Shipwreck (5 page)

Father Keegan’s eyes were dark with fatigue. He nodded in the direction of the watching villagers. “These are good people. They did not hesitate to risk their own lives. But they are also only human. And poor. Taking from the dead is a great temptation.” He sighed. “We must make sure our people do not give in to that temptation. You and I will examine each of these bodies, and we will make careful notes. First, we will describe what each man looks like. Then we will list whatever we find in his pockets or on his person.” He smiled slightly. “You are not afraid of the dead, are you, my son?”

“No, Father.”

Even if he had been afraid, Will would have died himself before admitting it. He wanted the priest to be proud of him, and his mother, too. She was watching with the other villagers.

“Go into the office, and on my desk you will see a notebook and pencil. Bring them here.”

Will returned with the notebook and pencil. Father Keegan had put up a rope barrier around the area where the dead lay.

The priest removed the blanket covering one of the bodies. “Write this down: Man of about forty-five years of age, five feet seven or eight inches tall, wide shoulders. Grey streaked hair and full beard. Large nose, slightly crooked.” He lifted one of the man’s eyelids. “Brown eyes.” He gently opened the mouth. “Two front teeth missing, tobacco stains. He has lost the tip of his right forefinger, but it’s an old injury. Got all that, Will?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good lad. The clothes on this man are as follows: Canvas jacket, navy jersey, waterproof trousers, and rubber boots.”

Will wrote it all down as fast as he could. Father Keegan began to empty the man’s pockets and spread out the contents on the floor. “Clay pipe and tobacco pouch of good leather, linen handkerchief, a spyglass. A good one, made of brass.” He fished inside the inner pockets of the jacket and pulled out some pieces of paper. They were surprisingly dry.

“As I thought, this good man was the captain of the ship. He has kept his papers close to his heart. They are important documents, the record of the ship’s load. The cargo was fresh fish and dried cod.” He looked at the papers again. “Ah. I wondered why there was a woman on board such a vessel. It says here that there were two passengers, a merchant, and his wife. Our young lady must be the wife. The captain does not name them, but he does say how much the man paid for their fare. Cheap, really, but then this was a rough ship.”

Will and Father Keegan took care of the remaining four bodies, one by one, in the same careful way. All were sailors, members of the crew. One looked not much older than William.

“His mother will weep,” said Father Keegan.

The parish hall door banged open, and more of the weary rescuers came in. They were carrying two more bodies, each wrapped in a tarp.

“We managed to reach the ship, Father,” said one of them, a short, weather-beaten man and fellow Catholic. “It was stuck tight on the rocks, but it will be gone soon. The seas are breaking it to pieces.”

“Good work, Saul. Put them at that end,” said Father Keegan.

The men lowered their burdens carefully. Saul pointed down to one body. “This man hadn’t even made it to the rowboat. He was trapped below deck. We found him lying in one of the cabins.”

The second tarpaulin appeared to be particularly heavy, and the men placed it on the ground with sighs of relief. Father Keegan opened that tarp first. He revealed the body of a young man, his blond hair and moustache full of bits of seaweed. He was wearing a thick wool coat trimmed with lush fur at the collar and cuffs, all soaked.

“That one there in the fancy coat had climbed onto the reef,” said Saul. “He must have slipped, because he drowned stuck between two rocks. He’d been smarter to throw off his coat, if you ask me.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his round face, which was sweating in spite of the cold. “I do believe that’s the lot. All dead except for the woman we brought in earlier. God rest their souls.”

Saul blessed himself, touching the fingers of his right hand to his forehead, his breastbone, and the left and right sides of his chest in the shape of a cross.

The rescuers stepped back. Father Keegan and Will went to examine the last body, the man found on board the ship.

At that moment, the thin cry of a newborn came from behind the curtain. Everybody in the hall stopped what they were doing at the sound. Several of them, the Catholics, blessed themselves. The Methodist minister clasped his hands together and looked toward heaven in prayer.

Mrs. Cameron came out from behind the curtain. “Father Keegan?” she said quietly. “We have need of you, Father. At once. The girl has delivered her baby, but I do believe she is not long for the living. Her colour’s very bad.”

“And the infant?”

“’Tis small, but she appears healthy enough.”

“A girl child, then?”

“Yes, Father.”

The priest spoke to Will. “Come. If you are not afraid of the dead, you can tolerate the dying, even if it is a woman.”

Mrs. Cameron drew aside the curtain, showing them the mattress on the floor where the young woman rested, covered by a blanket. Her clothes had been removed, and her naked arms lay outside the covers. The village women had unpinned her hair, which was a deep brown. Although it was still damp from the sea, Will could see that it would normally have been thick and glossy. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be hardly breathing. There was a purple bruise on the side of her jaw.

“I think her ribs are broken. Her labour was very painful,” said Mrs. Cameron. “But she hardly complained. Poor little thing, she is still a child herself, if truth be told.”

