You got nothin’ to fear from me.” Kindness softened Solomon’s quiet voice as he took the bucket from her fingers, frozen with fear.
“Reckon you got your reasons.” He set the bucket down in the galley.
Rising stiffly, he turned a stern face to hers. “Try to walk more like a boy, keep away from the crew, ‘specially at night, and pray to the Good Lord that none of ‘em finds out you’re a girl.”
Matilda nodded.
“Here!” He thrust another bucket into her hand. “Dump these shells over the side and don’t ’spect no slack from me.” Despite his stern voice, she caught the kind twinkle in his dark eyes.
When she remembered to breathe again, Matilda exhaled a painful breath.
She climbed to the top deck, her heart lightened. Knowing she wouldn’t need to maintain her deception around the cook relieved her burden. Perhaps God had given her an ally in Solomon.
Matilda lifted her face to the azure sky.
Dear Lord, please help me do this.
A strong, gentle hand on Matilda’s shoulder stirred her awake.
“Matt, watch. Up with ya now.”
At Tom’s voice, Matilda’s heart quickened as she sat up and squinted against the light of the lantern in his hand. “Already?” She blinked and yawned into his smiling face. A month into the voyage the interrupted sleep of the four-hour-on and four-hour-off schedule still felt jarring.
“Already, my little mate.” Since her harrowing climb that first day on the ship, Tom Owens had made good on his comment that she’d “bear watching,” tending to hover near her when on deck and even requesting the same watch. While his insistent watchfulness often grated against Matilda’s independent nature, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the handsome harpooner’s company. His perpetual good humor, ready smile, and sweet nature drew her to him while his patience in teaching her tasks had proved a godsend.
“What time is it?” She sat up on the straw tick and ran her hands through her short-cropped hair, chasing out the cockroaches that scurried from the light in all directions.
“Does it matter?” His teeth flashed like pearls and his gray eyes danced with fun in the soft light.
Matilda’s heart quickened, a now familiar response to his nearness, which always precipitated a flash of guilt. Over their short engagement and scant month of marriage, Mitchell had never evoked such feelings in her. She shrank back into the shadows to hide the blush warming her cheeks.
“It’s midnight.” Grasping her arm, he hauled her to her feet.
“I’m coming.” Matilda twisted from his grasp, irritated at her own flustered reaction to his touch.
“You sure are a grouch when you wake.” His soft chuckle sent her heart hammering again.
He thinks I’m a boy. I must never forget that he thinks I’m a boy. The reminder blared through her head as she followed Tom up the gangway to the main deck.
Above deck Matilda inhaled a lung full of fresh sea breeze—a delicious relief from the stifling dead air below deck.
“Good to breathe again, ain’t it?” Tom grasped the rail, gazing out into the vast darkness.
Joining him, Matilda lifted her face to the canopy of stars above them. The bright, winking heavenly bodies looked like diamonds strewn across black velvet.
“Look.” Encouraging Tom’s gaze to follow her fingertip, she pointed toward the night sky. “It’s Cetus, the whale.”
“You know the stars?”
She almost giggled at his surprise. “Of course. My father was a seafaring man. He taught me all the constellations. It will be December, though, before we can see my favorite, Orion.”
“And why is that one your favorite?”
The compassion in his quiet question made her heart thump, and laced her tone with sadness. “When my father was alive, we’d always look for it together at Christmastime.”
“Your father was lost at sea?” The kindness in his voice made her want to cry.
“Yes, he was a whaleman.” At the last moment, Matilda stopped herself from adding that her husband had also been a whaleman. She looked up into the starry sky through the mist of tears stinging her eyes as memories of studying the constellations with Papa flashed through her mind. “The Christmas Eve when I was six, he showed me how to find Orion, ‘The Hunter.’ He told me that like Orion he, too, was a hunter. A hunter of whales.” She swallowed hard. “We vowed to always look together for Orion on Christmas Eve, even when we were apart.”
“Well, with the son of Orion aboard, we should have a good take.” Tom laid a warm, comforting arm around her shoulder, and the temptation to rest her head against his chest became so strong she had to pull away.
