Meeting the Ocean

"You are not hungry, Miss St. John?" Gregory stared down at her.

"You…" she commented, looking up at him curiously "…do not pray before you eat, Captain?"

He continued to stare, surprised at her. In his irritation at her lateness and his haste to seat her, he had forgotten. Rising to his feet, all the seamen did the same, and he bowed his head.

"Oh, Eternal Lord God, who alone spreads out the heavens and rules the raging of the seas…"

It was more of the seaman's prayer for safety than thanks for the food, but he continued, and when he finished, a loud, "Amen," was voiced by all the seamen there, followed by Arabella's whispered one. He stared down at her, as the corner of his mouth quirked up on one side.

"Satisfied, Miss St. John?"

As if she knew he was taunting her, she averted her gaze, embarrassed. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Miss Collingwood began to chatter brightly about the journey, about the beautiful ship. Why had she been named the Charlotte? How long would the journey be? Who would be willing to take her on a tour of it?

Gregory regarded Earl, over her head, who began to answer her questions, somewhat amused, “Actually, Miss Collingwood, the ship already had the name when the captain took possession of her. Since we liked it, he left it."

"And when do you expect to reach New Orleans? I'm anxious to get there."

"The journey will be from four to six weeks or longer to get to Charleston, Miss Collingwood. We'll have to spend a few days there, before we can begin the journey down to New Orleans."

"It would be nice to be able to go to New Orleans first." Lily paused, looking up.

Earl exchanged glances with Gregory, to see if he wanted to answer that one. But Gregory busied himself with taking another bite of stew, trying not to grin.

Earl continued. "Well, it's like this, Miss Collingwood. The reason the ship is sailing at all is to carry cargo to Charleston. That's the most important purpose of the ship. And it needs to be delivered as quickly as possible. Accepting passengers is not our top priority. There are passenger ships for that."

Lily didn't look pleased. "I see."

Bella spoke up. "But we do appreciate the fact that you accepted us at all, sir."

Earl smiled at her and then turned to Lily. "As far as touring the ship, we could probably find a crewman to take you on a tour of the upper deck." He glanced over at Bella and added, "And, no, the lower decks are out of the question."

* * *

Gregory observed Arabella as she looked upward at Earl and then back to him. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared as guilty as sin. When he glanced toward Lily, his mouth became grim. She seemed not to hear anything Earl was saying.

Gregory reached for his spoon and began to eat. The stew the cook had made was mouthwatering this evening. The men were exclaiming over it. But as the ocean was beginning to rock the ship more severely from side to side, he watched the young lady to his left.

Her stew had sloshed over the side of her bowl, and her eyes had grown worried. She reached under the bowl with both hands and frowned uncertainly up at him.

She was distressed. That much was clear. Her glance around the table rested on Miss Collingwood, who, between her chattering and questions, was eating her stew with gusto, and Earl, who was almost finished. Gregory's eyes returned to Arabella.

"It's all right, Miss St. John. This is not unusual. I promise you will get used to it. That's why we have the tables suspended with rope. Otherwise, it would be worse." He attempted to keep his voice calm and reassuring. But, a moment later, when the lantern above them dipped toward the wall of the vessel, he nodded to Earl, who was already on his feet. Many of the other men were, too.

"Commander? Men? Batten down."

He stepped away from the table and glanced back down. "Ladies, continue your meal. We shall return shortly." When he saw that Arabella's distress had increased, he reached down, touching her shoulder. "It'll be all right. I promise."

She nodded as if she wanted to believe him, and at the same time, reached for her mug with one hand to keep it from sliding off the table.

* * *

The ocean had calmed but only mildly. The ship was rocking less when Gregory came back down to the dining area with Earl. One by one, some of the other crewmen trickled back in to finish what was left of their meals. Miss Collingwood was still chattering away. He stopped and stared down at Miss St. John.

She had one hand on her bowl and one on her mug. And she was positively green.

"Commander, will you please escort Miss Collingwood up to her cabin? Miss St. John, I will see you to yours."

When Arabella looked up at him, she nodded, and he reached down to guide her to her feet. The first thing he did was to take her to the window, holding her there to steady her but allow her to look out. Looking back, he nodded thanks to a crewman who was clearing tables in the hall.

"Look," he spoke softly. "Out at the far horizon. If you keep your eyes on a point out there, it will be easier for your body to know where it is."

She tried to follow his instructions, but the truth was she only wanted to lie down. She found herself leaning back against his chest. She felt ill.

A moment later, he leaned down. "What do you think, Miss St. John? Can you make it up the stairs to the deck? The ocean is cooperating nicely and calming, despite how it seems. But I can certainly carry you."

