* * *
Whether it was Sarah’s arrival that stifled his advances or her own stupid fears, Ravenna never learned. The rest of their stay passed without so much as a spark between them. Given that she’d panicked when it’d actually come down to the moment of truth, when he might have taken her in his burly arms, kissed her, plundered the length of her…given that she’d not had the vaguest notion of what to do with him once she’d aroused him, Ravenna decided to cool it for a while.
Vancouver soon gave her other things to worry about. In the weeks following their departure from Tahiti, it quickly became apparent that something was wrong with their moody commander. It wasn’t just the dizziness, or the way he was apt to yell at his officers.
Strange things went on inside his head.
In Hawaii, Vancouver thought the native chiefs were trying to kill him. He accused his own midshipmen of plotting against him. Even his lieutenants questioned Vancouver’s sanity when he forbade all midshipmen of both Chatham and Discovery to visit ship to ship, or to talk to one another unless duty required it.
All this, and he was undeniably ill; everyone could see that.
When the California coast finally came into sight, it was Ravenna’s turn to tread lightly around the captain. On April 26, he called her into the great cabin and put a tankard of port before her. “Elizabeth,” he said, and then more quietly corrected himself, “Ravenna, I’d delight in hearing what knowledge you possess regarding this shoreline we’ve been following. For nine days now we’ve sought secure harbor. Do you know this coast?”
“I’ve got an idea of where we are, yes.” She lifted the tankard of port. “We should be coming to a river soon, and after that there’ll be two large bays.”
Vancouver squinted his hooded eyes. “The bays,” he said, “you’ve seen them as described by the fur trader, Meares?”
She’d heard him talk about this fur trader. She’d seen the ship’s copy of the map Meares had made on his voyage to the coast in 1788. Surely there was no harm in elaborating on facts Vancouver already knew?
“They’ll be called Willapa Bay and Grays Harbor,” she told him. “You should be able to anchor in one of them, but I’d think the river would interest you more. It’s one of the biggest rivers west of the Mississippi.”
Vancouver scratched his chin thoughtfully. “When you say big…do you mean, my lady, it’s accessible for vessels of Discovery’s burthen?”
“It’s so large that container ships—gigantic ships, five, maybe six times the size of this one—use it all the time. I’ve seen them myself.”
“And this is a river?”
When she nodded, she saw anticipation flood the captain’s face. “An important river,” she told him solemnly.
“Possibly the passage to the east we’ve sought?”
“The Columbia goes inland quite a ways, all the way to the Rocky Mountains, I think. But it’s not the Northwest Passage, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The captain’s eyes darkened with disappointment. “Well, then,” he said, settling back in his chair. “If it’s only a river, this Columbia I’m afraid we have no use for.”
Watching his gaze lower to the table between them, she wondered, Should I tell him about the Northwest Passage? Give him the clue he needs to find it? But that would change everything, their course, his decisions…and yet he sat there, obviously disheartened. She wanted to give him something to think about. “What about the Strait of Juan de Fuca?” she asked. “Isn’t it one of your goals to find that?”
Vancouver lifted his gaze from the tabletop. “There is speculation this links the Pacific with Hudson’s Bay, but that’s providing this strait exists, which it doesn’t, I’ll wager.”
“Yes it does,” she said, and she couldn’t help smiling. “The entrance to the strait is farther up the coast, probably less than a hundred miles north of Grays Harbor.”
She’d expected him to be grateful, maybe even thrilled. Instead, Vancouver fixed her with a lecturing glare. “Captain Cook, God rest his soul, commanded our last mission to these shores and on that mission we discovered not one shred of evidence to argue the presence of this particular waterway. Cook supposed it a myth, inspired by the greed of traders such as Meares.”
“But it isn’t a myth,” she insisted. “You see, I lived there, my house was—”
“That’ll be all, my lady.”
Ravenna stared at him, alarmed that he’d cut her off. “I was going to say my house was on an island you discovered in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Now how do you explain that?”
“My lady, I’ve told you the opinion of the greatest navigator the world has ever known and you’ve summarily dismissed it. Now should you wish disagreement, find it elsewhere, but do not speak to me of Cook’s inadequacies, or I’ll—”
“I’m not saying he was stupid, I’m just telling you he missed the Strait of Juan de Fuca.”
“That will be all, my lady.”
“But,” and she stood up, not able to help herself, “but this is why you’ve brought me, isn’t it? And now you won’t listen?”
“My lady, if you think I’ll forsake Cook’s hard-won knowledge merely at the suggestion of your supposed future insight—”
“I’m not asking you to forsake Cook, I’m asking you to—”
“That will be enough! Do you think I’ve the hours to while away in chatter with women?”
His face had reddened to a furious plum. His lean frame tensed into a stance of obstinacy, and in view of his peculiar behavior in Hawaii, she suddenly saw the value in giving up. “OK,” she said quickly. “You’re right, there’s no strait.”
“I have no need of your tongue,” he shot back.
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“You’re disrespectful, that’s what you are. Your every word is defiance, young lady, and I tell you, I’m under no contract with anyone whosoever to accommodate you. You’re sorely under qualified to even speak Cook’s name, let alone expound upon his discoveries. That you could believe for one instant yourself superior to his—are you listening to me?”
But she wasn’t. How could she talk to him? Did he expect her to stand there all day and be yelled at?
She knew she was letting her emotions control her, but suffering the brunt of Vancouver’s contempt, she saw only two options: Say something violent and truly unladylike to an historical legend, or turn away.
She chose the latter. She walked calmly to the cabin door and, hearing Vancouver’s voice rising behind her, stepped outside.