Voyage of Ice (7 page)

At first, Elizabeth looked scared, as if she'd never been in the fo'c'sle before. Certain it must have looked wretched, what with clothes piled knee deep, coats moldering on pegs, cockroaches and rats, men groaning in their bunks, and a stink that would shrivel a dog. Nose and fingers pink with cold, slender like her mother, with high cheekbones, Elizabeth dabbed the moisture off her face with a lace-trimmed hanky. I swear I could see the entire ocean in her eyes.

Tucking her hanky down the wrist of her sleeve, Elizabeth saw me and smiled. I felt color creeping past my collar, remembering the last time she'd seen me—getting chewed out by her father for being a poor excuse of a whaleman. When she looked away, I licked my hands and smoothed my hair back and scrubbed my face as best I could. It wouldn't do to look as if I'd been wallowing in a pigpen during a hurricane.

“Elizabeth, pay attention,” said her mother, yanking her arm. “A good captain's daughter will someday make a good captain's
wife. These are duties to which ye must attend.” So saying, Mrs. Thorndike leaned over Irish's wrist and made a quick incision on a boil. Irish paled as blood and pus drained into a bowl. Mrs. Thorndike cleaned the boil with iodine and wrapped it in bandages, all the while explaining to Elizabeth what she was doing. “'Tis the chafing of the wet oilskins that causes the boils…. And of course, this be frostbite. Cape Horn fever, we call it.”

They made their way round all the bunks, finally stopping at Dexter's bunk above me. Mrs. Thorndike was talking to Dexter, asking him how he was feeling, when Elizabeth leaned down to me and whispered, “You're staring.”

I flushed, suddenly finding the underside of the upper bunk most interesting.

“What's your name?” she whispered.

But before I could answer, Mrs. Thorndike yanked Elizabeth upright. “Pay attention, young lady. This poor sailor's telling us all about his boils and all ye can do is lollygag. Time's a-wasting.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Now I want you to lance his boils, clean them, and bandage them just like I shown you.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Soon it was my turn.

“Why, young man, it doesn't look as if you've set foot out of your quarters for days.”

“Uh—yes'm.”

“What's ailing you, then?”

“I—uh—fell out of the rigging.”

“Funny, I didn't hear of it. Usually Mr. Thorndike informs me of such occasions.”

“He must've forgotten.”

She asked me what I'd hurt in my fall, and I told her, aware that Elizabeth was watching and listening. After my explanation,
Mrs. Thorndike began examining me. She was a stern-looking woman, narrow-faced, her faded yellow hair pulled back tightly. Tiny wrinkles played at the corners of her eyes. She looked to be in her mid-forties.

I winced when she examined my ribs.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Yes'm.”

“Take another week of rest, and then report for light duty.”

“Yes'm.”

“Well, Elizabeth, we've done our duty for today. Gather our things together, and mind ye hold on to the lifeline.”

Elizabeth flashed a smile at me before following her mother out of the fo'c'sle.

There was a brief silence after they left before Irish said, “Well now, Bones, I think the lass has taken a fancy to the cut of your jib, though why is a mystery!”

“Must be the dashing air about him,” said another sailor; “you know, his elegance and ease.”

“Must be all them muscles.”

“Couldn't be his brains.”

“Maybe she's just a wee bit seasick.”

“She'd have to be.”

“Poor lass.”

“Ah, don't worry none. Ol' lover-boy Nick will cheer her right up. Ain't that right, Bones?”

I didn't answer, grinning so hard my cheeks ached.
By fire, I think I'm cured.

“Good girl, that's my good girl.” I patted Ninny's side as she nibbled my sleeve. Then, after rubbing my hands together, I began to milk the goat. “I know, girl, you miss your baby and my hands are cold, but hold still now. Eat your grain and let me do my job.”

Goat duty.

