by Walsh, Dan
Laura wondered what might be in those barrels and crates. She was surprised how hungry she was, and the hunger seemed to intensify with the hope of being fed.
“Would you look at that,” said Micah.
They both watched as another small boat lowered from the Goodspeed. Once it sat flat on the water, several crew members climbed down. Then the captain himself climbed aboard. More crates and barrels were lowered to the second boat until it, too, was full. The captain waved off the last crate, and his men started rowing toward the Cutlass.
“He bringin’ us more,” said Micah. “Just like Jesus, doin’ more than we can ask or think.”
Maylor’s boat reached the side of the Cutlass. “I best be helpin’ them with all that food,” Micah said.
As the food from Maylor’s boat was lifted aboard the Cutlass, Captain Meade stood nearby awaiting the arrival of the second boat. After the crew handed up the food, he helped the Goodspeed’s captain up and to his feet. Women and children crowded around. Laura was close enough to hear what they said.
“Captain Meade, my name is Captain Benton of the Goodspeed.” They shook hands.
“It is my honor, sir,” said Meade, “to welcome you aboard my ship. I hardly have words to say to express my gratitude and that of my crew and passengers.”
Captain Benton smiled and looked at all present. He was shorter and of smaller frame than Meade but about the same age. “After your Mr. Maylor explained the nature of your distress, it is I who am honored to play a small part in your efforts to rescue these women and children.”
Captain Meade turned and faced the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen . . . you’ve seen us loading these stores of food, more than we’ll need to reach New York by tomorrow. But Captain Benton didn’t just give us the necessities we asked for.” He pointed to the mound of crates and barrels. “In these are hams and chickens and potatoes and flour. Captain Benton will have us feasting for our remaining meals at sea.”
The response was immediate and loud. Laura clapped as well.
After the applause subsided, Captain Meade spoke again. “Captain Benton has refused to accept any repayment.”
Another round of applause and cheers.
Captain Benton held up his hands. “Please, please, this is a small thing. God has been good to me. You all have been through so much and have suffered such great loss. I only wish I could do more to assist you. Please know, my crew and I will be praying for your safe journey home. And that God would comfort you in the days ahead.”
Half the people watched as Captain Benton and his crew rowed back to their ship; half gathered around the crates and barrels of food, talking about what they hoped to eat for dinner. Laura walked to the opposite side of the ship, alone, and stared out at yet another sun beginning to set. Captain Benton’s comforting words had the opposite effect on her; they simply reminded her of the greatness of her loss.
A moment ago she was clapping for chicken and the taste of a cooked potato.
She’d happily eat gruel and hardtack for the balance of her life just to have John back again.
28
After an hour sipping drinks at the bar, Joel went outside and crossed South Street toward the steamship company’s dock. It was obvious the ship hadn’t arrived; the same-sized crowd still filled the area, spilling out into the street. Armored wagons still lined the curb.
He looked at his pocket watch. The Vandervere was over two hours late. By his estimate, his driver would have already made six passes by their agreed-upon rendezvous point. Joel had, perhaps, fifteen more minutes before he’d come around again. Enough time to investigate the current status of things.
He found a walkway along the back side of the steamship office that led down a narrow alley behind the building. It came out on the water side of the property. Just up ahead Joel saw the first-class passengers’ pavilion. Workers from the steamship office were passing out drinks and small sandwiches. He instantly regretted the money he’d just spent at the bar until he realized they were only serving iced tea.
He found a table next to a finely dressed man with a well-trimmed beard and spectacles. He appeared to be working through an entire plate of sandwiches. “Excuse me, my good man. Any news on the Vandervere?”
The man looked at him, finished chewing, and said, “No, and we are not pleased. We’ve been here for hours, and they think serving us sandwiches somehow makes up for it.”
“No one has come out with any news?”
He shook his head no and picked up another sandwich. “The wife has this huge dinner planned. Relatives coming from all over the city, welcoming home our son. Dinner is supposed to be served in thirty minutes. I dread coming home empty-handed.”
Joel felt almost the same way. His mother must be frantic now. She wasn’t a patient woman. Joel stood up. “Thanks for the information.”
The man nodded and kept chewing. Joel decided it was time to make something happen. He couldn’t wait here all night. He’d walked by several doors in the alleyway a few moments ago. Perhaps entrances for office staff. He went back and banged on the first one. No one answered. He walked to the second door. A sign beside the door read “Employee Entrance Only.” This time he banged until someone opened the door.
A young man dressed like a clerk opened it a crack. “I’m sorry, sir. This is for employees only.”
Joel shoved his boot in the opening just before the door shut. “Young man, open this door.”
“Please, sir. I’m not allowed to—”
“You will open this door or else get someone with the authority to open it. I am Joel Foster, vice president of the Foster Insurance firm. I’m not accustomed to being treated this way.”
“But sir . . .”
“If someone doesn’t open this door and speak with me this instant, I will walk around this building and tell that multitude out there that the Vandervere has sunk.”
