Loving Sarah (4 page)

My dearest family,

First, please do not be upset. Rest assured, I am safe with Lucky. And please, for pity’s sake, do NOT interrupt the race because of my desire not to allow another adventure to pass me by!

I have decided that because it is highly doubtful that I shall ever marry, there are a few things I would like to do before I settle into my spinsterhood. One is seeing if the ocean really is as clear and blue as I’ve always heard; another is to see America.

Also, please do not fault Lucky in this. He knew nothing of my plans.

Love, and etc.,

Your Sister,

Sarah

With the note written, she placed it inside the old ship’s journal she’d been reading, leaving it prominently placed on top of the
secretaire
. The only thing she waited for now was the house to go quiet for the night.

S
lipping past the fire boy as he slept in the kitchen proved easier than she’d expected, and once outside, she made her way to the street, keeping to the shadows alongside the house as much as possible. She walked briskly and with intent toward the port a short distance away. She entered the area cordoned off for the morning ceremonies and began to look for someone to ferry her out to
Avenger
. Pulling the gray coarse-knit cap down lower over her brow, she took on a stooped posture and with the bag slung over her shoulder she looked very much like any other young sailor. She raised the collar of her coat, hiding her face and any trace of the waist-length braid tucked inside.

A scrawny lad sat with his feet dangling over the side of the dock. Glancing over the edge, she saw a dinghy tied below. Sarah dropped her voice, hoping she sounded masculine. “Can ye ferry me out to me boat, lad? I shoulda been on it hours ago and th’ cap’n will be missin’ me come sun-up.”

The lad shook his head. “Can’t do it. I’m waitin’ on me own cap’n.”

“There’ll be coin in it for ye.”

The boy looked more interested now that money was mentioned. “’Ow much ye got?”

Sarah fished two half sovereigns from her pocket and showed him. The boy looked at the money in her hand, then around the darkened pier.

“Fine. But I gotta be quick, don’t know when me cap’n’s comin’ back.” Sarah tossed the bag into the dinghy and stepped down into it. Once the boy shoved away from the pier with the oar, he asked, “Which un’s yer boat?”

“
Avenger
.”

“Aye. I knows where it is.”

They rowed out about a hundred yards into the darkness with only the light of a cloud-covered sliver of moon. Gentle waves lapped the side of the tiny craft.

This was it. There was no turning back now. She was on her way to see the ocean and America. Well, at least one city in America. She told herself that she would return to see more of the country later. Perhaps once she found a traveling companion.

She trembled with anticipation when the lad brought the dinghy along-side Lucky’s boat, near the rope ladder. “Are ye sure ye got the right boat?” she asked. “Don’t want me cap’n lashin’ me back.”

“Aye, she’s the right un. I’m right alongside ye on
Evangeline
.”

She handed the lad the two coins, tossed her satchel over her shoulder, and grabbed hold of the Jacob’s ladder.

“Good luck to ye.”

“Aye. And to you too,” she replied as she began to climb up the port side.

She peered over the rail and saw no one about. Silently climbing onto the deck, Sarah wound her way toward the bow and prayed the hatch to the forward hold would be open. If so, she’d climb down and hide there. If it wasn’t, she knew she couldn’t lift it easily or quietly. In that case, she’d have to find the lazarette, or dry goods storeroom, if there was one, and hide there.

Seeing the open hatch, she thanked God and knelt to look inside. It was dark out and even darker below in the hold. She’d just have to take her chances. She lowered her bag in and dropped it. It didn’t make a sound so she assumed her landing, too, would be soft and silent. She sat in front of the hold, grabbing the lip of the hatch opposite, and scooted her bottom forward, then dropped herself feet first into the abyss.

As she’d suspected, she landed on folded canvas duck cloth. Yards and yards of the stuff. Spare sails, she thought. Wonderful. Moving to the far corner of the cavernous dark hold, she lay on the folded material and using her satchel as a pillow, forced her racing heart to calm and tried to sleep.

G
rayish-pink light filtered into the forward hold from overhead. Day was breaking. Footsteps alerted her to at least one crewman awake above deck. The man drew closer to the bow, and her hideout. Sarah quickly lifted a fold of sailcloth and ducked under it, then remembered her bag and covered herself and it thoroughly. The hatch overhead slammed shut, echoing in the hold and reverberating through her body. Trapped. Truly shut-in. The time to cry off—if she were going to do such a thing—was now past.

She threw the stifling sail off her and thought about the adventure ahead. Soon, the race would be underway and Lucky wouldn’t be able to send her ashore. That’s when she would come out of hiding. There was no way she’d spend the entire voyage down here. She wanted to see the ocean teeming with fishes and feel the salty wind and sea spray as it whipped over her face and through her hair. She wanted to see no land, because she’d never sailed anywhere before where you couldn’t see or swim to land nearby. She wanted to experience that sense of vulnerability that comes with being at the complete mercy of a force greater than any she’d ever known, that supreme force of nature described by her relatives and the other sea captains of whom she’d read. They were men who’d established trade with countries around the globe, men whose bravery and skills brought almost every boat and man home.

The darkened hold became stifling, the smell of pitch burning her lungs now that no air entered from the hatchway. Removing her coat, she clung to it, coughing into it for several minutes before tossing it to the side along with her hat and satchel. Sounds coming from above told her the crew was weighing anchor. The boat began to move, now free from its mooring. Sarah heard the excitement of the crew as the sails were raised and felt the vessel surge forward. The boat pitched hard to port as it turned, throwing Sarah into the bulkhead, where she struck her shoulder on a beam. After a muted scream of agony, she quickly scrambled under the folded sailcloth to keep from getting tossed about while she was down here. And even though it was more than a bit warm, the additional weight kept her relatively padded and safe from any abrupt movements.

