The Deepest Waters, A Novel

by Walsh, Dan

  He turned toward the stairs when he heard that stupid dog scratching and sniffing at the hatch overhead. He’d closed it over before he went down, to give himself a little warning should anyone come. “Get out of here,” he whispered angrily. “Stupid mutt.”

  But the dog ignored him.

  21

  “Whatcha got there, girl?” Micah asked.

  Laura heard him and walked across the forecastle deck, sidestepping around two sleeping children. She stopped at a wooden rail that divided it from the main deck below. Micah walked across the main deck, carrying a stack of cut sails. Crabby was a few yards away, sniffing and pawing at the hatch that covered the hold where the ladies slept.

  “You know you ain’t allowed down there, girl. Come over here.”

  Crabby looked at him but instantly returned to her task. Maybe someone had left a bowl of gruel below, Laura thought. Hard to imagine it generating such interest, but Micah insisted she couldn’t get enough to suit her. Micah set the sails down and walked over to her. He bent down and patted her on the head. Her tail wagged, but she kept pawing at the hatch.

  Just then Micah’s head cocked to the side, as if he’d heard a strange noise. He lifted the hatch lid. “Stay here, Crabby,” he said and started to climb down.

  Ayden Maul backed away from the stairs when he heard the hatch lid open. He picked up the small pile of damp blankets he’d brought down, to serve as his excuse should anyone catch him there. He watched as a pair of beat-up shoes came down the steps, followed by a pair of torn pants.

  Shoot, he thought. Ain’t nobody but that dumb old slave.

  “Oh, it’s you, Missuh Maul.”

  “Just me,” Maul said. “Just thought I’d gather up these damp blankets down here. Some of the ladies must have left ’em. Ain’t gonna dry down here overnight.”

  “Mighty kind of you, suh. But you ain’t gotta be doin’ that. That’s Micah’s job.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Well, since you here, mind if I go back and get some of those cut sails I’s fixin’ to bring down? They done dried already.”

  Maul just wanted out of there quick. He felt the weight of the gold against his legs. “All right,” he said, hiding his annoyance.

  “Here, I’ll take them wet things and bring ’em up. Then I’ll hand down the dry ones. You don’t gotta do nothin’ but set ’em down somewhere. I’ll pass ’em out.”

  Micah waited a moment.

  “Okay, go.” He handed Micah the blankets. Micah turned and went back upstairs. Maul followed him and waited by the opening.

  “Here you go, Missuh Maul.” Micah walked halfway down and handed him a stack. “Just one more stack and we done.” A moment later, Micah returned. “Here you go.”

  Maul took the second stack, set them next to the first, then waited for Micah to come down the stairs.

  “Thank you, suh,” Micah said and stepped aside to let Maul climb up.

  Maul stopped after a few steps and looked up. “Can you call your dog off?”

  “She’ll back away as you go up,” Micah said.

  “Even after yesterday . . . what I did to her?”

  “Crabby? She already forgave you for that. You’ll see.”

  Maul climbed a few more steps, but the dog didn’t back off. In fact, she growled. “Let me by, you stupid dog,” he yelled, then slapped his palm hard against the wood. When he did, his left foot slipped a stair. He almost fell but caught himself.

  Then he watched as three gold nuggets fell out of his left pants pocket and skipped down the stairs. They slid across the deck like dice. Maul looked at Micah; he was staring at the nuggets. Quickly Maul grabbed the hatch and slammed it shut, then hurried down the stairs. Micah backed up, his eyes white with fear.

  “Missuh Maul, what you doin’ . . . you stealin’ from these ladies?”

  “Shut up,” he said. He pushed Micah, hard. Micah fell back and tripped over a carpetbag.

  Maul bent down and scooped up the three nuggets. He turned back toward the stairs.

  “Missuh Maul, I can’t let you do that. That’s all them ladies got in the world.”

  Maul got up the first step. Micah ran toward him. Maul kicked him in the chest, and he fell back again. “You say a word about this, to anyone, and I’ll kill you.” But Micah got right back up and came at him. Maul couldn’t believe it. The slave grabbed his leg and pulled. Maul kicked him again.

