Pirate's Wraith, The (16 page)

Lesley shivered. Had Harlan’s dead wife possessed her? Why should it take Elsbeth three hundred years to get herself reincarnated? Didn
’t used souls have a faster turnaround time available? On the other hand, Elsbeth could have been a novice at magic and witchcraft. It may have taken her three hundred years to figure out a solution to her problem.

Lesley searched around in the bunk for the little wooden horse, but she could not locate it. It must have fallen on the floor. She peered over the edge of the bunk, but she did not see it anywhere.

She sighed and wondered if the captain had any entertaining novels written in understandable English in a simple font in his bookshelf. Hell, she’d even read Shakespeare at this point. Still, since she nearly passed out the first time she got out of the bunk, she decided to stay in place for a while longer.

She thought about poor Elsbeth. The woman had it rough. No money, an absent husband, a sick kid, and a house fried by lightning with the kid inside it. Oh yes, and the miserly employer who would give her less money due to the stains on the sheets, which weren’t her fault.

If she turned into a witch, who could blame her? More than likely, she became a common ordinary, garden-variety bitch. Plenty of people had accused Lesley of being a bitch—even Jim—come to think of it.

Jim had tried to control her every way he could.

She clenched her teeth. Damn him. She had been such a fool. She hoped his precious boat sank—and that he found another woman who would take him for all he was worth, which did not amount to much. She regretted every single gift of Henri Lloyd sportswear she had given to him. 

A knock came at the door but she kept mum, fearing it might be an unwelcome visitor. However, the door opened anyway and the same cabin boy who had helped out with Dr. Gilroy’s amputation
s came to her bearing a bowl of overcooked beans and a mug of rum. She tried not to gag.

“The doctor says you’re to keep up your strength.”

She struggled to sit up. “Thanks for bringing me something to eat.” It looked as appetizing as soggy cardboard.

“Does your ankle hurt?”

“Yes.”

“The doctor does not think he will have to amputate.”

A cold sweat broke out on Lesley’s brow. “He told me it was a bad sprain and not broken.”

“You were brave when the doctor had to do those amputations. What did you call the instrument you used to stop the bleeding?”

“A tourniquet.” She put the bowl in her lap. “It would be easier to eat if I had something like a spoon.”

“I carved one for you.” The boy held it up. “Dr. Gilroy said you needed one and I learned to make these when I was but ten.”

“How old are you now?”

“Sixteen.” He looked more like fifteen to her—a gangly high school sophomore.

“What’s your name?”

“The men here called me Jibby because I got knocked out with the jib when I first came on board.”

“That’s mean.”

He shrugged. “I can take their teasing long as I get my share. My real name’s Jean, but I never liked it.”

“Do you have a family?”

“A sister but she married an old drunk who did not want me around, so I left.” 

“But why did you join up with a pirate crew? You could be hanged if you’re caught.”

His hand started to move toward his throat, but halfway there it went back to his side. “The captain started out as privateer, but the crew prevailed upon him to go on the account. Makes no matter to me. I’ve no place else to go.”

Poor kid.
Lesley wondered how the human race had ever managed to survive.

“Are you afraid of being hung?” he asked.

“A few hours ago, I thought I would drown,” she confessed.

“My friend, Frank, the other cabin boy, he’s gone.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry.”

He wiped his nose again with his other sleeve. “The doctor said I could stay and talk with you for a while.”

“Thanks. I could use some company.” She figured he could use some counseling, but she didn’t have a clue where to start. She should have been more diligent when it came to psychology.

Jibby pulled the captain’s chair up to the bunk. “Tell me more about those tourniquets.”

Lesley smiled. Finally, someone willing to listen to her. The pain in her leg diminished as she told the boy all she had learned in her first aid course about bleeding.

* * * *

Lesley found the next few days a pleasant lull in her strange odyssey. The captain did not sleep in his cabin and in fact it appeared as if he hadn’t slept a wink. Once a day, he lifted her from the bunk and put her up on deck where Jibby kept her company and taught her how to sew sheeting for the sails.

The sounds of hammers and saws went on long into the night as every hand worked to repair the ship
’s damage. The captain sawed planks for the deck and Lesley fought to stifle the thrill of watching his muscles ripple as he worked.

Working under a bright sun, the captain had discarded his
shirt. His body glistened with sweat, outlining every sinew. Those glorious britches displayed his fine thighs and butt. Heat suffused her entire body as she remembered their near tryst in his cabin. She repeatedly stabbed herself with the needle as she sewed because she paid little attention to the task at hand.

Before darkness fell, the captain carried her back to the bunk. He said little, simply the barest essentials. She wanted to kiss him, touch him, and run her fingers through his britches, but she balled her hands into tight fists and merely muttered her thanks for the ride.

Then she spent her lonely nights in the bunk dreaming of him. In every dream, they made wild passionate love. She woke up unsatisfied and longing to get her hands on him despite the danger. 

Though everyone worked diligently on the repairs, the
Lyrical
leaked worse than ever and the pumps were manned at all times. The ship continued on course toward New Providence, despite a distinct lack of sail.

In addition to Jibby, the doctor spent some time with her. When Dr. Gilroy was alone with her he asked for all the details of her experience in traveling backward through time. He listened with great attentiveness and nodded, but he did not take notes and he never offered any ideas of how she could return to her own time.