Daughter of Orion. The urge to correct his description of her tugged hard, but such a careless slip could jeopardize her voyage. Instead, she focused on the more troubling part of his comment. While she appreciated Tom’s attempt to comfort her, it bothered her that he would attribute a successful voyage to anything other than God’s grace.
She looked up at him, and her voice strengthened with her conviction. “If the Sea Star has a good voyage, we will have God alone to thank.”
A good-natured chuckle bubbled from his well-shaped lips. “Perhaps you’re right, my little man-of-the-cloth. And perhaps you are better suited for the pulpit than a whale ship.”
Matilda’s heart raced like a wounded whale as she gazed at his lips drawn up into a lazy grin. I wonder what they would feel like against… She shook her head as if to toss the troublesome thought from her mind.
“No?” He misinterpreted her gesture. “You do not think a pulpit is in your future?”
“No.”
“Then you plan to become a whaleman like your father?”
“No.” Matilda gazed out at the dark ocean. She must stop looking at him.
“Well, if you don’t plan to be a whaleman or a preacher, then what sort of man do you see Matt Adams growing into?”
No man. No man at all! The words clawed at her lips, aching for their freedom. She swallowed them down hard. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you think your father would want you to follow in his footsteps?” Tom’s soft voice nudged.
Matilda gazed into the black infinity while the deck rolled gently beneath her feet on the calm sea. Memories of Papa came washing over her like the ocean waves. The creaking of the ship’s timbers, the occasional slapping of the billowing sails, and the soft lap, lap, lap of the sea against the side of the ship filled the silence. When she finally spoke, her whispered reply felt more to the September night than to the man beside her. “I think my father was more concerned that I develop a strong character and love for Christ than how I chose to make my living.”
“Sounds like you were right fond of your father.” His soft words wrapped like a warm blanket around her heart.
“Yes.”
“You say he was a whaleman, yet the name Adams is not familiar to me, and I know every whaleman in New Bedford.”
Matilda didn’t want to lie. There’d been too many lies already. “He sailed out of Nantucket.” It was the truth. Her father’s last voyage had sailed from that harbor.
“I have sailed several times from there, myself.” An odd somberness weighted his words. Then, with a grin and a shrug, his voice lightened. “But then, I don’t know all the Nantucket whalers.”
“I don’t care to speak of it further.” Matilda cleared her throat a little too delicately, so added as deep and masculine a sounding cough as she could muster.
“Best ask Solomon to give you something for that cough.” He brushed past her and picked up a harpoon lying near a bucket of coiled rope. “Old Solomon’s got a concoction for most every ill—that is, if you can keep ‘em down.” Tom chuckled as he seated himself on an upturned barrel and began restringing the rope along the harpoon’s shaft.
Watching his handsome profile silhouetted in the pale moonlight, Matilda’s heart quickened, and immediately a gust of guilt smote it. While Mitchell had never made her heart dance, he had been her husband. She’d embarked on this voyage barely out of widow’s weeds. Surely she could control her emotions enough not to dishonor her dead husband by allowing a handsome face to set her heart aflutter.
She turned her face from Tom and lifted it again to the glittering heavens. She must school her heart and mind to think of Tom as a friend, and nothing more. Besides, hadn’t she vowed to never again give her heart to a seaman? Years of watching Mother endure loneliness during Papa’s absences had soured her on the notion of marrying a seafaring man. So when Papa had encouraged her to accept his first mate, Mitchell Daggett’s, offer to court her, she’d balked. But, in the end, as always, she’d given in to Papa. Courting turned to engagement, and engagement to marriage.
Marriage to a man I didn’t love.
A new wave of guilt rolled over her, drenching her heart. Sweet, boring Mitchell. She’d scarcely known him. Perhaps, as Mother had counseled on Matilda’s wedding day, love was a journey and Matilda would have reached the destination over time. But a scant month past her wedding, Mitchell and Papa had left on the voyage that took their lives. Papa had chosen her first husband, but if Matilda ever wed again it would be to someone of her own choosing, and he wouldn’t be a seaman.
She glanced back at Tom working with the harpoon a few feet away, and her rebellious heart did that odd little twirl again. Grasping the ship’s railing hard, she blinked back tears and stared toward the horizon. Ruling her heart might prove as difficult as ruling the sea, because while the night sea remained calm as glass, her heart felt caught up in a tempest and headed toward dangerous waters.
