Marrying Christopher

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Aye,” Captain Gower shouted back through the rain pelting the deck. “We’re not going to ride out this storm, but maybe we’ll outrun it. We’re not waiting until tomorrow. Take us home, Mr. Jones. Full steam ahead to New York Harbor.”

  Christopher reached the door of saloon and pulled it open for Marsali to enter ahead of him just as lightning struck a third time, hitting the center mast of the ship. The air sizzled around them, and he felt his hairs stand on end. Time seemed horrifyingly suspended as the entire deck lit up as brightly as if it was midday. Everyone stood as if frozen in place, looks of terror on their faces, their heads all tilted upward, drawn toward the sky and the powerful force of nature suspended from it.

  A sudden recollection came to him, of the conversation from the start of their voyage, wherein he had mentioned that a steamship was seen by some as a challenge to Mother Nature— to God. Christopher didn’t think he believed that, but the power flowing through him— through his hand linked with Marsali’s and to his other still on the metal doorknob— felt frighteningly real.

  Marsali screamed, and time moved again. He jerked his hand from the knob and found his palm burned.

  “Fire!”

  “It’s the mast. Get it before it reaches the wheel or the deck.” Feet pounded toward the blaze already engulfing nearly the entire length of the mast. The barrel he and Marsali had just stood on was wrenched open and a bucket brigade formed.

  Christopher started forward, knowing he must help, but Marsali held him back. “Don’t leave me.” She was crying, frightened as he had never seen her.

  “I won’t.” His decision was made in a split second. He was a husband now. He would stay with her and leave the crew to its duties. They entered the saloon and found Lady Cosgrove near hysterics.

  “Lydia is gone. She’s missing. She isn’t in her bed.”

  “What?” Marsali let go of Christopher and ran into the Cosgroves’ shared cabin. Christopher followed, verifying with her that the room was indeed empty.

  “She never even put her nightgown on. I can’t think where she would be. Find her,” Lady Cosgrove implored, grasping Marsali’s hands.

  “We will,” Christopher promised. “Wait inside,” he said to Marsali. “Check all the other cabins. I’ll learn if anyone has seen her on deck.”

  “Be careful.” She grasped his hand and brought it to her lips.

  He pulled her close and kissed her swiftly. “You as well.” He pulled away and ran outside to find that the fire had reached the deck.

  Marsali braced both palms on the table as the ship rose sharply and pitched forward.

  Beside her, Lady Cosgrove lost her grip and was flung back into the door of one of the vacant cabins.

  “Are you all right?” Marsali fell to her knees and held her hand out toward Lady Cosgrove.

  The saloon door banged open, and she turned toward it, hoping to see Christopher with Lydia in tow. Instead Mr. Luke stood in the open doorway, his stark figure momentarily silhouetted in the flash of lightning behind him.

  “To the lifeboats, ladies.” He strode toward them as Marsali stood, then helped Lady Cosgrove rise.

  “We can’t,” Marsali said. “Lydia is missing, and Christopher has gone to find her.”

  “I’ve my orders, and they are to put you in a boat and get you away from this ship.”

  He held his arm out as if he was about to lead them to the dance floor.

  “You go with him,” Marsali said to Lady Cosgrove. “I’ll wait here for Lydia and Christopher and bring them when they come.”

  “Your daughter?” Mr. Luke paused. “Miss Cosgrove is already on the lifeboat, waiting for you.”

  “Why did you not tell us?” Marsali said, confused.

  “I just did.”

  The ship pitched again, and Lady Cosgrove tottered forward, reaching her hand our to his arm while Marsali stood her ground.

  “Foolish woman!” he snapped. “The ship is on fire. Do you wish to burn up with it?”

  “Christopher will come back for me. And I don’t believe you’ve found Lydia.” Marsali didn’t know why, but she suspected he was lying.

  “Why should he lie?” Lady Cosgrove had regained her footing and had a firm grip on Mr. Luke’s arm. She sent a bewildered look from one to the other. “Have you seen my daughter?”

  “I have. She was— with me this evening.”

