a good husband.”

  “I might agree, but why do you say so?”

  “Because he’s never at home.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I would think that’s what’s good about him.”

  The captain raised his head, looking surprised again.

  “I’ve been told that me father was a seafaring man. A no-good scoundrel, I suspect.”

  “Hmm . . . ” The captain reclined in his chair and lifted his booted feet up onto the desk.

  “I believe you’re the only decent mariner in all creation.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, Miss Wayland.” The corner of his mouth twitched as if he fought a smile.

  “Oh, and speaking of creation . . . ” Julianna glanced toward the Bible on her bunk. “I read today about how God created the world in just six days. Is that true, or is it another fairy tale?”

  “I’m a sea captain”—he stretched and brought his hands to the back of his head—“not a theologian.”

  Whatever that is. “A simple true or false will do.”

  “The truth is, Miss Wayland, it matters little what I think. It’s what you think that’s important.”

  “Me? But I never went to school like you did.”

  “I’m talking about what you believe in here.” He thumped his chest. “Deep inside.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Yes. A sea captain would be a fool not to believe in Him. But I also believe in myself. The decisions I made as a boy have no bearing on me as a man.” He sat forward and dropped his legs off the desk. “So there you have it. And now, Miss Wayland, I suggest you go and think about it. I have work to finish.”

  Julianna paced the small cell. “I suppose it is true, then.”

  “Fine.”

  “I mean, when a person tells you to swear on the Bible, he’s insisting you tell the truth . . . or else.”

  “Right.”

  The captain’s indifference annoyed her, although Julianna couldn’t say why, exactly. Perhaps the heat had frayed her nerves.

  “Captain, could I trouble you for a cup of water?”

  “Why not?” He pushed to his feet. “You have troubled me for everything else.”

  “Well, excuse you me, Captain, but I’m not the one who locked me in this hot and smelly jail.” Julianna’s arms dropped to her sides, and she clenched her fists. But then she realized getting lathered over the situation would only make her feel hotter.

  The captain said nothing as he filled a cup with water. However, as he turned from the pitcher and neared, she saw the muscle flex in his jaw. Oh, she’d angered him with her outburst, all right. Now what? Would he strike her?

  Julianna stepped back as Captain Sundberg’s keys connected with the cell door’s lock. “Forgive me please, Captain. I’ll watch me tongue from now on.”

  He silently held out the cup of water to her, his gaze locked on her face.

  She reached for it, her senses on alert. But only when he walked away after she’d taken hold of the cup, leaving the cell door wide open, did Julianna sag in relief—at least for the moment.

  She watched him leave the cabin. Was he off to fetch his whip? She’d heard a sailor in the pub talk of the flogging he’d gotten aboard for refusing to do what he’d been told. Another time she’d seen—no, heard—the young master whipping a stable hand. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten years old. His screams still lingered in Julianna’s memory.

  Captain Sundberg returned, donned his jacket, and motioned her toward the door. Julianna set down her now empty cup and stepped cautiously toward him.

  He put his forefinger to his lips. “Not a word.”

  With a slight bob of her head Julianna agreed. However, she wanted to ask where they were going.

  Moments later her mind slammed into a terrifying conclusion.

  Taking hold of the captain’s elbow, she halted him before he stepped from the cabin. “You’re not putting me in with the Grisly Devil, are you?” She whispered the question, but her senses screamed in terror. The brute would kill her for sure!

  The captain gave her a glare. “I told you that I’m an honorable man and that you needn’t fear while I’m in command of this ship. Which part of that statement, Miss Wayland, didn’t you understand?”

  “It’s not a question of misunderstanding, sir.” She swallowed her nerve and pressed on. “More of disbelief, I’d say.”

  The flesh around his blue eyes slacked. His broad shoulders eased downward beneath his blue jacket. “Yes, well, given your background, I can’t blame you for being suspicious of me and men in general.”

  Incredulity rooted her to the plank flooring. Had she heard correctly? Here stood a man whom sailors feared and obeyed, and yet he, so far, proved himself a gentleman in her lowliest of company. “You’re hard
ly honor-bound, Captain,” she stated tenuously, “given me social status.”

  She read the speculation in his sapphire eyes.

  “Who would know if you mistreated me or not? Who would care?”

  “I would.” He arched a brow. “And that, Miss Wayland, separates the honorable from the despicable.”

