Текст книги "Mankillers"

Автор книги: Ken Casper

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After a moment, he heard the whispered response, “It ain’t the pain, Buck. It’s the shame.”

“Do you feel like talking about it?”

“I can’t, Buck. I can’t. What they done . . .”

“It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for what happened. Those fiends who hurt you are guilty.”

And deserved to die. I killed them like I killed Zeb Feeney. No regrets.

Buck waited for the point to sink in, then took up the reins again and clucked his tongue. “I guess we both have memories we need to put behind us.” The mule tugged at the traces and they moved forward.

“For the rest of my life,” Buck went on, “whenever I see a man who’s missing an arm or a leg, a hand or a foot, I’ll think of all the limbs I cut off during this accursed war.”

“You’re a good doctor, Buck,” Kentucky finally objected. “You saved more lives than you know and gave men a chance to live, maimed or whole. If they were here now they’d thank you.”

“Yet I’ll always wonder if I made matters worse. How are those men going to support their families? How will people treat them now that they’re cripples. I ruined so many. It’ll always haunt me.”

“You done what you had to, Buck. The rest is up to them.”

He smiled. “Exactly. You have nothing to be ashamed of either.” Mule clip-clopped along. “The man called Kentucky was an orderly, but you’re my friend, Asa. Let’s take it from there and move on.”

The younger man straightened and winced with the pain in his back. A minute went by before he wiped his eyes and said, “Thanks, Buck.”

#

Long before reaching the coast they could see the masts of the sailing ships. Black smoke streamed from the paddle-wheelers that chugged through the harbor as regularly as horses on a carousel. Near the waterfront Buck found a satisfactory livery stable next door to an inn. By the time he’d made arrangements for the animals and obtained a room for Asa and himself, the copper-hued sun was low in the western sky. In the hours that followed their conversation on the road, Asa had reverted to silent staring. Despite his best efforts, Buck was unable to coax him into another discussion.

“Look at all the boats out there, Asa. Ever been on a steamship?”

Asa’s eyes darted but his only response was a detached shrug.Buck tried again. “Didn’t you tell me your brother ran off on a ship?”

“Yes.”

Buck waited for elaboration but after a few seconds realized there wasn’t going to be any. “I went to medical school in Charleston and did a little sailing in the bay, but I never went anywhere on a steamship. Always wanted to, though.”

His friend said nothing.

“Well, this’ll be a new experience for both of us.”

The hotel on Water Street was an ugly two-story clapboard hulk with bedrooms upstairs and a dining room and saloon on the ground floor. The place was crowded, mostly with men in shabby civilian suits, frayed uniforms or mixtures of the two. A few overdressed painted ladies were also scattered among the tables, all conveying the impression they were impatient or bored with their companions.

He found a table as far from the out-of-tune piano as possible. The menu he soon learned was limited—fried fish, fried potatoes, hot biscuits and coffee. They would satisfy his appetite.

“Food smells good,” Asa suddenly announced.

Buck’s heart sank. He was pleased to see Asa showing interest in something, at the same time he had to tell him he couldn’t have it.

“I don’t think you’re ready for fried foods yet, Asa. How about some grits with melted butter?”

Asa seemed to lose interest in the subject. “Whatever you say.”

Fortunately the kitchen was able to accommodate him.

Buck felt guilty when his platter of fish arrived and Asa was given a large bowl of grits with a generous pat of butter in the middle.

“This makes me homesick,” Asa remarked after his first spoonful. “Pa makes good grits. Mine was always lumpy.”

With Buck’s encouragement he finished the entire bowl, along with a glass of buttermilk.

“Can I have a biscuit?”

Buck smiled and passed him one of his. “You’re making good progress, Asa.”

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, it was clear to Buck that the young man was in pain, though he said nothing about it. Their room was small and not very clean, and the raucous sounds of the barroom directly below filtered through the floorboards. Buck insisted Asa take another dose of laudanum. A minute after Asa closed his eyes, Buck lay down on the other cot and fell instantly asleep.

The noise of freight wagons, buggies, horsemen and hawkers in the street under their window awakened Buck early the next morning. Asa snored through the racket. Buck left a note that he’d gone to make arrangements for their boat passage and would return soon.

At the steamship ticket office two blocks away, he received a pleasant surprise. A large passenger sternwheeler was due to arrive from Baltimore the next day on its way to Jacksonville via Charleston and Savannah. He booked passage for Charleston, including on-board arrangements for Gypsy.