There was a brief pause. “I will get someone. Please don’t do that.”
The door closed. Less than a minute later, it was opened by the same gentleman who’d spoken to the crowd an hour ago. “Mr. Foster, please come in, follow me. I’ll bring you to Mr. Holden’s office. He’s our vice president.”
Joel followed the man through a maze of paneled hallways toward a finely trimmed mahogany door. He stepped into a smoke-filled room. There was a large desk at one end, surrounded by bookshelves. The other end resembled a living room with rich leather furniture. Three men, about his age, sat on the chairs and sofa smoking cigars, studying a map spread across a coffee table. A tall, older man paced in front of the desk.
The man turned as Joel walked in. “Mr. Foster, correct?” the older man asked, extending his hand. “I’m Arthur Holden. How can I help you?”
Joel noticed something he’d recognized in the face of many a businessman over the years—panic, covered by a fake smile and bright eyes. They were definitely hiding something. “You can tell me what’s going on, the real story, not the fabrication your man here told us an hour ago.”
Holden acted surprised. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Foster.”
“What are those men doing over there with those maps?”
Holden looked at them. “They’re trying to estimate the Vandervere’s whereabouts based on the information provided by our sister ship in Charleston.”
“And if they figure it out, will you be sending your man out to the crowd with an update?”
Holden hesitated. “We’re not sure.”
“Mr. Holden, people have been waiting for over two hours.”
“With respect, Mr. Foster, what benefit is there in telling them something we can’t possibly be sure of?”
“You may not be certain, but you must know something, some general idea of when the ship will arrive. How far off course could it be? I’ve heard the Vandervere has made this trip over forty times. Yesterday, one of your men boasted of how accurate these steamships are. How they’re no longer dependent on the wind.”
“
They are very reliable.”
“So . . . what are we talking about? Two more hours of waiting? Two more days?”
Holden walked behind his desk but didn’t sit down.
“You really don’t know, do you?” Joel said. “Well, here’s what I know . . . I am a busy man who cannot afford to wait around for hours for a ship to arrive.”
“We are sorry, Mr. Foster. We—”
“I’m not finished.” Joel walked over to Holden’s desk. He pulled a business card out of his coat pocket and wrote on the back. He handed it to Holden. “My card. The address of our family home is on the back. You send a courier to that address the minute the ship arrives or when you know it will.”
“I think we can arrange that,” Holden said.
“Yes, I think you can.”
Joel walked two blocks to the rendezvous point. He didn’t have to wait five minutes before the carriage arrived. Sweat poured off the young driver’s face.
The driver held the carriage door open.
“To my parents’ house, Eli,” said Joel.
“Your brother’s ship did not arrive, sir?”
“No, and they don’t know when it will, either.” He stepped in. “They’ll send someone when it does,” he said through the window. “After you drop me off to explain things to my mother, I’ll need you to take me around to my house. Then stay on call in case that courier arrives.”
“I understand, sir.”
Fifteen minutes later, the carriage pulled up to the family home. “I won’t be long,” said Joel.
“I’ll be here, Mr. Foster.” He stepped down and opened the door.
Joel walked slowly up the granite steps, trying to think of what to say. Beryl opened the door and received his hat.
“Will you be staying, sir?”
“Once again no, Beryl. Mother still upstairs?”
“Actually, no, Mr. Foster. I believe she’s in the dining room.”
That’s good, Joel thought. At least she’s finally eating.
“Is that you, Joel?” she called out.
“It is, Mother,” he yelled back, “but only me.”
Allison ran out of the dining room. “What’s wrong? Where’s John?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, unsure if he believed it. “His ship is just late.” Allison followed him into the dining room. His mother sat at the head of the table, at her end. She was looking down, rubbing her temples. His father wasn’t present, but that wasn’t unusual. He missed dinner most evenings.
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “I’ve been on pins and needles all afternoon, my heart feels like it’s going to burst. And after all this, no John?” She looked up at Joel and Allison. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
Allison took her seat.
Joel remained standing. “Mother, you’re the one who thought these new ships are always on time. I’m the one who said there’s no such thing.”
“So what now?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to eat? Have a seat, we’ll fix you a plate. Roast beef, corn, potatoes . . . and what’s that Southern pie Sally made?”
“Sweet potato pie,” Allison said.
“Stop, Mother. I can’t stay.” He wanted to, desperately. They had the best cook in Gramercy Park and, since Sally came, the best desserts as well. “You know Evelyn expects me to eat at home every now and then.”
“So when will John’s ship come?” asked Allison.
“They don’t know,” said Joel. “Not exactly. Some storm off the Carolina coast got all the ships off schedule.”
“A storm?” his mother asked.
“Not to worry,” said Joel. “It just slowed everything down. When the ship does arrive, the steamship company will send a courier right to your door.”
“And then what?” she asked.
“Then you’ll call for the driver to come get me, and I’ll go pick John up.”
“Can I go with you?” asked Allison.
“No.”
“Why not? It’s a big carriage. I won’t be any trouble.”
