Anna's Crossing Read online

  He wished he could bring Anna comfort. He wished he could give all the passengers a word of comfort. In the midst of this kind of a tempest, he had no comfort to give.

  A crack of thunder roared through the lower deck, renting the air like a shot of cannon, waking many passengers with a cry. Another rumble sounded from above and the Charming Nancy lurched to larboard. A few women shrieked and Anna nearly did.

  Lizzie, lying close to Anna’s hammock, began to sob. “I’m going to die. Oh, I’ve been so wicked.”

  Anna hopped out of her hammock and crouched near Lizzie. “Hush, now. It’s just a storm. It’ll soon pass. Bairn told me so himself. He promised he would keep us safe.” She spoke each word with care to keep the panic edge from her tone. But panic clenched at her middle with the notion of confinement in the lower decks, enduring the tumult of the raging storm, for who knew how long? The whining, the stale air, the sickness.

  Rain dripped down on them, seeping through the cracks of the planks and holes in the hatch covering, pouring in with blasts of wind and spray through the cannon portals. Anna saw Felix sit up on his pallet to peer out the portal and went over to sit by him, tiptoeing carefully around Dorothea, who was sleeping soundly. God’s mercy. Her melancholy had taken another turn for the worse after she heard details of Decker’s death, and she went about her days teary-eyed, silent, exhausted.

  “Are you scared?”

  “No. Are you?”

  Felix shook his head a little too vigorously, but she knew he’d never admit to feeling frightened if she didn’t. “Do you think we’re sinking?”

  Such a thought hadn’t occurred to her. Not yet. She hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to think about the thunder and lightning that was rocking the ship. “‘All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.’”

  “Who said that?”

  “St. Julian of Norwich. An English mystic. When she was young, she was very ill. She said that she had sixteen visits from Jesus during her illness.”

  Felix turned toward her. “Maybe Jesus will come visit us and still the storm.”

  “But that’s exactly the point. That’s exactly what St. Julian of Norwich discovered. Jesus was right in the midst of her distress.”

  Felix pressed his knees together. “Solid-gold fact?”

  “Solid-gold.”

  He turned back toward the cannon portal. “Maybe I should go help Bairn.”

  “Help how?”

  “Shorten sails. Tie knots. Cook has taught me some.”

  “I heard that Cook woke one morning with his feet tied together.” She reached into her trunk to take out a tin of crackers and held it out to him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Bairn told me that working a ship in heavy weather was dangerous. He said that even the most seasoned sailor could be snatched off the deck and dragged into the sea. He said the sea has buried many a friend and shipmate.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay below deck until the storm passes. You are not yet a seasoned sailor.”

  Thunder pealed above the trembling ship, so loud Anna’s ears hurt. The Charming Nancy rose on a heavy swell, lunging left, tilting the ship to such an angle that passengers were pitched, bodies and bed linens, onto the deck. The tin flew from Felix’s fingers and landed on Dorothea. Felix’s mother rose onto her elbows in fright.

  “It’s nothing to fear, Dorothea,” Anna said in her most soothing voice. “Just a little rain.”

  “A little rain?” Dorothea asked. “It sounds like a deluge.” She sat up. “Felix, come away from the window. You’ll catch a cold.”

  It was nearly as wet above the ocean as it was below. Everything felt wet: clothes, shoes, beddings, books, hair, skin. They were cold, and the sea’s roughness sent their belongings sliding back and forth across the floor so much that they gave up putting them back. All they could do was to huddle together in the dark and gloomy lower deck.

  Felix spent some time tending the animals, then brought cups of water to Anna and his mother. “Did you know that Georg Schultz didn’t return with the captain?”

  “Really?” Anna was delighted. “How do you know that?”

  “I heard Captain Stedman tell Bairn that Georg Schultz had learned of one more ship to sail, the Townshend, so he set off to Cowes to round up additional passengers for the ship. The captain said that Georg Schultz is always following a pot of gold.”

