Into His Arms (5 page)

“Santa Maria Magdalena, do not leave me. I am ready to captain this ship, I am. I have been second-in-command for a very long time. The saints have been very good to me, and I am most grateful. But it is a lot of responsibility, and the sea is fickle. I ask your help, because the ship is named for you,
Magdalena
. Diego is not perfect, but neither were you, eh?” He chuckled a bit, as if he and the reformed sinner were old friends, but his merriment was feigned and didn’t last.

“Maybe I am a little afraid. Our captain is dead of a fever that I pray does not linger on our ship. I lost many friends in Panama City. So now I’m not so sure as I once was. You think I am a coward, maybe? I admit, I am a little worried, but I am not a coward. I will challenge these pirates who steal the gold from our ships and cities. Gold that should go to Spain and then to the Church. I will make you proud.”

He crossed himself and stood. Men’s lives rested on his decisions, as did his employer’s cargo—an employer who did not know that Diego was now the captain of his ship.

*

Even as she quietly led one of her father’s horses down the darkened street in the middle of the village, Faith wished that she had had the nerve to press one last kiss to little David’s brow. She walked past Noah and Esther’s house, and felt a wave of pure rage at the unfairness of it all. Likely as not, she would never see her twin brother’s child. Like her, the child might well never know that he or she had an aunt.

But the rage didn’t last. If she were entirely honest with herself, there was a sense of adventure that quickened her pulse every bit as much as her anger and nervousness. Once she was beyond the village, she mounted the horse and rode as fast as she dared toward Boston.

She tried her best to focus upon the sound of the horse’s hooves on the packed dirt road, ignoring the rustling of night creatures in the forest that flanked her. When she was a child, she had been told many a tale of the witches and demons that stalked the woods at night. Such stories were not merely told as fairytales. They were intended as very real warnings about the dangers that lurked in the wilderness that was, as yet, untouched by the light of God’s Word. Long ago, Faith had begun to question such wild stories, but on this night, ever so aware of the many sins she had taken upon her soul, she eyed the dense blackness. It would not have surprised her to find that burning red eyes peered at her from the roadside.

At last, she reached the outskirts of Boston, unmolested by any agents of Satan. Quickly, she tied the horse to the little fence that surrounded one of the churches her father had helped to build pews for. Surely the minister would recognize the mount and see to it that it was returned.

Even in the dark of night, Faith was able to find the ship
Destiny
. Though she suffered a thousand doubts about her reckless plan, she had no doubt at all that this ship was the answer to her prayer. How else might it be that she should learn of her aunt in Jamaica, then stumble upon a ship leaving just in time to take her there? Surely this was certain proof that God never intended her to be Owen Williams’s bride!

Her confidence wavered as she looked up the tall side of the intimidating vessel. The watchman leaned upon the rail where a lantern sat and cast flickers of light and shadow across his face. What came next? How foolish she felt. Surely even a novice to the sea would have assumed there would be some watch and that she could not stride, bold as brass, onto the deck of the ship. Under her arm, she had tucked her best summer dress of indigo cotton along with a clean shift, coif, and apron. She also carried with her a metal pail that held six tallow candles, a striker and flint with which to light them, and a small quantity of food. She planned to make her way to the ship’s galley late at night when they were underway. Would there be some unconsidered complication there, as well?

Another man came to the rail, and after exchanging a few words and a laugh, they both turned and vanished from sight. There was no time to contemplate further consequences. Faith pulled her shoes from her feet, wincing at the cold ground beneath them, and ran silently up the gangplank. No sooner had she reached the top than she saw the two men across the deck, and she quickly ducked behind a barrel. She curled up tightly, pulling her skirts in beside her. Behind a veil of clouds, the moon glowed dully, and Faith watched the lantern light as it moved across the deck, certain her short breath and pounding heart would reveal her presence to the two men. They returned to the gangplank, speaking softly.

“‘Tis a wonder the cap’n’ll wait fer ‘im,” the watchman pondered. He held the lantern aloft and seemed to gaze somewhere out into the dark docks beyond.

