Page 7 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
There was nothing to say to his harsh observation, so she was silent, thinking of Hosea, looking for her day after day and pacing up and down on theCharlestondocks. She could imagine the letter he would be writing to Papa. She reached out gingerly and touched Captain Spark’s sleeve.“Sir,can we not put in toCharleston? Surely we are not far.”
He pointed to the compass over her head.“East by northeast, MissWhittier,”he reminded her.“We are bound forEngland, as I seem to recall mentioning to you a couple of days ago. And you,apparently, are our guest.”
She thought of Papa and Mama in mourning for their youngest child.“And thee is a perfect beast,”she said.
To her surprise, his lips twitched. He nodded to the surgeon.“What do you say, Andrew? Should I pitch this ungrateful shark chum overboard? Here she is, in my berth, and wearing my shirt ...”He shook his head.
“Thee wouldn’t,”she began.
“No, I wouldn’t,”he agreed, unruffled by her vehemence, which sounded exhausted and puny to her ears. He rose,stooping to avoid striking his head on the deck above.“A gentleman would at least wait until the lady was healed. Then I’ll set you adrift in a boat with a compass and some ship’s biscuit, you wretched baggage!”
The surgeon turned his head away, but Hannah could see his shoulders shaking.
“Dreadful man!”she exclaimed, and hauled herself into a sitting position. She groaned and rubbed her hip, wondering at this new pain.“Whatisthat?”
The captain paused at the door, his hand on the knob.“You have a bruise of enormous proportions on your bum,”he said, his face breaking into the smile he had obviously been struggling against.“I suggest you lie down, MissWhittier. I only very seldom prey on the infirm,but I would be happy to make an exception in your case, if you continue biting the hand that fished you from the briny deep. As you were, Andrew. Have a little countenance.”
He closed the door quietly behind him and she sank back onto the mattress.“I am mortified,”she said out loud, her eyes boring into the compass, which continued its maddening east northeast course. If she could have closed her eyes and willed herself dead, she would have.
The surgeon, his face perfectly composed now, shook his head.“No need to be embarrassed, my dear, no need at all. The only ones who saw you were the entire crew, assembled for a reading of the Articles of War and one of Captain Spark’s inimitable sermons. It is the Sabbath, after all. That can’t number over one hundred and ninety. We lost some crew to the French recently, so I may be off in my calculations.”
He looked at the horror that spread across her face, and took her hand again, sitting beside her in the chair the captain had vacated.“What I am trying to say, Miss Whittier,is that it’s better to be alive on a crowded deck, even if a bit sparsely clad, than burned black, swollen beyond recognition, and drifting away.”
“But ....”she began.
“I canguaranteethat not one man on this ship saw anything he’s never seen before, with the possible exception of that young one ... Adam Winslow? Is that his name? Now sit up again. I want to spread some more of this salve on your back. Captain Spark ordered me to have you shipshape andBristolfashion as soon as possible, so he can have his cabin back.”
She considered the matter, decided the surgeon was right, and sat up again, her back to him as she primly raised the shirttailsand leaned forward.
“Excellent, my dear! I knew you were a reasonable female,”the surgeon murmured as he dabbed on the salve, spreading it across her back with gentle fingers. He paused when she flinched, and then continued, his touch light.
Hannah closed her eyes in relief, as the salve sank into her tormented skin. Suddenly she was more thirsty than she had ever been in her life. As the surgeon gently rubbed the ointment into her raw flesh, she thought of the pond at Isaiah Qualm’s gristmill at home, where the wheel turned and turned, tossing the water into a fine spray when the wind was blowing. She longed to be there, turning around and around herself in that spray, her mouth open.
“Please, sir, Iam so thirsty,”she said finally, when he finished.
“In a moment, my dear,”he replied. He wiped his hands on his surgeon’s apron, then poured her a cup of water from a battered silver carafe.“Drink it slowly. The water’s only been in the casks for a month, so it’s practically fresh.”
She did as he said, relishing the coolness down her throat, and overlooking the taste of wood well tempered with mold.
“I am going to leave this pitcher beside the berth. Drink as much as you can,”he said. He returned to a small table and spooned another dollop ofointmentinto the jar he held.“When I leave, I want you to smear this on the rest of your body. If you need help, I’ll help,but I think you would rather do this yourself.”
She took the ointment from him, avoiding his eyes, but managing a little smile.“I suppose you will tell me that you’ve already done that, so I needn’t feel embarrassed.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, but I could.”He grinned and tugged at her hair, which was neatly braided.“Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Miss Whittier! I am, after all, a surgeon.”
“Yes, but on board a ship with nothing but men about,”she grumbled as she began gingerly to apply the salvetoher poor knees.“I hardly think it is the same.”
He watched her a moment in silence, until she looked up, a question in her eyes.“I have not always been a surgeon in the company of men,”he said, his voice quiet.
She thought for a moment that he would say something else, but he did not.“Everywhere, mind you,”he reminded her.“I can always make up more salve.”
Hannah nodded, her eyes on her legs again. She dribbled a line of salve from her ankle bone to her knee.“Sir, do you think the captain will allow me to speak to Adam Winslow?”she asked.“I should tell himof hisfatherme.>”
“I am sure he will allowthat, but it can wait, Hannah Whittier.”He opened the door.“Bad news can always wait.”
He closed the door behind him. When she heard his footsteps receding down the companionway, she raised Captain Spark’sshirtfor a good look at her hip. The captain was right, she admitted. It was a bruise of enormous proportions,probably a result of her tumble onto the deck of theMolly Claridgeat the first broadside from the French.
Hannah unbuttoned the shirt, choosing not to think who had buttoned her into it,and stared down at her body. She had been wearing only a chemise when Captain Winslow threw her into the ocean, and she could see the contrast of white on her breasts and stomach, where she had not been burned by the sun. She touched her stomach, thankful that there was onepartof her anatomy that did not hurt.“I will be a wretched specimen when I startto peel,”she said out loud as she gritted her teeth and slathered on the ointment.
