Owned by the Ocean (16 page)

“
And what do you know of politics sitting in your cozy and
luxurious parlours sipping tea and doing cross stitch?”

“
I resent that comment, Captain.”

“
You have your opinions and I have mine. I would like to know
where you come off being so high and mighty.”

“
High and mighty? I know more about politics than you do, I’m
sure. My father is the British ambassador to Spain and quite often
I go with him on his trips there. I know more about the volatile
state of Spain than you or many other men do, but since I’m a woman
I’m brushed aside.”

“
I would not discount you due to your gender, but when you
come onto my ship and look down your nose at me and my men it gives
me the impression that you are horribly naïve.”

“
Get out of my cabin.”

“
I’m sorry?”

“
I said get out. You are incredibly rude, Captain Foxton, and
I will not stand for that. Get out.”

“
This is my cabin which I’m letting you use out of the
kindness of my heart.”

“
I don’t care. Get out.”

Brant threw up
his hands in frustration and stalked out of the cabin, slamming the
door loudly behind him. When he stopped to collect his thoughts, he
looked around and noticed the stares of his crew members.

“
What are you looking at? Back to work!” Brant ordered as he
angrily made his way up to the crow’s nest, sitting there for only
a few minutes before he was joined by Karl.

“
Might there be a good reason yer stompin’ around and slammin’
doors like a child?”

“
She infuriates me. She said we all deserve to hang and then
she ordered me out of my own cabin.”

Karl chuckled.
“And did you provoke her?”

“
I asked her to be a little less pretentious towards
us.”

“
I see. Well that just be women. Ignore her or she’ll think
she can get your goat whenever she pleases.”

“
Karl… She’s just… Why did I ever take her onto my
ship?”

“
Because yer a good man. Now stop bein’ childish and start
bein’ captain.”

Brant sighed
and nodded, following Karl down the mast and to the main deck.

* * *

Later that
evening Brant went to visit the injured boy, Matthew. He had
allowed James to get out of most of his chores so that he could
spend time with Matthew, entertaining and keeping an eye on him. A
stomach wound was no small matter and Brant wanted someone watching
the boy all the time so that they could catch any infections early
on.

When Brant
walked in, Matthew was sleeping and James stood over a table,
quietly looking over some of the doctor’s tools.

“
And what might you be doing?”

James spun
around to face his brother, dropping a scalpel in the process,
guilt written on his face. “Nothing.”

“
You shouldn’t be snooping.”

“
I was just looking.”

Brant smiled.
“I won’t tell the doc, but you better be careful. He’s likely to
carve you up if he catches you playing with his instruments,” joked
Brant, which was received with wide eyes of fear from James.

“
You can go. I’ll watch him until the doctor takes over for
the night.”

“
Do I have to do this again tomorrow?”

“
Yes, and every other day until he is strong enough to be out
of danger.”

James groaned
but nodded his assent—not daring to complain.

“
I’ll have someone else do latrine duty. Would that make up
for this?”

“
I’d watch every patient if it meant I never had to carry
another latrine pail again!”

Brant laughed.
“Well, I hope we don’t have patients that often. Now go have some
dinner. Cook is just about to serve the men.”

James ran off
at the mention of food and left him alone with the sleeping boy.
Brant sat down and sighed. He didn’t know what was going to happen
to the boy but he was too young to be walking the thin line between
life and death. It was a scary thought, but that could have been
him if Captain LaFleur had allowed him to fight before he was
ready. And it could be James if Brant ever lost track of what was
important. He could never live with himself if James had to pay for
his life choices.

Matthew
stirred slightly, and then opened his eyes, looking at Brant
through heavily lidded eyes. “Hello.”

Brant smiled.
“Hello, Matthew. How’re you doing today?”

“
Okay, I suppose. Where’s James?”

“
I sent him to get some dinner. The doctor will be bringing
you some food shortly. Are you hungry?”

As if in reply
Matthew’s stomach growled loudly and he looked up at Brant
sheepishly. “A little.”

