HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado (12 page)

The storm had been building for days. Daniel knew after a turn around the deck and from the gruff expressions of the sailors he passed that it would be a rough night. He turned into his tiny private cabin several hours later, eyeing the door five down that he knew was Moira’s. For all her worldliness, the girl was young and somewhat naive. Did she fully recognize the dangers of being at sea—and from men such as Gavin Knapp?

He stood there a moment, wondering what it was about the little spitfire that so intrigued him. Perhaps it was that she was so utterly different than his wife … Mary had been quiet, almost stoic. They could spend hours in companionable silence, communicating at times with a single look or gesture. Theirs had been the most peaceful relationship he’d ever known, and yet deeply passionate.

Daniel looked down the hall again, imagining Moira inside. That one wore her passion on her sleeve. He closed the door, deciding Moira St. Clair was no concern of his. He was to look after his boss’s shipment and return to his quiet life in Leadville. That was his only charter.

He climbed into his bunk and rocked against the side panels, so heavy were the seas. He forced himself to think of Mary, finding comfort in familiar old sorrow rather than the agitation of new intrigue. Mary, dear God, Mary … more than two years ago now …

Daniel awoke when a wave hit the ship with such force that he rolled over the barrier bar and onto the floor. He blinked, trying to see anything in the India-ink darkness and make sense of where he was. The wave passed and he rolled back again, hitting the bunk with a grunt. He grasped hold of the wood and hauled himself upright. Outside in the hallway he could hear faint calls for help, moaning. Were people injured?

He found his trousers and fell into his bunk to put them on, leaning against the next wave, swiftly buttoning them with one hand and holding on to the far side panel as the boat rocked to nearly a forty-five degree angle. If this kept up, they would be in danger of capsizing. They needed to get upstairs, to the parlor, all the passengers. Somewhere they’d have a chance of escaping.

Daniel tried to move cautiously to the door, but was again thrust to the far side of his narrow room. He grimaced and felt for the knob, found it and pulled it open. In the hallway a lantern swung from a central hook, confirming what he already knew. The ship was in trouble. Ten passengers were already in the passageway. “Get upstairs!” he barked. “To the parlor! If we go over, we need to be up there to escape!”

A woman, still in her nightdress and cap, covered her mouth in horror at Daniel’s words, but her husband emerged from their room, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and then led her toward the stairs. Others followed them. How many were left?

Daniel made his way to the end of the hallway and began pounding on each door, shouting at the occupants to rise, make their way upstairs. He opened each one, surprising an elderly couple, but finding the rest mostly empty. He got to Gavin Knapp’s room and heard moaning inside. He quickly entered and found the man on the floor rolling back and forth, his head bright with blood. He frowned and picked up the man and placed him on his bunk again, tying a shirt across the top of him to keep him somewhat in place. He’d come back for him once he knew everyone else was out.

The next two cabins produced two more men, one a merchant, another a banker he’d met at the captain’s table. Both had managed to don jackets and trousers, although neither wore shoes. They nodded at him in grim greeting and, with hands out to either side of the passageway to brace themselves, made their way to the stairs.

Daniel hesitated at Moira’s door. Then, irritated with himself, knocked sharply. “Miss St. Clair! Moira! We need to get above decks!”

“I cannot!” she called back. “I’m trapped. A trunk slid sideways and it’s jammed against the door.”

Her tone denoted fear, but not panic. “Shove, Moira. With your shoulder. You must get it clear.”

Another wave hit, making the ship groan, as if every plank wished to crack in half. Daniel crashed against the door across the hall from Moira’s, but it held. He looked down the hallway to the lantern, his eyes narrowing in concern as it was again at nearly a forty-five degree angle.

“Daniel!” Moira called. “Daniel!”

“I’m here! When the ship rights itself, get away from the door!”

“All right!”

They seemed to be hanging on the edge of this giant wave for a terribly long time. How big were the swells? But then they were past it, coming down the far side, and Daniel used the momentum of the shift to crash to the other side, shoulder first, breaking through the top of the thin wall of her cabin door. He peered inside, trying to see her in the deep shadows. “Moira?”

“Here!” she called, and suddenly he could see her slender fingers reaching for his. He grabbed hold and, going to his knees, pulled her up and through the hole. The wave released them and they crashed across the hallway. He held on tight to the woman, fearful she would be hurt, but then found he was fighting for breath.

“Daniel?” she edged off him and to his side. “Daniel?”

