Lightning shimmered off the water and raced to the boat. Shivering, Blanche couldn’t manage much of a prayer beyond I’m scared, God. The fear didn’t go away, but she gained control of it, trusting God to look over the boat and all its inhabitants. Short breaths interspersed with quick glances out the window. The boat headed straight into the heart of the storm. Lightning traveled through water, didn’t it? That meant she was more in danger from the storm on the boat than on land.
When Blanche was a little girl, a tornado had ripped through Roma. Wind whipped sand in the air as they rushed to the storm cellar. Belowground she could hear but not see the wind devastating the town.
Tonight she could both see and hear the wind. The mixture of wind and water could turn over this sturdy boat as easy as a house made of matchsticks.
Lightning struck so close that it blinded her. The boat heaved to one side, sending her into the wheel. Captain Pettigrew groaned, and she heard the sound of him hitting the floor. Hearing replaced sight as thunder crashed and a loud crack suggested something had broken.
Grasping the wheel, she pulled herself upright and sight returned. Miraculously, the windows remained intact; and the boat appeared headed on a straight course. She turned, expecting Pettigrew to take charge of the wheel.
He lay slumped against the captain’s table, blood seeping from his forehead, his eyes closed. “Captain! Captain!” Panic laced her voice.
A moan greeted her cry. He’s alive.
The need to keep her eyes on the river battled with the need to attend to the man lying on the floor. Deciding she’d have to chance it, she knelt down. “Captain?”
His eyes fluttered open. “Can’t… move… my arm. You have to pilot the boat.”
“Me?” Blanche’s stomach flipped. Piloting the boat on a calm sunny day was one thing. A night when storm filled the skies was another matter indeed. “I haven’t even taken the test yet.”
“Noah didn’t need a test when God called him to pilot the ark.”
With a pleading eye on Captain Pettigrew, Blanche dragged the crate behind the wheel.
“Keep your eye sharp out there. Don’t worry about me.” He grunted, a cry of pain, and Blanche jerked her head to keep from turning around to see what had happened.
“It’s my job to pray while you man the helm. Remember what I told you. Keep to the middle of the river. If the wind dies down, slow the engines.”
Unwilling to trust her voice, she nodded. I’m not ready for this. “You need medical attention.”
Pettigrew chuckled. “Have you hired a doctor recently? Ike will know who takes care of minor injuries while you’re on the river. But you can’t leave the wheel and I can’t get down there on my own power.” Another chuckle. “Besides, I’ll be right here if you need to ask me a question.” The words stopped, and his breathing rasped.
Lightning flashed again, farther away this time. Praise God. The captain cupped his right arm with his left, his face twisted in pain, his eyes closed. The thunder drowned out his breathing.
God, why this? Why tonight, before I’m ready? She channeled her fear into angry questions that helped strengthen her shivering limbs. You gave Noah one hundred years. I haven’t even had a month. Is this all some kind of punishment? Or maybe You’re testing me, to see if I’m worthy?
Her internal argument with God continued unabated while she kept her eyes fixed out the window, when the crate fishtailed beneath her and she had to climb off and reset it behind the wheel again. In between flashes of lightning, she snuck glances at Captain Pettigrew. Despite his brave words, he was in no condition to answer her questions. Had the wind lessened? Was it time to decrease the speed? Not yet.
Blanche needed to get a message to Pete and Ike, but she couldn’t leave. They hadn’t considered this possibility when they planned the schedule.
I suppose You planned that, too, God.
Where was Ike? She hadn’t asked him to come to the bridge tonight, but she missed the security of his presence. God, send him here tonight.
She thought she heard the stairs creaking, but when no one came into the pilothouse, she decided it was only the deck shifting in the wind.
So I guess it’s just You and me tonight, God.
Another clap of thunder followed, as if God was saying I’m right here. What had Reverend Sanders said about Noah’s argument with God? That you have to believe in God to argue with Him? She looked at the clouds racing alongside the boat, the lightning striking on the Mexican side of the river. “You are here. Right here with me.”
Her grip on the wheel remained strong and steady, but her heart stopped racing as fast as the boat. God was here. She could trust Him.
Ike stood still in the center of the hallway, gauging the motion of the boat. She rocked a little as it might at sea, but nothing felt broken beyond repair. Up until now, he had stayed busy taking care of passengers. People ran in and out of cabins, screaming questions and fighting small fires.
The storm had decreased in power, and he finished his inspection of the cabins. Next he would check the communal areas. In the kitchen he ran into Elaine, her round face gray by lantern light. “I turned off the ovens. It’ll be a cold breakfast in the morning.”
