Marrying Christopher

by Michele Paige Holmes

  She’d had to in the past. And she would have to again. At least this time she would be on the same continent as her sister.

  “She’s the most modern ship in more ways than one.” Captain Gower stood just outside the door to the saloon, ready to lead those passengers who were interested on the promised tour of the Amanda May. Christopher had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Miss Abbott was one of those passengers, whereas it appeared that Lady Cosgrove and her daughter were not.

  “I am certain Lydia— Miss Cosgrove— wanted to join us,” Miss Abbott said as they moved toward the stairs that would lead them below the ship’s main deck.

  “I believe her mother was not feeling well and required Miss Cosgrove’s assistance this afternoon,” Captain Gower said, much to Christopher’s relief. What a contrast the two young women were, he thought as he walked alongside Miss Abbott, who showed no sign of tears, no sign at all that anything was amiss or might be troubling her, in spite of the distressing news she’d received yesterday. Had that same letter been delivered to Miss Cosgrove, no doubt she would have been given to a fit of hysterics on the spot.

  Miss Abbott, on the other hand, had seemed to recover from her shock quite rapidly. She’d declared herself ready to face whatever hardships lay ahead and did not seem wont to wallow in either self-pity or worry. She is much like Grace, Christopher thought with a smile and a swell of admiration for his new acquaintance.

  He allowed Miss Abbott to go before him on the stairs and noticed the frayed hem of her gown as she held it up and began her descent.

  Do I admire her because she, too, has known a difficult life? And am I so critical of Miss Cosgrove because hers has been one of privilege? Christopher did not wish to think himself so judgmental, yet examining his readily formed opinions about each lady, it appeared he was.

  Something I’d best watch myself with in America. His grandfather would have said harboring prejudice against the fortunate was no different than believing the worst of those without means.

  It was not your father’s lack of money that made me dislike him, Grandfather had once confided in Christopher. It was his lack of ambition.

  Help me not to lack either ambition or compassion, Christopher silently prayed. And let me find a way to assist Miss Abbott once she is in America.

  Captain Gower paused at the base of the stairs and took up a lantern to guide their way here, below deck, where the light was dim. “The deck, planking, and keelsons are of hard pine, but the Amanda May’s frame is made of seasoned white oak. And her hull is diagonally braced with iron. She’s not only fast, but strong.” He held the lantern low, over the polished floor, and Christopher whistled appreciatively.

  The wood was beautiful, as yet largely unmarred, and the boards fit together perfectly, the only imperfections being that of the pattern of the grain.

  “Not an inexpensive ship, is she?” Christopher said.

  “On the contrary, no expense was spared.” Captain Gower’s voice held more than a touch of pride. “You’ll not find a better-made ship sailing the Atlantic. All the keelsons and waterways are scarfed and keyed. She’s got thirty-two beams under the lower deck and thirty-four under the main.” He held the lantern aloft, illuminating one of these as they moved down the corridor. “Her bulwarks are built solid, like those of a warship.”

  “This is most impressive, Captain,” Miss Abbott said. “I have nothing to compare your ship to, never having sailed before, but I must say I feel extremely safe aboard her.”

  “That you are,” Captain Gower said, while Christopher wondered at her choice of words— if she was thinking of the coming dangers on land more than she let on.

  They ducked as they entered another part of the hold, and Captain Gower pointed out an impressive five-thousand-gallon water tank. Christopher wondered if he’d had it completely filled, considering their shortage of passengers, but he thought it better not to ask.

  “And here we come to the heart of the ship.” Captain Gower stepped aside and indicated that they should go before him. Miss Abbott stepped up over the entrance to the engine room, her face alight with curiosity as she looked about, taking in all the apparatus. Christopher had been most interested in seeing this room but now felt his eyes sliding repeatedly to Miss Abbott, as he found himself enjoying her reactions nearly as much as what was being shown them.