While Asa continued to sleep fitfully the rest of the day Buck negotiated the sale of Mule and the buggy. In the early evening, Buck woke Asa and changed the dressing on his back. He was pleased to see the lacerations were healing. Encouraged by this small progress, he asked cheerfully, “Well, my friend, are you ready for your first sea voyage?”

Asa’s response was a toneless “I guess so.”

#

Next morning the frenetic activity at the pier reminded Buck of a disturbed ant nest, except now a cacophony of alien sounds had been added. Whistles blew, men yelled and cursed, vented steam hissed, while animal cargoes bleated, bawled and whinnied. Gypsy pranced nervously as Buck weaved through the chaos on the pier toward the massive stern-wheeler, Shenandoah.

A narrow gangplank extended from the pier to an aft deck that was covered with straw and ringed with a rope corral. Canvas roofing shielded the penned animals from the elements as it flapped lazily in a slight breeze. Several horses and a few cows were already aboard; they stood placidly ignoring the bedlam surrounding them.

Buck dismounted and led an apprehensive Gypsy up the gangplank. Once the gelding was accommodated, he and Asa found their stateroom. Buck chose the top bunk, knowing his companion’s slashed back would make climbing into it extremely painful. Asa immediately lay down on the lower bunk and closed his eyes. Buck was troubled by how much the normally energetic former orderly was sleeping, but considering the discomfort he must be experiencing, decided sleep was probably the best medicine for now.

Back on deck he watched fascinated as giant hawsers were cast off and the great ship glided through the harbor, the paddlewheel splashing hypnotically. This is the way to travel, he thought. His opinion was altered a few minutes later when he began to experience a vague feeling of nausea, uncontrollable yawning and profound fatigue. Oh, no, hardly out of the harbor and I’m getting seasick. He kept moving, stayed outside on the deck in the breeze, and kept his eyes off the horizon. Soon the feeling passed.

By early afternoon he’d become accustomed to the roll of the ship and cadence of engine and paddlewheel. Their soporific effects and the warm sun combined to relax him. He napped in a deckchair for long intervals, more contented and relaxed than he’d been in years. He was surprised on one of his strolls to find Asa had left the cabin and was stretched out in a deckchair, napping, his face covered with a newspaper.

As if he sensed being stared at, Asa removed the paper and squinted up.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” Asa climbed to his feet and leaned on the ship’s rail, profound weariness manifest in his voice and movements. “Look at the sea, Buck. It’s so calm and peaceful.” He paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. “But underneath there’s lots of life . . . and death. We just can’t see it.” He paused again. “Not like the land we left, all tore up and bloody forever. No matter what you do to it, the sea swallows up all its wounds.” He sighed. “It must be everlastingly peaceful down there.”

Buck drew back to observe him. This was Asa’s longest speech since his injuries. A good sign, but Buck was troubled by its morbid tone.

“We’ve both been through too much and may never be able to forget it all, but like the sea we have to overcome our sadness and pain. The sea has depth, Asa. We have time. Let it work its cure.” He placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “At least we’re going home.”

“I’ve almost forgotten what home’s like,” Asa murmured.

Melancholy enveloped Buck as he whispered to himself, “Do I even have a home anymore.” Silently he added: But there’s something more important I have to do. Finding a home can wait.

Chapter FIVE

Buck barely slept that night. He’d given his companion another dose of laudanum and locked their door from the inside. Asa wasn’t likely to awaken for hours, but even if he did, he couldn’t get out, since the key was under Buck’s pillow. Nevertheless he was unable to rest easy.

He’d finished his ablutions in the small compartment the next morning when the Shenandoah docked at Beaufort, North Carolina, to take on wood and water. Through the porthole Buck could see sweating Negroes toting split pine logs as if they were being paid by the piece. The strident creaking of the gangplank and loud thumps as the wood was stacked should have awakened everyone aboard, but when Buck reached the main deck he was surprised to find himself the lone passenger up and about. He paced along the deck inhaling deeply of the salt-tinged air and idly slapping myriads of persistent insects. The key to his room was in his pocket, the door locked securely.

What am I going to do? How can I help Asa?

His solemn mood was broken and he couldn’t help but smile when he heard workers pronounce the port’s name as “Bow-fort”. South Carolina also had a Beaufort, but South Carolinians, independent to the bone, pronounced their port city “Bew-fort,” and would never change.