She tried to get situated once again and settled in with the comforting rocking and rolling motion of a ship at full sail. Smiling in the inky blackness, she wondered if her maid had noticed her gone yet and if her brother had read her letter.

He was sure to be angry, but hopefully not so angry that he’d delay the start of the race to search Lucky’s boat and haul her back home.

No, he wouldn’t do that. That would cause a scandal. And if there was one thing the Duke of Caversham detested, it was the mere thought of the family name tangled up in a scandal.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

S
arah knew the precise moment they’d hit the open sea. The boat began to pitch unlike anything she’d ever known before. Of course, it didn’t help being in the farthest front compartment as the bow sliced through the waves. Perhaps that was why people didn’t sleep in the bow unless in a hammock and why only sails were stored here. Sails couldn’t get beat up, like over-confident, impulsive ladies who didn’t think before they got themselves locked in the forward hold.

Thankfully the sailcloth provided her some protection, but she was still tossed about the small compartment. Once she even hit the solid oak rafter of the deck above her. Sarah heard a voice issue orders above and the scurry of footsteps as the command was carried out.

This went on for quite a while, and Sarah contemplated banging on the hatch to have someone let her out. She was thirsty and hungry and needed to relieve herself. She had no idea how long she’d been down here, nor how far out of Liverpool they were. Another pitch and she felt weightless again, bracing herself for another hit against the rafter.

This was insane. She wanted adventure, not broken bones. When the boat turned hard over, Sarah flew into the right bulkhead. She vowed that the minute she heard footsteps above deck she would scream for the man to let her out. Having no idea how long the seas were going to be rough, or when anyone might open the hatch so she could get some fresh air, she decided she just could not wait any longer. Oh, what was she thinking? No one even knew she was down here. It was then she realized spare sails didn’t need fresh air, just protection from water. If she didn’t die from smashing her noggin on a beam, she’d surely suffocate.

It seemed an eternity before she heard voices and footsteps headed toward the bow. But as soon as she did, she let out with the loudest, longest scream she could muster.

I
an stood at the wheel with his eye on the fore-and-aft sail and foresail. Scanning the horizon once again, he caught sight of
Avenger
and knew Lucky followed his lead. He had an approximately six-minute lead out of the box, which meant nearly a mile separated the two vessels in this first ever Atlantic Crossing Challenge. Now, almost two hours into the race, ahead of him were one square-rigged vessel at full sail, and the
Ann McKim
. By luck of the draw, nineteen of the thirty-two boats entered in the competition left the starting box before him. Ian allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as he realized all that stood between him and the lead were the two vessels ahead, especially since the
Revenge
was a three-masted topsail schooner, which at first glance might not look nearly as fast as the
Ann McKim
with her long jibboom and four headsails, but was in fact much quicker.

He knew a race such as this wasn’t won on the number of sails or masts. A skilled captain was essential, but what some sailors tended to overlook was the one thing Ian considered most important. The hull and the keel. And these two boats had been retrofitted specifically to his design. If he was right and he won, then his entire fleet of schooners would be designed the same.

As he set a course to the next way point, Ian pondered the things he could do with that winning purse, the first being to hire a decent, reliable cook. It was during his musings that one of the crew shouted something to him from the bow. Looking out at the flying jib and seeing nothing awry, he motioned for the man to speak up.

“Cap’n, there’s a lad stowed away in the sail locker!”

Ian handed the wheel over to his second and climbed down from his raised poop and strode the ninety-odd feet to the hatch in the bow. “Did I hear you correctly? You said there was a stow-away?”

“Right, Cap’n, sir. He’s a hollerin’ up a storm down there.”

“Are you sure that’s what you heard?” Ian asked as he held onto the railing on the side of the ship. Just then he heard it too, a voice, bellowing up from below.

“Get him out of there and ask him if he can cook. If he can’t, lock him up. We’ll turn him in when we return. He gets minimal ration, too. I’m not feeding some little whelp a full three squares if he’s broken the law and stowed away.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” the man said as Ian turned back to his post at the wheel.

A few minutes later, as Ian contemplated who was going to cook now that Seamus was planning to plant some roots somewhere in the countryside for the remainder of his years, his crewman shoved a scrawny kid in front of him. His oil cloth slicker, two sizes too big, was buttoned to the chin and the knitted cap covered his head. “Cap’n, sir, he says he’s your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother,” Ian said without needing to look down at the scamp. “Lock him up in the lazarette. I’ll deal with him later. And fetch Mr. Johnson for me.”

“Where’s Lucky?” the definitely female voice squeaked with fear.

Ian’s gaze shot to the figure before him, and he looked down into the deepest sapphire-blue eyes, eyes he’d seen only twice before now. He didn’t need to see the color of her hair or the slender feminine form that had plagued his dreams last night to know who it was. “Holy Mother of God,” he swore, unable to take his gaze from hers. “What have you done?”

“Obviously stowed away onto the wrong boat,” she replied, her determined little chin lifted and lips taut.

His crewman looked confused a moment, then quickly realized she wasn’t a boy.

“Lock her in my cabin, instead,” he ordered the crewman.

“I don’t want to be locked anywhere, Mr…um, Captain.” Lucky’s sister said. “I want to see the ocean and feel the wind. It was rather stifling, not to mention dark and very dangerous down in the forward hold. I should have known the bow wasn’t the best place to hide.”

He shook his head. The last thing he needed right now was this added encumbrance. And she came with significant repercussions no matter what he did. “Get in my cabin. I’ll deal with you later. Right now, I’m busy.” Nodding to the crewman to take away their guest, he forced his gaze to the horizon and tried to concentrate on whether he should overtake the square-sail barquentine in front of him or turn back to Liverpool.