Page 13 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
Mr. Futtrell caught her handily. She gasped with pain as his arms came in contact with her sunburned back, and burst into loud tears.
“I’m sorry,miss,”he apologized as he quickly stood her upright on the deck.“You never stand between a captain and the wind. It just isn’t done.”
“I didn’t know,”she sobbed as she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and wished the sea would swallow her. Her face burned with shame as she looked around her, but the men had returned to their tasks. The topmen continued down the ratlines, and the helmsman, his feet wide aparton the slanting deck, steadied the wheel, his eyes on the sails.
“Are you all right, Miss Whittier?”the lieutenant asked, his eyes kind.
She nodded, too ashamed to give him more than a glance.“I just wanted to ... to thank him for pulling me from the water.”She tried to take a deep breath, but she onlyhiccupped.
“Take it below, Miss Whittier,”came the captain’s voice from thequarterdeckabove her.“I cannot conduct a poll here,but I suspect at least half of us go to sea to get away from women’s tears!”
Without a word, or a glance in his direction, she hurried down the ladder, grateful for the darkness settling below deck. Her eyes filling with tears, she stumbled into her cabin and closed the door quietly behind her. She tucked herself into a little ball in the middle of the hammock andcried until her eyes hurt, her hands over her mouth so no one would hear. Exhausted finally, her eyes burning, she stared into the gathering gloom. Soon the smell of bilge that filled every cranny below deck was superseded by the odor of boiling coffee. It was time for dinner.
“I shall never eat again,”she said and clasped her hands across her stomach.
Her eyes were closing again when she heard the sentry outside click to attention.“Miss Whittier,”came that voice,softer this time, but still ripe with command,“eat with me tonight. We have to discuss your presence on this ship.”
She waited a long moment.“I would rather swallow burning coals than take a bite with thee, Captain Spark,”she said, her voice firm.
Her mouth grew dry at her own temerity,and she waited for him to slam open the door. The passageway was silent.
“Very well then,”he said, and walked away.
She sighed in relief, overlooking the growling of her stomach.
A few moments later,the sentry clicked to attention again and she sucked in her breath and held it.
“Miss Whittier? It’s Lieutenant Futtrell, ma’am. Would you ... could you ... take mutton with us in the wardroom?”
She let out her breath, sat up, and felt for the cannon with her foot.“I would be delighted, Lieutenant Futtrell,”she said.
Chapter Five
Hannah dined in the junior officers’wardroom that night, washing down salty mutton with boiled coffee. She watched Captain Spark’s lieutenants and the three midshipmen tap their sea biscuits on the table to drive out the weevils, and wondered why she ever complained about Mama’/font>s cooking. While the others looked on in amusement, she rapped her biscuit on the table, and gave a little shriek when two well-fed worms rolled out,and in the glare of publicity, huddled themselves into tight balls.
“Some prefer them in the biscuit,”Lieutenant Futtrell observed.“They claim it gives the food more crunch.”
Hannah shuddered at his words and gave a more vigorous tap to the biscuit. Another worm tumbled out.“When inRome,”she murmured, and took a bite, dreading the thought of any crunching.
“Bravo!”said the lieutenant namedLansing. The three midshipmen, none of them a day over twelve, looked at each other and giggled, then turned red.
“Don’t mind them,”Lieutenant Futtrell saidgenerously.“They’ve been at sea since they were ten, and don’t know much about ladies.”
Hannah sighed.“No one does. See here,sirs. I do not wish to continually be running afoul of Captain Spark. Tell me what I must do to prevent further disaster.”
Futtrell pushed away his plate.“Stay off the quarterdeck unless invited. And that will never happen. But if it ever does, stand on the lee side with us,and not the weather side with him.”
Lansinglaughed.“I think coming between a captain and his wind must be like getting between a mother bear and her cubs.”
She nodded.“And?”
Lieutenant Lansing stared thoughtfully into the mutton fat congealing on his plate.“Do not—Irepeat—do not comeabove deckbefore eight bells. The captain likes a shower under the wash pump about then. God knows how he can tolerate it, but he washes in seawater,no matter the weather.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,”she reminded them, amused at the thought of the dignified captain capering about naked in cold weather. I wonder if he removes his hat, she thought.
“The captain inspects the ship on Sundays,”offered one of the midshipmen, who blushed beet red and ducked his head when she looked in his direction.
Hannah smiled and crossed her heart.“I promise to keep mybedmade and all my numerous possessions put away.”She glanced at Lieutenant Futtrell, who was eyeing her, a smile on his own well-weathered face.“Surely he would not inspect my cabin?”
