Miss Whittier Makes a List (21 page)

He brushed her cheek with his own.
“
No, I did not.
”
He stood up and moved away to the railing.
“
Cookie
, find me some rum. Two glasses,
or cups or whatever isn
’
t broken.
”

She looked up.
“
Rum
’
s only for heroes. You told me.
”

He nodded, but said nothing. In a few minutes he handed her a coffee mug full of rum.
“
Drink it all, Hannah. You
’
re a hero.
”

Her eyes filled with tears as she took the mug.

“
And for God
’
s sake, don
’
t cry!
”
he ordered, then knelt beside her again, his hands gentle on her shoulders.
“
How can I maintain order when my scurviest little crew member
turn
s into a watering pot?
”

She sobbed anyway, then took a great gulp of the rum. It furrowed aath down her throat and landed, glowing with a life all its own, in her empty stomach, where it wa
rm
ed her all the way to her toes. She cried and sipped the rest of the rum until it was gone and she had no tears left. With a last shuddering sigh, she handed back the mug.

“
Do you want some more?
”
he asked. Already, his voice sounded distant and thick, as though her brain were full of rum, too.

She shook her head.
“
I think it would make me drunk.
”

He poured another mugful and handed it to her.
“
Good. Have some more, by all means.
”

She set the cup on the deck.
“
I had not thought thee unscrupulous, too,
”
she protested, but her voice was light.

“
I am that and worse, I suppose.
”
He took another swallow and squatted beside her.
“
How is Andrew?
”
he asked.

She picked up the mug and drank it half down without pausing. She giggled and leaned forward until her forehead touched the captain
’
s.
“
I think he is mad.
”

“
I
am certain of it, Hannah,
”
was Spark
’
s quiet reply.
“
But as he can still saw and tie with the best, I don
’
t trouble him about it much.
”
He looked around, and then sat beside her on the deck, leaning against the bulkhead.
“
Never thought I would sit on my own deck,
”
he grumbled.
“
Let me know if you see
Futtrell
, and I
’
ll get up. I have a certain standing to maintain in this community.
”
He looked at her and chuckled.
“
That was a joke, Hannah. You
’
re
supposed
to laugh when I make one.
”

“
Oh, God,
”
Hannah breathed, wide awake again. She took hold of Spark
’
s ar
m.
“
Never that!
”

He nodded.
“
She made that little sampler in my sleeping cabin.
”

“
But ... why? Why would he want to serve with you?
”
she asked.

He shrugged.
“
Maybe that
’
s pa
rt
of his own mad punishment. After
—
well
—
after Melinda died, he disap
peared
. No one heard of him for a year, and I did check
,
whenever we came off blockade. Just gave up his practice and disappeared.
”

“
Did he really cause her death?
”

“
Probab
ly not
,
but who knows? He thinks he did.
”
Spark stood up then and convened quietly with his
lieutenant
of Marines for a long moment while
Hannah
tried to gather
her thoughts into one coherent shape. And then Mr. Futtrell, his
arm
in a sling, was on the deck
,
and the c
ar
penter
,
to
o
, wet from the waist down and sme
ll
ing of bilge.

As
she sat shivering on the deck, Capta
in Spar removed his boat
cloak and slung it over her.
“
Go to sleep, Miss Whittier,
”
he said.
“
You don
’
t have a ca
bin right now, and this is the b
est place.
”
He was gone then with the c
ar
penter and the bosun, while Futtre
ll
took his place on the
quarterdeck
.

She watched Mr. Futtrell pace back and fo
r
th, in imitation of his captain. Every few minutes he touched his bandaged a
rm
as though proud to have a wound. How young th
e
e is, she thought, and then was filled with the absurdity of her reflection. She was far younger than he, but she felt so old.

“
Is Mr. Lansing dead?
”
she asked when he had stopped close to her.

He must not have s
e
en her there in the shadows because he jumped back.
“
Lord, you
scared
me, Miss Whittier!
”
he exclaimed.
“
Place is f
ul
l of ghosts. Thought you was another.
”
He touched his
arm
again.
“
Yes, he
’
s d
ead.
Practically from the first.
”

She sighed and drew Spark
’
s boat cloak tight around her.
“
And the
Bergeron
is sunk,
”
she
added
as flim
s
y consolati
on.

“
Aye, Miss Whittier, but do you know, weighing that against Mr.
Lansing
, I would rather fight her again and sti
ll
have him roaring out orders from the gun deck.
”<
Futtrell moved away then, to smite the helmsman with a sharp order to trim the sails.

She watched him until her eyes grew heavy, then she lay down and
arranged
the cloak around her. She thought of Adam Winslow, and wondered if he sti
ll
lived. And then Andrew
Lea
se, with his desperate eyes and drawing ro
o
m chatter, shouldered his way into her thoughts and stayed there, cutting and tying, as she closed her eyes upon troubled dreams.

When she woke, she was in her hammock again, but still covered by Daniel Spark
’
s cloak. She snuggled deeper into the woolen warmth, loath to open her eyes on chaos by daylight. When she was unable to
avoid the new day, she opened h
er eyes and sat up. The bulkheads knocked down so quickly before yesterday
’
s encounter with the
Bergeron
were in place again, effectively shutting her off from the main gun deck. She sniffed the gun below her, which was still heavy with the odor of expended powder and shot.

She lay on her back, staring up at the deck,
when
she heard several heavy splashes. Her heart in her throat, she climbed from the hammock and wrenched open the tiny
porthole. As she watched,
another shrouded body slid into the water from the main deck. Hurriedly she dragged a brush through her tangled hair and ran onto the deck above.

She stood in silence as Captain Spark, dressed impeccably, and with all his medals this time, stood before another row of bodies sewn into their hammocks.
“
 
‘
I am the resurrection and the life,
’
 
”
h
e read from the little Bible in his hand, his eyes on the words without seeing them.
“
 
‘
He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.
’
 
”
He removed his hat then and bowed his head.
“
Merciful Father, God of Battle, we commend these thy servants at the guns, to rest in the deep. God rest their souls and God bless the King and his Regent. Amen.
”