He had no appetite this morning, but following the adage of Physician, heal thyself, made his way to the dining room, ordered a full breakfast and managed to eat a goodly portion of it. He was on his third cup of hot but weak coffee when the Shenandoah got under way again. Through the window the sea was as smooth as oiled glass, and the captain increased the vessel’s speed. Buck recalled Asa’s comment about the water’s surface camouflaging the turmoil beneath. With the change in the pulsing of the engines he watched the altered pattern of wavelets in his cup.

What to do about Asa?

He felt completely lost. None of his medical training had addressed sicknesses of the mind. Could they be cured? Or was the young man who’d served him and so many others with selfless dedication doomed to a life of despair?

The room slowly filled while Buck finished his repast. He ordered a breakfast tray for Asa and watched the sleepy man eat, again without relish, then return to his bunk without a word and once more fall fast asleep.

Buck left the room, locked the door behind him and retraced his steps to the dining room for yet another cup of coffee, perchance to think. . . . How could he help his patient?

When no answers came, he decided to take a stroll around the decks and smoke a cigar. As he weaved his way to the exit he made eye contact with a slender brunette at a corner table. The lady had high cheekbones, brown eyes, and was dressed entirely in black. Ever the gentleman, he bowed slightly in greeting. She brushed back a lock of raven hair from her forehead and responded with an almost imperceptible nod. An older man and woman at the table, obviously her parents, glanced his way. The mother politely smiled.

Buck hurried to the promenade deck, leaned against the railing and gazed at the ship’s turbulent wake. He tried to remember when he’d last been with a woman. Too long, his body answered. He toured the decks and selected a comfortable chaise on the starboard upper level, smoked his cigar, then overpowered by the previous night’s lack of sleep, fell into a doze.

“Doctor Thomson?” a woman’s voice addressed him. “Please forgive me for disturbing you.”

He opened his eyes and recognized the woman in black from the dining room. She was young, attractive and clearly in distress. He started to rise.

She put out a hand. “Please, please, don’t get up.”

Good manners, long engrained, compelled him to his feet nevertheless. “Madam, you have me at a disadvantage.”

“My name’s Sarah Drexel. Please excuse my lack of decorum, but the captain mentioned you’re a medical doctor. I’m hoping I might prevail on you for professional advice.”

At the moment he felt hardly qualified to give anyone advice. Nevertheless he motioned her to the deckchair beside him. Only when she was seated, did he resume his former place.

“How may I be of assistance, madam? Are you ill?”

“It’s not me,” she replied sadly. “It’s my father. He hasn’t been himself lately and it seems to be getting worse.”

“In what way?”

“He’s become distant, inattentive, and has flashes of temper which are so unlike him. When I returned to our cabin a little while ago my mother was distraught. While she was changing clothes Father wandered off and she couldn’t find him. I finally located him standing among the horses on the deck below. I asked him what he was doing there. He acted confused and didn’t appear to recognize me. I questioned him further. He couldn’t remember his cabin number or even his name. One of the crew tried to help me get him back to our room, but he became quite hostile, nearly violently so. It took us a while to persuade him to return to the cabin with me.”

Buck frowned and pursed his lips. “Is this the first time this sort of thing’s happened?”

“My mother says it’s been occurring with increasing frequency over the past few months. I became acutely aware of it while we were traveling in Maryland. You must understand, Dr. Thomson, my father’s a very intelligent and successful businessman. He owns and manages a lucrative cotton exchange in Charleston, although I suspect now Mother’s been conducting most of the recent transactions.”

“How old is your father, Mrs. Drexel?”

“Fifty-nine, although he’s aged terribly in recent months.”

“Has he had any significant past illnesses or health problems?”

“He’s always been in excellent health, eats well but not to excess, doesn’t use tobacco in any form, and is abstemious in his use of alcohol. But lately. . . . Father’s become a different person from the man I’ve known all my life.” She bit her lip. “Yet he refuses to see a doctor. I realize this is a great imposition, Dr. Thomson, especially since we’re complete strangers, but the episode this morning truly scares me . . . and Mother. We are, of course, prepared to pay any consultation fee you may require.”

“The fee’s of no consequence,” he said dismissively. “This case interests me. I’ll be most happy to help you if I can.” He thought a minute. “It doesn’t sound as if your father will readily consent to a formal medical evaluation, so perhaps a subterfuge would be more productive. If it’s acceptable to you, I’ll ask the captain to seat me and my cabin mate at your table for supper this evening and use the occasion to question your father without making him suspicious. Afterward, privately, I can give you and your mother my impressions and perhaps some recommendations.”