  Oh dear. He seemed all too truthful now, and Marsali worried some harm had come to Lydia. Before tonight Mr. Luke had treated her with a cold indifference. What had changed that he would alter his behavior the last night of their journey?

  “With you?” Lady Cosgrove sounded distressed as well, but she allowed Mr. Luke to steer her toward the door.

  “I’ll be back for you,” he called over his shoulder as they left the room.

  Marsali braced herself as the ship pitched again, this time listing heavily to the side. We are sinking. The door to the saloon banged open and shut with the violent wind and rolling of the ship. Water poured in, streaming along the floorboards and seeping under the cabin doors. Marsali took a hesitant step forward, half regretful she hadn’t gone with them. At the least maybe she should go up to the deck herself to search for Christopher.

  Going outside might be her best chance at finding him quickly. But I promised him I would wait here. If he returns and I am gone… No. She would wait.

  Still gripping the table edge, Marsali moved slowly away from the door, toward the opposite end of the saloon. She and Lady Cosgrove had checked all but the captain’s quarters. It was doubtful Lydia was there, but she had to look just to be sure.

  The door was unlocked and opened easily.

  “Lydia?” Marsali peered inside then stepped into the room. She turned a circle, squinting through the dark, barely able to make out the captain’s berth and window seat and the tables that had been crammed with inventions, many of which lay broken and scattered on the floor.

  Poor Captain Gower.

  Thunder clapped angrily outside, as if demanding to be let in. The sea answered with its own violent lashing. Waves pounded against the paned window where she and Christopher had sat together just days ago. The floor beneath her seemed to turn on its side as the icy water reached her heels and washed over her feet. Marsali slipped and landed hard on her side.

  Behind her the door slammed, sealing her in almost complete darkness, with the window buried in the waves. She scrambled to her knees and crawled toward the door.

  “Marsali!”

  Christopher.

  “In here,” she cried.

  The door was flung open, and then she felt his arms around her, lifting her.

  She clung to him. “I was so frightened for you.”

  He held her away from him. “We have to go. The fire spread. I couldn’t find Lydia.”

  A hand appeared above him, slicing through the darkness as it came down over Christopher’s head. A bone-crunching thud was followed by his shudder as he fell forward, slipping from her grasp.

  “Christopher!” She fell to the floor beside him, touching his face, trying to turn him over. “Christopher, can you hear me?”

  “Get up.” Mr. Luke stood over them, pointing a pistol at her.

  She stared at him, attempting to connect the chain of events.

  He bent down and used his free hand to grab her arm and haul her up beside him. Marsali’s eyes were still riveted to the gun, now very near her face. She wrenched herself free of his grasp.

  “You hit him.” It wasn’t logical, though the evidence was right in front of her. “Why?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Couldn’t shoot Mr. Thatcher right there, not with you so close.” Mr. Luke cocked the pistol, and his gaze flickered downward.

  Marsali launched herself at him, pushing the pistol sideways and plowing into his stomach and taking him off guard, but not so much that he did not catch her hand as she swung it at his face. He jerked her toward him. “Don’t be a fool. There’s a s
pace in the lifeboat for you.”

  “You killed my husband,” she sobbed.

  “It’s not my fault you married him. But you’re right. If he’s not dead already, he will be when this ship goes down, so forget him.” He shoved the pistol in his belt and began dragging her down the corridor. Marsali struggled to break free as she looked over her shoulder at Christopher’s still form. “Christopher!” She screamed his name until Mr. Luke struck her across the mouth.

  “Keep quiet, or I’ll kill you too. And you don’t need to die.”

  “Neither did he. There are plenty of lifeboats.” The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth.

  Mr. Luke gave a vile laugh. “This isn’t about lifeboats.” Still keeping a hold on her, he kicked the outside door open. “Bet you didn’t know your husband had a price on his head of ninety pounds sterling. Too good to pass up. I told Crayton I’d take care of it, and he’ll have the reward waiting for me when I return to England.”

  Crayton…

  “Cheating a pirate is never a good idea.” Mr. Luke thrust her out in front of him. “Humiliating one is even worse.”