  Dorothea frowned at him. “Felix, what have I told you about eavesdropping?” She lifted her chin. “Wer lauert an die Wand, heert sei eegni Schand.” He who eavesdrops by the wall will hear that which shames himself.

  Anna didn’t mind Felix’s eavesdropping so much. He had a talent for it. In fact, she couldn’t help but smile at this turn of events. One thing, at least, was going in the right direction.

  12

  July 19th, 1737

  The rain that had begun as a light wind and drizzle as they left Plymouth did not stop. It had rained as it had never rained before. Captain Stedman jested that they could turn the ship upside down and row without making much difference in their progress.

  Bairn was relieved that the captain was able to make a jest. That meant that he wasn’t too worried. Not yet.

  On the afternoon of the second day, a hard rain continued to pound the decks and lashed in windswept fury against Bairn’s face and chest. “Hard-a-lee,” he shouted to Miles Carter, who was struggling to man the wheel. Bairn went to help him put down the wheel and turned the ship’s head. Bairn followed the circuit of the Charming Nancy’s bowsprit as she came round, then snapped his gaze to the sails as she picked up the wind from her other quarter. Gusts wailed through the rigging with a shrill loud enough to curl an old salt’s toes.

  As the ship swung past the eye of the wind, his trained and discerning eye took measure. He ran down the deck to the top of the ladder. “She still carries too much sail,” he yelled to the captain, who stood on the waist.

  “Aye. Reef the main upper topsail.”

  Cupping his mouth, Bairn shouted to repeat the order over to the half deck, where three crew stood waiting. The wind carried back the faint echo of “Aye, sir!”

  The three agile seamen started up into the rigging. It was precarious business to climb on those lofty, slick footropes, balancing against the roll and pitch of the sea, but Bairn had faith in the skill of them. The wind whipped ferociously around them, filling the sails and turning them into snapping sheets of unforgiving canvas, heavy and wet with spray. Twenty . . . forty . . . sixty feet and upward they continued to scale to reach the main mast. Reducing sail was tricky business in fair weather. In a gale like this, such a feat could seem near impossible. In the midst of this, a fierce wave exploded against the ship’s topsides, straining every timber that held the ship together, and a loud crack vibrated through the entire deck. Instantly, Bairn and the captain locked eyes.

  “I’ll find out what it was,” Bairn shouted.

  He walked the entire deck, checking spars and masts.

  A sailor emerged from the hatch that closed the companionway and met him with frightened eyes. “A beam cracked below deck.”

  Nay. He must be wrong. “What d’you mean, a beam? Which beam?”

  “The center beam that holds the ship in one piece.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I seen it crack with me own eyes. You can go below and see it for yerself.”

  Bairn went to the lower deck, holding a kerchief over his nose and mouth to mask the stench. He lit a lantern and waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim light, then he strode quickly to the center beam.

  The structural timber had a split running lengthwise through its center, cracking like a dried twig. The sailor’s corner of his mind, developed over the last eleven years, realized the imminent danger they were in. If the timber split in two, the ship would blow apart into pieces.

  Panic clawed at his stomach, his heart started to pound, his legs were shaking so that he had diffic
ulty standing upright. He wambled, felt himself swaying.

  But he must not show any reaction. He conjured Captain John Stedman’s voice in his head, telling him to remain calm in the face of the direst situation. Never let your crew know if you’re flustered, scared, distraught. He had seen his share of perilous situations in the years he had been on a ship and not once had Bairn seen the captain become flustered. “You may have hysterics afterward,” Captain Stedman would admonish Bairn, “but not during the crisis.”

  “Vas dat de loud noise?”

  Bairn looked down to see Felix peering up at the beam. “Aye. Dinnae fash yerself over it, laddie.”

  “Can you fix?”

  Bairn ran a hand along the crack. “I ken not.”