“Oh, thank you so much, doctor. I truly appreciate your helping us.” She rose and extended her lace-gloved hand. “We’ll see you around seven then.”

He took her hand briefly and lightly. As she turned and walked away he followed her with his eyes. An attractive woman, despite being in black. Obviously in mourning. Had she too lost someone dear to her in this accursed war?

#

The dining salon was nearly full when Buck entered several hours later. He’d coaxed Asa out of the musty stateroom by insisting he needed to come to the “mess” for his evening meal. As soon as they entered, the captain, already alerted, rose, approached and in a voice loud enough to be overheard, asked, “Doctor, in light of the crowded conditions, would you and your companion be willing to share a table with someone already seated?”

Buck readily accepted. He and Asa followed the hearty man in his impeccable white uniform to the table in the corner.

“Mr. and Mrs. Greenwald, and Mrs. Drexel,” the captain said, “may I present Dr. Elijah Thomson and . . .”

“This is my friend, Asa Boone from Charleston,” Buck said when the captain faltered on the name. “We served in the army together.”

Asa mumbled an inaudible greeting.

Mrs. Greenwald and Buck exchanged the usual Southern genteel pleasantries. Her husband, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of strangers, remained seated. His face was mask-like, devoid of expression. Buck and Asa took the two vacant seats at the round table.

While the meal was being served Buck and the ladies made light conversation. Sarah’s father responded only to direct questions, answering in a flat monotone, as did Asa. Buck noted Mrs. Greenwald was regarding his young companion with the same expression of concern she showed toward her husband.

Giving no indication he found the elderly man’s reactions unusual in any way, Buck tested Mr. Greenwald’s recall of recent and remote events, dates and his perception of time, place and person. Almost without exception Mr. Greenwald evaded answers, furnished erroneous information, refused outright to reply to questions or dismissed them as stupid or impertinent.

“I’ve been told,” Buck said lightly as the remains of the main course were being cleared away by a thin black man dressed in a starched white uniform, “Chinese physicians claim to diagnose many illnesses by feeling one’s pulse at the wrist. May I try?”

“Oh, yes,” Sarah responded eagerly. Throughout the meal she’d been intently observing the exchange between the two men and becoming increasingly ill-at-ease with her father’s responses. Occasionally, she glanced at Asa who seemed equally disinterested in the events around him.

“Me first, please.” She extended her hand across the table to Buck who placed the tips of his fingers on her wrist. After counting her pulse for a full minute, he repeated the process with her mother.

“Well, ladies,” Buck said with feigned jocularity, “I seem to have no effect on your hearts. Your pulses remain normal.”

Sarah and her mother smiled at each other, playing their parts in Buck’s game.

He turned to the older man sitting beside him. “And now, Mr. Greenwald, you, sir, if I may.”

Sarah’s father neither offered his hand nor objected when Buck took his limp wrist and felt his pulse. Buck’s expression didn’t change when he detected an irregularity in the gentleman’s heartbeat. “Hale and hearty, sir. I congratulate you.”

His response was to announce abruptly and aggressively, “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

Mrs. Greenwald bowed her head in embarrassment. “If you’ll excuse us please, doctor.” She rose wearily and placed her napkin on the table in front of her. “Sarah, would you help me?”

Buck and Asa stood up as well.

“Of course, Mother.” Sarah turned to Buck. “Thank you for joining us, doctor.” In a lower tone she added, “I’ll be back as soon as we get Father settled in for the night.”

The two women escorted the shuffling old man out of the dining room.

#

On the cabin deck Jacob Greenwald shook off his daughter’s attempt to guide him and trundled in the wrong direction.

“Mother,” Sarah called out.

With their stateroom key in her hand, Ruth glanced back. “Oh, dear.” She caught up with her disoriented husband and took him by the arm. “Jacob, come with me this way.”

He stared at her blankly, shrugged, and followed her like a docile child.

Inside the small compartment, she sat him on the bed and began to unlace his high-top shoes. Sarah started to unbutton his coat, but he brushed her hand away.

“Why don’t you step outside and let me finish getting him ready for bed,” her mother said.

“I want to help.”

“I know you do, honey, but this will go much faster if you let me do it.”

“After you have him in bed, can we leave him here by himself?”