  “You know, you’re absolutely right.” Julianna blinked. “It does.”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “Now, come along. I have a surprise for you.”

  “In general I don’t care for surprises.”

  “Shh . . . no more talking. My officers are asleep in the next cabin. They’re on duty in a few hours.”

  Julianna dipped her chin, indicating she understood. She gnawed her lower lip, grateful that he’d again diminished her fears. But a surprise?

  The captain’s strong hand folded around hers, and he led her through a narrow hallway, one that looked vaguely familiar, then up several stairs, and they reached a door. The captain opened it and indicated that she should walk outside before him. She did, and two steps forward, Julianna froze. She faced the stern of the ship and saw Mr. Bentley, off to her right, standing at a large wheel with protruding spokes. Behind him the rolling, bluish-gray water melded into a dusky sky for as far as Julianna’s eyes could see.

  The captain coaxed onward, and she realized his hand now gently gripped her upper arm. The rush of evening air felt exhilarating after being holed up in that sun-cooked cell. She could breathe again!

  “Come along. You won’t fall. I’ve got you.”

  Still, her steps faltered. “What about my being seen by your crew?”

  A sigh escaped him. “They all know you’re aboard, thanks to the night of the storm when Whitley broke his leg. He claims you’re another Florence Nightingale—”

  “Really?” Julianna had heard the woman’s name but wasn’t certain of her position.

  “A compassionate nurse.”

  “Oh.” Had the captain divined her thoughts? Still, she supposed it was quite the compliment.

  “It seems you’ve earned the respect of my crew. Even so, we need to be careful. As I’ve said before, a number of these men are newcomers on the Allegiance. For all I know, they could conduct themselves as poorly around women as Mr. Griswald. Therefore I want you to remain behind bars unless one of my officers, Kidwell, or I am nearby.”

  “Say no more, Captain. I shan’t complain.”

  “How refreshing.”

  Julianna bristled. Did he have to be so cynical?

  “Well, good evening, Miss.” Mr. Bentley gave her a welcoming smile. “It’s a fine evening for a stroll.”

  Julianna inhaled deeply once again. “That it is.” But as they neared the wheel, she nearly lost her balance on the slick deck. The captain’s hold kept her upright.

  “Perhaps if you hang on to the rail . . . ” Captain Sundberg placed her hand on the sturdy brass fixture.

  “I won’t fall overboard, will I?” Ironic how only minutes before she’d been dreaming of a cool bath—but not one of the sea’s magnitude. Besides, she didn’t want to end up like that pickled woman and her poor child at the bottom of the ocean.

  “You worry too much, Miss Wayland.”

  Had he read her thoughts again?

  Mr. Bentley’s jovial chuckle reached her ears. “Oh, don’t be too hard on the girl, Cap’n. This is likely her first voyage.”

  “First and last,” Julianna quipped.

  “In that case, you’ll ’ave to give her the grand tour, Cap’n.”

  Julianna felt as unsure about a look-about as Captain Sundberg appeared.

  Moments later an expression of resignation crept into his blue eyes. “All right. Let’s begin here. This is the stern, or the back of the ship.”

  She’d learned that much from listening to the sailors’ banter on given Sunday afternoons in the Mariner’s Pub.

  “Mr. Bentley, here, is at the helm. He’s steering the ship.”

  “And doing a fine job, if I say so m’self.” He raised a proud chin, and Julianna laughed at his antics.

  Captain Sundberg even grinned. “Now, Miss Wayland, if you’ll step this way.” He strode across the deck, and she tentatively followed. But as the ship rose and fell with another wave, she slid over the slippery, wet planks.

  “Oh! Oh, my!” Her arms flailed as she fought to keep her balance. Seconds later she slammed into the captain. She clutched his blue coat until she found her footing. “So sorry, Captain.”

  Mr. Bentley’s chuckles wafted to her ears. “Haven’t found yer sea legs yet, eh, Miss?”

  “Apparently not.” And what would the captain think of the near mishap?

  Clinging to him, her gaze traveled up the front of his wool coat. She determined a chance look into his eyes. But instead of finding the annoyance she expected, she saw a familiar tenderness in his gaze, one that she’d been sure she only imagined before.

  He planted his hands on her waist. “Perhaps you are in danger of going overboard after all. I’d best keep a hold on you.”