  “My papa says the right . . . Waerkzeich . . .”

  “Tools?”

  “Ja. Tools. Tools can fix all tings.”

  Bairn gave him a pat on the head. “Your papa is a wise man.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t a tool on board able to fix a crack like that. “The captain is waitin’ fer me. Get in bed and hunker down. The storm hasn’t worn itself out yet.”

  Bairn bolted up the companionway to scud carefully along the deck, holding on to the railing, to reach the Great Cabin. The captain sat at his table, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if holding it together. He didn’t look up when Bairn came in. “Tell me. Nay, dinnae tell me.”

  “’Twas the beam that supports the main mast. A crack through the center.” He paused to allow the captain a moment to absorb the gravity of the situation. “Sir, the structural integrity of the ship ’tis at stake.”

  The captain covered his face with his hands. “I made a serious error in leaving Plymouth when we did. I was eager to get the voyage under way and thought we could outrun the storm. I dinnae give enough consideration to the boxy hull of this ship. And here we are in the middle of a fierce storm, with a cracked timber. I dinnae ken what to do.” He dropped his chin on his chest and covered his hands with his face. “Mayhap we should turn back,” he muffled.

  Turning back posed as much danger as pushing forward.

  Giving this captain a suggestion was tricky business, so Bairn treaded carefully. There was an invisible boundary around the captain that he would not let others cross, and he could be sensitive about his authority. You could never quite be sure what might set him off or shut him down. “As I see it, sir, we have two problems. The beam we can do naught about fer now, but the storm we might be able to do somethin’ about.”

  The captain dropped his hands and lifted his head. “Such as?”

  “There was a time when your brother faced a storm like this, when he had run out of options.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He had the ship lie ahull.”

  “Dinnae talk mince.”

  “I’m not talkin’ rubbish.”

  The captain leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, gripping himself hard. “All sails down?”

  “Aye.”

  “What happened?”

  “Then her helm was secured leeward and her shoulder was kept to the sea.”

  “And what if she just wallows in the great troughs? What if her masts threaten to roll out?”

  Bairn leaned the palms of his hands on the tabletop. “Sir, ’tis already happenin’.”

  “What happened to John’s ship?”

  “The ship stopped fightin’ the elements. She was perfectly balanced and sat like a contented duck.”

  A ray of hope lit the captain’s eyes. “That would take pressure off the beam. At least for now.”

  “Aye. One crisis at a time.”

  The captain dropped his head for a moment. Bairn wondered if he was thinking or praying. He lifted his chin and looked straight at Bairn. “Do it.”

  Bairn rushed outside. “Furl the sails. Tie everythin’ down on deck.”

  The sailors stared at him with blank looks on their faces, as if he might be crazy, so he repeated himself, even more loudly. “Have her topgallants and courses sheeted down.” His booming voice projected over the creaks and groans of the ship’s timber and the wind as it whistled through the sails. Seamen leapt to their tasks, some working the ropes, others beginning the lofty climb up the ratlines.

  As soon as the sails were furled and secured, everything on deck tied down, he ordered the helmsman to secure the ship leeward.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh God, please help.” It occurred to him that he was praying, though he wasn’t a praying man.

  Something remarkable happened as soon as the ship’s bow swung into the wind. Her topsides, under empty masts, steadied the ship’s motion. The ship found its balancing point, lying more or less quietly, bobbing like a cork on the water’s surface despite the tumult of the squall. After being ruthlessly tossed and turned by the waves, after suffering an injury as serious as a cracked beam, the little ship was finally at peace.

  In the lower deck, a sudden change occurred. Instead of the dramatic movement that lashed passengers from side to side, hurling them out of beds, the movements became as gentle as a cradle. Anna crept on hands and knees to the cannon portal, shocked by what she saw outside. Outside, the howling gale continued to rage and whip the sea with astonishing violence. Inside, the ship had somehow found her still point.

