Secrets of the Realm (13 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sailors prepared the Realm for her journey back to England. Provisions were replenished and the cargo hold filled with deerskins, rice, timber and barrels of indigo. Aft of the cannons, where chickens roosted in their cages, Christopher herded pigs into a pen.

"Thanks for helping, Andrés."

Annie cuddled a lamb in her arms. "I am sorry you did most of the work, Christopher, but have you ever seen anything so cute?"

"Don't get too attached. His days are numbered."

Annie covered the lamb's ears. "You didn't hear that, Wooly."

 "Now don't go naming the captain's dinner, Andrés."

*     *     *

On the quarterdeck, Annie looked up into the scarlet sky, beautiful, yet ominous all at the same time. "It's going to be a bad one," Annie said.

"Red sky in morning, sailors take warning," Christopher said.

The wind picked up as lightening flashed across the grey sky. Sails were shortened, cargo and water casks secured. By early afternoon, the morning drizzle had turned into a downpour. Waves surged over the bow and seawater seeped into the passageways.

Captain Hawke shouted above the deafening roar of the storm, "Andrés, Palmer go below and assist Doc."

Annie believed her greatest challenge would be steadying patients while Doc set broken bones. She was wrong. 

Four bells into the afternoon watch, the ship pitched violently sending Annie and Palmer to their knees. Doc braced himself against the bookshelf. He looked up at the overhead. Doc said under his breath, "It is going to be bad."

Annie and Palmer looked at each other. They both wondered what Doc knew that they didn't.

Doc's foreboding prediction proved true when Smitty stumbled into the cabin, his hand pressed firmly against his bleeding cheek. "Christopher's been hurt real bad, Doc. After Symington cuts him free, they will bring him down."

Annie twisted her shirt button. "Cut him free from what?"

Waiting for Doc to suture his cheek, Smitty only stared at Annie.

"What happened?!" Annie demanded.

"He can't talk now," Doc said as he did the first stitch.

After stitching up Smitty's cheek, Doc said, "The mast broke in two. Am I right?"

Smitty looked out the corner of his eye at a jagged scar running the length of his forearm. "The last time it happened, you sewed me up real good, Doc."

Annie could barely catch her breath. "This time, Smitty, what happened this time?"

"One of the sails unfurled. The wind caught it and the mizzenmast split in two just below the topgallant. That is when the yardarm went clear through him."

Annie refused to believe it. "You're lying!"

"I wish I was, Andrés."

"He's still alive?" Palmer whispered.

After what seemed like an eternity, Annie watched Perry and Rodrigues carry Christopher into the cabin. Nothing could have prepared her as she watched in horror at Barrette supporting Christopher's mid-section where Symington had neatly sawed off the yardarm. It jutted out several inches, front to back.

"On his side. Careful." Doc's voice didn't waver. "Steady."

If Annie didn't know any better, she would have thought Doc was directing something no more serious than a sprained ankle.

"Palmer, get a blanket. Andrés, the laudanum."

Doc's composed manner kept everyone calm except for Palmer. As Annie grabbed the painkiller from the cabinet, she turned in time to see Palmer turn white and fall backward. He grazed his head on the corner of the table before Smitty could catch him.

"Smitty, take Palmer out of here," Doc ordered.

Under Doc's instructions, Rodrigues, Perry and Barrette finished securing Christopher to the table. 

Before leaving, Barrette brushed the hair from Christopher's eyes. "You're in good hands, mate."

Barrette looked at Annie. He didn't say a word, only shook his head.

She stared back at him. "Just like Barrette said, Christopher, you're in good hands."

Barrette turned away and left.

"Christopher, does it hurt?" Doc asked.

"No, I feel…only cold." Fear clouded his blue eyes. "Am I going to die?"

"Sooner or later, we all die, son. We'll keep you comfortable." Doc took the bottle of laudanum from Annie's hands. "Andres, cover him with the blanket."

After Doc administered the painkiller, he put his flask to Christopher's mouth. The young sailor took only enough to wet his lips before he started coughing up blood.