Ike nodded. “Smart move.” Elaine was a veteran of storms on the river. After the kitchen, he toured the theater. Aside from a few repairs to stage props, the room remained undamaged.
When he put his foot on the staircase leading to the main deck, wind carrying raindrops whistled down the hole. Frowning, he considered going back to his room for a rain slicker. No. Someone might interrupt him with another problem. He wanted to check on Blanche and Captain Pettigrew, to reassure himself that the storm had left them unscathed. He hadn’t hurried before now because the boat continued to run smoothly.
As he crossed the deck, lightning revealed pieces of a broken crate and other items scattered across the deck. In the pilothouse, a slight, feminine figure stood at the helm. Dark and rain descended again, and he couldn’t see where Pettigrew was located.
What the fool was the man doing allowing Blanche to take the helm in weather like this? Keeping the lantern aloft so he could spot obstacles underfoot, he ran up the stairs.
Turning the corner into the room, he almost stumbled over Pettigrew’s prone body. For a quick, frightening moment, he wondered if the man had died. Then the captain’s chest heaved and a moan came from between his lips.
“Ike?”
Blanche turned her face, white in the bright flash of lightning, a hint of lines at her eyes suggesting she had peered into the heart of the darkness of the sky. He also thought he saw a hint of excitement.
It’s the Lord. What would Blanche think if he said that? She might faint alongside Pettigrew, and what a mess that would make of things. “What happened?”
“Captain Pettigrew fell and broke his arm. Since someone had to stay at the helm…” She risked a quick glance at Ike then returned her attention to the front window. “I had to take over.”
“She’s doing a fine job of it, too.” A weak voice spoke from the floor.
“You’re awake.” Blanche shifted her feet beneath her. “I was getting worried about you. Ike, is there someone in the crew who sets bones and such?”
“One of the valets.”
“Good. Get him to look after Captain Pettigrew.”
Ike hesitated. He had come to offer them his help and support, and she was sending him away?
“Unless you want to take the helm?” She didn’t turn around.
“Not him. You. You’re doing a good job,” Pettigrew said.
“Old Obie would be proud.” Ike draped Pettigrew’s good arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet. His right arm dangled at his side, the elbow jutting out at an odd angle.
Ike speared Blanche with his eyes. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”
“I’m not alone.” Her voice shook the slightest bit.
Ike glanced around the pilothouse. Who?
“God.” She answered his unasked question. “God reminded me that He is always with me.”
Of course. A smile came to his face. He couldn’t wait to tell her about his decision, but now wasn’t the time. He took her words to his heart.
“Now go. Send Pete up here once you leave the captain with the valet.”
Lightning flashed in the distance, accenting her words. “The storm is moving away. I’ll be fine.”
Ike and Pettigrew had already taken a step down the stairs. She was wrong about one thing; he would come back himself rather than send relief. Until the crisis had passed, he wanted to stay by her side. In good times and bad. The two of them had a lot to talk about.
Somewhere, in the long stretches of the night, Blanche’s argument with God turned to praise. With each shift of the wheel, each tug of the bell pull to the engine room, she felt His presence stronger and stronger. Every time lightning illuminated the sky, she remembered lessons her father had taught her. If she could get through this storm without harm to vessel or personnel, she could pass the pilot test with ease.
Lightning flashed to her far left, and she held her breath while she counted under her breath. One Mississippi, two Mississippi… She got as far as ten Mississippi before thunder followed. The storm was falling behind them. She pulled the bell to slow the engines.
Ike was sweet, the way he didn’t want to leave her to face the big bad storm alone. He hadn’t even teased her when she said God was with her. Was it possible? No. God had given them one miracle in bringing her through this storm. She couldn’t expect Ike to change his soul-deep beliefs after such a short time.
She jerked her mind back from the subject, rejecting the distraction. What she needed was a cup of coffee. Weariness warred with her stamina. When Captain Pettigrew and Ike were in the room, she could carry on a conversation. Of course she could talk with God, but it wasn’t the same.
Sing. That worked in the past when she needed help focusing. She envisioned the hymnal from Christ the King church. Starting with the front piece, she sang the doxology. “Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” Also inside the front cover she envisioned the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed. She scrunched her eyes in concentration then forced them open to keep her eyes on the river.
The first hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” repeated the cry of the angels in front of the emerald throne from Revelation. She sang through hymns of praise, sometimes singing one verse, sometimes all of them, humming when she couldn’t remember the words. With each song, the time between lightning and thunder grew further apart. By the time she got to “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty!” she realized she hadn’t seen any lightning for a few minutes, and she caught a glimpse of the moon as the wind blew the clouds away.
Praise the Lord. They had survived.