He don’t want nobody to bother him.” Solomon’s voice broached no resistance.
Tom chuckled. “He’s a good, hardworking lad, but he sure is an odd one.”
After a long moment, the sound of Tom’s steps continued alongside the galley, diminishing in the direction of his berth, allowing Matilda to exhale a shaky breath.
Three days later, Matilda walked along the sun-washed deck with her Bible in hand. Her frights at the close calls with Tom and the horrors of processing the whale seemed to float away on the sweet ocean breezes wafting across the calm blue seas. Since the ship’s cleaning—not to mention her own—both her mood and her health had improved.
With a spring in her step, she approached Tom who sat cross-legged on the port-side deck, his back against the afterhouse wall. At the sight of him, her heart leaped like a happy dolphin.
“What are you doing?” Smiling, she glanced down at his hands holding a small knife, with which he scraped something that looked like a bone.
“Scrimshaw.” He made another gouge in the ivory-colored material.
“May I see?” Curious, Matilda leaned in closer. She’d seen some of the beautiful carvings sailors had rendered on whale bone and teeth, but had no idea that Tom did such work.
He scooted farther away and covered the work with his hand. Whether attempting to hide the scrimshaw or simply to make room for her to join him, she couldn’t tell.
“In a bit.” He angled a grin at her.
Intrigued, but wanting to respect his privacy, Matilda sank to the deck and sat cross-legged beside him.
“Can’t wait to put in at Fayal.” He cast a crooked grin in her direction. “First thing I’m goin’ to do is get myself the biggest, juiciest orange I can find. How ‘bout you?”
“An orange sounds wonderful, but I’m most eager to mail my bundle of letters to my mother.”
“Reckon you miss home a lot, huh?”
“Yes, I’m all my mother has now. Don’t you miss your home?” Matilda realized how little she knew of Tom’s past, or of his life ashore.
“Reckon the sea is my home.”
“Why? Don’t you have a home somewhere onshore?”
Tom fixed his gaze on his hands, busy with the carving knife. “I was orphaned at the age of ten. My grandmother took me in for the next four years. When she died, I went to sea. That’s where I’ve spent most of my time since.” He gave her that little smile she loved. “Reckon the captain and crew of whatever ship I’m on is my family now.”
“Then you plan to stay at sea?”
“Only for as long as it takes.”
“As long as it takes for what?” Intrigued, Matilda watched his eyes grow distant.
“As long as it takes for me to earn enough money to buy my own ship, or at least, buy into one.”
That Tom had ambitions to captain a ship didn’t surprise Matilda. With his good sense, kind heart, and even temper, he’d make a fine captain.
The memory of her father’s absences flooded back, and Matilda voiced her thoughts. “Captains are at sea, too.”
“Oh, I may captain for a voyage or two, but what I really want is to own a fishing fleet. Galveston Bay, down on the Gulf of Mexico, that’s where I’m headed. I believe whalin’s seen its best days—no future in it.” His face clouded for a moment then brightened again. “Yes, siree, I’ve had enough of New England winters. Gonna live out the rest of my life in a warm clime.”
Matilda felt her jaw go slack. She would never have imagined that Tom harbored such lofty goals.
His gaze turned pensive. “One day I’m goin’ to own a whole fishing fleet and build a fine home on Galveston Bay.” He reached out his hand holding the carving knife and gestured toward a vision that only he could see. “I can see m’self sittin’ on a fine veranda, warm breezes off the Gulf of Mexico blowin’ in my face. I’ll watch my fleet o’ ships sail out o’ Galveston Bay then back again with my fortune, all from the front porch o’ my home. My own home…” His voice turned quiet.
“And would you live in that home alone?” Her throat tightened. Perhaps he had a sweetheart back in New England. She’d never even asked. She’d never considered the possibility. The thought gouged at her heart.
“Not if I can find a good wife to share it with me.” He grinned. “But you’re a bit young for this conversation.”
When Matilda’s heart began to beat again, it raced.
Me. Tom, I want it to be me!
It didn’t matter that she knew nothing of Galveston, Texas. She would follow Tom anywhere. Galveston, the moon, it didn’t matter.
“Ain’t ya gonna read more o’ that to me?” He jammed his thumb toward the open Bible on her lap. “Reckoned since you ain’t saved my soul yet, and the next whale just might swallow me right down like old Jonah, maybe you’d better.” He shot her a teasing grin then puffed out a breath to blow dust from the carving.