That's what everyone called it. The cook, the steward, everyone thought it was a tedious chore, but I loved it. Besides being a fine producer, giving upwards of a gallon a day, Ninny was a good goat. Friendly and sweet. From the time I first scratched behind her ears, behind her little horns, she bleated for me whenever I passed, straining against the rope round her neck. It was the beginning of February, and ever since being taken off the sick list the week before (not long after Ninny had given birth to a kid that ended up adorning the captain's table), I'd been given permanent goat duty. And though we were headed north now, toward the equator and the Sandwich Islands, it was still nippy.

“Almost done, girl. Steady there.”

Someone giggled beside me. “Do you always talk to animals?”

Startled, I felt heat blaze up my neck. “I didn't know anyone was listening.”

Elizabeth laughed again and moved closer, the orange tabby nestled in her arms. Her waist-length hair was tied back in a blue ribbon that matched her eyes and her bonnet. A faint scent of lilac caught the breeze. “What do they call you besides Bones?”

I glanced round quickly. “Who, me?”

“Of course you, silly.”

“Nick—I mean, Nicholas Robbins.” I glanced round again, knowing that if anyone caught me talking to Miss Elizabeth, I was dead. Even though I liked her fine, I wished she'd go away.

“Well, hello, then.” She breathed deeply, looking about.

“Why, it's a right fine day, Mr. Robbins. Don't you think?”

“Uh—well—aye.”

I milked awhile in silence, trying to think of something to say. But all I could think of was how the old man was going to kill me. Trice? Hanging? Maybe he would just fling me overboard as a waste of grub. No need for a burial. “Uh—Miss Elizabeth, if
anyone catches me talking to you, why, the old man—I mean— you know, Captain Thorn—” I choked on my words, for she plunked herself on the deck beside me, arranging her skirts as if she were sitting for a picnic, placing her cat on her lap.

Oh, dear sweet holy angels in heaven. I'm in trouble now.

The cat meowed and Elizabeth rubbed its head.

“What's its name?” I asked, unable to think of anything smarter to say.

“Prince Albert. I found him by the waterfront a week before we set sail. He was lost and hungry.” She stroked the cat and I heard it purr. “Gets awful lonesome in the cabin by myself, you know. I'm not allowed to talk to anyone except Cook and Duff. My parents, well, they watch my every move as if I was going to do something horrid. Stand in the sun without a bonnet or climb the mainmast dressed in nothing but my petticoats or something equally silly.”

“Oh.” I kept glancing round to see if we were being watched. My neck prickled as I imagined Thorndike grabbing me from behind and shaking me like a dog shakes a rat.

“Of course, Mother and Father had a fit when I brought the cat aboard. They have a fit about everything. Said the best thing for it was the dinner table.” Seeing the expression on my face, she laughed. “Oh, Nick—can I call you that?—I'm only kidding! No, they let me keep it, but only if it doesn't make any noise or pester them.” She was silent, hugging the cat, seeming lost in thought. Then she said, “You're different from the rest of them.”

I milked faster. “How so?”

“I don't know. It's just that you—you seem so … nice.”

Nice?
Being nice was about as exciting as a wart. I wanted to appear rugged and strong and as brave as Dexter.

“Oh, don't look so disappointed! Nice is good!”

When I said nothing, she said, “In fact, you remind me of my brother.”

“Your brother?” I hadn't recalled seeing a boy around.

“Aye. You look just like Thomas. It was the first thing I noticed when I saw you.”

“Where is he?”

She shrugged. “He was lost at sea a couple years ago. Father said he was the finest whaleman he'd ever seen and would have made a fine captain. He was already second mate.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, meanwhile thinking,
Terrific! I look like Thorndike's dead son. Me—a pathetic excuse for a whaleman and a blubbering girl besides.
“I—I really shouldn't be talking to you, Miss Elizabeth. I could get into a heap of trouble, you know.”

Her eyes brightened and she grinned impishly. “But you're not talking, I am.”

Ninny bleated and nibbled my hair. I couldn't help smiling and scratching her side. “All done now. You're a good girl, Ninny.”

