Page 27 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
And there on the splintered quarterdeck, stood Captain Daniel Spark, calmly telling his crew what to do. He spoke quietly, and they moved to do his will. Soon the bosun’s mate had turned the wash pump on the deck, sluicing it clean, except for the deeper stains. Hannah knew, as surely as she breathed, that the morning sun would bring out the survivors to holystone the deck back to its former whiteness. The mast would be replaced, the sails refined, and life would continue aboard theDissuade.It was just another incident of war to these iron men who had contended againstFrancefortwenty years now.
A great wave of loneliness washed over her, bringing with it such pain that she could only get to her feet, climb to the quarterdeck, and huddle there against the comforting planking. If thee shouts me off this deck, I won’t go, she thought as she gathered herself into a tight little ball. She listened to the captain’s approaching footsteps, her heartaching, her mind blank.
Spark stood beside her. She waited for him to speak, dared him to, but he said nothing. He came closer until his leg touched her, and just stood there, continuing his orders to his crew as his boat cloak swirled around her, shutting out the dreadful view. She closed her eyes, relieved beyond words to be enveloped in darkness. He reached down once to pat her head when she began to shiver, then turned back to the task at hand as she leaned against his leg.
An hourpassed, and still he stood on the deck, watching the evolution from upheaval to order. He spoke to her finally.
“Hannah, tell me if I won my wager.”
“You did, sir,”she said.
He knelt beside her.“You deliberately disobeyed me, didn’t you?”
“Of course,”she replied, looking him right in the eye.“You didn’t really think I would stay there when all those men were screaming?”
He brushed her cheek with his own.“No, I did not.”He stood up and moved away to the railing.“Cookie, find me some rum. Two glasses,or cups or whatever isn’t broken.”
She looked up.“Rum’s only for heroes. You told me.”
He nodded, but said nothing. In a few minutes he handed her a coffee mug full of rum.“Drink it all, Hannah. You’re a hero.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she took the mug.
“And for God’s sake, don’t cry!”he ordered, then knelt beside her again, his hands gentle on her shoulders.“How can I maintain order when my scurviest little crew memberturns into a watering pot?”
She sobbed anyway, then took a great gulp of the rum. It furrowed aath down her throat and landed, glowing with a life all its own, in her empty stomach, where it warmed her all the way to her toes. She cried and sipped the rest of the rum until it was gone and she had no tears left. With a last shuddering sigh, she handed back the mug.
“Do you want some more?”he asked. Already, his voice sounded distant and thick, as though her brain were full of rum, too.
She shook her head.“I think it would make me drunk.”
He poured another mugful and handed it to her.“Good. Have some more, by all means.”
She set the cup on the deck.“I had not thought thee unscrupulous, too,”she protested, but her voice was light.
“I am that and worse, I suppose.”He took another swallow and squatted beside her.“How is Andrew?”he asked.
She picked up the mug and drank it half down without pausing. She giggled and leaned forward until her forehead touched the captain’s.“I think he is mad.”
“Iam certain of it, Hannah,”was Spark’s quiet reply.“But as he can still saw and tie with the best, I don’t trouble him about it much.”He looked around, and then sat beside her on the deck, leaning against the bulkhead.“Never thought I would sit on my own deck,”he grumbled.“Let me know if you seeFuttrell, and I’ll get up. I have a certain standing to maintain in this community.”He looked at her and chuckled.“That was a joke, Hannah. You’resupposedto laugh when I make one.”
p width="29" align="justify">She made a face at him and finished the rum. She held out the mug again, but he shook his head.“Oh, no! That’s enough, even for a hero.”He looked at her and flicked the hair back from her face.“Did he tell you she was my sister?”
“Oh, God,”Hannah breathed, wide awake again. She took hold of Spark’s arm.“Never that!”
He nodded.“She made that little sampler in my sleeping cabin.”
“But ... why? Why would he want to serve with you?”she asked.
He shrugged.“Maybe that’s partof his own mad punishment. After—well—after Melinda died, he disappeared. No one heard of him for a year, and I did check,whenever we came off blockade. Just gave up his practice and disappeared.”
“Did he really cause her death?”
“Probably not,but who knows? He thinks he did.”Spark stood up then and convened quietly with hislieutenantof Marines for a long moment whileHannahtried to gatherher thoughts into one coherent shape. And then Mr. Futtrell, hisarmin a sling, was on the deck,and the carpenter,too, wet from the waist down and smelling of bilge.
Asshe sat shivering on the deck, Captain Spar removed his boatcloak and slung it over her.“Go to sleep, Miss Whittier,”he said.“You don’t have a cabin right now, and this is the best place.”He was gone then with the carpenter and the bosun, while Futtrelltook his place on thequarterdeck.
She watched Mr. Futtrell pace back and forth, in imitation of his captain. Every few minutes he touched his bandaged armas though proud to have a wound. How young thee is, she thought, and then was filled with the absurdity of her reflection. She was far younger than he, but she felt so old.