It would have been depressing if the weather had not been glorious and sunny, plus the work songs of the crew entertained her. Her ankle still throbbed but she had gotten better at hobbling along with the crutch for short distances. She could see why some people liked sailing. With nice weather and no battles, traveling by boat seemed pleasant and rather calming. If she closed her eyes, she could almost envision herself on a fabulous vacation cruise. She knew at any moment the situation on the
Lyrical
could change, but for now she soaked up all the sun she could.

On the fourth day after the freak wave, the captain did not come to take her out on deck. Nevertheless, Jibby came to sit with her for a while. He opened one of the stained-glass windows in the cabin.

He wrung his hands and peered at the sky. “My father was a fisherman, and he told me about those clouds. ‘Get to high ground.’ He said.”

Her breath hitched up in her throat.
Damn.
Her apprehension grew as the wind picked up and the waves grew higher.

Jibby shut the window after a short while. “If we had enough canvas, we could sail before the wind and outrun it.”

From the way he said it, she assumed they didn’t stand a chance. 

He was called away on another task, leaving her alone to listen to the howl of the gale. It did not take long for the storm to hit the
Lyrical
full force. Towering waves battered the already damaged ship. With increasing violence, it pitched and rolled in the monstrous sea. Anything not tied down in the cabin fell to the floor. Lesley gripped the edge of the bunk to prevent herself from being thrown to the floor. The tempest roared with a growl so terrifying it sounded as if all the demons in hell had been let loose.

She wished with all her heart she had never attempted driving to Virginia Beach that one fateful day. 

When one of the stained glass windows shattered, she screamed. Water sloshed into the cabin as the ship shuddered. In desperation, she got off the bunk and dragged the lumpy mattress across the room to stuff it into the gaping hole.

It helped, but not much since smaller streams of water still poured in around the edges. Cold and soaked through to the skin, her heart pounded like the bass drum in a rock band. Hopping on one foot and lugging the mattress to the broken window had been a difficult maneuver. She stood in shin-deep water and stared at the captain’s soaked possessions as they floated by her feet. She wondered how many minutes more she had to live.

Then she saw the little wooden horse whirling around in the water not a foot away from her. She snatched it up and held it to her chest. Warmth sprang out from the toy and she drew in a deep sigh of relief.

“At least I’m not alone,” she whispered.

When two more windows broke, she decided it was time to leave the cabin.

Chapter
Eleven

Harlan ordered all the cannons and shot thrown into the sea. Extra weight must go
. The
Lyrical
had taken on too much water and the sea could swamp them.

He had no warning and no time to brace himself when the rudder broke. The helm spun wildly and the deck tilted at an abrupt angle, throwing him against the skylight. His forehead took the brunt of the impact. Shaking his head to clear it, he wiped away blood as it trickled down his face. He cursed aloud at yet another cruel twist of fate. With the helm now useless, the ship lay at the complete mercy of the storm. It could capsize in the turbulent waves.

Scrambling to his feet, he found Moody on the quarterdeck ordering another man to pick up the helmsman who had also been thrown when the rudder broke.

“Get the carpenter and several men. We must fashion a temporary rudder,
” he shouted to his first mate.

“This is a hurricane, Captain
!”

“Yes, Mr. Moody, but we must fix the rudder.”

Moody glared at him. He turned and grabbed the crewman who had helped the helmsman to his feet. He told him to convey the captain’s order.

With the situation worsening, Harlan decided now was the time to put Lesley into a boat, at least she would have some chance of escape if the situation became impossible.

He nearly tripped over Lesley as she crawled along in the corridor outside his cabin in a foot of water.

“What happened?” she asked. “Where did you get the cut on your forehead?”

“It’s nothing. Are you well?”

“Yes, but when the ship tilted I fell and lost my crutch. It floated away ... somewhere.” She waved her hand.

“The rudder broke.”

“That can’t be good.” Her voice trembled.

“I will put you into one of the boats.”

“Are we abandoning the ship?”

“Not yet, we are still afloat.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He helped her up, and noticed she held the small pony in her hands. A shiver went up his spine. Whatever sorcery the toy possessed unnerved him but this would be a good time for magic if it could save the ship.

“Wait here.” He left her standing in the corridor and waded into his cabin. He chose a knife and took the lantern that swung from the ceiling, which still glowed.

His books, the ship’s log—everything was ruined. He had known the danger of the sea, but he had gone through other storms on other ships—and survived.

How many times could he cheat death?

He returned to Lesley, handed her the lantern, and the knife. Then he struggled to open the door that led to the quarterdeck. It stuck fast. He kicked it to no avail. Returning to his cabin, he grabbed an ax and swung at the door. It took several blows before it gave way. As he shoved it open, he discovered it had been blocked by a large piece of wood.

Fury rose with all the heat of a volcano inside him. Someone had intended to keep him and Lesley inside.

“Hold on tight,” he ordered as he lifted Lesley in his arms. As he stood in the doorframe with her, the mainmast crashed to the deck.

When he stepped out onto the quarterdeck, he struggled to keep his footing. The force of the winds increased and with the rain lashing at him, he could barely see. Once he arrived at the waist, he realized his initial plan to get Lesley to safety had failed. The boats had already been lowered into the sea. Moody, visible in his bright yellow coat, and a dozen other men rowed away in the heavy seas with the small dory in tow carrying more men. The other boat had been caught in a tangle of fallen lines from the main mast. Men chopped furiously at the debris with their hatchets in an effort to escape. Hooper, obviously freed from his prison, bellowed at the men to work faster.

When Harlan came close, Aloysius Meeker pointed a musket at him.

“There’ll be no more room left in this boat, captain. We’ll not overload it in these rough seas.”