The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (6 page)

I spun around and was confronted by a scrappy brown-and-white creature, stomping its cloven, hoofed feet and playfully ducking its head. Annie ran up alongside. “Lucy, meet my goat! Look! She has blue eyes!”

“We've already met,” I said, rubbing my sore behind. The little goat tipped her head side to side and regarded me quizzically. She did have lovely sky-blue eyes with black elongated pupils.

“Baaaaaaaaa.” Her short turned-up tail twitched and wagged.

“I named her Ida,” Annie said. “She knows her name. Ida! Ida!” The small sure-footed creature scrambled up a set of steps to a perch at the highest point on deck and looked back at us. “Baaaaa.”

I turned away from this distraction and put my scope to eye, hoping to catch Quaide in my lens again. But the peculiar energy that had directed the scope was gone. The sound of Annie's excited chatter faded as I concentrated on the shore—this man, that fellow—no . . . no . . . I did manage to pinpoint the scoundrel in the red bandana, walking swiftly away on bowed legs, the green-eyed man beside him. I followed their progress in and out of the throngs, making their way toward the gangway of another ship. My eyes began to ache, the left from being pressed shut, the right from peering into the eyepiece. Sounds behind me finally drew my attention and I put down the lens.

There was Quaide, moving seamlessly back into the rhythm of the work at hand. He never looked up, and made no sound. Unless one was particularly observant, he might never have been missed.

The tugboat beside us sounded its horn in three honking blasts. Cap'n Adams called out above it, “All hands! All hands on deck!” I watched as the crew manned various stations. My job, along with Addie, was to keep Georgie and Annie safe and out of harm's way. I did my part, with Georgie hankering to join the others and Annie fussing over her rambunctious little goat. This was not work suitable for a sea cap'n's daughter, I thought resentfully. I followed, with keen interest, the way the seamen worked like parts of a well-oiled machine—lines being tied and untied, winches creaking and straining, the raising of the anchor, sails at the ready.

“All-a-taut,” the cap'n hollered. “All-a-taut, and ready to go!”

The ship's bell clanged, announcing our departure. As we navigated through the busy harbor with Cap'n Adams at the helm I made a vow—this would be the last time I stood by as a passive observer. A sailor I would become, like my father and his father before him. I was a Simmons, after all!

The shorefront faded until it became a distant blur on the horizon. Grady, Quaide, Irish, and Coleman had climbed the ratlines to the trestletree platforms, and there, hauled, swayed, and hoisted her sails. With a whip and a snap, each sheet, in turn, caught the wind. “Steady on!” the cap'n shouted. “Steady on!” A slap and a jolt as still another sail swelled. Her masts and timbers creaked in cooperation. The sea tumbled and foamed as her bow cut through the waves, sending a brilliant torrent of ocean spray around the figurehead and bowsprit.

I pulled my flute from my pocket. It hummed in my hands, as if trembling at the thrill of the moment. I put it to my lips and the tune Father had taught me cascaded into the sea air.
A la dee dah dah . . . a la dee dah dee!
In response, Father's bell began to clang, and a crying gull swooped low overhead. The hints of magic bolstered my confidence, and, for a moment, all thoughts of family curses and litanies of worries were carried off with the wind. I imagined my aunt, being swept up in her arms, and then, the two of us piecing together the pieces of our family puzzle.

I closed my eyes as the salty mist kissed my face. Aunt Pru, I said to myself, we're on our way!

T
he first week at sea provided an education like none I'd experienced before: learning by doing, then doing some more. Never had I worked so hard, and slept so soundly, braced and bolstered by the sharp salt air in my lungs, the wind in my hair. I had little time to ruminate on worries—there was too much to be done!

The difficult responsibilities we learned first, in order to ensure that when we hit the more challenging legs of our journey our crew would be fully prepared. And that meant learning to climb to the highest point of the rigging, the royal yard. Over one hundred feet up it was, and what with the bobbing and swaying of the ship, a challenge that could never be taken lightly. Grady and Quaide scoffed at my insistence on being included in this lesson. The Reds shook their heads in tandem. Irish spoke up, “Why worry yourself with this, miss? It's mighty dangerous, it is!” The cap'n, too, expressed his view that such a task was better left to the men. Their warnings both frightened me and, at the same time, fed my determination to prove them wrong. Marni seemed to understand my need to conquer this, to contribute fully, and with no more than the intensity of her gaze and a nod of her head she somehow calmed the anxieties of the rest.