The look he received was withering, and he struggled to resist a chuckle.

"I can make it." Her voice was acerbic.

"Then, come. Let's get you upstairs where you can lie down." He turned her and held her away from him. She was still slightly green.

Bringing her to the stairs outside the hall, he put her hands on the railing. She pulled out of his grasp immediately.

"I can do it," she quipped, pulling herself upward a step. But her determination to be defiant perturbed him.

He stepped back and motioned toward the ladder with a flourish, frowning down at her. "Be my guest."

She took another step, then another. As she did, however, the boat began to list starboard, and she cried out and lost her footing. Gregory immediately jumped to the third step and captured her with an arm about her waist, holding her to him. Her feet weren't even on the ladder now.

"I've got you. Relax."

"I can't." She was fighting him, holding on to the rails.

He took a deep breath and spoke in a stern voice. "Miss St. John, either you let go of the rails and let me carry you or, I swear, I'll smack your bottom when I get you topside. Hear me?"

She gave a sharp intake of breath, and he moved his right hand just under hers on the rail of the ladder.

"Now. Let go of the rail and put your hand on my sleeve."

Arabella reached frantically for his arm and rested her hand on it, grabbing hold of the material in her fist and crushing it tightly.

"Good girl. That's better. Now bring your left hand to my arm around your waist. And keep it there." He waited until she obeyed. She was panting heavily. "That's better. Now, just be still until I get you there."

Her breathing was ragged, but she was pliant now, and he took her up slowly, one step at a time. When they reached the top, the ship was listing toward the port side. Gregory saw that her eyes were closed.

"Miss St. John? Can you walk?"

She nodded, and he set her down. However, just as quickly as her feet hit the deck, he could see that she couldn't bear her own weight. He lifted her into his arms again and strode to the cabin with her, surprised she weighed so little.

"Where is your key?" he asked, nodding as she produced it from her pocket.

She whimpered as he opened the door and took her inside her cabin. Looking around her room, he was grateful to see she had not strewn toilette items all over the place to be thrown about with the tossing of the ship. She had more sense than he thought.

Putting her down on the bed, he leaned over her. "Young lady. Open your eyes and look at me."

She blinked, heavy-lidded, into his face, surprised when she realized he was so close. "Yes?"

"Stay here; I must go check on the helmsman and see if my help is needed. Do not, for any reason, leave your cabin. Those are my orders. Understood? I'll check on you later."

She gave a slight nod and closed her eyes again.

Gregory rose and strode quickly to one of the cabinets, frowning. The blankets were gone. The hammock was gone. Someone had either borrowed them or had not gotten the room ready. It was lacking in supplies for a passenger. He pulled up the sides of the bed covering and wrapped it around her before turning.

He stopped at the doorway and turned back. Her small face was still and pale. He was still unhappy with her for failing to be on time for dinner, and he suspected that she'd disobeyed Earl and gone to do some exploring, but this was not the time to approach that subject with her.

Slowly, he opened the door and closed it behind him again, moving toward the helm.

* * *

The ocean had calmed a good bit when he stepped back onto the deck and started toward her cabin. A lantern in his hand, he held it out in front of him.

"Captain!" Earl's concerned voice reached him. "Portside!"

Gregory went running for the side of the ship, before he even saw her. His heart plummeted as he heard the sounds of retching. Arabella was leaning over the side of the ship, vomiting into the ocean. Her feet were not even touching the deck.

His heart nearly stopped. Had the ship listed just slightly more, she'd have fallen overboard. Earl reached her just after he did.

"At ease. I've got her." His arm was around her waist now, and he pulled her back against him.

"No, don't! I'm not through," she choked out. Another minute, and she once more began to heave.

He lifted her off her feet from behind, ignoring the fact that she was throwing up, and pulled her toward the center of the ship, as Earl ran into her cabin and brought out a towel, handing it over. He wiped her face with it gently and took her into her cabin.

"You. Little. Disobedient. Brat," he growled down into her ear. His fear for her had evaporated, leaving only a sense of extreme anger that she had disobeyed him and gone outside her cabin. "Did I not tell you to stay in here?"

She was crying in his arms now. "But there was no container in here for me t-to—" She hiccupped, leaning against his chest.

Gregory glanced around the cabin. She was right. There was none. In fact, her cabin appeared as though it had been cleaned, but things had not been replaced before the voyage. He nodded toward Earl, who was still standing in the doorway. "Get her a basket, Commander? And check the cabinet for more blankets. And she needs a hammock."

Earl began rummaging through it and shook his head. "I'll bring one. It looks as if—"

"Yes, I thought that, myself."

