No!” The word tore from Matilda’s throat in an anguished croak.
Captain Dobbs strode toward them, his face a thundercloud. “What is the meaning of this? Let this man be!”
He glared at the two seamen who chorused “Aye, aye, sir,” as they released their grips on Tom and scurried away.
Matilda’s quaking knees threatened to buckle as a wave of relief washed over her.
“Mister Bertram!” His countenance a study in controlled fury, Captain Dobbs confronted the first mate. “We are all but upon the whaling grounds, and I need my harpooner in good shape.”
Noah lifted his square chin, his voice steeped in righteous indignation. “Mister Owens threatened me with bodily harm when I attempted to discipline Master Adams.”
The captain turned to Tom. “Is that right, Mister Owens?”
“Yes.” Tom’s unflinching gaze met his captain’s. “He hit Matt for no good reason.”
“The clumsy brat knocked over the rope bucket, yonder.” The ugly scowl on Noah’s face deepened.
“Did you?” His voice toneless, Captain Dobbs turned an unreadable face to Matilda.
“I don’t know.” She pushed the honest answer past her constricting throat. “I don’t think so. Tom said I didn’t.”
“And you believe him?”
Matilda swallowed down her heart that had jumped to her mouth. “Yes, I do.”
Would Tom be beaten? Would she? Would her masquerade be discovered?
“Then so do I.” The barest hint of a smile lifted the corner of the captain’s mouth, sending a flood of relief through Matilda.
His features hardening again, the captain turned to the two men. “Mister Bertram, Mister Owens. I’ll have no more of this, or the pair of you will be put ashore and replaced when we reach the Western Islands. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom and Noah said in near unison.
“Now, be about your chores, the both of you.” The captain’s stern look bounced between them.
Matilda watched the two young men’s glares cross rapiers one last time before they turned and strode away in opposite directions.
“Master Adams.”
Standing alone before the captain, Matilda swallowed hard.
When he spoke, the gentleness in his voice surprised her. “Go below. Solomon should be able to find something for you to do. And from now on, try to give First Mate Bertram a wide berth.”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled before sprinting to the main hatch.
Below deck, Solomon looked up from his perch on a barrelhead where he sat shining the first mate’s spare pair of boots. “What happened to you?”
Matilda touched her left ear that felt swollen and hot. “First Mate Bertram hit me because he thought I knocked over a rope bucket.” Sniffling, she smeared a tear from her cheek with trembling fingertips.
“He’s a bad’un, that one.” Solomon’s wrinkled brow furrowed even deeper and his hand stilled the buffing cloth as he watched her pull on her socks and shoes with shaky hands. “Not worth cryin’ over, though. He ain’t worth…” He finished the thought by spitting on the toe of the boot then rubbing the spittle hard into the leather.
“I’m not crying because Noah hit me.” Matilda sat cross-legged on her straw tick and picked up Ambergris, who’d jumped into her lap. She rubbed her injured face against the cat’s soft, gray fur. “Tom nearly got a beating for coming to my rescue. I was hoping to teach him the scriptures. Now he will probably stay as far away from me as possible.”
“Oh, I don’t ’magine that’ll happen.” The old cook grinned at the tears slipping down her face. “That boy’s right fond of you.” His dark eyes twinkled. “‘Cept, I reckon, he don’t rightly know why.”
With her heart feeling like someone had lashed it to an anchor, Matilda wished she could believe Solomon as she watched his hunched figure carrying the shined boots shuffle off toward Noah Bertram’s cabin.
Her hopes of talking to Tom about Christ’s salvation withered. Despite Solomon’s opinion to the contrary, Tom would likely spend the rest of the voyage avoiding her.
Opening her Bible, she retreated into the sweet comfort of the Savior’s words.
“Are you all right?”
At Tom’s soft voice, Matilda’s head snapped up. Her racing heart snatched away her breath. “I’m sorry I caused you trouble. You shouldn’t have challenged Mister Bertram. If not for Captain Dobbs, Solomon would be treating your back with one of his smelly concoctions.”