“If you’d like.” Bristling, she couldn’t keep the chilly tone from her voice. How could he act so unconcerned about something so serious? The urge to get up and stomp away pulled at her. But she couldn’t. Like it or not, God had laid this mission on her heart. Whether or not she’d ever see Tom Owens again after this voyage, it didn’t change the fact that she loved him. She would always love him. She couldn’t bear the thought of worrying for the rest of her life that he wasn’t safely in the arms of Jesus. She had to try her hardest.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, seeming to sense her irritation in the ensuing silence. His lips slipped into that familiar lopsided grin. “Preach to me, my little man-of-the-cloth.” Tiny lines crinkled at the edges of his gray eyes, glinting with fun.
The gentle ocean breeze continually rearranged the soft brown curls framing his tanned face.
Matilda felt her heart do a somersault at the handsome vision of the man beside her. With difficulty, she dragged her attention down to focus on the scriptures and began reading from the eighth chapter of the gospel of Matthew, the account of Jesus stilling the tempest.
“It’d be right helpful if He could do that nowadays.” Never looking up from his work, Tom draped the comment in an uncharacteristic somber tone.
“But He can!” Matilda’s voice leaped with her heart. This was the opportunity she’d been hoping for—a chance to show Tom that Jesus was just as alive today as in Bible times.
Her fingers fanned the pages until she came to the thirteenth chapter of the book of Hebrews. “‘Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.’”
“Alive or not, I wouldn’t reckon Jesus’d want to have much truck with me.” Tom’s gaze narrowed and his voice turned cynical. “Don’t reckon churchgoin’ people would, either. Good people, who don’t lie or cheat and ain’t done nobody harm. No.” He shook his head. “They wouldn’t want no truck with the likes of me.”
While the defeated tone in Tom’s voice troubled Matilda, at least he seemed serious. And wasn’t that what she’d wanted, for him to become serious about Christ’s message of salvation?
Yet her heart throbbed with compassion at the despondency in his voice. She longed to smooth away the furrows etched across his forehead by an unspoken pain.
“No, Tom. You’re exactly who Jesus wants!” She recounted with enthusiasm the passage of Jesus rebuking those who criticized him for eating with publicans and sinners. “He told them that the sick need a doctor, not those who are well. Jesus wants to forgive all your sins. All you have to do is ask Him.”
She ached at the sadness in Tom’s sardonic chuckle.
He snapped a quick nod in the direction of her Bible. “Maybe that book’s got all the answers, and maybe it don’t. All I know is, there are things a body does in this life they can’t ever take back. Things that leave marks that won’t wash away.”
She rose from the deck, her limbs feeling as leaden as her heart. She hadn’t gotten through to him. She’d failed.
Perhaps Tom’s heart was the rocky soil that Jesus had spoken of in the parable—a place where the Word wouldn’t grow. No, she simply wouldn’t accept that. She’d seen the sweet softness of his heart.
Why couldn’t he accept God’s love? What awful specters from the past tormented his soul? She couldn’t begin to guess.
“You’re wrong, Tom. No one who goes to church is perfect, and many are not even good.”
Her shoulders sagging, she turned to leave. “Solomon will be looking for me.”
“Don’t you want to see?” Tom held his carving out toward her.
Matilda reached down and wrapped her fingers around the small, smooth object. Her incredulous gaze shifted from the carving on the whale tooth in her hand to Tom’s smile. “It’s me.”
“Thought you might like to have a souvenir of your first whaling voyage.”
Tears welled in Matilda’s eyes. The gesture was so sweet, the gift so personal.
She wanted to hug his neck and kiss him. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
There was nothing else to say, nothing else she could do. In truth, she would rather have had his likeness on the memento instead of her own. But that would have been unnecessary. Tom had already carved his likeness into her heart as indelibly as if he’d done it with a scrimshaw knife. It would be there forever.
Later, Matilda lay wide awake on her mat, unmindful of the cockroaches crawling over her unmolested. Ambergris slept against her side, his furry stomach rising and falling to the rhythm of his soft purring.
Clutching the whale tooth in her hand, she ran her thumb lovingly over the rough ridges Tom had carved there.
Guilt gnawed at her heart. What would Tom think of her if he knew she was living a lie? She, who presumed to teach him the scriptures.
When she left New Bedford, she’d felt sure this voyage was God’s will. She’d heard so clearly the divine whisper, sanctioning her decision. Now, that surety had dimmed in a fog of guilt and uncertainty.
Perhaps when they reached the Western Islands she should go to the captain and tell him the truth.
But what of her mother and their debt? Mother, too, depended upon this voyage. And what would Tom think if he learned the truth?
Matilda’s heart sank at the vision of his dear face twisted in disgust at the unveiling of her deception. All her efforts to convince him to become a Christian would surely be lost if he viewed her as a hypocrite.
She rubbed the whale tooth against her wet cheek as her heart crawled in pain and confusion to the mercy seat of her Lord.
Lord, tell me what to do. Please, just show me what You want me to do.