The Dreamer (6 page)

I began again, feeling my way blindly. “What I mean is … may I say that I’m sorry for the difficulty of your youth without causing you more pain? Or should I not embark on the subject at all? Or … or is it possible that my sympathy might ease some of the lingering suffering?”

He opened his eyes. “Difficulty of my youth? What do you mean? What did Fin tell you?”

“Oh, hardly anything. Rest assured. But I’m glad I learned even a little. It increased my knowledge of you.”

“For your infernal notes?”

“No. That it may prevent me somewhat from blundering in the future and causing you unnecessary pain out of sheer ignorance.”

I waited for him to respond, but there was only a slight withdrawal, a closing off of access. He was an essentially private man who did not let people get close to him.

“Then I have been impudent? I should not have pried?”

“As though it were possible.”

I fell back against my seat. “Is that how you view me? Well of course you would. I’ve been a stupid, interfering fool.”

He scoffed, his posture easing a fraction. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

I leaned forward, studying his face. “Oh,” I said in relief. “You aren’t angry. You’re wary and aloof, but not angry. Perhaps even slightly amused. My fears are alleviated. So I may tell you that your experience filled me with sadness? Does that ease some of the pain, Captain?”

He shook his head, watching me. “It was years ago.”

“Grief is never really over … I’ve read.”

He leaned against his pillows and looked up at the ceiling. He seemed easier, his shoulders not quite so stiff and anticipatory.

“And compassion is helpful? Is it, Captain?”

He regarded me. “No. Compassion is usually simulated and self-serving and puts me on my guard.”

“But — ”

“However,” he interrupted, raising a hand, “I admit your peculiar brand of clumsy earnestness is not entirely … unpleasant.”

I smiled at him, undergoing a sort of exhilarating pleasure at my success. Now he was truly watching me, his eyes traveling over my face with care, almost no apprehension in his gaze.

“Strange, isn’t it, Captain, the peculiarities of human nature? That commiseration, while essentially ineffective in that it can neither alter circumstances nor offer instruction, is able to facilitate psychological repair.”

I continued with little fear, moving forward and dropping to my knees beside the bed. I even clutched his sleeve in my eagerness. His eyes went to my hand.

“And, Captain, may I say that I wish I could have done something to save you from it … that I could have been there. Wish is such a useless word! And I rarely use it. But I
do
wish … I wish I could have been allowed to prevent it.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “I thank you for the gesture, though I’m not sure a woman would have been much help … let alone an infant not yet born.”

“What I meant was, I wish things could have gone differently for
me
so that I might have … have changed things for
you
.” My words slowed as I watched his face.

“What do you mean?”

I looked at him lying there, watching me. And suddenly I knew … I
knew
he would disbelieve me as absolutely as my ex-colleagues had. And I could not fault him for it. The truth was too fantastic to be believed, and took much faith. Surely I would have done the same before my dream and denounced the time traveler as a lunatic.

And I had done precious little thus far in my journey to prove contrary to that label.

I rose and sat back in my chair. I looked down at my lap and fingered my skirt. “N-nothing,” I stammered.

He did not reply, and I looked up to find him watching me. My heart flooded with relief, and I knew I had done right. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed almost at ease.

*** *** ***

The next morning I awoke to find the captain striding into the room. He was fully dressed, and he seemed to have been up for a while. Obviously, he was already hard at work. He went to the desk and began going through the drawers.

“Have you awoken at last?” he asked shortly.

I squinted at him. “Captain? You are recovered already?”

“Of course,” he answered with some arrogance.

I looked around in confusion. “How … how did I get into bed?” I asked. “I distinctly recall falling asleep on the floor.”

Without turning, he muttered, “I put you there this morning.”

“But why?”

“Because I didn’t want you on the floor at all, let alone night after night,” he answered sharply. “We have to go for a stroll on deck together sometime today,” he continued, finally turning, “to show the crew that we are reconciled …. Not right this minute, Miss Madera,” he exclaimed. “No need to catapult yourself from the bed like a jackrabbit. We can go when you’re ready.”

I relaxed against my pillows again and rubbed my eyes. “Reconciled?” I repeated and stretched.

He shifted through his papers. “Yes. Because of that scene the other day. They have to know our … relationship is still intact.” He swore under his breath and slammed a drawer shut. “Where is that infernal thing?” he muttered, suddenly annoyed.

He pocketed some items on the desk, then went to the trunk and pulled out another dress and dropped it on the bed.

“This intrigues me, Captain,” I told him, reaching for the dress. “Why should we stroll outside together? What will this accomplish?”

“I want the men to see us together, to see I’m in control. I want to extinguish any lingering thoughts of rebellion and bring order back to the ship. Do you understand?”

“And a stroll on deck will do all of this?” I asked amazed.

“If you do your part and behave suitably penitent.”

“Fascinating. And yet, I don’t quite understand.”

He sighed. “The men have seen us at odds. You’ve openly defied me. They need to see that it is no longer the case.”