  She swallowed. “Thank you, sir.” She wondered if his beard felt soft or coarse. If she stretched out her fingers, they’d brush against his chin and she’d likely find out.

  But she didn’t dare be that bold.

  My, oh, my, but he looked even more handsome in dusk with the distant sunset accentuating the gold strands of his coppery hair.

  “Miss Wayland?”

  She blinked. “Beg your pardon, sir.” A flush of heat entered her cheeks.

  The captain said nothing but carefully threaded her arm around his elbow. “There now, hang on to my arm.” He raised his other one and took her hand. “I think you’re secure now.”

  “I think so too.” She didn’t mind holding on to him for dear life. Not a bit.

  He directed her attention toward the bow.

  Julianna refocused. As she stared toward the front of the ship, complete amazement filled her being. The vessel looked as long as a city block. Sails billowed, appearing like puffy clouds against the sky.

  “What an incredible sight!” Julianna had only seen the skeletal-like masts of ships in London’s harbor.

  “Ah, please allow me to show you the best view.”

  They climbed some stairs, and then the captain led her to the edge of the deck.

  “We’re standing on what is referred to as the poop deck,” he said. “A portion of it runs over the top of my office quarters, along with a dining saloon, used when special guests are on board, and the officers’ quarters. Straight ahead, then, you’ll note the three towering poles, known as the mizzenmast, then the mainmast, and the foremast. All the ropes and chains, dangling from the masts, are known as the rigging.”

  “How fascinating.”

  Several sailors called greetings. The captain respectfully replied. Julianna noticed how well the crew responded to him. They tried to show off, in fact. One man took time to wave and salute while climbing what the captain called “the ratlines.” The sailor resembled a daring acrobat.

  “Give them sight of a pretty face,” the captain muttered, “and the wisest men become fools.”

  Surely he didn’t mean these men put on a show for her benefit. Just in case Julianna lifted her hand and returned the gesture.

  “Please ignore them before someone gets himself killed.”

  “Yes, Captain.” She slid her gaze to him. His bearded face made a far more appealing sight anyway.

  “Now, you see those smaller boats there?”

  She followed his line of vision.

  “One’s the lifeboat, and the other is the jollyboat. Beyond them is the doorway to the galley, the carpenter’s shop, and the main saloon. This ship was also designed with passenger cabins below, along with the sick bay, which you’re already familiar with.”

  “Passengers?” Julianna’s mind had anchored on that word. Why anyone in their right mind would willingly sail the high seas, she couldn’t fathom.

  “We entertain passe
ngers from time to time, yes. But we’re transporting cargo on this particular run. Now then, continuing on, the crew’s quarters are near the bow, called the forecastle.”

  “How terribly interesting.” Julianna shivered. “And I can’t tell you how relieved I am that so much distance lay between me quarters and your sailors’.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She noted the understanding in his tone. “Is . . . is the Grisly Devil nearby?” She stepped closer to the captain.

  “No. You needn’t worry about him. He’ll remain locked up in the hold for the remainder of this voyage.” He unloosed his arm and shrugged out of his coat. “Here. You’ll be warmer with this around your shoulders.”

  “Oh, but, sir . . . ”

  “You’re more likely to catch your death out here than you are to fall overboard.”

  “Thank you—and I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

  “Regarding which? Griswald’s imprisonment or wearing a coat that’s ten times too large?”

  A giggle erupted. “Both, Captain.” It felt so good to laugh. Julianna hadn’t felt so lighthearted since . . . she couldn’t even remember when.

  Her smile lingering, she glanced up at the captain. He met her gaze before his eyes wandered to her mouth. She felt suddenly quite self-conscious. “I must look a sight. My hair unpinned. No cap on my head.”

  He didn’t reply but returned his gaze out toward the deck. “You have a beautiful smile.”

  “Thank you, sir. Your smile is quite becoming too, if I may say so.”

  “You may.”

  She glimpsed one of those alluring dimples, which attempted to hide beneath his whiskers. Oh, he was a heartbreaker, this one. Even so, she felt a particular draw to him.

  His eyes drifted back to her, and he stared as if memorizing her every feature. Did he like what he saw? Why did she hope he did?

  He put his arm about her waist again. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

  “I feel safe . . . with you.”

  “Good.”

  He inched toward her, his lips slightly parted. She held her breath. Did he mean to kiss her? Oh, but she knew she’d enjoy it if he did.