The Deepest Waters, A Novel (18 page)

Laura’s head dropped. Her legs suddenly felt as if they might give way. She gripped the rail. She didn’t know why hearing this steamship man should make any difference, but it did. He had just officially announced something she’d known to be true since the first night she boarded this ship. But it hit her now with the force of finality. There was no reason to pretend anymore. It was time to face a fact she could no longer ignore.

She looked up as hundreds of mournful cries suddenly unleashed through the air. Dozens of women fainted and fell to the ground. Men shouted and shook their fists toward the steamship office door. But no one came out. Why would they? There was nothing left to say.

She realized just then that she was standing at the very place she was supposed to be. The place where the long voyage from San Francisco to New York was supposed to end. But nothing else—not a single thing she and John had talked about—had gone according to plan. She was completely alone.

She remembered John’s words, the last words he’d spoken to her when they parted.

The note
.

It was time.

She reached for the pouch. But a great commotion caught her eye. She looked up and noticed most of the crowd dispersing. She must hurry. John’s family was out there. And now they knew he hadn’t survived. Without him beside her, how would she find them? John meant for her to read the note when she was sure he had not survived. Perhaps he’d written something more about them, something that would help them find each other when she arrived.

Her hands trembled as she loosened the pouch from her belt. She sat on a crate and tried to untie the knot around the pouch, but it wouldn’t give. It had gotten wet. She couldn’t pull it free.

She looked up again. Half the crowd was gone.
Please, Lord. Help me get this free
.

Finally, it came loose. She pulled the string, and the pouch opened, like the petals of a black flower. John’s note rested on top of the gold nuggets. She pulled it out and held it in both hands.

These were his last words to her.

She unfolded the paper. Tears fell on the page. She quickly looked away.
The ink will smear
. She took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure.

The tears finally cleared enough to read.

My beloved Laura,

If you are reading this, then you are now convinced that death has parted us. I fully expected to grow old with you, my love; to live out days, weeks, months, and years together. The thought of it has provided me the greatest joy. But if we are parting so soon, there are some things you absolutely must know.

First . . . my life, before discovering your love, was like a harsh journey up a steep incline, only to reach a landing and find myself staring out at the most magnificent view. Your love has been breathtaking. I hadn’t lived before you came, merely existed.

Second . . . and sadly, there is some news to tell you. I hate that you are finding out this way; I have only myself to blame. My parents don’t know that we are married, only that I am coming home. I intended our arrival as a married couple to be a surprise. But I could not be certain they’d find it a happy one. I have only hinted to you about the degree of estrangement which exists between me and my family, hoping that when you finally met them in New York, they would fully accept you (and me). I held out some hope that we might have a pleasant visit, a new beginning. But I also knew the possibility existed that they would reject us both, for reasons too complicated to explain here.

Please forgive me for any hardship I’ve caused you by withholding this information. Adding to your grief is the last thing I want to do. Laura, you must know this, and cling to this for all the years you remain on this earth . . . my last thoughts will be of you, and only you. I will think of your face, your smile, the love I have cherished in your eyes, our precious conversations.

If it must be so, that I am to sink into the deepest waters below, you are and will always remain my only love.

John

Laura fell to the deck.

The note fell from her hand.

Joel couldn’t believe it. He was actually crying.

The tears just came; it didn’t make sense. He didn’t think of John anymore, hadn’t given him a moment’s energy in two years, until his mother had asked him to check the ship’s schedule two days ago. He must compose himself; the carriage was just one block from the Foster home.

Perhaps he should have the driver turn left up ahead, not right. Head for the Foster Insurance office downtown. By rights, his father should be told. He should be the one to break the news to his wife. It was his responsibility, not Joel’s.

The carriage came to the last intersection. Joel let the moment slip away.

His father would have accepted the task, but all the while he’d have despised Joel for forcing it upon him. He would know Joel had allowed a moment of weakness to overtake him and come running to Daddy. And we couldn’t have that, could we? The Foster family empire had been built on firm resolve and steel will. No place for weakness or sentiment. Such was the sad lot of women and the infirm. And weak men . . . like John.

Why couldn’t the old man have been the one who died instead of John?

The carriage stopped. He heard the driver climb down. The carriage door opened. Joel exited, his eyes fixed on the large mahogany door. It opened before he reached the knob.

He handed Beryl his top hat and coat but couldn’t look him in the eye. A memory flashed into his mind. Beryl with a full head of hair, bouncing John on his knee in the parlor, then both of them being scolded by his father as he left for work. “Not what I pay you for, Beryl,” his father had said.

Beryl had loved John dearly.

Allison rushed out from her room upstairs. She looked over the balcony, and her eyes instantly locked onto his.

Joel shook his head . . . no.

Allison fell to the floor, sobbing. The tears continued as Joel walked slowly up the stairs. Another image. John and Allison playing hide-and-seek in the backyard garden. Joel, the big brother, sent to put an end to their destruction of the begonia beds. As a child, he had never played with his siblings, with either one of them.

He turned left at the head of the stairs and bent over her, patting her gently on the back. She didn’t respond. He stood up and looked at the closed door leading to his mother’s room.

Foster men are strong
.

But he didn’t feel strong. Still, he walked straight to the door and opened it without allowing another memory to ambush him along the way. His mother lay across the bed, fully dressed, her body turned away from the door. He walked around the bed quietly, hoping to find her asleep. But her eyes were open, staring blankly at some fixed spot on the wall.

He came close and bent down. She didn’t look at him. He touched her shoulder gently, and she looked at his eyes. “I know,” she said. “I know John is gone.”