“
If you don’t mind me asking, is it normal for a boy of your
age to help defend the ship?”

Matthew
nodded. “I ain’t part of the navy but I serve on a British ship; we
are all expected to come to the aid of our ship.”

“
Are you in much pain?”

“
Hurts a bit, yeah. Doc says he ain’t got much for the pain so
I mostly try to sleep so that I can forget about it. I’m afraid I’m
not very good company for James.”

“
That’s fine. James is here for you and he is getting out of a
lot of work to sit here. What do you plan on doing after you’re
healed, Matthew?”

“
I dunno. You say you dock in London in a couple
months?”

“
Yes. Would you like to get off there?”

“
I ain’t got anyone left in England. My mum and dad died a
couple years ago so I joined a crew for three square meals a day. I
suppose I’ll try to sign onto another ship.”

Brant nodded.
“Well you’re more than welcome to continue your training here.
Casper doesn’t have a sailing mate as of yet.”

“
Thank you, Captain.”

“
It’s just an option for you. You don’t owe us
anything.”

Matthew nodded
but looked over towards the door as the doctor walked in. “Guess I
gotta work hard at getting better first.”

Brant nodded.
“Hello, Doc. I’ll leave you to your patient.”

Brant left the
cramped room and went to have his dinner in the dining room with
the infuriating Catherine Marshall. If only she would just keep her
snobbish little nose in her cabin and leave him alone for the next
two months; then life would be good.

* * *

Catherine
paced back and forth in her cabin. She hadn’t emerged from it since
earlier that afternoon and she was still nursing a bruised ego. She
contemplated skipping dinner and staying in her cabin but she was
much too hungry not to eat and she wasn’t so confident Captain
Foxton would send a tray to her room. So, she swallowed her pride
and stepped out of her cabin and into the dining room next door.
The cook was just setting out the food, similar to what they had
the night before; fruit, salted meat and potatoes. Catherine was
sick of this food already and desperately hoped that she wouldn’t
have to live off of it for the entire voyage home—there was only so
much salted pork one could eat.

The captain
stood as she entered and once again pulled out her chair but this
time he sat her further away, on the opposite side of the table
from him next to a young named Casper, not that she really
cared.

It was
apparent that the captain didn't really wish to speak with her
after their falling out that afternoon and she couldn’t help but
feel a little thankful for that—she wasn't really in the right
frame of mind to talk to him either. But, he was intriguing, she
had to admit.

Karl was the
one that carried the conversation that evening, attempting to draw
both Catherine and Brant into discussion but both only answered
briefly and tersely any questions or comments directed at them.

Catherine
didn't much care for Karl. He was middle aged and quite obviously
lower class but the captain seemed to look up to him and value his
opinion. But why, she didn’t know. He was obviously an uneducated
man. How much wisdom could he truly offer?

As soon as
Catherine could politely excuse herself she did and returned to her
cabin where she locked herself in and went to bed.

* * *

Brant was
restless. There was nothing to do but sail, sail, and sail some
more. No raids, little to no repairs, and calm waters. Brant was
almost hoping for a storm to add some excitement and extra work
into their lives—anything to chase the boredom away.

Catherine
still rarely emerged from her cabin except for dinner—a torturous
and unpleasant affair. They hadn't exchanged more than a dozen
words since their original argument over a week earlier and Brant
wasn't about to be the first person to apologize. He was giving the
woman passage and if she wanted to make things right, she could.
Otherwise, she was just a job for him.

James sat
daily with Matthew, and Brant saw the boy continually improving. He
was a fighter that was for certain. The wound had not yet fully
closed and there was still a danger of infection, but that danger
was becoming less and less likely with every passing day. Matthew
seemed to be sleeping a lot less and was getting along well with
James, who was teaching him how to read since Matthew only knew a
few basic things that he was required to know to read a map. It was
nice to see James with someone close to his own age, coming out of
his shell. Brant was seeing a side of James he didn’t get to see
often; how he interacted with peers.