Tom’s easy chuckle dismissed her concern. “Guess I’m not much of one for turnin’ the other cheek.” He nodded toward the Bible in her lap. “Reckon, too, it would’ve been worth a beatin’ to mop the deck with that horse’s behind.”
“You do know the Bible!”
“A little.”
“Would you like to know more?” Her enthusiasm to minister to Tom revived, Matilda seized with gusto the opportunity God had presented to her.
“Sure.” Tom gave her a good-natured grin and dropped to the floor beside her. “Preach to me, my little man-of-the-cloth.” He settled with his back to the cubbyhole wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
Thank You, Jesus!
The prayer fluttered from Matilda’s happy heart. She began reading the account of Christ’s Sermon on the Mount from the book of Matthew, hope blooming in her voice.
At length, Tom heaved a deep sigh. The grin had left his face, and his brow furrowed in thought. “Lot of things to remember. Lot of things I don’t think I can do, like turnin’ the other cheek and lovin’ my enemy. Don’t think it’s in me. I’m a seafarin’ man.”
Undaunted, Matilda hastened to dismiss his illogical conclusion. “Peter, James, and John all followed and loved Jesus. They were all seafaring men, too. Would you like for me to read you the account of when Jesus called them to be fishers of men?” The pages of the Bible whispered as she searched for the familiar scripture.
“Tomorrow.” Laughing, Tom stood and gave her hair a playful muss. “Right now I have work to do.” His gray eyes turned serious and his voice softened. “You’ll make a preacher yet, Master Adams, and who knows, you just might save my sin-blackened soul after all.”
Watching his back disappear through the main hatch, she whispered, “I hope so.”
Turning from the rail, Tom glanced down the main deck and smiled to see his young friend walking toward him, Bible in hand. He couldn’t help admiring the lad’s persistence.
While he generally preferred to keep to himself during a voyage, something about this cabin boy had drawn him—something he couldn’t quite get his mind around. He’d found the boy’s interest in religion at once irritating and amusing. At first he’d agreed to listen to Matt’s Bible reading and preaching simply to humor the lad. However, as the days passed, he realized he’d begun to look forward to their sessions, though he’d sooner be keelhauled than admit it.
He’d found the passages about forgiveness especially interesting, and his heart had reached out for them as if they were life buoys. Was it possible for Jesus to wipe away what Tom had done? Could He restore Tom’s sense of peace that the sea swallowed up a year ago?
Tom’s heart softened at the sight of Matt’s young face. Pink cheeks and large blue-green eyes, shining with childlike enthusiasm.
Matt believed it. But Matt didn’t know what Tom had done. And Matt had never felt responsible for the deaths of a ship full of whalers. How could Tom expect God to forgive what he couldn’t forgive himself?
“Tom, I found another scripture about forgiveness.” Matt plopped down on the deck beside him. “Yesterday you seemed interested in that subject, so I’ve been searching for more verses concerning it.”
Tom fished the pumice stone from his pocket and began applying it to the blade of his harpoon. “Preach to me.” He angled a grin at Matt.
“It’s from the book of Colossians.” Matt’s delicate brow wrinkled with determination as he leafed through the pages. At last, he began to read, tracing the words with his finger. “‘Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light: Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son: In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins.’”
Forgiveness of sins. If only such a thing could be true. Tom stopped his work with the pumice stone and looked at Matt. “All sins? Aren’t some sins worse than others? Wouldn’t you reckon—”
“Thar she blows!”
The familiar cry Tom had waited for sailed down from the crosstrees, interrupting his thought.
Both Tom and Matt swung their faces up toward the top of the mizzenmast.
“Where away?” Captain Dobbs cupped his hands around his mouth, directing his shout to the rigging above.
“Four points off the lee bow, sir!” The answer floated down to the deck.
“Sing out! Sing out every time!” Through his cupped hands, Benjamin Dobbs transmitted his orders amid a thunderous rush of human feet, scurrying about the deck like so many roaches caught in the sudden light of a lantern.