Even with the blanket covering Christopher up to his neck, the image of the yardarm protruding from his body embedded itself in Annie's mind. She whispered to Doc, "Take it out."

He pulled her aside. "Even if I could, I would never be able to control the bleeding."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

Annie raised her voice. "You can't leave him like this. Do something."

Christopher gasped. "It's not so bad Andrés…really."

Annie came back to him and ran her trembling fingers through Christopher's hair. "Of course, it's not so bad. You are a fighter, Christopher, the bravest person I have ever known. Doc is going to fix you up. Tell him Doc." 

Even if it was a lie, Annie needed to hear the words. "Tell him!"

 "It's alright," Christopher mumbled.

"There must be something I can do for you, anything. Whatever it is, tell me," Annie said.

"Me mum, Andrés, promise me you will tell her I loved her."

"I promise, Christopher. But when I tell her, you will be standing right there beside me," Annie said.

She wanted to believe her own words, but she saw the truth in Christopher's eyes. Soon the boy who helped her become a sailor, her dearest friend, would be gone. Annie didn't know if she could live without him or if she even wanted to.

"I have one regret," Christopher said. "You won't tell anyone, will you? Don't want the crew laughin' at me."

"I won't tell a soul," Annie said.

"I never kissed a girl. Wanted to, but…too shy."

As his voice became weaker, Annie leaned closer. "Christopher, can you keep a secret?"

"To my grave," he answered with a cheerless grin.

"I am the daughter of a fisherman." Annie then pulled off her red cap and shook her head. Her black hair fell past her chin.

"I never kissed a boy," Annie whispered while she threaded her fingers through his hair.

Christopher's eyes widened. "You are…a girl?"

Annie continued to stroke his hair. "Shush now, Christopher. Just hold my hand."

His voice strained. "What is your name, milady?"

"Annie." The name caught in her throat. "Annie Moore."

"Kiss me, Annie Moore. After all, it is not like we don't know each other."

"With pleasure, my handsome Jack-tar."

Her lips touched his. When they parted, Christopher's hand tightened on hers. "Don't leave me," he said.

"I will never leave you."

His breathing labored, but his smile never left his chafed lips. Christopher closed his eyes.

Tears seared Annie's cheeks. "Christopher, don't you dare die on me!"

Doc put a mirror to his lips. It remained clear. "He's gone, Annie."

"I killed him."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm cursed—just like Aunt Mary said I was."

Doc took Annie by the shoulders and shook her. "You had nothing to do with Christopher's death, or anyone's death. You are no more cursed than David Palmer is…than I am." 

Annie passed her tongue across the bitter tears on her lips. As she buried her face in the blanket, she thought she heard the door open, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not now, not ever again. 

She felt a tender squeeze of her shoulder.

"A good cry will do you good, boy. It won't take away the pain, but it will ease it." The soothing words startled her.

She choked back a sob. "He can't be dead, Captain. He can't."

Captain Hawke let go of Annie's shoulder. She leaned back into the warmth of his chest. She watched as he drew the blanket over Christopher's face.

"No!" she cried. "Oh, please God, not Christopher, not my Christopher."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Only hours before, sailors fought to keep the Realm afloat. How unfair, Annie thought, as sunlight broke through the clouds where there was only a whisper of a breeze.

The shattered topgallant rested not far from where Annie assisted Smitty and Barrette in preparing Christopher for burial at sea. The usual joking Barrette didn't say a word as he tied a canvas bag onto his friend's body. The grief in his eyes reflected the ache in Annie's heart.

"What is in the bag?" Annie asked Smitty over the sound of pounding hammers and swishing saws.

"Cannon-shot," Smitty replied. "We want him to sink, you know."

Annie stiffened. She stared down at Christopher, his arms folded across his chest, his blond hair neatly combed.

Smitty smiled. "Christopher is the happiest looking corpse I ever saw."

While Annie sewed Christopher into his hammock, she agreed with Smitty. He did look happy, satisfied. Was it becaue of their kiss? Maybe, she thought, but she also knew Christopher had faced life with a happy disposition and an easy grin, so why not death. 