“You sho’ do put a powerful lot o’ store in your Bible readin’.”
Sitting cross-legged on her mat, Matilda looked up from the Bible in her hands to Solomon, who stood across the galley. Reading the scriptures and faithfully keeping an account of their voyage in her journal had helped Matilda fill the monotonous hours.
“Yes, I find the scriptures a great comfort.” She caressed the soft gray fur of the ship’s cat curled in her lap. “You like it, too, don’t you, Ambergris?” Smiling, she petted the affectionate animal then glanced at the cook. “Did you name him for his color, Solomon?” The hue of the cat’s coat did resemble the highly prized gray substance found on rare occasions in the intestines of whales.
“No.” Solomon looked up from cleaning a fresh catch of cod. “It’s ‘cause he’s worth his weight in gold. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be chasin’ rats off your face each mornin’ ’stid of roaches.”
“Then I like him even better.” Laughing, Matilda stroked the cat’s back until he arched and purred, gently kneading her knee with the soft pads of his front paws.
Her thoughts returned to the cook’s comment about her Bible reading. “Don’t you find the scriptures a comfort, Solomon?”
“Can’t read, but me and my mammy, we worked for Quakers when I was young. They was always readin’ to us from the Bible. Bein’ young, I soaked it up like a sponge. Reckon I carry my Bible here.” He thumped a gnarled finger against his chest before dropping a handful of small fish heads to the galley floor. “Here, puss!”
Ambergris abandoned Matilda’s lap to pounce on Solomon’s offering.
“Are you a Christian, then?” Matilda’s heart filled with joy to learn that the old cook, who’d become her confidant and friend, shared her love of the scriptures.
“Yes, young’un. Don’t you worry none ‘bout this old man’s soul. Sorry as it is, it belongs to the Savior.”
They shared a glad smile.
Solomon had never asked about her true identity, or why she’d chosen to masquerade as a boy aboard a whaling ship. It also heartened her to notice how he took care to never address her in the feminine gender. Without question, he’d offered her his help and friendship, so it didn’t surprise her to learn of Solomon’s strong faith. The old cook embodied the teachings of Christ.
“Read some to me.” He cocked a grin in her direction.
Matilda turned her attention back to her Bible. “I was just reading from Psalm 107.”
“Ah, one of my favorites.” Solomon’s wrinkled face relaxed into a tranquil smile in anticipation of the passage.
Matilda’s fingertip slipped down the page until she came to verse twenty-three.
“‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit’s end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.’”
Her voice faded. Although she’d always loved this passage, it now reminded her of the storm that took Papa’s and Mitchell’s lives. “Do you think we are apt to run into a gale on this trip?”
“Young Mister Owens done told me ‘bout your pappy.” Solomon’s dark eyes softened with sympathy. “Don’t you worry none, young-un. Don’t ’spect we’ll see any real bad storms as far north as the cap’n plans to keep us. But as long as you belong to the Savior, He’ll keep you safe in this life and in the next.”
Lifting his face and closing his eyes, Solomon recited the twenty-ninth and thirtieth verses of the Psalm. “‘He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.’”
“Do you think Tom is a Christian?” The question had troubled her since that first day when Tom helped her with the sails, but she hadn’t found the courage to ask him.
A slow grin crawled across Solomon’s lips, and his eyes twinkled. “Mister Owens is a right fine young man. Would make a good catch for the right woman.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Feeling a warm flush suffuse her face, Matilda turned from his astute gaze.
“Reckon you’d have to ask Mister Owens that.” Solomon turned his head but not quick enough to hide a knowing grin.
“Ask Mister Owens what?”
Matilda jerked her head up at Tom’s voice, her heart beating like the wings of a captured bird. “I—I was just wondering if you are a Christian.”
“This boy’s meant for the pulpit for sure!” Tom’s laughter boomed in the little galley.
“Well, are you?” Matilda looked him in the eyes.
Fidgeting, Tom cleared his voice. “Well, I believe in God. I’m not a heathen, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Determined to not allow him to evade the question, Matilda pressed him for an answer. “Have you given your heart and soul to Jesus?”
His gaze bounced around the galley, avoiding hers. “When you put it that way, I reckon not. Never been much on religion,” he mumbled, frowning.