  “Through here you’ll see the stokehold and beyond that the boilers.” Captain Gower had followed them into the engine room and pointed to another door at its side. “Every man has an assigned job. Some fire, and others trim, and each knows exactly what is needed and when.”

  Christopher leaned through the doorway, peering into the hot room and the as-yet fresh faces of those within. He very much doubted they’d appear the same after spending four weeks at their tasks. Through yet another doorway beyond, he glimpsed the mounds of coal and did not envy the men their labor of retrieving it and constantly feeding the fire.

  “Mr. Jones is in charge down here. I believe you’ve met.” Captain Gower nodded to the taller, redheaded man. “He’ll be joining us for dinner every few days and making certain the other men have their turns up top as well. We’re not in such a hurry that we’ll lose men to poor working conditions. As well as the best ship, I intend to have the best crew, and that requires they be treated better than the competition.”

  Christopher listened as Mr. Jones described the basic principles of a steam engine and explained each of the dials and meters on the panels before them.

  It was fascinating, this glimpse of the future, and once more Christopher felt excited to be a very small part of it. The world was on the brink of change. He’d felt it in London and guessed that America would be much the same in that regard. And while he might not be an inventor himself, he was reinventing himself and his family name. The idea of starting from scratch, with no prejudices against him and nothing between himself and his dreams but hard work, was exhilarating.

  Beyond the endless horizon outside were endless possibilities. He could be and do anything he wanted, with nothing to hold him back.

  Yet his dreams were so different than his grandfather’s had been— he’d no desire for a title or any sort of recognition. Neither did he wish for wealth or a mansion like Mr. Vancer’s. Twenty-seven bedrooms. Ridiculous. He didn’t want a house full of servants. Just a house— one he built himself, preferably. And land, lots of land, where he could grow the things his family needed.

  My someday family. His gaze strayed to Miss Abbott once more. Someday, sometime far off from now, he supposed he would find a woman he could admire, one who cared for him as well. And then he would marry and start a family.

  When I’m thirty ought to be about right. Eight and a half years seemed time enough for him to establish himself and enjoy life a bit.

  And what will Miss Abbott be doing during those years? It was exactly the sort of thought he did not wish to have— and couldn’t seem to help but having.

  What will she do when faced with Mr. Thomas’s cruelty? Though Christopher tried not to, he could not seem to keep himself from thinking of his sisters and making comparisons between them and Miss Abbott.

  If I had not arrived to stop Crayton when he found Helen at home alone… If I’d not intercepted Lidgate when he tried to follow Grace the night she fled his house… If I hadn’t been at the theatre with Helen when Crayton approached her… Any of those situations— and many others— could have ended horribly for his sisters. All those years of accompanying Grace to deliver and pick up the laundry she took in had been particularly difficult— especially as she had grown older and more beautiful and he had not yet been old enough or big enough to properly defend her. More than a time or two he’d hobbled home, his nose bleeding and his gut aching from the blows he’d taken to ensure Grace wasn’t harmed.

  He hadn’t been completely jesting when, at his sisters’ weddings, he’d told them he was ready to be through watching over them.

  Nor, apparently, had
he been wrong when he’d suspected his life would become dreadfully boring without that responsibility.

  And what is wrong with boring? he asked himself. Why can I not be content to carry on without worrying over someone— some female? Miss Abbott?

  He could not be content because his conscience would not allow it. Miss Abbott does not have a brother to look out for her. And now that I know of her plight, I cannot ignore it or pretend that she— and her difficulties— do not exist.

  “It would seem much to endure, working down here.” Miss Abbott fanned her hand in front of her face.

  Not as much as four years of servitude to a man known for cruelty.

  “That’s why the men working below have shorter shifts,” Mr. Jones explained. “Four hours on and eight off.”

  “And what of your shifts?” she asked. “Are you allowed the same?”

  He gave her a half smile. “Not quite. I’ve got to oversee it all, and I worry when I’m not down here. Wouldn’t want an accident to happen. Don’t want to disappoint the cap’n, and we need to keep everyone safe.”