  Just then Crabby started barking through the closed hatch. Maul knew someone would be coming any minute. He hurried down the stairs and tackled Micah. They fell to the deck. More gold nuggets spilled. Maul got behind him and dragged Micah up by his shoulders. Maul reached into his pocket, grabbed a large handful of nuggets, and slipped them into Micah’s pocket. He spun him around and punched him in the face. Micah staggered back against the wall.

  The hatch door lifted.

  Crabby was the first to come down. She ran right for Maul and attacked him, growling and biting him. Maul kicked her away. She howled in pain and limped over to Micah. Then Maylor, the first mate, came down, followed by Lieutenant Ashcroft.

  Then that Foster woman.

  “What’s going on here?” Maylor yelled.

  Maul reached over and grabbed Micah by his lapels. “Caught this slave down here stealing gold.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Ashcroft.

  “Let go of him,” Maylor said to Maul. “Micah, is this true?”

  “No, suh, I’d never steal from these ladies.”

  “I saw you,” Maul shouted, raising his hand as if to strike him again.

  “Put your hand down, Maul,” yelled Ashcroft, taking a few steps toward him.

  This is nonsense, thought Laura. Two older ladies came down the stairs, followed by Melissa. Laura made room for them.

  “Mr. Maul,” Maylor said. “I’m afraid we’ll need more than your say-so to believe such accusations.”

  “You got more than my say-so,” said Maul. “Check his pockets. He was shoving gold in them when I came down and caught him.”

  Maylor looked at Micah, gravely concerned.

  “Suh, I ain’t took no gold. See . . .” Micah reached his hand in one pocket and pulled it inside out. He reached his hand in the other, and his face instantly fell. He looked down, shook his head, but didn’t move.

  “Micah, let me see,” Maylor said.

  Laura was confused. She looked at Maul, noticed a slight grin.

  “I didn’t take these, Missuh Maylor. Honest, I didn’t.” Micah held out a palm full of gold nuggets.

  The older ladies gasped.

  “Micah,” said Maylor, disgust in his tone.

  Laura looked at each face. They were all buying this sham.

  “Told you,” said Maul. “Should I get the captain, sir?”

  “Guess you better,” said Maylor.

  “But suh,” Micah protested, “I’s the one came down here and caught him stealin’. Honest, God is my witness.”

  “Save it for the captain,” Maylor said.

  Maul walked toward the stairs.

  “Wait a minute,” Laura said loudly. “This is absurd. Mr. Maylor, you know Micah didn’t take that gold.”

  “Ma’am, this ain’t your business,” Maul said, walking past her.

  “Mr. Maul is lying,” she said. Everyone looked at her.

  “What?” Maul said, as if deeply offended. “How dare you.”

  “Mrs. Foster,” Maylor said. “How could you know that?” Maul continued up the steps. “Hold up, Maul.”

  “I saw Micah on deck just a few minutes ago,” she said. “Didn’t Mr. Maul say he caught Micah stealing when he came down here?”

  “Yes,” said Maylor.

  “How could that be? That means Micah would have to be down here already.” She looked around. “Isn’t this hatch the only way in here?”

  “It is.”

  “Then Mr. Maul has to be lying,” she said. “I was on the forecastle deck. The hatch lid was close
d. Crabby was sniffing and scratching at it. I saw Micah go over to her. I saw him come down here. Mr. Maul was nowhere in sight. I kept watching right up until you and Lieutenant Ashcroft came down. That can only mean Mr. Maul was already down here, before Micah came.”

  “That’s the truth, Missuh Maylor. What she’s saying. I come down ’cause Crabby makin’ such a fuss, and Missuh Maul already here.”

  “You’re lying,” Maul shouted. “Both of you.”

  “Come down here, Maul,” Maylor said. “Lieutenant Ashcroft, will you please get the captain?”

  “Gladly.”

