Jane Orcutt - All the Tea in China

“I know just where he is. I shan’t be a moment. No need to trouble yourself about me.” I waved a dismissive hand. “You have much more important things to think about, I am certain. You are a credit to East Indiamen everywhere, Mr…”

“Mr. Calow, miss.” He blushed under my praise. “Thank you, miss. Please hurry.”

I curtsied. “Thank you.”

I headed back toward the cabins, then when the midshipman’s back was turned, I reversed course and proceeded directly toward the cattle. I knew exactly where to hide.

Later I scolded myself for not having secured some food while I was above deck. Thankfully, Bossy seemed pleased to see me again, or rather, she did not object when I returned to my home in the straw. It appeared that someone had mucked out the area, for which I was grateful. I knew that someone would find me eventually, for it was foolish to think that I could make the voyage all the way to China without discovery. Following the biblical admonition to let tomorrow take care of itself, I determined merely to live through one day at a time. And perhaps to find some manner of securing food.

Once again I was plunged into darkness, with no notion of the passage of time. I could have been there a week or several hours. I tried to stay hidden as much as possible, cramped into the corner, but naturally I was forced to stand up and stretch on occasion, and even to move around. Bossy was obliging with her milk, even seeming to appreciate my relieving her of its burden.

“When we get to China, I shall see that you have only the finest of pastureland,” I solemnly promised her. “You have been a faithful companion when everyone else has forsaken me.”

Even as I spoke the words, I knew them to be untrue. As hunger and (evidently) time wore at me, I had visions of Uncle Toby and Flora grieving for me, and regret gnawed at my empty innards. Had my impulsive nature been not only my undoing but theirs as well? I was not selfish enough to believe that I was the center of their worlds, but I knew that I shared a goodly portion of them. No doubt my unexplained absence had rent a tear in the fabric of their lives.

Light-headedness came and went in a manner that soon not even the consumption of milk could ease. I found myself little able to move and huddled in my corner. To make matters worse, I realized that I had quite misjudged my immunity to the effects of a ship upon water. Evidently the journey from London to Gravesend on the Thames was no match for an ocean voyage, for I soon realized the ship swayed and rocked in a manner that could only indicate we had encountered a good wind and were out to sea. At first it was only a mild annoyance, but soon full mal de mer overcame me, and I retched more than once into the straw.

Surely it was days that I lay nearly immobile, hardly caring if-and indeed close to praying that-the ship might be struck calamitous and all aboard drown. God must be sorely testing me, I could only reason, or perhaps, like Jonah, my foolishness was bringing ill fortune to all aboard. I could not be the only one to suffer from the ship’s lurching back and forth, up and down, back and forth…

At some point I knew instinctively that I was near death. Having been raised in the Church of England, I did not, of course, believe in Last Rites, but I tried to confess my sins, not the least of which was an apparent misunderstanding of God’s purpose for my life. As I lay in the straw, something hovered over me, and I determined that it was either Bossy or the angels come to take me to heaven. I felt myself lifted from the straw, and I was helpless to resist.

“I am… sorry… for my foolishness,” I mumbled, in case they were, indeed, celestial beings. I did not want to enter the presence of the Almighty without having offered one final, blanket apology.

“We all are,” the being muttered in response.

To my surprise, I came slowly to a conscious realization that I still walked among the living. Walked being a fanciful word, however, as I could no more walk than sit up at the moment. My limbs felt weighted, but the ship no longer seemed to lurch underneath me like a wild stallion. I felt a gentle sway, however, and realized I was in a hammock.

I endeavored to force my eyes open and received a blurry impression of a rather cramped cabin and Phineas Snowe lying in a hammock on the other side. Obviously I had been mistaken, for I was not in heaven but instead in Hades.

“Wha… wha…” I mumbled, trying to speak but sounding like a babe.

He was at my side. “Miss Goodrich, can you hear me?”

I nodded. If Snowe was the devil, I did not want to speak. Even if I could.

“I am glad that you are all right. Do you think you could tolerate some broth?”

I listened to my stomach. Yes, it seemed to say. Broth would be better than milk. Indeed, the sooner the better.

I nodded.

“Good. I’ll have some brought to you.” He headed toward what must be the door, then turned. “I know you will recover at your own rate, but it is imperative that you understand this now. For purposes of this voyage, you are my sister. Is that clear?”

I would not speak even if I were able. His sister?

He approached me, his eyes burning. “Is that clear, Miss Goodrich?” The tone of his voice indicated he would brook no deviation from an affirmative answer.

In my weakened state, I had no choice but to agree. At that moment, I could only think about the impending bowl of broth, and somehow I sensed it might be withheld were I to cross Phineas Snowe.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Before he could leave the room, I closed my eyes in resignation and slept like one dead.

The next thing I knew, I was fully awake. Not dragged from sleep against my will, but a willing, nay, eager participant. My return from death’s lair was no doubt a miracle, and I said a hasty prayer of thanks.

Once finished, I took stock of my current situation. I had not dreamed the crowded cabin nor my hammock bed, as I had supposed, but found them to be reality. If such was the case, then I could only assume that Snowe’s insistence that I call him brother must be reality as well. Or at least his version of it.

Besides the two hammocks lining opposite walls was a large trunk I assumed to be Phineas’s on his side and a wooden crate on mine. I was also fortunate, I suppose, to have a porthole, which was partially open. A gentle sun streamed through, and I caught a glimpse of blue sky. I could smell brine and hear water lapping against the ship.

Physically, I seemed to be mostly to rights, though I felt as weak as a newborn calf. I could not remember if Snowe ever procured the promised broth, but my stomach allowed that it was doubtful, for such a rumbling could only signify its emptiness. I could not remember the last meal I had eaten, somewhere back in Oxford, I believed. Heaven only knew how long ago that was.

Though I lay covered with a thick blanket, I had been divested of my muslin dress in favor of some sort of night dress. I blushed to think that Snowe had anything to do with that, though common sense told me otherwise. After all, where would he have procured such? He was an odd man, but surely not one given to the possession of ladies’ night clothes.

The door opened, and though I expected Snowe, a buxom brunette in the most adorable green satin dress smiled at me. It seemed to me somehow to be daytime, and the dress seemed a trifle too fancy to wear before dusk. The way it rode about her person also did not speak to the fashion of society but of something else.

“So you live, after all,” she said. “Phineas said so, though I thought it simply one of his fanciful notions.” She laughed, and despite her attire, she seemed to be void of malice, at least toward me. Something familiar rested in the way she moved, the flutter of her hands, the sharpness of her features, but I could not recall.