Waves battered the Lilith, and Rachel held on to the railing. Finn looked up at the sail, then turned the boat slightly to head off the wind and take pressure off the boat. “We’re in the thick of it!” Nathaniel yelled above the sound of the wind flapping the sails, ropes creaking, and the masts straining.
“It’ll pass,” Finn said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Finn grabbed Rachel and pulled her closer to the helm, but she struggled away from him and held on to the rail beside Nathaniel. She tilted her head back and let the rain wash over her face, then turned to face the wind.
Nathaniel heard the sound of wood tearing apart, and then the boat veered off course. It was the foremast, cracked and tilting in the wind. The jib fell to the decks, ropes ran through pulleys, and the wind made a balloon of the fallen canvas sail.
“Get that sail!” Finn shouted over the sound of the rain. He veered into the wind to slow the boat’s motion while Nathaniel ran forward to get the jib down.
Nathaniel stuffed the sail into a bag and ducked from the freed rope whipping past until he was able to grab one end and tie it off on a cleat. The top of the foremast had fallen into the sea but dragged alongside the boat by the metal stays that had held it in place. It was nothing like the nor’easter that had pummeled the Sparrow. A squall was a smaller storm with less wind and rain—nothing like the storm that had taken Jacob. For this, Nathaniel was relieved. He pulled on the metal stays that held the foremast dragging in the water, pulled until he had the wooden spar securely onboard and fastened to the rail where it wouldn’t roll around and do damage. Satisfied that the sails, the ropes, and the foremast were stowed safely, Nathaniel walked aft, holding on to the handrails along the bulwark with each step. His wet clothes clung to his body. His hair hung in his eyes, dripping in rivulets down his face, but he was okay. They were okay.
At the helm, he told Finn that all was in order, then he joined Rachel where she stood holding on to the wooden handrail, occasionally leaning around the bulwark to check on her bag. She smiled at him and tilted her head back again to receive the rain on her face like a blessing. She let go of the rail and held her arms wide open in the wind, and at that moment, a huge wave broke over the windward side of the boat. Finn ducked behind the wheel to avoid the velocity of water, but Rachel slid down the deck. As fast as Nathaniel reached down for her, she was gone.
“She’s over!” Nathaniel screamed at Finn. He raced to get the lifesaving ring, tied a free rope to the ring, then fastened it to a cleat on deck. “I can’t see her. I’m going in!” Nathaniel didn’t even look toward his brother as he yelled. The wind could’ve carried his voice away, but he didn’t care. He held one arm through the life ring and scanned the water for Rachel. There was no sign of her. He leapt over the side of the boat and into the water. When he came up spitting seawater, he saw that Finn had sailed into the wind and let loose the sails so that the boat drifted near the spot where Rachel had fallen overboard.
Nathaniel searched along the surface of the water for her arms waving, her head bobbing—any sign of her at all—but there was nothing. He swam as far as the rope tied to the boat would allow, then he stretched in every direction. It wasn’t until he swam toward the bow of the boat that he saw her, one hand raised, her head rising and falling, rising and falling. He kicked toward her as hard as he could, but the boat was drifting away from her and carrying him along with it. She was so close. He saw her on the rise of a wave, then she was gone. He panicked, let go of the life ring, and swam toward her. The only thing that mattered to him in that moment was getting her safely onboard the Lilith, but the waves lifted and dropped him, lifted and dropped, and he couldn’t get sight of her.
• • •
Nathaniel waited for the sight of Jacob’s head and the narrow width of his shoulders to pop up with his kickboard, but when another giant swell washed over them, Jacob didn’t show up. Nathaniel pulled himself forward on the rope to where Jacob should be, hand over fist, until he reached the empty loop. He searched the surface of the water for his brother, but there was only the floating board. Blood coursed through his body in a rush that made a sound in his ears, a near buzzing—or was that his fear?
“Jacob!” he yelled when he saw the top of his brother’s head pop up. The boy was gasping. He looked at Nathaniel and waved to signal that he was all right. Nathaniel kept his eye on him, watched him disappear in the trough of a wave, then pop up again on each crest, disappear and pop up. He looked toward Sandy Neck where he could make out a small house near the lighthouse. They were getting closer. When he turned to watch Jacob again, he waited for him to surface. One, two, three…six. He swam up to where the boy had been swimming with his kickboard, but the kickboard drifted with no sign of Jacob.