“Did she tell you her name?” the priest asked.

“All she could say was her Christian name. It is Abigail.” The midwife lifted the girl’s limp hand. She was wearing a wedding band richer than any Will had seen before. Rubies on a wide circle of gold. “Whoever she is, she married well. The nightclothes we took off her are fine indeed.”

The girl breathed in short gasps, and her skin was chalk white. Will’s heart went out to her. Even he knew she was dying.

She opened her eyes, as blue as any he had seen. She saw the priest, and her face twisted with fear.

“Father, why are you here? Am I to die, then?” Her voice was a whisper.

“You are of the Catholic faith, child?”

“Yes, I am.”

The priest spoke gently. “Then I must prepare you to meet your maker, my daughter.”

Father Keegan reached out and made the sign of the cross on her forehead with his thumb.

“Do not be afraid, my child. This day, you will rest in Paradise with Our Lord Jesus Christ.”

A sob escaped her throat.

“Were any saved?” she asked.

“Alas, no,” Father Keegan answered. “The men just now brought in the last two. One, I believe, is your husband.”

Her eyes widened. “My husband?”

“He is blond, is he not, with a full moustache? He was wearing a fur-trimmed coat.”

“He is dead?”

“Yes, my child.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She turned her head and was so still that Will wondered if she had already slipped away.

Abigail opened her eyes again. Her voice was so weak they could hardly hear her.

“All died, you say?”

“Alas, yes, my child. Seven souls, all told.”

She stirred slightly. “Did they all die instantly? Did you speak to any, Father?”

“I did not. There was no chance.”

A long sigh came from her lips. Then she said, “Will my baby live?”

“Mrs. Cameron says she is healthy. Do you want to hold her?”

She nodded. The midwife picked up the tiny creature, tightly wrapped in a blanket. Only the little red wrinkled face was visible. She placed the baby in the crook of the young mother’s arm, and Abigail touched her baby’s cheek tenderly.

“She has not had the best entry into this sad world, has she?” Again, the young woman looked up at the priest. “The man in the coat, the blond man...”

“Your husband?”

“He was a good man. He saved me. He gave up his place in the boat for me. His name is John.”

Father Keegan shifted to a more comfortable position so he could straighten his stiff leg.

The young mother kissed her infant on the forehead, soft as snow touching the ground.

The priest called over the midwife. “Mrs. Cameron, one of the village women, Mrs. Pierce, lost her own child but a week ago. She grieves the loss. I want you to have her brought here. Her breasts will still have milk.”

Will blushed at the words and the image, and he lowered his head.

Abigail spoke again. “There is money,” she continued. “It is sewn into the seams of the fur-trimmed coat. I must ask you to claim it on behalf of my infant child. I heard what you said to the midwife. Please, Father, promise me the money will go to that woman who will be her wet nurse. I want her to take care of my child.”

“Surely you yourself have a family who will take the baby in?”

“No, I have no one.”

“Your husband, then?”

“No, he has no family, either.”

“What is your name, and where do you live?” Father Keegan asked.

She didn’t reply but licked her lips. “I am so thirsty.”

Father Keegan reached over to a table where somebody had placed a glass of wine. He brought it to her lips.

She sipped, but she coughed so violently that the priest removed the glass. Will saw a gush of blood run from the young woman’s mouth. He wished he had the linen cloth from church to wipe the blood away for her, but he didn’t even have a handkerchief. Father Keegan wiped away the blood with a cloth that Mrs. Cameron handed to him.

“Will you promise me, Father?” the dying woman begged. “I will die in peace if I know my babe will be well looked after.”

Father Keegan did not answer, and Will wondered why he hesitated.

“Do you wish me to hear your last confession, my daughter?”

With unexpected strength, the girl caught him by the sleeve. “Father, is it true that Our Lord is all-knowing? That He can see into every soul and forgive even the worst sins because He understands them? Is that the truth?”

“Yes, child, that is what Our Saviour Jesus Christ taught us. God sees everything.”

She let go. “Thank you, Father, that is a comfort to me.”

Those were the last words she would ever say.

“Whew,” said Wendy. “That is such a sad story. I think I’d like a cup of coffee, Dad.”

“Okay. I’ll make it. And I’ll check on Amy.”

Bill did so, and it looked like Amy was quite content to sit with Boots in front of her cartoons. He had been right to fear that his story was too grown up for her. She’d made a good choice.

Bill went back upstairs to Wendy. She sipped some of the coffee, then leaned back in bed. Bill remembered again how he had read stories to her when she was a little girl. Watching her with her rumpled hair and her nose already getting red from her cold, his heart melted.

She smiled at him. “Go on, Dad. I’m ready. We left off where the poor girl has died.”

Father Keegan gave the young woman the Last Rites, the final ritual of prayer for a dying person. Then he got to his feet.