“Why?” I asked, looking for a pencil and paper.

“How can I expect to maintain control over a hundred men if I can’t even handle a lass half my size? They need to know I can manage you as well as I can manage them.” He turned back to his desk and added under his breath, “However little it may be the truth.”

“What will we get to see? May I take notes?” I asked.

“Just the top deck.”

“Not below deck at all?”

“And while we’re out there, don’t hound me. It would defeat the purpose.”

“I shall be as biddable as a lamb,” I promised.

Later, I strolled on deck arm in arm with the captain, taking deep breaths of sea air, enjoying being outside again after the days indoors.

“How long shall we walk?” I asked.

“It won’t take long. A short stroll will suffice.”

To my surprise the crew knew nothing of the captain’s fever, but only made some crude remarks about what might the captain be doing in his cabin, alone with a lovely lass for days.

“Punishin’ her, no doubt,” a sailor answered.

The captain, I noticed, didn’t reprimand the men as I thought he might, just simply reminded them there was a lady present and then demanded an explanation for the un-mended net.

When we turned away, the captain said, “We’ll let them think what they like, Miss Madera. It is unpleasant, but necessary.” He sounded somewhat gruff.

“Rachel,” I said.

“What?”

“Wouldn’t you call me Rachel? Wouldn’t custom dictate that you would … considering?”

He looked away. “Rachel then.”

“And what shall I call you?”

“Captain, of course.”

“Really? Not your first name … your Christian name? Even in private conversation? Is that customary?”

“It will do for us.”

A strange feeling of disappointment filled me, though I couldn’t understand why. Permission to use his first name was not emotionally significant to me. I was merely doing research, only observing, indifferent to the outcome.

“What is the principle behind this reticence, if I may ask? Is it uncustomary, or simply a personal disinclination?”

He sighed. “It is absolutely beyond your power to refrain from dissecting everything to death, isn’t it?”

I leaned forward. “I simply need it for my records. Surely you can tell it to me if I promise not to use it in conversation, since it’s clear you feel I’ve proven unworthy of the honor.”

He looked at me alarmed. “What? It has nothing to do with that.”

“I don’t blame you, after all I’ve done ….”

“I said it isn’t that!”

Some men looked in our direction, and the captain turned and steered me towards the bow of the ship.

He bent and, in a whisper, directed me to lean my head against him.

I did so willingly with a weary sigh. He clenched his fist and muttered, “Bloody fool.”

“Captain!”

“Not you.” Silence. And then between his teeth he said, “Mallory.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “Mallory? Who’s she?”

He grimaced.

“You mean, that’s
your
name?”

“Lower your voice.”

“
Is
that your name? Mallory Tucker?” I carefully repeated it. “Captain Mallory Tucker. Mister Mallory Tucker. Hmm. Unusual. Feminine on the outset. Yes. I like it.” I regarded him reflectively. “So
that’s
why you didn’t want to tell me your name. I thought it was because you disliked the idea of being on familiar terms with me. But it’s not, is it, Captain?”

His eyes scanned my face. “No, Rachel,” he said quietly.

I suddenly shivered. I wrapped the wool shawl closer around my shoulders.

“It is because you are ashamed your name is ambisexual.”

“Ambi-what?”

“Ambisexual — can be used with both sexes.”

“That’s not a word,” he scoffed.

I fingered his sleeve thoughtfully. “Hmm … it’s possible I just invented it. Shall we consult a dictionary?”

He laughed. “No. There’s no need.”

“Captain!”

“What?”

“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

He returned his gaze to the water. “I don’t do it very often.”

I carefully watched him, his hair ruffled by the breeze. “In the future, perhaps,” I finally said, turning to the horizon, “to avoid confusion, you might clarify yourself. I experienced some discomforting sensations before I fully understood you.”

“As you say,” he answered with excessive sobriety. His jaw was wide, and I noticed he had the slightest cleft in his chin.

“But I think I will still call you Captain.”

I looked out over the ocean, my arm through his, as per his instructions.

Chapter Six

Notes: Eureka! I’ve found it! (Captain notably less enthusiastic.)

The remaining weeks on the ship passed without much incident. Kept in the hold for the remainder of the trip, Charles Tipkins had virtually disappeared. And I stayed mostly out of the crew’s way, keeping either to my cabin or by the captain’s side. The men eyed me cautiously, and I eyed them cautiously, but that was the end of it.

And remarkably, I felt a strange new exhilaration in the prospect of my adventure, despite the harrowing experience. That is to say, I was still cautious and uneasy, but there was a new charge in the atmosphere that I found difficult to explain. Colors seeming more vibrant, the wind more biting or caressing, and the smallest details more in focus than ever before. I attempted many times to dissect the reason behind these changes, but I was unable, so finally, all I could do was take pleasure in them. Eventually, it seemed hardly to matter that I couldn’t deduce the psychological reasoning behind it. I only knew that it
felt
good. It was almost as though that was enough.