Nathaniel dove beneath the waves where a foamy wash clouded his view. When he didn’t see his brother, he swam lower until he couldn’t hold his breath, and his body burst toward the surface. He took another deep breath and dove, looking in every direction, but there was no sign of Jacob. Then he was there, drifting toward the bottom, his white shirt billowing and filling with water. Nathaniel kicked toward his brother and extended his arms until he almost had him. When he caught the edge of the boy’s shirt, he held fast with his fist and tried to pull him closer, but the weight of the water made him too heavy to move. He was sinking, his face blank, eyes closed. Nathaniel used the edge of the shirt to pull the boy around, but Nathaniel’s chest burst open, and he took in a mouthful of water. He coughed, and against every thought in his mind, his body reached for the surface while his brother sank toward the bottom.
• • •
Nathaniel surfaced for a deep breath of air, then dove down until he saw Rachel. She was only five feet below the surface of the water, drifting, facedown, arms outstretched. He swam underwater, kicking hard, using his arms like wings to fan himself forward, until he grabbed one corner of the jacket and reeled her in. He pulled her by one arm toward the surface until they both popped out of the water. Rachel coughed, but her head tilted to one side. A gash of about four inches crossed from her right temple up into her hair, and blood washed over her face. She was breathing, though. Finn steered the boat toward them, and when he was near enough, he threw the life ring toward them. Nathaniel swam with the girl under his arm. He took hold of the life ring with his free arm and held fast while Finn reeled them in. The storm was letting up a bit as they made their way toward the boat. Once they were close, Finn dropped a rope ladder over the side.
“She’s unconscious!” Nathaniel yelled.
The wind was easing off, and he heard Finn clearly when he said, “I’ll get the harness.” Nathaniel held the ladder with one arm and Rachel with the other until Finn lowered a line with the bosun’s harness on it. Nathaniel had to let go of the ladder to fasten the canvas straps around Rachel. He treaded water, his breath coming hard, as he slid the strap under her arms and cinched it at her chest where the rope ran up to the deck. Finn stood, ready.
“Haul away!” Nathaniel’s voice rasped, and he yelled again. “Go ahead, Finn.”
Finn wound the rope around a belaying pin and pulled, one long tug after another, while Nathaniel climbed the ladder with Rachel pressed against the front of his body, arms around his neck. He carried her up, up. When she opened her eyes, she startled and looked to Nathaniel. “I’ve got you,” he said. When they reached the deck, Finn bent down to grab Rachel by the harness, but she swatted his hand away. She wouldn’t let go of Nathaniel.
“I’m going to climb over the rail,” he said, speaking into her ear so that she could hear him in the rain. “Then I’ll pull you onboard.”
Rachel nodded, but she didn’t let go of his shoulders. He peeled her fingers loose, then placed each of her hands on the ladder so that she hung by her harness, clinging to the boat. She watched him swing himself onto the boat. “Nathaniel!”
“I’m right here,” he said. While Finn hauled her in, Nathaniel reached down for her and pulled her onto the deck, where she promptly passed out again. He felt for her pulse, listened for her breathing, which moved in ragged rhythm with the rise and fall of her chest. It was the gash on her forehead that he worried about. He tore off the frayed bottom of his shirt and blotted around the wound. He pressed hard to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t stop. He took his shirt off and tore strips from it to make a bandage around her head.
“Get us in,” Nathaniel said.
Finn reeled in the mainsail and manned the helm. The one big sail was enough to get them home, and Nathaniel trusted his brother to get them there. “It wasn’t your fault,” Nathaniel said. “We didn’t see the squall, and she was horsing around.”
“Okay,” Finn said.
“Really, it wasn’t,” Nathaniel told him, and he held the girl’s head in his lap as Sandy Neck came into view. “We’re almost there, Rachel. We’ll get you to the doctor. You don’t have to worry.”
Nathaniel blotted at the blood as it seeped through the bandages and trickled down her face. Still, she was here, breathing and alive. He took a deep breath and tried not to worry as the boat made progress through the waves. There was Yarmouth Port in the distance, his father’s house on the hill.