  “Sir, you know these two are friends,” Maul said. “Look at the way they ganged up on me yesterday. She’d say anything to protect him. How do you explain the gold in his pockets?”

  “Mrs. Foster, we did catch Micah with the gold.”

  “He musta put them there,” said Micah, pointing at Maul, “when he was fightin’ me.”

  “Why don’t you check Mr. Maul’s pockets?” Laura asked, playing a hunch.

  Everyone looked at Maul.

  “What, you gonna listen to her now?” Maul asked.

  “Show me your pockets,” said Maylor.

  “I will not. This is ridiculous.”

  “I wasn’t asking, Maul.”

  Maul stalled a moment. He looked toward the top of the hatch. Laura had the impression he thought of running but realized he had nowhere to go. His shoulders slumped, and he obeyed. One pocket held a small handful of gold, the other was filled with it. The room was thick with tension. Laura looked at the women, their faces in shock.

  Lieutenant Ashcroft came down the stairs, followed by Captain Meade. “What’s going on here?” the captain said. “Lieutenant Aschroft tells me we have a thief on board. Mr. Maylor, have you sorted this out?”

  “I’m afraid I have, sir.” He spent a few minutes briefing the captain on the events that had just occurred.

  When he finished, Captain Meade turned to Maul. “To me, Maul, you are the lowest of the low. It’s one thing for a man to steal bread when he’s hungry. But to steal the last savings from a group of widows in distress is despicable. I can’t imagine how a man could stoop to such a thing. Mr. Maylor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Check Maul here from head to toe. Make sure you get every last nugget of gold. Then take two men and bring him to my quarters for a dozen lashes. He cries out, he gets a dozen more.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I want this thief confined to quarters for the remainder of our voyage. By confined, I mean he is to be tied there. He doesn’t move anywhere on this ship without escort. Maul, the moment we anchor in New York I want you off my ship.”

  Maylor walked over and grabbed Maul’s shirt and pushed him toward the stairs. Laura looked away as they climbed out of sight.

  “Captain,” Laura said, “seems we owe Micah our gratitude. Apart from his actions, Mr. Maul might have gotten away with his theft.”

  “Well done, Micah,” the captain said.

  “Hear, hear,” said Lieutenant Ashcroft.

  Melissa and the other women offered their thanks.

  Micah picked up Crabby and patted her head. “Y’all been through so much,” he said. “But Captain, I think you better have someone check around Missuh Maul’s bunk for more gold. I’s up on deck last night, saw him coming out of here about this same time.”

  An hour later, Maul sat alone in his bunk. His back stung with the smallest motion. It was dark, his wrists were tied, his gold . . . it was gone, all gone. Instead of leaving this ship a rich man, he would leave it penniless as before. And humiliated.

  He swore to himself, someone would pay dearly for this. That Foster woman. As soon as she got clear of the ship in New York . . . he would exact his revenge.

  22

  The sun had set long ago. It was a moonless night. But the stars were out, allowing the men on the raft to see each other fairly well. No one moved. No one had moved for hours. John sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms crossed, his head resting on them like a pillow.

  It had been a difficult day.

  John wasn’t sure how many more men had given up and drowned. Just before dark, he’d glanced across the group floating together and saw a number of empty tables and hatch doors drifting away. He had little fight left in him. The hunger pangs had subsided, but the thirst was still so strong. A slow torture, draining his life away.

  “Are you awake, John?” It was the ambassador.

  Talking was like a task. It took work to move his lips. “Barely.”

  “I don’t think I can face the sun again tomorrow,” said Ramón. “I’ve never felt so weak.”

  “I don’t even want to think about tomorrow,” John said.

  “I suppose we really aren’t going to survive this. I truly hoped we might. Are you awake, Robert?” Ramón asked.

  Robert didn’t respond. John realized that was what Ramón was hoping for.

  “I really do appreciate what you tried to say earlier,” Ramón said quietly. “I may have pretended not to care, but at this moment, I think . . . I think I might want to hear what you were trying to say.”

  John assumed he was talking about his feeble attempt at sharing the change God had made in his life.