  “Christopher wasn’t involved with pirates.” Their dinner conversation and her suspicions suddenly came back to her.

  “Didn’t know your husband as well as you thought, did you?” Mr. Luke’s sinister laugh was lost in the storm. Rain pelted Marsali, and her hair stuck to her face as he dragged her toward the lifeboats. Fire had consumed the mast and the wheel. The woodwork and casings around the smokestack were burning too.

  “Christopher!” she shouted, but the storm was too loud, and everyone was too busy with the fire to hear her. “Christopher!”

  “Not even married a day and a widow already.” Mr. Luke picked her up and dumped her into a lifeboat that had already been partially lowered.

  Lady Cosgrove sat on one of the seats, keening as she rocked back and forth. “Lydia? Did you find her?”

  “No.” Marsali scooted next to Lady Cosgrove and wrapped her arm around her. Mr. Luke dropped into the lifeboat beside them, then reached up to the pulleys to lower the ropes.

  “Where is Lydia? We can’t leave without her.” Lady Cosgrove leaned forward and clawed at him. He thrust her away, sending her sprawling across the seats.

  One side of the boat dropped suddenly, much lower than the other, so that both Lady Cosgrove and Marsali had to cling to the side to keep from falling out.

  The other side seemed to be stuck, and now that they were lower. Mr. Luke could no longer reach the pulley. He pulled out a knife and began sawing through the rope.

  “Don’t!” Marsali cried.

  “Where is my daughter?” Lady Cosgrove crawled toward him then clutched his leg. He struck her across the face.

  “Your daughter’s dead— already dumped her body over the other side of the ship. You can join—”

  His knife cut through the rope, and the nose of the boat plunged straight down. Mr. Luke lost his footing and pitched over the end. Lady Cosgrove screamed and slid forward, her leg catching on the bench in front of her. Marsali grabbed the back of her dress with one hand and wrapped her arm around the bench with her other.

  “Help!” she screamed, lifting her face to sky.

  “I’m slipping,” Lady Cosgrove yelled.

  “Hold on,” Marsali sobbed. “Please.” She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Lady Cosgrove as well and being left alone.

  A head appeared over the side of the boat.

  “Help us!” Marsali shouted once more. The head disappeared, then reappeared a minute later, closer to the rope that was still intact. The cabin boy, Marc, pulled out a knife and began cutting.

  “No. Stop! Don’t do that.” Marsali dared not let go of either the bench or Lady Cosgrove to wave at him.

  The other end of the boat plunged downward suddenly. Marsali’s scream was lost in the sound of the splash as they hit the water. They bounced, and she rose out of the boat, suspended in the air for several terrifying seconds before she landed again on the hard seat.

  “Lady Cosgrove,” Marsali called as soon as she found her voice again.

  There was no answer, and Marsali leaned forward, frantic, as she felt around for another passenger. Her fingers found hair and then a face, and she heard faint moaning. She burst into tears, so grateful she was not alone— that Lady Cosgrove was with her and they had each other.

  Marsali scooted closer, found her hand, and held on to it.

  Beside them the ship was ablaze. She could see the men shouting and running to and fro across the decks. “Please, someone. Find Christopher. Find Lydia.” Tears poured from her eyes, and she trembled and wept.

  When Marsali looked again, the Amanda May had moved. Its great paddle wheel was still churning, drawing ever closer to their lifeboat.

  Someone in the water shouted, and she thought she could make out hands waving for help. The cry came again, and she realized it was Mr. Luke, just beyond them, drifting ever closer to the wheel. Marsali crawled across the benches, searching the boat for the oars she had seen fastened to the sides in the boat she’d been in earlier. She couldn’t find them, and the Amanda May had turned again.

  Marsali peered through the darkness and saw the arms disappear beneath the surface right beside the wheel. She turned away, hand held to her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut tight as she imagined Mr. Luke’s fate.

  After a minute she forced herself to look again and saw that the ship was farther from them, a blaze of orange steaming into the night. She found Lady Cosgrove’s hand again and held it, then sat on the floor of the boat beside her, curled up as tightly as she could.