As in all things, Walter paved the way, swallowing any fear and trepidation. I watched him move methodically along the ladder-like ratlines, through the four levels of sails, grasping rope, and the wooden deadeyes that held the shrouds in place. Javan climbed in tandem with him, along the opposite mast. Up, up to the main yard and on to the trestletree above it. My heart thumped as his foot slipped from the rope and he hung for a moment like a monkey on a vine. Only when he wrapped his arm around the mast, and pumped air with his feet until he connected again, did my breath return.

Grady followed behind him like a nimble squirrel, barking directions. Quaide stood below, arms folded, waiting, it seemed, for Walter to flounder. The Reds passed by quickly, looking up, nodding and grinning their approval. Tonio, Irish, and Coleman paid him no mind, just continued to go about their business.

“Yes, Walter!” I shouted, fist in the air. “Almost there!”

He continued toward the topsail, and paused at the trestletree closest to the topgallant spar. Watching him was enough to turn my stomach queasy. The higher he went, the more he would feel the sway of the ship, the farther he'd tumble if he lost a hand- or foothold. And beneath all of these fears was the realization that I would be next.

Still Walter inched upward, Grady a ways behind him, to the spar of the royal yard—about one hundred twenty feet above the deck! By now an audience had assembled—Marni watching calmly, Addie wringing her hands, Georgie grinning ear to ear, and Annie, a clucking chicken tucked under each arm.

Walter, hanging on with one hand, threw his cap in the air as he reached the highest point. His shout of triumph sounded a million miles away, and I wondered if he could hear our applause. His descent was quicker than the climb, or maybe it just seemed that way because it meant my moment of reckoning was that much closer.

He jumped from about eight feet up, landing soundly in front of me, his face alight with excitement and pride. Before I knew what was happening I was enclosed in a bear hug, my face pressed into the hollow of his neck. He squeezed me tight, lifted me off the ground, and spun me around once, twice, before depositing me back on deck.

“Wait till you try! Nothing like it, Lucy!” he cried, beaming.

Without even a moment to recover—my face still burning, insides turned to mush at Walter's embrace—Grady was beside me. “Now or never, miss,” he uttered, his lips barely moving, eyes not meeting mine. He raised his pointy chin toward the ratlines, indicating where I was to begin. Javan, too, called out to me, pointing a
V
of fingers between my eyes and his. “Ya look only across—not up, not down—just here. Opposite ya I'll be, far's I can go!” As if by silent agreement the rest gathered—Coleman, always the loner, off to one side, elbows resting on the rail; the two Reds sitting aft atop the poop deck; Irish leaning against the shrouds; and Tonio standing like a rock out on the upper fo'c'sle deck.

“Go on!” Walter encouraged.

Instead of stepping forward I became a statue, as solid and unmoving as the figurehead of my aunt and uncle reaching out over the waves. My mouth went dry as dead leaves, my palms damp and slippery as jellyfish. A gull soared overhead and dropped a clam onto the deck, shattering its shell and exposing its innards. I flinched. That could be me—a splat on the timbers. The rocking of the ship, the force of the wind, the height of the masts all taunted me. The gull swooped down and picked the clam clean. I shuddered and felt a hand on my shoulder.

“No harm will come to you,” Marni whispered. I felt her warm breath in my ear and closed my eyes. “I'm sure of it.” Addie reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. As if to confirm the sentiment, the flute hummed in my pocket and the ship's bell clanged.

“On with it,” Grady said.

Quaide snorted. “Nah, she ain't gonna do it!”

I opened my eyes and glared at him. Wiped my sweaty hands on my overalls, then reached for the rope, its weave rough against my fingers. Pulled. Stepped up with my right foot. Left. Left hand up, grasp. Stretch. Right over left. One foot then the other, toes groping. I felt the bounce of the rope netting bearing my weight. Reach, clasp, pull, climb. I hardly was aware of Grady behind me. I looked only forward, not up, and certainly not down, one thought propelling me—for you, Aunt Pru! Javan climbed opposite me, making it seem easy. He and Grady would climb as far as they could to aid me. After that I'd be on my own.