A desperation she’d never known seized Matilda’s heart.
“But what if you were lost? We will reach the whaling grounds soon. What if one came up under your boat? What if…” She found herself unable to finish the thought, let alone the words.
Tom’s mouth slipped into the half-grin that always turned her insides to jelly. “I’ll think on it, Matt, I promise.” He reached down and tousled her hair.
At the touch of his fingers on her head, Matilda’s heart ran a gamut of emotions. Shock, anger, and frustration melted into a sweet caring she wasn’t prepared to attach a name to.
She clutched her Bible to her chest as she watched him walk toward his berth with the hint of a limp she’d noticed in his gait.
Even his distinctive walk had become dear to her.
Rogue tears filled her eyes. She turned her head from Solomon’s perceptive gaze as an errant tear dropped onto the black grainy cover of her Bible.
Dear Lord, please keep him safe until I can persuade him to accept Your salvation.
Resting for a moment against the handle of the deck swab, Matilda lifted her face to the salty breeze. Her heart ached with a quiet desperation.
In the two days since she’d talked to Tom about becoming a Christian, neither of them had mentioned it again.
Winning him to Christ was her mission. She could see it as clearly as she saw the dolphins jumping out of the waters just off the port side of the Sea Star, glistening like arcs of silver in the sunlight. Somehow she must make this good man, this sweet man, understand the importance of giving his heart and soul to Jesus.
She closed her eyes, feeling the Lord’s presence in the warm sun on her face and the gentle fingers of soft breezes gliding through her hair.
Lord, give me the right words to make him see.
“Master Adams!”
Matilda’s eyes flew open and her heart jumped to her throat at Noah Bertram’s voice.
“See that rope bucket?” A quick jerk of his dark head indicated a bucket lying on its side, a few feet away.
“Yes, sir.” Matilda’s voice sank at the sight of the bucket, its rope spilling out onto the deck.
“Is that your doing?” His ominous quiet tone reminded her of distant thunder before a storm.
She didn’t remember having bumped the bucket, but she might have. Her hand trembled on the swab handle as she turned back to Noah’s angry face.
“We’re nearing whaling grounds, Master Adams.” He made the clipped words sting like the end of a lash. “That rope needs to be ready for the whale boats. Is it, Master Adams?”
Paralyzed with fear, Matilda stood mute, her bare feet awash in the seawater she’d been using to swab the port-side deck.
It came like a blur before she could answer. With a backward swipe of his hand, Noah landed a solid blow against her left ear that would have sent her sprawling across the wet deck if she hadn’t grabbed the railing, keeping her on her feet.
“You clumsy little brat!” Noah towered over her with clenched fists. “I want that rope picked up and wound properly in its bucket, do you hear?”
Shaken, Matilda could hear little but the ringing in her left ear. Clinging to the rail, she touched her hand to her throbbing face and raised her tear-filled eyes to his.
The hard line of his mouth twisted into a vicious sneer. He enjoyed inflicting pain. Matilda could scarcely believe that these cruel green slits were the same eyes that had gazed admiringly into hers a year ago at her wedding. The same hand that smote her face had once lifted her hand to his lips for a tender kiss. The angry man before her held no resemblance to the dashing seaman with whom she’d shared a dance at her wedding party. Noah Bertram was a monster.
“Are you all right, Matt?” Matilda felt Tom’s strong, reassuring hands grasp her shoulders from behind.
“Y–yes,” she managed, her voice shaky through the ringing in her ear.
His hands left her shoulders, and he walked around her to face Noah.
“Matt didn’t knock that bucket over. It was already on its side when he came up on deck.” Anger quivered through Tom’s voice and his fists clenched, making his tanned biceps ripple. “You strike that boy again for no reason, Bertram, and I promise you a taste of your own medicine!”
Noah blanched in the face of Tom’s steely glare. Then he stiffened and lifted his chin in an arrogant tilt. “Your impertinence has just bought you a taste of the lash, Mister Owens!” His gaze darted about the deck. “Mister Prescott! Mister Davitts!” He screamed at the two burly seamen who’d just descended to the deck from furling the mizzenmast sail. “Strip Mister Owens to the waist, and lash him to the mizzenmast. He wants to be reminded of his place on this ship.”