“See? That's what I mean. How many men would pat a goat and tell her she's a good girl?”

I was stumped. “How many?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed again.

I felt my face flush bright as a tomato, realizing I'd just made a perfect fool of myself. Again. “I—I'd better go, Miss Elizabeth. Sorry about your brother.” I grabbed the milk bucket, but before I could dash away like the idiot I was, she put her hand on my arm.

“Please don't change. Don't become like everybody else. Please.” Her blue eyes were clear, sad somehow. “And I'm sorry about what Father said to you the other day. He's like that sometimes. I think you bring out the worst in him.”

“Why?” I couldn't help asking.

She shrugged. “I don't know. I—I guess because you're not my brother and never will be.”

I tried to swallow, my mouth dry as sand. “Bye,” I croaked, slopping milk out of the bucket as I stumbled toward the galley, remembering the old man's words,
Ye make me sick to look at ye.

I told Dexter about my looking like Thorndike's dead son. Lying on his bunk, chest bare, Dexter was quiet for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “Of all the blasted luck,” he finally whispered. “Wouldn't you rather have put up with a few bugs?”

“You're the one who was drooling, saying she was the ship of your dreams. I was just following you.”

“You know, Nick, it would be real nice if you had a brain for yourself now and then. Take my advice. Keep your nose clean and steer clear of Thorndike. In about six weeks we'll be at the Sandwich Islands and it's good-bye,
Sea Hawk
. Think you can do that, or is that too tough to figure?” So saying, he pulled his calico curtain closed, shutting me out.

Well. Real brotherly-like.

Little more than a month later, come one afternoon, just as I was climbing down the main shrouds after my spell as lookout, I heard a “Psst!” and saw a white handkerchief fluttering on the end of a fishing pole. The other end of the pole was hidden behind the steerage companionway, beneath the amidship shelter. Though it was a few feet abaft the mainmast and therefore in “officers' country,” it seemed as if someone was trying to get my attention. Seeing the mates busy elsewhere, I crept over.

I peered round the companionway. There, crouching, holding the pole, was Elizabeth. “Oh, hello, Nicholas. I was hoping I'd catch a nice tall fish today.”

I licked my lips, my heart doing a somersault. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention, what do you think?”

“What for?”

“I have something for you.” She set down the pole, grabbed a sack from behind her, and handed it to me.

“What's in it?”

“Go ahead, open it.”

Even before I looked inside, I knew what I'd find. I'd smelled them all afternoon, the aroma wafting up to the mastheads, making my stomach growl and bringing dreams of home. “Gingersnaps,” I said, my mouth watering.

“I baked them today with Mother. I made extra for you.” She smiled as the breeze ruffled the ribbons on her bonnet. “Thought you might be tired of fo'c'sle food.”

I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated her baking extra cookies for me. Actually, what I
really
wanted to tell her was how lovely she looked today. How I liked the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, like sunlight on the ocean. But just as I opened my mouth to thank her, Captain Thorndike emerged from the aft companionway and began peering round as he always did. “I—I've got to go,” I blurted, and hurried away, stuffing the bag down my shirt.

When I reached the windlass, I glanced back. Thorndike was staring at me. Elizabeth stood by the steerage companionway where I'd left her, her back to her father, a wounded expression on her face. She waved a tiny wave, only lifting a few fingers.

I turned away, not daring to wave back while the old man's eyes bored holes through me.
Blast Thorndike!
A bitter taste grew in my mouth even as the spicy smell of gingersnaps surrounded me, the cookies warm against my skin.

Only two weeks to go
, I thought.
Then Thorndike, Elizabeth, and the
Sea Hawk
will be only a memory.

he whale's tooth my father had given me was stuffed down my shirt. I also had my ditty box, which held my soap, my comb, my mirror, and whatnot. I couldn't take too much; I didn't want to look suspicious. As it was, I wore my pea jacket to cover it all up, plus two pairs of dungarees, hoping I wouldn't look too stuffy walking round Honolulu.