  “That’s very noble of you.” She returned his smile, and Mr. Jones’s grin engulfed his face as a blush stole across it to match his hair color.

  Christopher couldn’t entirely fault the man. Being the recipient of Miss Abbott’s smile had threatened his own resolve a time or two already.

  They left the engine room and returned to the deck, where Captain Gower continued to point out the finer features of his ship. “The masts hoist the auxiliary sails. Her riggings are fashioned of the best Russian hemp.”

  “It must be a spectacular view from the top.” Christopher eyed the rigging, imagining how grand it would be to climb and wondering if the captain might allow him to.

  “It’s not a task for the faint of heart,” Captain Gower said, a knowing look in his eye, as if he realized the direction of Christopher’s thoughts. “Even in calm waters, the ship sways. The effect only multiplies when you’re up so high. Many a seasoned sailor has lost his life falling.”

  “How dreadful,” Miss Abbott said. “But I must also agree with Mr. Thatcher. How splendid it must be to look out over the ocean from such a vantage point.”

  “Nevertheless,” Captain Gower said. “We shall all have to enjoy the view from the deck.”

  Christopher exchanged a disappointed look with Miss Abbott.

  Too bad.

  Women are never allowed to do anything, he imagined her saying.

  “A single suit of sails requires over twelve thousand yards of canvas,” Captain Gower continued, steering the conversation away from the temptation of the rigging.

  “Have you any idea how many gowns might be fashioned from twelve thousand yards of fabric?” Miss Cosgrove’s high-pitched voice and sudden arrival put an abrupt end to Christopher’s musings and the pleasant time he’d been having with only the captain and Miss Abbott for company.

  Have you any idea the amount of time it would take to launder all those gowns? His thoughts returned to his sisters and the meager upbringing they’d had, scraping together an existence by doing the laundry for ladies of means in the years before their grandfather had discovered them. He fought a scowl as he turned to greet Miss Cosgrove, strutting, as it were, around the sail, an air of appraisal about her.

  She spoke of dresses, whereas Miss Abbott spoke of climbing riggings. Was it any wonder that he favored one lady’s company above the other?

  “How is your mother?” Miss Abbott asked, linking her arm through Miss Cosgrove’s as if they were the closest of chums.

  At least it stopped her from parading about with that painful swagger. Christopher wondered if that hadn’t been Miss Abbott’s intent all along.

  “Mother is quite unwell,” Miss Cosgrove said. A second later her face brightened. “But she is sleeping now, so I am free to join you. What have you seen without me?”

  “Captain Gower has constructed a most marvelous ship,” Miss Abbott said, earning a nod of approval from the captain. “He has spared no expense for our safety. Indeed, this is the most well-built vessel to be found upon the Atlantic, is that not right, Captain?”

  “Indeed it is.” He pulled out his pipe and began filling it. “But you’ve seen about all that will interest you ladies. Pumps, windlasses, and winches all look about the same, but rest assured ours are the most modern to be found.”

  Christopher thought the captain’s abrupt end to the tour a bit surprising, and by the curious look upon Miss Abbott’s face, he gathered she did as well. Miss Cosgrove seemed oblivious, still chattering away at Miss Abbott, the captain— anyone who would listen.

  “I wonder how many yards of fabric would be found at Almack’s if all of the ladies’ gowns there were tallied together. Of course, none would be so rough and coarse as this canvas. You’d find only the best fabrics, like silk.”

  “Captain Gower,” Miss Abbott quickly cut in. “Do you ever envision a time when a ship might be propelled only by steam and without any sails at all?”

  “Possibly,” Captain Gower said, his tone skeptical. “But sails do more than provide auxiliary propulsion. In rough seas they’ll help keep an even keel, ensuring that the wheel remains in the water and we travel a straight line.” He doffed his hat. “If you’ll excuse me now. Miss Abbott, Miss Cosgrove.” He turned toward Christopher. “Mr. Thatcher. It has been a pleasure introducing you properly to the Amanda May, but I must be back to running her now.”