He turned toward her, noting her pretty wide eyes were now under the eave of a furrowed brow. Heavens, she was a sight. Mass of blonde curls about her shoulders. White nightdress with soft ruffles at the neck. An angel. So like—

The boat rocked again and he grabbed hold of her forearm and braced himself against the far hallway wall, easing them both across the way. “We have to get out of here, Moira. Go, up the stairs to the parlor. If we capsize, being down here will be our doom.”

“I want to stay with you,” she said, suddenly a frightened little girl in a grown woman’s body.

“No, I have to go and get Gavin. He’s been hurt.”

“Gavin? Let me help.”

“No!” he said sharply. He pointed down the hall. “Go! Now!”

She stared back at him a moment, fury making her defiant, then she turned and made her way in the direction he had pointed. Daniel watched her for a long moment, then turned to get Gavin.

Moira sank down into a corner, knees before her chest, and looked around in terror. Women screamed with each new wave, and men grunted or groaned. Light from the few lamps in the room cast eerie shadows across them all and glittered on the stream of water that leaked from under the door and across the parlor floor.

A man outside shrieked and then a massive wave hit, sending many of them tumbling down to the other side of the room. Moira clung to the deck doorway, where water was pouring in from all sides. Would it hold? Or would the very sea soon pour in upon them, filling the ship until it sank to the bottom? Water sprayed downward, drenching her, and the ship hung for so long, at such a terrible angle, she feared it was the moment of demise.

What had happened to the sailor who had called out before the wave hit? Was he gone? Overboard, drifting, calling, helpless?

Alone. Mama, I’m so alone.
It pierced her, the thought, stole her breath.
I don’t want to die alone.
She wished her mother was here now, huddled with her, cradling her head to her chest.

You’re not alone, Moira.

I am. I need to get to someone. Someone who can save me … or die with me.

The ship groaned and creaked, sounding as if it might break in two, and then slowly rocked back. Moira used the momentum to stand again and move as quickly down the stairs as possible before the next wave hit. In seconds, she was down in the sleeping quarters. But it was terribly dark.

“Daniel! Gavin!” she called. “Daniel!”

Water dripped down from above from every hole and crevice between the planks. How much water had they taken on? She was drenched and cold. Were the men underwater? Trapped?

“Daniel!” she cried, making her way forward, hands out to keep her from crashing into either wall. “Gavin!”

Daniel swung partway into the hallway then, lantern in one hand, Gavin to his side. For but a portion of a moment, Daniel’s eyes locked with hers, intense, as if he was silently communicating with her. He was angry, furious, frustrated, but conversely glad to see her, glad she was all right. She could see all that in his eyes. Moira held her breath, waiting for him to speak again to her, speak without words. “I told you to stay above, Moira,” he ground out, breaking their reverie. “If we go over, I don’t want you to—”

But then the momentum of a smaller wave brought both men fully into the hall, side by side, and it was Gavin who captured her attention. Gavin’s arm was stretched across Daniel’s back and blood flooded down his handsome face. He lifted his head and grinned, staring at her. “Do my eyes deceive me? Look, Adams, the storm has brought us the most beautiful mermaid of all. Heavens, Moira, if a stage director could capture you, like this, there would be no end to that opera’s production.”

“Shush, Gavin,” she said, making her way to them. The passageway was too narrow to help them, to slide under Gavin’s other arm, but she waited until they were near. She lifted a trembling hand to push back a shock of wet blond hair from Gavin’s brow, studying the gash.

He took her hand and kissed it. “I’ll be all right, beautiful. We only have to survive this storm and we’ll have a tale to tell, won’t we?”

She glanced at Daniel, but he was already moving his eyes from her and hauling Gavin forward.

Apparently, he had nothing left to say to her, spoken or unspoken.

“Keep your eyes open for phantom ships,” William said lowly.

“No pirate would dare attack us,” Nic retorted. But still he ran his fingers over the hilt of his revolver, tucked into the back of his waistband. The Falkland Islands were rumored to be rife with pirates, intent on capturing any merchant daring to round the Cape Horn en route to the West Coast of America or onward to the Far East. He couldn’t blame them, really. This was a solid trade route. The
Mirabella
held a wealth of her own in the hold.

“The British privateers keep most of them at bay, but word has it the brigands favor fog such as this.”

“Nothing but the ghost stories of idle sailors.” Nic raised his fingers and widened his eyes, feigning fear a moment, then letting out a scoffing sound. “It makes no sense. If we can’t see where we’re going, how would they find us to attack?”

William pursed his lips and lowered his voice. “They say they know these waters as a blind man knows his own street. They’re able to sail sightless.”

“But if they were sailing, they’d be dead in the water in this soup,” Nic retorted. “We would have to assume they were powered by steam, as are we. And we’d hear their approach.”