  Anxiety had bubbled in Anna’s belly all morning, but it started now to give way to a delicate sense of calm. Her thoughts were with Bairn out in the gale. She’d seen the look of concern on his face. Life was so precious, so tenuous. It could be altered in an instant. She had never believed this to be more true than she did right now.

  Keep Bairn safe, Lord. Please keep him safe.

  She looked around and saw people return to their bunks and pallets. A gentle quiet settled over the lower deck. The ship felt easy under them, sleek and lithe. It seemed to be past time for words, until Christian rose to his feet in the middle aisle and read from Psalm 91 in his Bible, offering heartfelt thanks.

  “‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday . . . For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways . . . With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.’”

  A sudden revelation paid a visit to Anna. This was the point of the story of St. Julian of Norwich and her long illness.

  Even in the midst of great gales, they could know peace.

  July 20th, 1737

  After such a night, how could she sleep a wink? And yet Anna woke to a piercing beam of bright sunlight pouring through the cannon portal. Her eyes blew open. The storm was over.

  By midmorning, the lower deck was cleaned, chamber pots emptied, soiled clothes washed and hung to dry. While the air was dank, it wasn’t nearly as fetid as it had been the last few days. She was just about to call Felix and Catrina together for an English lesson when she saw Bairn come down the companionway ladder with the captain and first mate behind him. He looked exhausted, his long hair was tousled, and a day’s growth of beard—maybe more—darkened his chin. Bairn cast her an enigmatic glance as he strode over to examine the cracked beam.

  The captain, Mr. Pocock, and Bairn gathered around the beam, murmuring together, then Christian approached, motioning to Anna to join them to translate.

  “I doot we can keep going, not with a cracked beam,” the captain said. “I fear we will have to turn back to England.”

  Christian waited for Anna to translate, then he gave her an answer.

  “Christian might have a solution.”

  The captain s
tared at Anna solemnly but said nothing, arching one thick brow.

  “We brought a tool to help build houses in the New World. It’s a device used to lift heavy objects.”

  Bairn cocked his head. “A screw jack?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s a roof raiser.”

  “Aye,” Bairn said. “I ken what it is. Where is it?”

  “Down in the hold.”

  Bairn frowned. “It could take days to find it.”

  Felix emerged from the shadows and tugged on Bairn’s elbow. “I know vhere it sitz.”

  “And how do you know?” Bairn whispered. “Have you been prowlin’ down in the hold as well as up in the holy of holies?”

  Felix shrugged.

  Christian leaned over to tell Anna something. She listened, then turned to Bairn. “Christian says he is confident it could hold the beam together.”

  “What do you think, Bairn?” Captain Stedman asked, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and covering his nose with it.

  “We’ve got nothing to lose by givin’ it a try. And if it works, we have everything to gain.”

  Bairn and Christian and Felix disappeared down the hatch into the hold to find the barrel that contained the screw jack. If Bairn thought the stench of the lower deck was bad, being so close to the sour bilge was enough to make a grown man weep. He covered his mouth with two handkerchiefs and wished for more. Christian and Felix carried none and he marveled at their endurance. Felix pointed out the barrel that held the screw jack, blessedly close to the hatch. Christian and Bairn attached the barrel to chains while Felix held the lantern above their heads. Christian’s hands, Bairn noticed, were big, blunt-fingered, rough farmer’s hands, yet he seemed to manage the tangle of chains hanging from the capstan as if he had wrestled many a barrel.

  As soon as the barrel was secured, Bairn called up to hoist the chains. Seamen high above pulled and pulled, and soon the barrel was lifted to the lower deck. Bairn and Felix and Christian climbed the ladder and unhooked the barrel. As Bairn jammed his adze under the lid of the barrel, he hoped Felix was right and that this was the barrel that held the screw jack. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of descending to the hold again. As the lid pried off, Christian lifted it, peered inside, and smiled broadly. “Ja, ja.”