“We cannot sail without our carpenter, that’s sure. Well, I’ll keep a sharp eye for ‘im. Ye can turn in now,” the newcomer suggested.

It was a marvel that they could not hear her heart hammering in her chest or the blood pounding in her ears. Looking sharply through a pale mist, she realized that her breath was coming out in little puffs of steam, and she worried that it, too, might give her away. Clapping a hand over her mouth availed her naught, for the steam simply drifted from her nostrils instead. So she breathed as little as possible and watched from the shadows as the first man descended a ladder to the lower decks of the ship. The new watchman lit his long pipe, filling the air with the pungent scent of tobacco, and hummed softly to himself. By her best reckoning, Faith thought she had a bit more than an hour until dawn. By then she had to be safely tucked away in the hold or she would surely be discovered!

Faintly, at first, she heard the strains of a drunkard’s ribald song on the dock below, but it came louder, until the watchman called down to the caterwauling man. “Ahoy there, Ken Taylor, ye drunken fool! We’re to sail in a few hours time! Whoa there, a few steps more and ye’ll be in the drink! Wait there a minute and let a friend get ye on board.”

The man clenched his pipe tightly between his teeth and mumbled a few choice words around it as he descended the gangplank. The invisible drunk called out a hearty welcome, the sound of which cut through the quiet night like the serrated edge of a knife.

Again the hand of Providence seemed to have given her a brief opportunity, and Faith took it. She bolted across the deck and descended the same ladder she had seen the first man go down. It was surprisingly dark below deck. A bit of weak moonlight spilled through the hatch, but there was neither a lantern nor candle lit anywhere. She paused, listening intently.

Merciful heavens,
she thought,
what have I gotten myself into?
She could barely make out the dark shapes that surrounded her, but the sounds were unmistakable— snoring! She might not be able to see, but there was no question that she had stumbled upon a goodly number of sleeping sailors! She didn’t move, fearing that she might trip and make some noise in the dark, but above her she heard the watchman dragging the inebriated Mr. Taylor to the hatch. In the meager light from the opening, she made out a clear passage to the wall, and she raced to it, pressing herself against it in the shadows.

The two men made their cautious way down the ladder, the watchman carrying the lantern. They moved away from her, keeping her out of its halo of light, but affording her a glimpse of her surroundings. Indeed the floor was packed with slumbering men, none sober if her nose was any judge of them. Still, there was something of a path among them, and she should be able to make it to the next hatch and into the hold when the two new arrivals left. To her dismay, the sailors weren’t the only living occupants of the lower deck, and she stifled a scream at the rat that scampered quickly over her stocking foot. Perhaps this would be more difficult than she had anticipated.

The watchman tried to settle the carpenter into a relatively comfortable spot and resume his duties on deck, but the drunkard wrapped his arm around the other man’s neck.

“Stay awhile yet, Lucy. There’s lovely gold coin in it fer ye,” he mumbled in a sing-song voice.

“Lucy!” the watchman muttered. “Do I feel like yer Lucy to ye?” He took the man’s hand and put it on his whisker-stubbled face.

“Well,” the carpenter slurred, “ye’re a might hairier than I thought. Ye don’t smell as good, neither.” He heaved a plaintive sigh into the watchman’s face.

“Ugh!” the watchman cried, “ye’re a fine one to be talkin’ about smells, Taylor. Now lemme go.”

The one called Taylor peered up at his companion. “Yer not so fair as I thought either.”

“Sleep it off, man.”

Taylor mumbled something else, and as quickly as that, he was snoring with the rest of the crew. Faith had been certain that the commotion would wake those around them, but no one stirred. The watchman muttered a few more profanities, then ascended the ladder back up to the deck.

The moment his feet disappeared through the hatch, Faith stepped quickly through the darkness in the direction of an opening that she hoped led to the lowest level. She had been sure of her direction, so she was completely stunned when she kicked something and it gave a muffled curse.

