A Million Tears (22 page)

She shuddered and stepped through the door onto the deck. The wind whipped at her clothes and legs, the deck so slippery she half fell a number of times, only saved from being hurt by grasping the handrail. With relief she saw the body only a matter of a few yards away. She gripped the railing tightly and stretched out her foot but could not touch him. She yelled at the top of her voice at the inert form but there was no response. She was terrified to let go of the handrail and frantically she thought what to do. The ship pitched again and the body slid six inches so the upright now held him at his chest and not his middle. Once more and he would be over the side. The movement decided her. When the ship steadied briefly she let go, dropped to her knees and crawled across the space. She grabbed him and tried to drag him away from the rail. She pulled with all her strength but it was no good. He was a big man and too heavy for her. Desperately, Meg tried again but achieved nothing. She was close to panic. The ship pitched and he moved another few inches. She had no idea what to do. If she left to fetch help he would be gone before she could return. Why hadn’t she gone for help in the first place, she asked herself in anguish? She had to try again.

Her hair was plastered to her face, she was soaked through and the cold was biting into her, sapping her strength. Suddenly the ship rolled to port, she grabbed him by the waist and heaved with all her might. Together they slid across the deck to the saloon bulkhead. Meg stretched up and grabbed the handrail above her head as the ship rolled heavily to starboard. The body underneath and the jerk of the movement was too much for her and the rail slipped from her grasp. Inexorably they slid towards the railing, Meg frantically trying to push the body back. Her foot was over the edge and still the ship was not coming out of the roll. She fell across the body, her knees slipping out from under her and together they slid under the guard rail.

Then hands. They grabbed her, held her hanging half over the side. The ship’s roll stopped, started back the other way and she was lifted inboard. The three men helped drag the body to safety.

‘It’s all right now, miss,’ First Mate Beddows yelled. ‘You’re safe now.’

When she realised the meaning of his words, Meg fainted.

She came to, surrounded by strange faces but in warm and pleasant surroundings. The seamen had carried the captain to his bunk and Meg to the sofa in his day cabin. Somebody had wrapped a blanket around her and the First Mate held her propped up, administering brandy to her. She choked on the fiery spirit and pushed his hand away.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered and then found her voice. ‘Thank you, but I’m all right now.’ She sat up, cold, wet and feeling vulnerable beneath the stares of her rescuers. ‘I must go and find my husband. How is the man I was trying to hold?’

‘You don’t know who it was?’ asked one of the sailors, surprised; surely everybody knew the captain?

‘Eh, no,’ Meg shook her head. ‘I just saw him fall and went to see if I could help. I didn’t really get a good look at him.’

‘I think, madam,’ the mate said solemnly, ‘you should know that you saved the life of the ship’s captain. We got to you just in time, thank God, but if you hadn’t been there it’s more than likely he would have been swept over the side.’

‘He’ll be fine in the morning.’ said the mate. ‘He was knocked out and is still a bit groggy but he’ll be all right after a night’s sleep. Is there anything we can get you?’

‘No,’ Meg replied, throwing off the blanket and standing up. A wave of giddiness swept through her. ‘I must go down to my husband.’ The ship rolled and she fell against one of the men.

‘Easy, madam,’ said the mate, taking her arm. ‘Here, let me help you. Which cabin are you in?’

‘I can manage, really I can, thank you. Please don’t trouble.’ The ship rolled again and Meg stumbled, admitting to herself she felt very unsteady.

‘It’s no trouble at all. Come on, now, which cabin is it?’

They had reached the cabin door when it flew open and Evan stepped out. He stopped in amazement when he saw Meg, white as chalk and soaking wet, being helped by one of the ship’s officers.

16

Evan took hold of Meg, bracing himself against the bulkhead when the ship yawed. Meg was shivering uncontrollably. ‘Meg, what on earth’s happened? Are you all right?’

‘Sir,’ the First Mate answered, ‘your wife saved the captain’s life a short while ago and very nearly lost her own while doing so.’ He touched his cap in a half salute, amused at the amazement on Evan’s face. ‘I’ll leave your wife to tell you all about it. If her story is as modest as the one I suspect she’ll tell, then no doubt the rumours my crew are spreading will add a few more facts. Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, madam and thank you once again.’ He walked away, rolling easily with the ship’s motion.

Evan came to his senses and quickly got Meg inside and onto her bunk. He undressed her, throwing her wet clothes into a corner.

He said almost brusquely, trying to hide the worry he had felt when he had woken and found her missing. ‘Well, what happened?’ He regretted it as soon as he spoke when he saw her eyes cloud with hurt. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he leaned over and kissed her. ‘I was getting worried, that’s all. What are you smiling at?’

‘You. Watching the concentration on your face as you undress me. Let me help.’ A few seconds later she was under the blankets. Her body, Evan felt, was like marble and she had started to shiver again. He threw his own clothes on the other bunk and squeezed in beside her. The cabin had two bunks, one on either side of the door, two easy chairs, a small table, plenty of cupboard and drawer space and a wash basin.

They lay silently for a while, Meg’s body gradually becoming warmer, her shivering stopping, her head nestled on Evan’s shoulder.

‘What happened?’ he whispered.

She told him simply without really conveying the horror of the event, particularly the feeling she had had when she thought she was going to be swept overboard. She trembled at the thought. Evan squeezed her tighter and kissed her. He realised how close he had been to losing her.

‘I don’t know whether to . . . to,’ he cleared his throat, his eyes misty, ‘to tell you off for being so stupid for trying something like that or kiss you and tell you how brave you were. Which you were, incredibly so.’

‘No, Cariad’- Meg lapsed into Welsh, ‘I wasn’t brave. I was terrified. But kiss me anyway.’ She felt him stir against her thigh. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘Make me warm.’