  “When you were asleep, Robert and I actually talked about it a little, exchanging our pathetic tales. Turns out our stories are similar.”

  John looked over at Robert, sound asleep. Even in the starlight, John could see blisters on his lips.

  “I don’t think I’ve thought about God since my childhood,” Ramón said.

  “I didn’t either,” John said, “until I moved to San Francisco. I even skipped attending church the first few Sundays. Figured who’d know. But guilt got the better of me. I picked one close to my house and hid in the back row. But for the first time, I heard a man explain things plainly.” John glanced at Ramón.

  Over the next few minutes, John did his best to communicate the thing that had made the biggest difference for him when listening to that pastor. It was the difference between faith and good deeds, of trusting in what Christ did on the cross for him instead of trying to earn his way to heaven. As he finished, he hit an invisible wall of fatigue. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m probably not making any sense.”

  “I think I understand, John. And I hope you’re right. Or there’s no hope for me. At this moment, I’m quite certain my good deeds are lagging far behind. I see no chance of ever catching up.”

  John smiled, then winced at the pain it caused.

  Ramón turned away, looked out over the water. “I wish I’d spent more time with my family,” he said. “Especially my children.”

  “How old are they?” John asked.

  “I have two boys, thirteen and ten, and my little girl, Adriana. She’s eight.” He smiled as he said her name. “They loved me, at least I think they did. I was hardly home but a few months a year.”

  John wondered if he knew he talked about himself in the past tense. “How about your wife?”

  “Regina, a good woman. But we were not that close. Our families were both wealthy. An arranged marriage. I was eighteen, she was fifteen. What did I know of being married? I was a boy. We cared for each other . . . in our own way. Perhaps we even loved each other. But all this talk . . . I am suddenly so tired. What about you, John? Do you have any energy left to tell me of your bride? I can tell . . . you married for love.”

  John smiled. His lips were cracked, his cheeks were chafed and burned, but he didn’t care. “I certainly did.” A gentle breeze started to blow.

  “Do you feel that, John?”

  “I do.” It felt wonderful. “Her name is Laura.”

  “Laura . . . is a nice name. Tell me of Laura.”

  So John did.

  He talked about how they met in South Park. The surprising depths of their conversations. The places his horse Shasta had taken them. Breakfast at Sans Souci, dances at the Apollo Hall. Reading books tog
ether by the bay on rare moments when the wind didn’t blow. He talked for ten minutes, maybe more. He talked slowly, restraining most of the words that rushed through his heart.

  In the middle of telling how he’d proposed to Laura, his strength ran out. He laid his head back on his arms. For a few moments, neither man spoke. “Give me a few minutes,” John said. “And I’ll finish.”

  “It’s all right, John. It’s obvious . . . she said yes.”

  He smiled, too weak to lift his head.

  “Now I understand why you fight so hard to live,” said Ramón. “With such a woman by your side, you have much to live for.”

  For a few moments, there was only the sound of a growing wind and gentle waves lapping over the raft’s edge.

  “Could it be that simple?” Ramón asked quietly, as if thinking aloud.

  John knew what he meant. “It is,” John said. “Just pray, Ramón. He will save you, even now, even out here.”

  Ramón smiled. John smiled back. His mouth felt like it was tearing at the edges.

  “I must sleep now, John. But thank you for your words.”

  John laid his head down on his arms. Weariness and fatigue enveloped him. His breathing slowed to an almost dormant rhythm. He knew sleep must come but feared, should he give in, what would keep him from falling into the water? And if he did, how would he ever make it back to the raft? Even if he made it through till morning, if he was this weak at night, how could he endure another day in the blistering sun?

  Until now, he’d held out hope that his survival thus far might be a sign that God would return him to his beloved.

  But that hope had faded.

  23

  Laura stepped out on deck, instantly shielding her eyes from the morning sun. The wind was blowing again. The crew climbed up and down the rope ladders, releasing the sails to take full advantage. Captain Meade shouted out orders, using terms she didn’t understand. She leaned over the rail; the ship was definitely moving.