“No, dear, I’d better stay with him. He’s used to me bossing him around.”

“Mother, I’m his daughter. He’s used to me too.”

“You’ve been away since he got sick. It’s all right, sweetheart. Why don’t you go back to the dining room and find out what Dr. Thomson’s opinion is, and any recommendations he has. Then you can tell me.”

Sarah squirmed. “If you say so, Mother.”

Ruth removed her husband’s cravat. “It shouldn’t be too unpleasant. It’s quite clear the handsome young doctor is attracted to you, my dear.”

“Oh, mother I don’t have time for that now. Besides, I’m a woman in mourning.”

Ruth smiled. “You’re a woman first. And he’s obviously a gentleman. Your widow’s weeds don’t seem to have dulled his interest.”

Sarah tilted her head to one side in resignation and stepped to the door. “Very well, I’ll find out what he has to say.”

#

As soon as the ladies left, Asa announced, “I think I’ll turn in too.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I can find it myself, Buck.”

“I’m sure you can, but I want to see you get there safely.”

“And lock me in again?” His tone harbored only mild offense.

“Just until I can rejoin you, my friend.”

Asa shrugged dismissively. “Fine.” He preceded Buck onto the deck. When they reached their state room, he remarked, “She sure is a pretty lady.”

Buck smiled. “I think so too.”

“I wonder why she’s so sad.”

Buck said nothing. After his companion had crawled into his bunk, he returned to the dining room and resumed his seat at the table. Sipping freshly-poured coffee, he pondered how best to break his news to the ladies. When Sarah alone rejoined him, he rose to greet her.

“Poor mother.” The waiter held her chair. “She’s a strong woman, but after the loss of my brother and my husband and now father’s illness, I fear for her own health.”

“Please accept my condolences on your losses. Your mother’s indeed a remarkable woman to hold up so well under such tragic circumstances. As are you, Mrs. Drexel. We fight for our women, yet they seem to suffer the greatest hardships and pain.”

“One does what one must. Our faith teaches us that.”

It had been so long since he’d had a conversation with a member of the opposite sex that he found social intercourse with this charming woman disconcerting. He judged her to be a few years younger than himself, and despite her somber attire, very attractive.

“It’s getting crowded and noisy in here,” he remarked. “Perhaps it’d be wise for us to continue our discussion outside.”

Indeed, the room had become close and stuffy from the smoke of cigars and pipes, as well as the fumes of candles and coal oil lamps. Mingled too were the scents and aromas of the food being served.

She fanned her face with her hand. “Fresh air would be welcome.”

Once they were on deck and standing by the rail, he began, “I can find no easy way to put this, Mrs. Drexel. In my opinion your father’s suffering from progressive mental deterioration, probably due to repeated blockages of tiny arteries to his brain.”

She bit her lips. “You mean he’s having little apoplectic strokes? Is there any treatment?”

“Unfortunately, none to my knowledge. The disease can advance rapidly, as it seems to be in your father’s case. I’m afraid he’ll require more and more care as time passes. Even now, someone should be with him all the time.”

Features set, she stared at the horizon. When she spoke a minute later, her voice trembled. “It’s so unfair. He’s such a kind and brilliant man. And a wonderful father.”

“I’m truly sorry. I wish I could be more encouraging. Maybe when you return home to familiar surroundings he’ll improve. I strongly recommend you obtain a second opinion as soon as possible.”

“Is there anyone you can suggest?”

“There are many fine physicians in Charleston, at least there were before the war. I have no idea who might be there now, but I can make inquiries when we get into port in the morning.” He had a sudden idea. “I’m on my way to Columbia, where Dr. Thaddeus Meyer, a renowned authority on dementia and a personal friend of the family, has his practice. I can write you a letter of introduction. I’m also planning to go there. Perhaps you and your parents would care to accompany me.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll do whatever Mother wishes. Thank you, doctor.”

He was tormented by the beauty and the sadness he saw in her dark eyes. She turned abruptly and walked away.

He went back to his stateroom, prepared to change the dressings on his patient’s back, but he found Asa sound asleep in his bunk and decided not to disturb him. Restless and hungry for the night air, he retraced his steps to the promenade deck. The rolling of the ship, which had bothered him at the beginning of the voyage was now soothing, as was the rhythm of the paddlewheel and the throb of the steam piston. The fragrance of pine smoke reminded him of when he used to read near the open fireplace in his father’s library.