  “Thank you for showing us,” Christopher said. “It was most impressive and interesting.”

  “Good day, Captain. And thank you for your time,” Miss Abbott said. Captain Gower replaced his hat and left them.

  “Oh, but I just got here.” Miss Cosgrove’s lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout.

  Christopher caught Miss Abbott’s eye and shrugged, then bowed as he took his own departure. She shook her head as if letting him know she was disappointed at his sudden departure as well.

  She obviously suspected that he, like Captain Gower perhaps, was not anxious for Miss Cosgrove’s company. Christopher had agreed to be kind to her, but that did not signify spending a great deal of time with her each day. And just now he wished for time alone in which to consider the direction of his thoughts.

  The tour had been inspiring, and he felt goaded to action.

  If men are able to propel a ship across the ocean using a steam engine and paddlewheel, if twelve thousand yards of fabric can be fashioned into a sail, if an oak tree can be cured, then stripped and planked and those planks made to curve in the shape of a hull… If such marvels were to be had on a single ship, then surely he was clever enough to come up with a solution to a problem as well.

  It was neither his problem nor his affair, but Christopher had about given up that argument with himself as a lost cause. He felt compelled to find a solution, compelled to assist one very intriguing young lady with a certain matter regarding her safekeeping in the near future.

  He was not at all sure how he would accomplish such a thing, only that it must be done. There had to be a way, and he was determined to find it.

  In three-and-a-half weeks’ time, when they all disembarked in New York, he intended to see to it that Miss Abbott would continue to be safe.

  Carrying a small lantern, Marsali left her cabin and crept stealthily down the length of the common room. For once she felt grateful for her old slippers, which, worn as they were, made not the barest sound on the wood floor. She did not wish to wake anyone, particularly Lydia, who would likely ruin Marsali’s plans with her chatter. Most of the time she found Lydia’s company pleasant enough, but tonight was different. It was what she had most looked forward to on this voyage, a quiet evening all to herself in which she might revisit the past and remember with fondness the happiness she had once known.

  With care she opened the door and stepped out onto the deck, breathing in the cooler night air and lifting her head to the great display of stars spread magnificently across the black sky abo
ve. Tonight was the first night of the new moon, assuring that the sky was at the darkest it would be during their voyage and with the most stars visible. She felt most fortunate the sky was clear as well, with no clouds whatsoever.

  With the chart she had borrowed from Captain Gower earlier that day tucked safely beneath her arm, Marsali climbed the steps to the front of the ship. As if he’d been expecting her, Mr. Murphy made his appearance, settling in for what appeared to be an evening of cleaning his teeth. The captain had likely advised him that she would be stargazing, and Marsali found she did not mind Mr. Murphy watching out for her— too much. She’d hoped that tonight he might be available to answer any questions she had, as it had been many years since she’d sat on a hillside in France and studied the stars with her father. But seeing the first bit of meat Murphy dislodged from his teeth changed her mind about moving any closer to him than necessary.

  Sitting carefully a good distance away, she set the lantern down, tucked her skirt in around her, and unrolled the chart, spreading it out on the deck before her. It curled again at once, so she placed the lantern on one side of it to hold it down and tucked the opposite corner beneath her slipper until the parchment lay flat.

  There they are. A shiver of excitement passed over her as she studied the patterns covering the page. Hercules and Pegasus, Orion and Cassiopeia. On Captain Gower’s chart they were outlined the same as she remembered seeing them in the sky during her childhood. Her favorites were here, too, though brave Perseus and little Lyra would be harder to find in the sky. She would have to sit very still and concentrate to make them out as well.

  With reverence her fingers traced the dotted shapes filling the parchment. She remembered the stories of each and could almost hear the rich timbre of her father’s voice as he shared the tales with her. How magnificent they all were. How much she had loved sitting on the hillside behind their home, far into the night, as she and her father and Charlotte studied the stars.