Tears stung her eyes, and she didn’t dare move. She fought to keep her breathing silent and felt sweat trickle down her sides and between her breasts as she waited for the sailor she had roused to fall back into a deep slumber. When she tasted blood, she realized that she had bitten her lip in agitation. At last, she heard his breathing grow steady, and with considerably more caution, she picked her way to the hatch.

Greater courage it required by far to descend into the darkest bowels of the ship. Though she could see nothing, she recognized all too well the scurrying and squeaking that carried to her sensitive ears. Rats! Dearest God, how many? A damp, musty smell drifted up to her, and the air around her felt clammy and stagnant the farther she descended. She paused on the rungs of the ladder and conjured in her mind the cold, fanatical eyes of the man who would be her husband. This alone gave her the nerve to continue her descent.

At the bottom, she dared to strike a light, stifling cries of terror at the hundreds of little creatures that swarmed around her until she lit her candle and the beasts became shadows that darted beyond its illumination.

The hold was crowded with barrels and crates, but she found a nook that would serve her well. The candle seemed to hold the rodents at bay, but she dared not leave it lit long, risking discovery. Finally, she screwed up her courage and blew it out. At first, she sensed rather than felt the horrid beasts, but soon they ventured forward, squeaking and skittering. Constant motion seemed her only defense, and while she shooed them away, she found it easier to deal with them by thinking of other things.

It seemed unreal. Days before, the course of her life had been certain if unsatisfying. She had tried to be a dutiful and obedient daughter, and she had truly cared for the others in her village, gladly giving them what help and kindness she could. Of course, her theology taught her that mere good works did not move God—it was divine grace alone that saved the souls of the righteous. She had always hoped that that, with proper self-discipline, she would vanquish her doubts and weaknesses. Now, it seemed that she had been counting on grace that belonged to her family members alone.

The thought of her family only deepened her misgivings. It had been all well and good to flee from Reverend Williams to an exotic island far away. But there was another side to this venture. She was leaving behind a home and parents that had sheltered her all through her youth. David and Isaiah would grow to manhood without her. Noah, the twin brother she had cherished all her life, would father children she would never meet. She was turning her back on the church that had guided her every step, and for what? To venture out upon a wide ocean that could well swallow her whole? And if it did not, she could find herself friendless upon an island peopled by pirates and ne’er-do-wells.

There in the dark, surrounded by rats, she utterly doubted her place among the elect. And yet, even that basic tenet of Puritan theology buckled in the dankness of the ship’s hold. How could her life’s path be preordained when she had taken such bold strides to forge her own way? Mayhap God had provided the means, but it was she who had found the courage to answer the call.

She felt a little better, contemplating her own bravery, and the ship rocked gently in the harbor. At last, her mind succumbed to the past two sleepless nights. Rats or no rats, she drifted into dreamless slumber.

When she awoke, the ship rocked with a violence entirely unlike the gentle sway that had lulled her to sleep. The hold was still dark, though the dimmest light fell from the hatch. Suddenly aware of the creatures that roamed freely across her prostrate form, Faith jumped up, and they scampered to safety. The boat pitched, and she fell against a crate, trying to steady herself and gain her bearings.

She had just thought to seek her provisions when the first faint inklings of nausea hit. She would have to wait for it to pass. Nevertheless, she sought her pail for good measure and gave a soft cry of dismay to find it empty! The retched beasts had devoured everything, even her tallow candles!

Frustrated and overwhelmed, she curled into an abject little ball in her space between the crates. Had she seriously mistaken the significance of the ship and its name? This didn’t seem to be her deliverance at all! The turmoil of her thoughts mimicked the pitch of the vessel, none of which helped her queasiness. She groaned as she realized that she could no longer keep the meager contents of her stomach, and she reached hurriedly for her pail.

At first, seasickness left her merely miserable, but as the hours passed she became parched. Her throat burned, her empty stomach heaved until her back and ribs ached torturously. Doubled over with ruthless cramps, she lost the strength and will to brush away the rats. Through her dry, cracking lips she began to pray.

“Dear merciful God, please let me die. Take me from this earthly torture. Bring me to Your heavenly home, or if it be Your will, the fires of hell, but deliver me from this infernal, pitching torture chamber!”