“
Brant!” James came running up from below deck to where Brant
was sitting with Joseph repairing an old sail.

Brant dropped
the sail and jumped up from where he had been sitting. “Something
happen with Matthew?”

James nodded,
eyes wide with fear. “Something is wrong. He was just sleeping and
he started rolling around groaning and he is sweating and burning
to touch.”

“
Go get the doc. He's in the galley,” commanded Brant, already
walking towards the doctor’s cabin that doubled as an infirmary.
Bursting into the room he was greeted by the sight of Matthew
drenched in sweat and pale as death. Brant drew back his blanket
and gingerly began unwrapping the bandage. He winced at the pungent
smell that rose from what looked to be a festering wound. Things
had taken a turn for the worse quickly and with no
warning.

The doctor
burst into the room seconds later, red in the face from what must
have been a sprint from the galley, and pushed Brant aside. Looking
at the wound he shook his head. “It's not good, Captain. I can
clean it but we have to let it drain and the infection has to heal
before I can let the wound close.”

“
He was doing so well.”

“
Stomach wounds are incredibly volatile. I thought an
infection would have set in long ago,” he paused, then frowned.
“James, you need to leave.”

Brant turned
to see James standing in the doorway looking at his friend in
horror.

“
Is he going to die?”

Brant looked
at his brother in sorrow. He was only eleven. He shouldn't be
considering the fact that a young man—no, boy—was going to die.
“Not if the doctor can help it. Now go.”

James left the
room and Brant turned back to the doctor. “What can I do?”

“
Go boil me some water, quick. This wound needs to be reopened
to properly drain.”

Brant rushed
off to the galley and quickly set a pot of water over a blazing
fire but every second waiting for the water to boil seemed like a
second too long.

As the water
began to boil Brant grabbed a rag and wrapped it around the piping
hot handle and nearly ran with it back to the doctor.

“
Put it over there.” He pointed absently as he set out his
tools. He threw a couple scalpels in the water and with tongs
pulled them out, wiped them off and then got a clean rag to clean
the wound.

“
Get me my leather stick.”

Brant looked
through his cupboards and found it, handing it over. The doctor
pried open Matthew’s jaw and placed it between his teeth. “This is
going to hurt. I need you to hold him down.”

Brant nodded
and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Doc lifted his scalpel
and inserted it into the infected wound, slowly drawing it across
the tender flesh, reopening it to the elements. Matthew’s eyes flew
open and he ground his teeth into the leather while struggling to
get free.

“
Easy, Matthew. It has to be done or you’ll die.” That didn’t
seem to settle the boy down and Brant held him down firmly while
the doc grabbed some alcohol and poured it over the injury. As the
liquid hit the tender, raw flesh, Matthew screamed and bucked
against Brant's strong arms.

With the wound
cleaned, the doctor redressed it and went to clean his tools.
Matthew lay there sobbing in pain. Letting go, Brant gently patted
his shoulder. “It’s over. It’s okay.”

“
The wound will have to drain for the next couple of days but
as soon as the infection looks like it has passed I’ll stitch him
up.”

Brant nodded.
“If you need any help James is at your disposal. And please, let me
know of any changes.”

The doctor
nodded and Brant took his leave, unable to handle the stench of
rotting flesh mixed with sweat.

* * *

Brant didn’t attend dinner that evening—he had lost his
appetite after the events with Matthew, and had no energy to deal
with
Lady
Catherine Marshall. Instead he climbed up to the crow’s nest
and sat there for most of the evening watching the small amount of
activity below him as a card game went on in one corner and a
couple men played various instruments near the mast. Catherine
caught Brant’s attention as she practically floated over the deck
towards the dining room but he had no wish to speak to her. He knew
that at some point he would have to break their silence before the
voyage was over, but for now it was just easier to avoid her. Right
now his first concern was Matthew. The petty concerns of a spoiled
rich girl were trivial and unimportant at the moment.