Matt grasped Tom’s arm. “I want to go, too.”
Tom met his young friend’s pleading eyes with a full understanding of the boy’s feelings.
“She breeches!” wafted down from the crosstrees. “She white-waters! Thar she blooows!”
Tom felt a tug-of-war within him. He’d experienced the excitement of the hunt and the lure of the sea at Matt’s same age. Yet, whaling was dangerous work. Could he put this boy at risk? Could he bear the burden of another death?
“Please.” Matt’s voice turned urgent.
Conflicted, Tom glanced about at the whalers dashing to their posts, then turned back to Matt. His resistance crumbled in the face of the cabin boy’s huge, hopeful eyes.
God, if You can hear me, please don’t let me regret this.
“I reckon, if it’s all right with the captain. I went out first at fourteen.”
“I’ll put my Bible away, then I’ll be right there!” Matt shouted over his shoulder as he ran toward the main hatch.
“Better hurry,” Tom hollered back. “Whale boat waits for nobody!”
Consternation balled in Tom’s gut, followed by a flash of irritation. He needed to stop feeling responsible for Matt Adams. He’d signed on to this voyage as a harpooner, not as nursemaid to some kid. He raked his thumb across two days of chin stubble. So why did he feel so protective toward him?
Something…
He didn’t have time to worry about it. Grasping his harpoon, he hurried toward the port side. Somewhere out there a whale waited for him.
Matilda stuffed her Bible in her duffel and flew back up the ladder, the companionway gang passing in a blur.
While she had no desire to watch the killing of a whale, the thought of waiting and worrying about Tom’s safety felt unbearable.
“Lower away!” Captain Dobbs’s shouted order spurred her on and she sprinted to the port side where most of the crew had gathered.
She ran up to the captain, the words of her breathless request tumbling over one another. “I want to go, too, sir.”
“Maybe next time, son.” Smiling, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
Her hope ebbed then rose again on a wave of determination. She wouldn’t allow him to dismiss her out of hand. “Please, sir. I need to go. I have to go.”
His soft sigh and half smile told her she’d won. “All right. Watch your seat, and mind Mister Bertram.”
“Thank you, sir!” Matilda didn’t wait for him to change his mind, but hurried to follow Tom down the rope ladder draped over the side of the ship.
Dropping the last four feet from the end of the ladder into the whale boat, she struggled to get her balance in the little rocking vessel.
“Keep your hands and arms away from the rope once I’ve stuck him,” Tom said. “Once it starts payin’ out around the loggerhead, I’ve seen it take off an arm just like that.” He snapped his fingers in her face.
She gave him a solemn nod then took the seat in front of him.
The boat quickly filled, with Noah Bertram the last person to come aboard. As first mate, he would act as boat header. Standing at the bow, he’d handle the rudder and sing out orders.
Matilda’s heart raced with anxious anticipation, but Tom’s nearness offered a measure of calm.
Dear heavenly Father, please protect us.
As the prayer formed in her mind, Noah gave the order to lower the sail.
The crew took up their oars. Though at first Matilda strained with the exertion, her muscles soon remembered the rowing lessons Papa had taught her as a girl. Except for strength, she felt confident that her rowing skills matched that of any man in the boat.
“Put your backs into it, you maggots! Row! Row!” Noah’s hateful, raspy whisper urged the crew to a faster pace.
Struggling to keep up with the rhythm of the crew, Matilda strained harder, pushing then pulling the smooth, round oar chaffing against her palms.
“Hold back, hold back!” Noah’s frantic whisper told her they must be nearing the beast. “Take up the paddles. Be quiet with those oars.”
Matilda’s hand shook as she let go of the oars, allowing one to bump against the side of the boat.
Noah shot her a lethal glare. “You make one more sound, Master Adams, and I’ll wring your scrawny neck!”
Quaking at his rasped threat, Matilda found comfort in the reassuring pressure of Tom’s knee against her back.