Earl nodded. "On my way. Anything else?" When the captain shook his head, he disappeared through the door. Gregory watched him go and leaned down on the bed, looking into her eyes.

"Now. I suppose you'd like to tell me why you disobeyed my orders?"

"No," she whispered. A minute later, she turned over on her side, away from him.

Gregory stared down at her female form. He had an urge to plant more than a few hard swats on her delectable little bottom. But he forced himself to refrain from it. At the very least, he should wait until she felt better. Tomorrow, he would have a stern talk with her. She would have no way of getting out of that.

When Earl arrived, a few minutes later, with the hammock and the blankets, along with a bear skin rug to add for her warmth in the room, Gregory motioned for him just to leave them, and said quietly, "I'll put them away. Tell the helmsman I'll be up to relieve him before long."

Earl nodded, and with a glance back at Arabella, left the room, grinning.

Gregory was pacing. He was watching her closely, as he strode back and forth in the small cabin. Finally, he took out the hammock and began to affix it to the two hooks in the corner of the room close by the bed, there for that purpose. If he put her into that, her position would stay more stable and ease the rocking with the listing of the ship.

He had just reached for the first hook when he heard her small voice. He stopped, listening to the whisper that escaped her.

"Please, Papa, don't send me away. I can't bear leaving you and Mama…" Tossing in her bed, Bella had fallen into a fitful sleep.

Gregory paused, his hand almost to the hook. She didn't want to go? He was about to reach upward when he heard her again.

"Mama, please reason with him. You promised I would marry for love." A small cry followed. "I barely know Mr. Picou—"

Gregory froze. Picou? He thought of the letter from Claude Picou, who had purchased Miss Collingwood's passage to New Orleans. It was the same place Arabella St. John was to go.

He shook his head. Surely, he was mistaken. He turned back to Arabella, who was mumbling sleepily again, and he walked around the corner of the bed. Tears were creeping out from under her lashes now.

"He's a stranger—don't make me—" She was tossing, now, and was over on her back. One delicate hand was reaching out in front of her. "No, don't leave me… I'm scared, Papa."

Gregory couldn't help himself. He reached out and took her hand in his own, in an attempt to reassure her. With his free hand, he drew her closer to him.

"Shh, Arabella," he whispered. "It'll be all right." But he shook his head, even as he spoke. There was no way he could guarantee that.

For a moment, she was silent, but her small hand still clung to his large one. Her father was sending her to a strange land to marry a man she didn't know. How could anyone do that to this innocent girl? A few moments later, he made an attempt to disentangle her hand from his. Her grip was strong, but he managed. As he did, she cried out again, in her sleep.

"The archbishop? Don't care…I want to go home. I want to be in my own room. I want this damn bed to stop rocking..."

At that, he had to smile. He rose and finished attaching the hammock to the first hook, looking back over his shoulder at her and trying to decipher what she was saying.

Clutching her stomach, she continued to moan. He was finished now and tested the strength of the knots to make sure they were stable, when Arabella turned to her left side, facing him. Her eyes were open now, but he doubted she was actually seeing. He was unprepared for her next sentence.

"And please make the captain stop frowning. I fear…" she whimpered. "I fear he will toss me overboard at the slightest provocation."

Gregory's brow rose at that. She thought he would do that?

"Aggravating…unyielding." She paused, as he reached her, leaning over her bed.

"Unyielding?" he whispered. "Is that so?" By this time, he couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"Far too bossy."

"Bossy. Hm," he answered, shaking his head. Captains were expected to be assertive, were they not? "So nice to know your opinion of me." He lifted her into his arms, and she spoke once more.

"Soulful…beautiful eyes." She was tossing and turning now, fighting him. "But he doesn't smile. At least Earl does." A whimper escaped. "Oh, Papa, what if Mr. Picou never smiles?"

She began weeping into his chest, and he cradled her as if she were a child.

"Shh, Arabella. Don't weep. I can't promise what Picou will do, but I can promise to smile at you every day we're abroad."

"Promise?" she echoed softly.

Gregory stared down into her face. She'd heard him. She was not weeping now. Her breathing had calmed, and she had snuggled down into his chest as if she were quite happy to be there.

Remembering the promise to the helmsman, he rose with her, placing her carefully into the hammock. Picking up another blanket from the stack the commander had brought, he brought it up and tucked it around her. He stood there, watching her face.

She was quiet now, and he observed her a moment longer, hoping she didn't try to roll over and fall out. Moving the bearskin rug under the hammock, he carefully picked up two more of the blankets and placed them on top of it to soften her landing if she became fitful and fell from it during the night.

Thoughtfully, he looked back at her one last time, before closing the door behind him.