I reached the trestletree at the top of the lower mast. Paused. Held tight. If I did this, I reasoned, all I'd need to do was repeat the process—three more times.

I took a deep breath and glanced aloft. The world tilted and a wave of vertigo swept over me. I tightened my grip and pressed my eyes shut, willing the swoon to pass. Look only forward, I told myself again. Straight ahead.

I began my ascent anew, refusing to stop until I reached the main yard. The world was blue and white, sky and sail, nothing more. Up, up, up to the topsail. There, the topgallant spar. I spliced my arms through the lines to my elbows, pulled my forearms to me, gripping the rope. My boots slid along the rungs to where the stocky heel caught and held. Hanging securely, I chanced a downward glance.

The deck seemed a small wooden game board, my friends and crew below, the playing pieces. The expanse of green-blue sea was endless. The wind, much stronger up here, whipped my hair across my face. With one hand I grabbed and twisted the wild locks into a single coil and shoved them into the collar of my work shirt. But the wind shifted, throwing my balance askew. Right hand and foot flailing, I clung to the ropes with only my left hand. My left foot slipped and slid, pitching me at a dangerous diagonal. A flash of ocean, then sails, then deck. I thrashed about, desperately trying to swing myself back toward the ratline.

A voice came to me, not Grady's, not Javan's or Walter's. Calm. Steady.

Easy. Don't swing with your right. Steady with your left. Anchor yourself. There. Slide your foot back to center. Yes. That's my girl. Perfect. Hug the lines with your left. Draw in with the right. Yes, just so . . .

This I did, step by step. It may have been my imagination, but it was as though the mast and the lines responded to the voice as well, suddenly cooperating with me, swelling and bending in order to meet me halfway. An uncanny calm blossomed within me. Taking a deep fortifying breath, I crept onward and upward.

I squinted into the wind. My shirt whipped and snapped about. A surge of strength and determination propelled me, and there, finally, the spar of the royal yard! I held steady. Inhaled deeply. This is how heaven must feel, why Father had loved the sea! The calm steady voice I'd heard—of course. It was Father's voice! And then the ship, the way it, too, responded to his words, the subtle benevolent movements of mast and line. They were all somehow connected—Father, our house turned ship, the magic—and this view from the crow's nest. How fortunate to have the privilege of climbing up here. I took one last look before my descent.

There, on the horizon, another ship. Or was it? I raised a hand over my brow to shield the sun. Yes. The outline of a sleek schooner came into view and out. One moment clear to me, the next blending almost invisibly into the field of blue. So fast was she traveling that she appeared to be flying above the surface of the sea. Perhaps it was the glare of the sun through the ocean spray, but now and again an aura of rainbow-colored mist seemed to envelop her. If only I had my spyglass, I thought. And there, back toward the harbor, another ship, black timbered and square-rigged, not as fast as ours, nor as graceful as the schooner. I'd recognize it anywhere—it was the vessel Georgie and I'd almost been dragged aboard back in Boston.

I felt a tug on the cuff of my dungarees—I'd forgotten all about Grady. “Are ye comin' back down, miss, or are ye gonna stay 'ere all the live-long day?”

“I'm coming!” I shouted. Walter had made it look easy, but actually it was trickier than the upward climb, mostly because I had to lead with my feet and could not see my footholds. Stepping into air, trusting the feel of rope rungs beneath my feet, remembering not to shift weight until I felt my boot catch and hold.

Finally, when I was in jumping distance of the deck, I let go of the lines and leaped to the ground. Walter draped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me tight. Marni smiled, her expression saying, “I knew you could do it!” Addie pulled me into an embrace as Javan hopped down beside me, both thumbs pointing up.

“Good as gold!” he shouted. “Yessiree!”

Annie clapped, releasing one frightened chicken after the other in a flurry of feathers. The rest came from their respective places, all applauding. I'd proved something here, and suddenly everything had changed.

“We're gonna name ye Red Three!” It was the first time I'd actually heard either of the Reds speak. It was high praise, for sure. I smiled and ran a hand through my own locks. Georgie shrugged. “It's not
that
big a deal,” he muttered. Grady laughed and patted Georgie on the head.