The boat began to rock as the sea started to undulate in a way that felt nothing like the regular rhythm of the tides.
“Hold, hold…” Noah’s voice tightened.
At last he looked at Tom. “Mister Owens, stand and give it to him.”
The boat rocked as Tom took his place at the stern.
Matilda turned and watched him place his thigh against the clumsy cleat—the sturdy board with a concave cutout that allowed the harpooner to steady himself. The muscles of Tom’s right arm flexed as he grasped the harpoon.
A large gray hill like a small island rose from the waters a few feet away, and Matilda stifled a gasp. Tom’s arm flew forward like an iron spring. With a zip, the harpoon left his hand.
Nothing happened.
Had he missed?
The boat jerked and began to move across the water at an ever-increasing speed. In terror, Matilda grasped the side of the boat as they skimmed across the waves from crest to crest. Remembering Tom’s warning, she kept her hands away from the rope that emitted a shrill whistle as it paid out at a deadly rate from the two tubs. All her life she’d heard Papa and other whalers speak of the “Nantucket sleigh-ride.” Now she prayed to survive it.
Sea spray drenched Matilda’s back as she held tight and prayed for the whale to tire. She lowered her head away from the whipping wind and water, her heart racing as much from excitement as from fear.
For almost a full hour, she guessed, they sped across the water. When she thought she could bear it no longer, the boat began to slow.
How far the whale had pulled them from the ship, she couldn’t guess. The thought of towing a forty-plus-ton whale back to the Sea Star felt daunting.
“Pull, you lazy slugs, pull!” Noah stood. Matilda, along with the other members of the crew, pulled hard on the rope that was attached to a dying whale somewhere out in the ocean.
At last they drew up alongside the mortally wounded behemoth. Their boat came so close Matilda could have reached out and touched the whale’s side.
An unexpected sadness gripped her. There would be time enough to touch the hide of this poor giant creature.
“Move away! Move away, I say!” Noah pushed his way toward the stern where he would administer the lethal lance.
Passing Matilda, he gave her shoulder a rough shove. Punishment, she suspected, for her earlier offense with the oar.
Tom stiffened and glared at Noah, but he said nothing. As the two men passed in front of her in the cramped quarters, Matilda could almost hear the air sizzle with their mutual loathing. For a moment, she feared they might actually go after each other right there in the whale boat.
“To the bow, Mister Owens.” Noah ground the words between clenched teeth before taking his turn at the clumsy cleat.
Hefting the lance, Noah pressed his leg against the board’s concave cutout and rammed the lance into the wounded, exhausted animal.
In agony, the beast reared its great tail and, in its death throes, what the whalers called its “flurry,” brought it down hard next to the whale boat.
Matilda grabbed the side of the bobbing boat, fearing it would either be capsized or smashed to splinters. While the colossal tail missed a direct hit on the boat, it managed to graze it, drenching the crew with a shower of seawater and sending a mighty shudder through the small vessel.
To Matilda’s horror, the blow catapulted Tom into the air. He landed in the ocean with a splash then disappeared beneath the crimson waves, stained with the whale’s blood.
“Tom!” She screamed his name, her heart contracting as if squeezed by an iron fist. “Man overboard! Man overboard!”
In desperation, she turned to Noah, still goring the dying whale.
“Please, Mister Bertram. Mister Owens has been thrown out!”
Noah met her frantic pleas with an annoyed scowl. “Then someone fish him out! I have work to do.”
With tears coursing down her face, Matilda raced around the edges of the whale boat, scanning the bloody ocean for any sign of Tom. Not since she’d learned of Papa’s and Mitchell’s deaths had she felt such utter despair.
The other three seamen in the boat joined in the search, poking their oars into the water.
“Tom! Tom!” Her lungs and throat burning, Matilda continued to scream his name as she peered into the murky depths.
Dear Lord, please don’t let him be lost. He’s not yet accepted Your Son. Please don’t take him yet.