Miss Whittier Makes a List (2 page)

“
Devout
,”
she wrote next, feeling a little guilty that it was so far down on her list. She reminded herself that Mama never needed to know about the list anyway. She considered the matter, and then moved it up a notch. My husband must take his worship seriously, like Papa and my brothers. And no swearing, she wrote, underlining it twice.

What was left? She read over her list. He must love me excruciatingly, she thought, but she did not write it down. Hannah flopped onto her stomach, the list still in front of her. Mama never spoke to her of love, but she saw how Mama
’
s eyes lighted up when Papa came home every night, or most especially when he returned from a buying trip to
Boston
. Hannah smiled to herself. Mama and Papa would always find an excuse to go upstairs y after those
Boston
trips. Yes, he must love me and none other.

But it was more than that, she reali
zed
as she rested her head on her a
rms
and
closed her eyes. He must put my welfare before his. I must be the most important thing in his life. She opened her eyes and added,
“
My welfare first.
”
Written on the page, it looked so selfish that she added,
“
And I will esteem him equally.
”

She stared at the list and could think of nothing more to add. I am seventeen, she thought. By a year from now, I will probably be
married
. She folded the list and placed it back in the journal. And I will be a long time married
,
so I had
better
take a careful look about me.

But now her stomach was beginning to growl again. Surely it was near noon. For the longest time she had
been
smelling salt pork and beans cooking somewhere on the
Molly.
Perhaps if she dressed, she would be in time for a meal. She would eat whatever was put before her
,
and spend the afternoon on deck, watching the waves and looking for dolphins.

She dressed quickly, her mouth watering at the thought of food after days of self-imposed exile from a dining table. Her hair took longer to brush than usual, knotted this way and that as it was from several days of tossing about in misery. This is surely to teach me patience, she thought, as she worked the brush through her curly hair.
“
This is not Quaker hair,
”
she announced to the little shaving mirror after a
quarter
hour
’
s effort. She pulled it back and tied it at the nape of her neck
—
grateful that Mama was not there to bully her into braiding it
—
and twin
ed
it up on her head.

She also reconsidered her bonnet, and left it on the berth. There would be time enough
,
and to spare, to be proper in
Charleston
. Besides that, the sun looked so inviting, dancing like diamonds on the tops of the waves as the
Molly
cut a shimmering froth. She wanted to feel the breeze on her face, unhampered by a bonnet.

Hannah
picked her way carefully along the
narrow
companionway, moving slowly to retain her balance, and already marveling at the sound of sailors moving quickly on the deck above. How long did it take to be so surefooted, she wondered, as she concentrated on keeping upright.

The ocean breeze snatched at her hair immediately, and whirled her curls about her face. She turned to face the sun, and took a deep breath, celebrating her release from the murky soup that passed for air below deck. She looked up at the sails bulging with the wind, squinting against the brightness of sail and the deep blue of the sky.

“
Thee is among the land of the living, eh?
”

She turned around and curtsied to Captain Aaron Winslow.
“
Oh, yes, sir,
”
she replied, dimpling up nicely.
“
And I do apologize for my indiscretion at table two days ago.
”
She leaned forward with the familiarity of one addressing an adult friend since childhood.
“
And don
’
t tell Papa.
”

Captain Winslow laughed and led her to the railing, where he rested his elbows, and gazed out at the water.
“
Now, now, Hannah. Thee knows I cannot tell a lie.
”
He grinned at her.
“
But what David Whittier doesn
’
t know will n
ot hurt
him.
”

She smiled her gratitude at Captain Winslow, father of her dearest
Nantucket
friend, and looked at the water.
“
Where are we now?
”
she asked.
“
Are we close to
Charleston
?
”

“
We
’
re getting there,
”
he said, and turned back to squint up at the mainsails and bark an order to his first mate, who shouted something that sent two seamen into the riggings.
“
We
’
re close to
Chesapeake Bay
. I
’
ll feel better when we
’
re around the Outer Banks.
"+0">”

“
Pirates, Captain
Winslow?
”
Hannah teased.

“
Very like, Hannah,
”
he replied, his voice serious.
“
If the
Molly
doesn
’
t mind her manners, she could be overtaken by a British man-o
’
-war, and I could find half my crew impressed.
”
He looked down into her eyes, and chucked her under the chin.
“
And then I would be so
shorthanded
I would have to send thee into the riggings to help us to
Charleston
!
”

“
I think that is perfectly beastly of the British,
”
she said indignantly.

He nodded.
“
Aye, lass. Someone forgot to tell them that we won the War for
Independence
. I lost
two
able-bodied seamen to the British on my last coasting voyage.
”

He was silent then, gazing across the water. He lo
oked back at her after a moment,
and noticed the frown on her own face.
“
But never thee mind, Hannah Whittier! I do not mean to frighten thee. Two days more, and thee will be g
reeting thy brother Hosea.
”
He t
ugged at her curls.
“
And wearing thy bonnet again?
”

She blushed.
“
The sun tempted me, Captain Winslow. Don
’
t
...
.”

“
... tell Papa!
”
he finished and they laughed together.

The noon meal, eaten below deck in the officers
’
mess, stayed safely in her stomach where it belonged. The pork was too salty for her complete satisfaction, but Captain Winslow assured her that at least the biscuit was not weevily yet.

“
I could tell thee of voyages where the weevils turned our biscuit to powder,
”
he said, and then raised his quart mug of tea to his lips.

Hannah began some reply, what, she couldn
’
t remember, even seconds later. As she sat there with her mouth open to speak, the
bosun’s
whistle, urgent and shrill, sounded down the companionway. Captain Winslow slammed his mug of tea to the table and half rose to his feet as a cannon roared.

Her heart in her mouth, Hannah leaped to her feet. Already at the door, Captain Winslow turned back to her, even as he motioned to his first mate to follow.
“
Stay here, Hannah!
”
he ordered as he pounded along the companionway, the mate at his heels.

Hannah ran to the
porthole
and looked out. She could see nothing but ocean, beautiful and blue green. The
Molly
continued as before, serenely cutting through the water. Hannah looked
down, expecting
to find seawater rushing in from a hole below the waterline. There was nothing. And then she heard men running onto the deck.

Bother this, she thought to herself. She hurried into the companionway and climbed the ladder that led to the deck. She crouched there, not quite on deck, then sucked in her breath and covered her ears with her hands as a cannon roared again.

“
Don
’
t think for a minute that I will not board you, you ignorant Yankee.
”

The voice came from far away, shouted across the water as if through a speaking device. All was silent on deck, and then she heard Captain Winslow
’
s voice, sounding weary beyond his years and with an urgency that she could not mistake.
“
Back the sails, lads, sma
rt
ly now.
”

She ventured fu
rt
her onto the deck and
seated herself on the grating of the cargo hatch, her eyes wide with wonder at the sight before her.

A ship bore down on the
Molly Claridge,
a ship with gunpo
rt
s open and cannon pointed at the little brig that was backing to a stop, the sails luffing overhead. As she watched, sailors on the other deck reloaded the deck gun, a carronade pointed directly at the brig. The acrid smell of powder sent a shiver down her back, as a man on the opposite quarterdeck rai
sed his speaking tru
mpet again, this time directed at his own crew.