“They announced that none of the six men had any family in New York,” he said.

She sighed deeply. “I’m sorry for sending you. As soon as you left, I knew he couldn’t be among so few in number.”

John was surprised to find her so calm. “Are you . . . all right, Mother?”

She sat up. “For the moment. I have no more tears.”

He looked at the china cup by her night table. “Can I get you some tea?”

“I suppose,” she said.

“Something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

A few quiet moments passed. “I should probably go and tell Father, then Evelyn.”

“You do that,” she said. “I’ll be here. I have nowhere to go.”

He stood up. She reached for his hand and squeezed firmly. “Thank you, Joel.”

He forced a smile, then turned and left quickly. Another moment and he would lose control completely. As he came to the front door, Beryl stood at the ready, as always, coat and hat in hand. “Beryl, be a good man,” he said. “Make sure Mother doesn’t see the newspaper for the next several days.”

“I understand, sir.”

“And could you have someone get her some tea?”

John awoke to a warm breeze blowing on his face. He still felt motion beneath him, but it was subtle and stable. He heard voices, in English and some other language. But perhaps the best thing was that he heard footsteps on wood.

“Wondered if you’d sleep right through lunch.”

John lifted his head and looked into Robert’s face. Behind him, big, white, beautiful sails flapped in the wind. He saw rigging and men going up and down on the shrouds. He smelled coffee.

“There’s still some gruel left,” Robert said. “It’s been sitting a few hours, but when I ate it, I could have sworn it rivaled the finest omelet I ever tasted.”

John smiled.
I’m going to see Laura again
.

It was the best possible thought. No other thought even mattered. He sat up. He wanted to shout in the worst way, to properly express his gratitude to God for life itself. He was safe. The sentence of death reprieved.

“Want me to get you a bowl?”

“That would be wonderful, Robert. What time is it?”

“Not sure, but well after eleven o’clock.”

“Where is the ambassador?”

“Up by the bow, taking in the view. Be right back with your food. Care for some coffee?”

“Can you believe it, Robert? You’re asking if I want coffee?”

Tears welled up in Robert’s eyes. “I was sure seawater would be my final drink.” He turned and walked away.

John stood up and headed for the rail. The sky was a royal blue with a few scattered clouds. The sea had a light chop, and the ship moved through it at a solid clip. He turned and surveyed the ship more closely.
Thank God, a ship
. It had three masts, square-rigged. No damage that he could see. Must have missed the hurricane altogether. He looked to the top of the mainmast, eyed the Dutch flag. That was the foreign language he’d heard.

Last night the captain had said his name and the ship’s name, but John could remember neither. He looked back toward the wheel, saw a man on the quarterdeck with an air of authority standing beside it. John had seen the captain briefly last night, but it had been so dark. This man looked like him. John wanted to thank him, but Robert was coming back.

Robert held out a bowl and a tin cup with coffee. “Not a lot of food in there. The captain said he’d feed us better at lunch, and even better at dinner. Something to do with our stomachs having shrunk while we were adrift. I don’t really care. I’m happy just having fresh water to drink. And this coffee.”

“I can’t believe we are rescued,” John said. “That we’re actually going home.”

“I know,” said Robert. “I’ll see Mary and the children. I didn’t think—” He choked back tears. “I have you to thank for that, John. I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

“You don’t owe me, Robert.”

“I do, you saved my life. Several times. On the
Vandervere
, out on the raft. Even last night . . . the ambassador told me what you did, diving in after me when the raft overturned.”

“Did he also tell you I almost drowned?”

“He did. I don’t know what I would have done if you had survived a shipwreck and all that time on the raft, only to have drowned during our rescue.”

John smiled. “I’ll be relieved to get off the water. I’m wishing we didn’t have to sail back to San Francisco, after we visit my family, that is.” What an odd thing to say, he thought. He’d said it as if nothing in their plans had changed. He took a bite of food and swallowed, then looked down. “Laura must be having a terrible time right now. I can’t believe the mess I’ve put her in.”

“Because she thinks we didn’t survive?”

“It’s worse than that.” John explained the situation more fully, the content of his note, the implications. Robert’s changing expressions confirmed that it really was as bad as John feared. “I don’t even know where she is right now,” he said.

“The
Cutlass
must have already docked in New York,” Robert said.

“But no one in my family even knows she’s coming.”

“She has the gold. She should be all right until you arrive.”

“I suppose,” said John. But the pain and loneliness she must be feeling right now. He ached to see her, to comfort her. “I wonder where we are now, how far till we reach New York.”

“The captain gave a little speech, but you slept through it. He said we’re less than a day from Norfolk, so that’s where he’s taking us. He’s just come across the Atlantic and is low on provisions.”

John was relieved to hear they were so close to land. He sipped his coffee again. It was a wonder in itself.

“I’m not sure,” said Robert, “how I’ll find my family once we arrive. Mary had planned to meet me in New York. Now she thinks I’m dead. I don’t know if she’s still there or has taken a train back to Boston.”

John wondered the same. Where was Laura? What was she doing right now? How would they find each other once he came into town?

“But it will turn out all right,” said Robert. “If God can appoint a bird to hit a sea captain in the head, cause that captain to change course, then steer him right through the middle of our group in the dark of night, then I suppose he can reunite us with our families.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Robert?” John finished his last spoonful.

“That’s right. You didn’t hear Captain Houtman’s story. It’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever heard.” Robert pulled up a barrel and sat. “It was a miracle, John, of biblical proportions.”