Tomorrow I’ll be in South Carolina. I thought I’d never return there. I thought I’d never want to. Yet where else can I go? I should call it home, but how can it be without Clay?

Clay. My baby brother. Lying in what will soon be an unmarked grave in the hills of Virginia. Murdered by a redheaded sniper.

Damn Columbia. Damn Jasmine. Once I get Asa safely to his father, I have but one place to go, and that’s after the mankiller who robbed my brother of his life.

But first I have to tell Poppa what happened to his favorite son. Will he blame me for not protecting him?

With a shaking hand he removed a cigar from his inside coat pocket and lit it on the third Lucifer. He was leaning against the rail, lost in troubling thoughts when a small hand covered his. Startled, he stiffened.

“I called your name several times,” Mrs. Drexel said nervously, “but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

“Please excuse my bad manners.”

“I keep imposing on you.”

“No imposition at all, ma’am.” He tossed his cigar into the ocean. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”

Delighted, she mimed a flutter of her eyelashes and said in an exaggerated drawl, “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

The brief moment of levity embarrassed them both. A minute passed as the ship plowed over the sea.

Regaining her composure, she said, “Mother and I have decided to consult with Dr. Meyer, and to accept your kind offer to let us travel with you.”

“Good. Before I can leave Charleston, however, I need to make sure my friend Asa gets home, then I’ll arrange transportation for you, your parents and myself to Columbia. In the meanwhile I’ll be staying at the Isaac Hayne Hotel. When I know the final details of our trip, I’ll send a message to your home.”

“Thank you so much, doctor, you’ve been very kind.” Another moment elapsed. “Excuse me, this is none of my business, but something’s been puzzling me. If I’ve been observing your friend correctly—he appears to be suffering the same symptoms as my father. Is that possible? He’s so young.”

“The symptoms are the same. However, Asa’s problems are related to his recent experience at the hands of evildoers. Your father’s symptoms, conversely are the result of poor circulation to his brain.”

“I’m so sorry for your friend. Will he get well?”

“Hopefully, with the resilience of youth.”

They parted a few minutes later with unspoken but unmistakable reluctance. Buck retired to his stateroom, climbed into the top bunk and with images of the beautiful young widow in his thoughts quickly nodded off.

Suddenly he bolted awake with a sense of unease. Had he had a bad dream? It took a moment before he realized he couldn’t hear snoring in the bunk below him and the door to the passageway was ajar. He jumped down to the cold floor. Asa was gone. He tugged on his pants and ran outside.

Where was he? Seasick? Taking the night air?

He raced up the ladder stairs to the first deck and quickly strode it from stem to stern.

No Asa.

He climbed to the second level. There he was, one leg over the rail.

Buck’s heart stopped. My God! I thought he was getting better. He’s going to jump!

Chapter SIX

Sarah needed relief from the oppressive heat of the gloomy cabin and the loud, incessant snoring of her father. She was worried about him, especially since Dr. Thomson said he knew of no treatment or cure for his deteriorating condition. When her mother began to gently snore as well, Sarah knew she must escape. Rather than work her way into her black dress in the stygian darkness, she groped for the loose-fitting cloak with its cowl hood in the steamer trunk. The wool garment was too warm for this time of year, but the freedom of movement it afforded made up for it. Besides, it was perpetually windy on deck. The sea breezes would cool her.

She’d ascended to the second deck. It was deserted this late at night, so she was able to drop the hood to the back of her neck. The brisk currents of air tugged at her long, unfettered hair. She gloried in the sense of freedom it elicited. Leisurely, with no specific destination in mind, she strolled to the front of the vessel. Tonight the ship was running almost parallel with the wind. Crossing from port to starboard at the tail she found herself in the lee of the breeze entirely. The consequence was an almost uncanny quiet. Even the engines steady throb beneath her feet seemed silenced.

Until she moved beyond the bow bend of the cabins.

She heard men’s voices. Instinctively she pulled the hood up over her head and was about to retreat the way she’d come, when she realized one of the voices was familiar.

Dr. Thomson.

What was he doing out here this hour of the night? Seeking respite from the confines of his small cabin as well? And who was he talking to?

Cautiously she tiptoed forward. Oh, my God!

The doctor was standing at the rail, his arm around the neck of his friend Asa, who was perched on its other side. Both men were facing the sea, allowing her to slide up along the cabin wall unobserved to a small alcove directly behind them. From this vantage point she was able to hear everything they were saying.