Meg was about to reply when there was a knock on the door. Evan fell out of the bunk in his haste, wrapped a towel around himself and called: ‘Come in.’

A steward stood in the doorway, a tray in his hands. ‘Captain’s compliments. I’ve been ordered to serve you breakfast.’ He smiled at their surprise. ‘I er, took the liberty of asking your children what you’d like and they suggested this.’ He raised the cover a few inches. ‘If it’s not to your satisfaction then I can change it.’ He placed the tray on the table. There were fried eggs, bacon and kidneys, freshly squeezed orange juice, toast a pot of tea and one of coffee. ‘Also the captain would be pleased if you could join him at twelve noon for a drink. Will that be satisfactory?’

‘Eh? Yes, thank you,’ Evan found his tongue. ‘Tell the captain we’ll be eh . . . most happy em, to . . . .yes, thank you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ the steward nodded his head and left.

Meg and Evan were too stunned to speak and before either could say anything the door burst open and Dai and Sion ran in. Uncle James stood in the doorway, a helpless expression on his face.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t keep them out,’ he said.

‘Calm down, boys,’ Evan said, as both of them spoke at once. When they took no notice he said loudly: ‘Quiet.’ There was a sudden silence. ‘Good, now I know you both want to know what’s happened and you’ll be told all in good time . . .’

‘All right, now if you’ll both leave for a few minutes and give us time to dress then come back later – and this time knock.’ They went meekly out the door, Evan winking at Uncle James over their heads.

Meg and Evan were half way through breakfast when there was a gentle knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ called Evan, grinning at the demure look the boys had adopted, when he saw them.

Within seconds the look was gone and they talked nineteen to the dozen, finding out what happened. Around the ship the story made no mention of the fact Meg herself had been rescued just in time. The story being told was Meg had single handedly pulled the captain from the edge of death back to the saloon. There were a few variations on the same theme, all adding to the confusion.

‘Because the invitation was for drinks,’ said Meg. ‘But I’ll tell you what. I’ll ask if you can see the top of the ship. The . . . eh . . . what’s it called?’

‘Bridge,’ her sons answered together.

With that they had to be content. When they had left, Evan noticed how much calmer the sea was now than it had been during the night. ‘The storm must have passed us,’ he said.

Meg frowned at him; she had not heard what he had said. She was holding her two best dresses. ‘Which shall I wear?’

Evan shrugged and sat heavily on the arm of a chair. ‘I don’t want to go, Meg,’ he said quietly.

Meg threw her dresses onto one of the bunks and knelt beside him. ‘I know how you feel.’ She took his hand and gently stroked the back of it. ‘Are you thinking about all those people we’ve seen? . . . The way they dress? . . . And . . .’ she trailed off.

Evan nodded. ‘Aye, love. It’s no good kidding ourselves is it? We come from a mining village up the valleys. In a few days we’ll be in America, trying very hard to make a living. All this has been the sort of holiday we never dreamed we could have. We’ve had a nice cabin to ourselves instead of being down below where we belong. Hell,’ he hated admitting what he believed . . . ‘I’m a rough miner. What manners I’ve got are thanks to you. And I’m supposed to go up there and drink with the captain? I like a pint of beer. What’ll he say to that eh? Look at my hands. They’re hard, rough and ingrained with coal. It’ll take a lifetime to remove the black. For the first time in my life I’m ashamed of what I am and where I come from. Do you understand Meg? Aye, and frightened too, now we’ve left the village.’ He reached out and caressed her hair. ‘Don’t cry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you . . . I’m sorry.’

Meg fought back her tears, her heart going out to him. ‘I understand, Evan,’ she took his hand and lifted it to her lips. ‘But you shouldn’t even think it. You’re as good as any man on this ship and one day you’ll be sitting down to dine with the best of them. You’ll see. And in the meantime tell me what’s more important. The boys and I and our lives together or what those people think? How many of them, for all their money, have our happiness? Our love?’ She leaned forward and kissed his lips. ‘I wouldn’t change places with any of them for all the wealth in the world. Please believe that.’

He smiled. ‘Really Meg? Hearing you say it makes me realise I wouldn’t change with any of them either.’ He pulled her tightly into his arms and held her until his mood changed.

‘Wear the black and white one,’ he said unexpectedly.

It took Meg a few seconds to realise he was talking about her dress. ‘Fine and you wear your grey suit, the new one.’ She did not need to specify because it was the only one Evan owned.

The ship’s bell was sounding twelve o’clock when they were shown into the captain’s day cabin by a smartly dressed, white-uniformed steward. ‘Mr and Mrs Griffiths and Mr Price,’ he announced and stepped to one side to allow them to pass.

Much to their surprise the captain was alone in the cabin. As he came forward to shake Meg’s hand she thought how distinguished he looked, with his brown wavy hair going grey at the temples and the cut and fit of his reefer jacket with the gold stripes on the sleeves. His smile was broad and friendly.

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking you here like this but it seemed the easiest way to say thank you.’ He had a pleasant voice with no trace of an accent. Buchanan turned to Evan and shook his hand, his grip firm and dry.

‘Mr Price, I’m pleased to meet you, too. My name’s John Buchanan. Please call me John. I can’t stand it when people call me captain, especially over drinks. Now what can I get you? I’m going to have a beer. I drink enough of that other rubbish when I have to make conversation with the first class passengers.’ He poured the drinks himself, guessing that the presence of a steward would probably have made them ill at ease; he was nothing if not considerate. Evan and Uncle James also took beers, Meg a sherry.

Buchanan raised his glass. ‘I don’t know how to say thank you to someone for saving my life, especially a lovely lady . . . eh . . . Damn me if I can’t remember the speech I’d planned.’