Annie sewed the last stitch as carefully as the first.

The crew gathered round when the hammering and sawing stopped. Captain Hawke said a few words about the lad who had no enemies.

His eyes red and swollen, Mr. Allan read from Christopher's Bible. Its pages fell open to the 23
^rd
Psalm, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me
…"

After the bosun read the Bible passage, Captain Hawke looked at Annie. "Would you care to say a few words?"

Annie wanted to tell the crew what Christopher's friendship meant to her, how he made her laugh, how she admired him—how she wished he wasn't dead. But the words didn't come. "No," she said.

Mr. Montgomery recited the Lord's Prayer. A few members of the crew mumbled along with him while Christopher's body slid into the sea. Annie shuddered at its finality.

She expected the sailors to console each other or, at the very least, swap stories about Christopher, but the shrill blast on Mr. Allan's pipe made it clear—life aboard the Realm would go on like any other day. There was no time for grief or reflection. It was just as well. No words had comforted Annie when her family was laid to rest behind the stone church and none would comfort her now, she thought.

Once Symington's men repaired the damaged mast and the sails were mended, the Realm would continue her voyage back to England. Nothing changed. Yet, Annie knew everything had changed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The next morning, Annie watched Samuel Baggot and Smitty carry Christopher's personal effects to the main deck while everyone assembled around the foremast. 

An unused pipe, a deck of frayed playing cards were among the meager possessions auctioned off to the highest bidder.

With money Captain Hawke had given her, Annie placed it all on the last item up for bid. 

"Five pounds," she called out.

No one bid against her. By the expressions on her shipmates' faces, they were pleased the sea chest went for more than the few shillings it was worth.

"Going once, going twice." Symington announced, "Sold! The little maggot is the proud owner of a mighty fine sea chest."

*     *     *

At the end of the second dog watch, Annie walked into Captain Hawke's cabin. "Mr. Montgomery said you wished to see me, Captain."

Not looking up, he waved his hand in the air. "I am almost finished, Andrés."

Annie peeked over his shoulder. She saw the words:
It was an honour to have known your son,
followed by the bold strokes of the captain's signature.

The captain rubbed his eyes as he brought the letter so close to his face that Annie wondered if it would touch his nose. He crinkled his brow.

 "Are you all right, Captain?" Annie asked.

 "Couldn't be better, boy."

Captain Hawke sealed the letter with wax. "This is for Christopher's mother. Once we drop anchor in England, you will accompany Mr. Montgomery to her home to pay your respects. Mr. Montgomery will then give Mrs. Doyle the letter and the proceeds from the auction." He hesitated. "I expected you to protest, Andrés—something about how 'dry land hasn't been kind to me' or some other sort of drivel."

"The sea hasn't been all that kind to me, either. Besides, I do want to meet Christopher's mum. I have a message for her from him."

"I know she will want to meet you." He smiled. "Doc told me you are telling a story in the fo'c'sle tonight."

"Aye, Captain."

"The men take their story telling seriously, Andrés. You will be going up against seasoned storytellers."

"I know, but they will really like my story."

*     *     *

Annie made her way into the fo'c'sle, squeezing in between Rodriques and Perry. Anxious for her turn, Annie paid little attention to Carter's story. Neither did his audience, which impatiently waited for Symington's turn.

Symington did not let the crew down. He told a lively tale of a shipwreck near a tropical island, where scantily clad women swam to their rescue. After his bawdy tale ended, it was Annie's turn.

"I wish to tell a story about a brave sailor."

Smitty asked, "What's it about?"

"I already told you, a brave sailor."

Ainsworth's muscles rippled across his bare chest. "Are there any mermaids in it?" he asked 

Annie shook her head.

"How about sea monsters?"

Mr. Allan stood and quieted the men. "Let's hear it, Andrés."

Annie nervously tugged on her shirt button before beginning her tale. "One warm night…"

Symington grumbled. "Speak up. I can't 'ear ye, not that I want to." 

Annie waited for the laughter to subside before she started again. "One warm night on a street in Port Royal, a handsome young sailor, Christopher was his name…"