When they’d been rescued after the wreck of the Sparrow, the shore had been lined with folks from town, waiting as if the fate of the Sparrow was a harbinger of their own family members’ fates. Nathaniel had watched his father at the edge of the dock, leaning forward as if urging their boat closer. When the rescue schooner finally drifted in and tied at the dock, Nathaniel Sr. stood back and waited for his sons. There was a lot of talk, thank-yous to the rescuing captain and words among the crew that he could not make out.
Their father pulled Nathaniel to him and hugged him, then Finn. He made sure to hold Finn and squeeze him and pat him on the back. He looked toward the cabin door, waiting for Jacob to appear. The boys watched him, heads down, then Nathaniel Sr. fixed his eyes on their faces. He didn’t want to understand what he saw so clearly etched in the hard lines of Nathaniel’s forehead. He turned from the boys, held the palm of his hand to his forehead, and stood for a moment, silent.
When he turned back to face them, he spoke in a voice that was strained and stoic. “You’re freezing. We’ll get you some fresh blankets.”
“Jacob…” Nathaniel said, his voice breaking. “We lost him.” Nathaniel nearly lost his breath, but his father placed a hand on his back as he huddled with Finn. Finn, for the first time, didn’t say a word. They stood motionless on the dock, as if one step away from where Jacob had drowned would be a step into a life without him, and not one of them could face that yet. Nathaniel Sr. let out a gasp of breath that became a sob. He didn’t want his boys to see him like this. He clenched his teeth hard and pushed a hand into his mouth to hush himself.
People gathered around them like an incoming tide, then they receded, then they circled them again. No one knew what to do, what to say. Max Ballard stepped forward and wrapped the boys in dry blankets.
There was much talk on the dock about the wreck.
Right off Sandy Neck.
So close, they were almost home.
Such good sailors.
People tried to overhear the family talking as Maxwell guided Nathaniel Sr. and the boys to his wagon. He helped Nathaniel Sr. up each step onto the wagon seat and then set a box on the ground so that the boys could step into the back of the wagon.
He clicked at the horse and started off for the grim ride home. Nathaniel continually turned his head back toward the water.
“Son,” his father said, and Nathaniel put his head down and sobbed. Nathaniel knew that explanations were in order, but he didn’t deliver the facts until they got home, cold, clear facts: the unexpected storm raced them toward the harbor; the tide drove the schooner onto the shoals; the waves cracked the hull; they decided to swim for shore. The rest of the story would come out in pieces over the days and weeks to follow.
The top spar that snapped on a reckless jibe that sent the boom flying across the boat until the sail filled and swung them away from the oncoming wind.
He didn’t want to think about this, but every day, his mind went over the events. He blamed himself because he lost sight of Jacob, and then when it mattered, he couldn’t swim down to save him. He could’ve tried harder to hold on to his brother, a few more seconds without air, just one more minute, and he could’ve gotten him to the surface.
In the weeks after losing Jacob, Nathaniel took long walks and went over and over each detail of the accident in his mind to try to figure if there was something he could have changed. He had inspected those cracked seams and deemed them ready to go. So had the Garrison brothers and Finn, but Finn was too eager and couldn’t be trusted, so it had been Nathaniel’s judgment that mattered in the end. Then there was the fact that he hadn’t been able to reach the life vests. Maybe if he’d stowed them closer, maybe if he’d made them more accessible. But the worst thing had been having the edge of his brother’s shirt in his fist and not being able to hold his breath long enough to pull Jacob to the surface.
That was where he had ultimately failed. His weakness followed him around in the dark. His scolding self never let up. When he went home, he thought he heard Jacob on the stairs or waiting in the yard for Nathaniel to finish his breakfast so they could get down to the rowboat. There were Jacob’s boots worn on the instep from the way his ankles turned in. There was his shirt thrown on the floor in the hallway. His bedroom smelled like rank feet and salt and the particular odor of him, and Nathaniel could barely stand in the doorway without a powerful grief taking hold of him. At dinner, Jacob’s empty chair was like an accusation.
At night, Nathaniel woke to his father’s angry outbursts: a side table and lamp flipped over onto the floor, a prized crystal bowl smashed against the wall. Nathaniel believed his father’s anger was directed at him, and he understood. He wished his father would lash out at him and Finn, scream hateful words and blame them for their recklessness. The sounds of calamity from downstairs didn’t bother him. It was his father’s broken sobbing at night after they had all gone to bed that annihilated him in the dark, a grief that matched his own.