  The rain continued falling, and the night grew colder. But Marsali ceased to care. Christopher was gone, and nothing else mattered.

  A uniformed gentleman, logbook in hand, stopped before Marsali and Lady Cosgrove on the deck of the Josephine, an Irish packet ship en route from Dublin to New York. They had been picked up by the ship in the predawn hours and treated kindly— given both new clothing and warm blankets in an effort to ward off the bone-deep chill.

  But the blankets had not helped, and the kindness seemed to matter little. Marsali’s limbs were still stiff, and her chest hurt with every breath. Something was wrong— terribly, terribly wrong— but she was no longer certain what that was. After hours spent alone in darkness, in a tiny boat threatening to capsize at any minute, they had been rescued from the violent sea. She was safe now. At the least, it seemed, she ought to feel relieved. Instead she could not stop the tears continuously leaking from her eyes or the terrible sadness engulfing her.

  The gentleman cleared his throat. “Ladies, we are nearing port, and I need to record your names for the ship’s log.”

  Lady Cosgrove straightened and removed her arm from around Marsali’s shoulders. The wool blanket she’d been holding in place slid to the floor, but Marsali did not bother to pick it up. She’d long since ceased feeling the cold or caring if she did.

  “I am Lady Cornelia Cosgrove, widow of the late Earl of Aylesford.”

  “Spell Cornelia and Cosgrove please.”

  Lady Cosgrove rattled off letters while Marsali stared at the approaching shoreline. America. She had wanted to come here, but she couldn’t seem to recall why.

  “Duly noted. Thank you.” The uniformed man inclined his head toward Marsali. “And your name.”

  “Miss Lydia Cosgrove,” Lady Cosgrove said. “My daughter.”

  Lydia. An image of a bright dress and a smiling young lady came to mind.

  I couldn’t find Lydia.

  The pain in her chest intensified, and another terrible image flashed before her.

  “My daughter is betrothed to Mr. William Vancer, of New York. Perhaps you have heard of him,” Lady Cosgrove said.

  “I do not reside in New York.” The man sounded annoyed. “Spell Lydia please.”

  “L-Y-D-I-A. Will there be transport to Mr. Vancer’s estate once we have arrived at the port?”

  “I’m su
re something can be arranged.” He closed his book and held it to his chest, then stared at them a long moment, apparently in deep contemplation. “Do either of you think you might be able to help with identifying the dead? You’re the only survivors we’ve picked up thus far, but we’ve collected more than a few bodies.”

  Christopher.

  “I’m sorry, but I do not believe we are able to help you.” Lady Cosgrove put her arm around Marsali once more. “You can see that my daughter is still somewhat in shock. It has been a long, traumatic night.”

  “I understand. Good day, ladies. Or at least, I hope it gets better.” He left them to sit in silence, watching the New York skyline come into view.

  Something nagged at the back of Marsali’s mind, something she felt she ought to do. “I must see Mr. Thatcher— Christopher.” She attempted to stand, but Lady Cosgrove restrained her.

  “You don’t know that they’ve found him,” she whispered. “And even if they have— it isn’t something you wish to see. It is better to remember him as he was. Trust me. I have seen two husbands in death, and I will both remember and regret it for as long as I live.” She smoothed Marsali’s hair away from her face. “That life is over now. You have a new one.”

  “But, Lydia,” Marsali turned to Lady Cosgrove. “He couldn’t find her.”

  “Shh. All will be well. You shall see,” Lady Cosgrove said, and Marsali was not sure to whom she was speaking.

  She felt as if nothing would ever be well again.

  “We’ve suffered terrible losses, but we have each other now.” Lady Cosgrove held Marsali’s hand. “And we can help one another. We will have to help one another if either of us is to survive.”

  “The poor miss. She’s been through so much.” A woman was speaking nearby.

  A second female voice came from Marsali’s other side, this one farther away. “Yes, but she’s here now. She survived. She and her mother were the only ones from the whole ship.”

  Mother is dead. Marsali attempted to open her eyes to see whom the voices belonged to, but the effort required was too great.