He looked at his mother for support.
“I think it would be good for your sister to go. It’s been too long since all my children shared the same carriage.”
Joel sighed. “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
The things he had to put up with to stay on her good side.
29
Laura stood by the railing and looked down at Crabby lying at her feet. She had such a contented look as she gnawed on a ham bone. She held it in her front paws, turned it from side to side. Occasionally it would slip and fall to the deck. She’d grab it then freeze, see if anyone might challenge her for this prize. Then she’d be lost again in the glory of the moment. Enjoy it, girl, Laura thought. After eating so well, she had to admit, good food could make one happy.
For the moment.
Earlier, as the women sat about the deck, devouring the rich fare Smitty had prepared, they no longer seemed to be sailing a ship of sorrow. Women who hadn’t said a word in days chatted casually and freely, exchanging memories of past meals enjoyed with family and friends in better times. Many had shared recipes, ways they would have prepared the meal differently. Several had offered Smitty suggestions. He nodded here and there, feigning interest. This went on for over an hour. Combined with the heat that faded with the setting sun and the strong, steady breeze . . . Laura had actually felt something very close to joy herself.
For the moment.
Now the dishes were all clean. The sun had dropped below the horizon. Night was coming fast. Their last night at sea.
Laura hoped it would be her last for a long time to come. She was ready to be back on solid ground. Earlier while cleaning up, Captain Meade had announced that if the winds stayed steady all night they should arrive in New York harbor by early morning.
Laura still had no idea what to expect when she met John’s family, even how she would meet them. Whenever she had asked him about them, John would give vague answers and often change the subject. They seemed to have caused him a good deal of pain, which only added to her apprehension now.
She thought about John’s note. Maybe he’d written instructions about meeting them. The moment she considered it, a scene rushed into her mind. She saw the sea rising and falling. The wind howling. She was back in the lifeboat. John was on the Vandervere, standing beside the captain. Huge waves slapped against the side. “I’ve written you a note, inside the pouch,” he yelled. “Don’t read it . . . unless you hear word that we—that we will not . . .” Tears poured down his cheeks, then he’d looked away.
The image was so strong. She reached out her hand for him, was about to call out.
“Mrs. Foster?”
John disappeared.
“Are you all right?”
She pulled her hand down, grabbed hold of the rail. She looked to her right. “I’m fine, Melissa.” She must change the subject. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”
“I can barely contain my happiness,” Melissa said. “I let some out while we ate. The ladies were in such a jovial mood.”
“It was wonderful to eat real food again.”
“It was. But already I can tell the old mood is returning.”
Melissa said this as if she didn’t realize Laura was among those struggling.
“But I can understand why, since this is the last night before we reach New York. I’m so glad I don’t have to be that way with you.”
Laura sighed. She wished Melissa would be that way, at this very moment. She wasn’t up to hearing her release all her anticipated joys.
“But if we’re to be in the harbor early in the morning, I better head down and get some sleep. All this excitement has made me very tired. Don’t want Tom to see me with puffy eyes.”
“Well, good night then,” Laura said.
“Good night.” Melissa turned toward the hold.
Puffy eyes, thought Laura. What must it be like to have that as your great concern? How about . . . meeting a stra
nge family you’ve never met, in a strange place you’ve never been? How about . . . becoming a widow on your honeymoon? Losing perhaps the only man who ever loved you or will ever love you for the rest of your life?
30
Maybe he was losing his sanity.
Captain Janus Houtman did not consider himself a superstitious man. Many who made their living at sea were; perhaps most were. He’d always prided himself on being rational and levelheaded. What he was doing now could be considered neither of those. For the last half of the day, and now into the night, he was sailing back out to sea, away from his destination, because a bird had hit him in the head.
His crew had not uttered a word of concern, let alone defiance. But he saw suspicion on their faces, the way they turned away when he looked at them. The nervous chatter that ended as he drew near.
At the moment, Houtman stood at the tip of the bow and looked out across the sea. What was he expecting? What did he hope to find by following this new direction? Earlier he had an argument with Mr. Giles that had almost come to blows. Houtman had no logical defense to offer. But he had a certainty in his heart that he must pursue this course; it was as strong as if an angel had appeared and handed him a scroll.
He heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Giles emerging from the shadows into the lantern light, heading in his direction.
Not again.
“Captain, you must reconsider,” Giles said, climbing the stairs to the forecastle deck. “Do you see the time?”
“I know what time it is, Mr. Giles.”
“Based on what you said this morning, we should be pulling into Charleston harbor this very moment.” He stood beside him. “I should be seeing the lights of the city growing bigger by the minute. Instead, what do I see? A dark sky and an even darker sea. You have us sailing into oblivion, Captain.”
“Mr. Giles, please. We’ve been through this already.”
“Have we? And what did we conclude? That some deranged gull flew into your head and, for you, it is a message from God. And where is God taking us? Back out to sea? Do you suppose we are to sail all the way back to England? I looked at a map a little while ago. Did you know that’s where this course is taking us?”