November 8, 1783—Our first full day at sea passed without event. Weather fair, wind light. A German boy, Paul, from the inn, is on board with his family. We passed a pleasing hour with the language. He’ll likely be speaking English like a Scot at journey’s end! And I hope to be speaking German like a German. Morning spent gaming with Liam, Sean, and Rob, lads from the country north of Glasgow. Most of the afternoon reading with Uncle. Tomorrow plan to ask the Captain for some chores, so as the time passes less slowly.
BREAKING BRIEFLY FROM his monotonous pacing, David sat on deck and made a short notation in his journal. The ship’s bell rang twice, signaling mid-dog watch.
He was beginning to doubt his ability to keep his wits about him for the length of time it would take to reach Philadelphia. Only the first full day, and he was so wound up with the urge to run his skin fair crawled with the wanting of it.
Breathe . . . breathe and look about.
The brig moved swiftly through the water, the sea occasionally blasting him with a light spray of cold, salty water. He focused his thoughts on the motion of the breeze, the movement of the ship.
Breathe.
Aye, so the ship was small. But the ocean, now there was another matter entirely. Imposing . . . without end . . . full of life beneath. Another world just out of sight . . . just had to imagine it. He stood and walked to the rail.
Breathe . . . breathe and look about.
The sun, a huge glowing ball of orange, fell slowly toward the horizon, bathing the timbers of the ship in a soft glow of red, its sails in a fiery orange. All the colors of the rainbow surrounded him as it sank from view, vivid colors intermingling with the flat slate blue of the sky. He turned a slow circle to take it all in, doing his best to be nonchalant about it. It wouldn’t help matters any to have the crew start in on him for gawking at a sunset.
Things weren’t so bad, only different, just have to look about. A full moon was rising early in the east, a spectacular yellow globe rivaling the sun. He watched the trail of light it left across the water and relaxed his hands atop the rail, welcoming the calm as it washed over him and settled.
He felt her approach, felt her pause before she spoke, felt the tranquility he’d worked so hard to achieve, vanish. She hadn’t made a sound, he thought idly, not one that could be heard above the myriad of other sounds aboard the ship anyway.
He kept his eyes on the ocean. The lass likely thought him a simpleton; there was nothing to be gained in passing on how aware he was of her, everything to be risked if her face befuddled him again.
“Are you frightened, thinking of the changes to come?”
Hell. She did think him a simpleton then. He managed a snort of contempt before he answered her.
“Frightened? Nay.” Turning toward her, grateful the night and her hood cloaked her face in shadows, his eyes scanned the deck behind. “Should ye be out alone after dark?”
She laughed, lowering the hood of her cloak. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I apologize. It’s just that you appear to be making the trip alone. I’d be frightened if I were.”
Her laugh, there was no artifice to it. It tugged at him. My God, she was even more beautiful in the moonlight, her face luminescent. He turned away.
“No’ alone. My uncle is traveling with me. And I was serious, lass, what with the seamen, it might no’ be safe for ye up here at night.”
“My father has made great friends with Captain Honeywell. I’m sure his sailors have all been asked to keep an eye out for me.” Her voice carried an odd blend of tones: soft, sweet, yet confident. Mayhap that assurance came with the traveling in cabin class.
“David?”
She was looking at him, waiting. What had she asked? A corner of her mouth tilted prettily as she studied him.
“Do you have family other than your uncle?”
“Aye.”
“Well? Why aren’t they with you?”
“It’s no’ the right time.”
“Why is that, if you don’t mind my prying?”
He smiled, shaking his head slightly. Would it matter if he did? “We just set up in Glasgow last year, when we had to give up the farm in Newry. Ma’s kin is all there, and Da thought to try his hand at tailoring again. He says now that he’s older and more settled he might be more suited to such. I canna see it, but mayhap . . . ye do what ye must. That I do know.”
“He didn’t want to start over in the colonies?”
“No’ the ‘colonies’ any longer, lass. Nay, I don’t see my Ma ever wanting to leave, especially when Da’s trade is uncertain. Since I’m the oldest of my brothers and a bit at loose ends without the farm to work, Da thought it time I learned a trade of my own. When Uncle James wrote that a print shop was looking for young men in America, he decided I should go.”
“You’re fortunate to have a large family, even if they can’t be with you. My mother died, giving birth to my sister, and my sister soon after. I still miss her, but I miss my Papa, as well. He hasn’t smiled much since then. He promises things will be different in Philadelphia. I do hope he’s right.”
He thought about that. Pa’s brother, Richard, had left the farm in seventy-five when his wife and baby son had died in childbirth. Took off to France, hadn’t come back home since. His mother had retreated deep into the recesses of her own soul when his sister Margaret died of the smallpox. She’d left them for months.
Maybe it was necessary, the licking of wounds on one’s own so as they heal. Ma had come back to them, and Uncle Richard was doing fine now, with his new wife, new sons, and new country.
“To be sure, he’s right. Everything will be different,” he answered.
“The sky is wonderful out here, isn’t it? Have you ever seen so many stars?” She set her back against the rail, tilting her head his way.
“Do you remember my name, David?” she asked with a smile.
“Aye.”
“Hmm.”
Sassy wench, was she flirting with him? Sassenach gentry, not likely . . . mocking him, then? He turned his eyes back to the ocean. The few clouds had disappeared, and she was right; the sky was brim full of stars. “This many stars? It’s a rare sight at home, to be sure.”
Captain Honeywell walked by, spotting her. Honeywell was a stout, thick man, his booming voice leaving little doubt as to whose word was law on the Industry. David hadn’t glimpsed his compassionate side yet, though Uncle John had assured him it lay just beneath the man’s rough exterior.
“Miss Hale, I’m sure your father will be expecting you. It’s late,” he said, aiming a stern glance at David.
“Yes, sir. I’ll go to him now.”
The captain planted his feet and stood his ground, waiting without a word until she started to walk away.
“Elisabeth?” David said, earning another glare from the man.
She stopped and turned, her face alight at the sound of her name.
The lass had been flirting then. Imagine that. “I’m verra sorry about your mother. I canna fathom the loss.”
“Why, thank you, David. Good night, Captain Honeywell.”
And then she was gone.
Breathe. Breathe and look about.
4
Atlantic Ocean
November 1783