Jane Orcutt - All the Tea in China

Indeed, the fighting had ceased. Our crew had rounded up the pirates and now encircled them, taunting with yells and displays of the captured swords and guns. Clutching his bloodied arm, Captain Malfort bellowed, “Throw them into the brig! And while you’re down there, someone let the ladies know all is safe.”

He caught sight of me wielding the sword, and his jaw dropped. “Good heavens! Miss Goodrich!”

Phineas glanced at me sharply. “You are bleeding,” he said, touching my elbow.

I looked down and saw a bloody gash in the sleeve of the gray dress. “Thankfully, it is nothing serious. I should survive with a minimum of care.”

“Which you shall have right now.” He took me by my undamaged arm, the one still holding the sword, and moved me across the deck, bellowing for the ship’s surgeon. “Mortimer!”

“I am all right,” I murmured, unheard as he moved us toward the bow, where Mortimer knelt over a fallen man.

“She is wounded,” Phineas said, thrusting me in front of the doctor.

Mortimer glanced up at Phineas, then me, taking in my wound with a surgeon’s practiced eye before pronouncing, “It is nothing, man. Bind it up and leave me to tend to more serious matters.” He gestured at his patient, who groaned then screamed as Mortimer adjusted the leg bent at a crooked angle.

“Mr. Gilpin!” I cried, clinging to Phineas for support.

“Take her away,” Mortimer said with a sweeping gesture, “and leave me to my work.”

Phineas steered me in the opposite direction, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Come away,” he said gently now. “I have some fresh cloth to bind your wound, Isabella.”

“But I must help!” I said, gesturing at the wounded men. “Mr. Gilpin… the others.”

“You have done more than your part. Let us go back to the cabin where I can see to your arm.”

I clung to the sword, in shock, I suppose, only releasing it when Phineas gently removed it from my hand once we were safe in our cabin. When he did, I could not help the rush of emotion that overtook me, and try as I might to prevent it, I wept fiercely. I had fought and won, but there seemed little glory. I had taken a life. A life!

Mindful of my wound, Phineas drew me into his arms. He said nothing, but pressed my face against his shoulder. When my tears dissolved into mere tremors then one undignified hiccup, he drew back, smiling. “Do you feel better?”

I did not, but I nodded, yet unable to speak.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing at the wooden crate. I was happy to leave someone in command, so I complied, numb, watching as he knelt to open the mysterious trunk. I could not see inside, for he shut it quickly, but he approached me with a white silk sash.

He knelt and bound the silk around my arm. “It is but a scratch,” he said. “When I saw you wounded, I forgot myself and thought the worst.”

He tied the cloth in place, then gently touched it. His eyes met mine, and my stomach trembled as it had in Cape Town. We looked at each other as though anew, and I felt a pull between us as thrilling but as dangerous as the currents of the ocean.

Phineas leaned forward then seemed to catch himself, rising and helping me to my feet. “Though it is past dawn, you should rest,” he said. “May I bring you some wine?”

I shook my head, suddenly weary to the bone. I made my way to my hammock and crawled in. He drew the blanket around my shoulders then turned away. “Phineas?” I murmured.

He turned back. “Yes?”

“When I awake, will you brew me some green tea? I have yet to partake of any.”

He smiled. “I shall brew you pot after pot.”

“Phineas?”

“Yes?”

“Will you show me how to fight as you did?” I said sleepily.

“A lady with your sword skills wants to fight without one?”

“I will have to return the sword to its rightful owner, and then I shall be without a weapon again.” With my eyes closed, I had no idea where he was, but I smiled anyway. “I am still waiting for my own.”

I heard him raise the canvas, but he made no response.

I did not rise until nearly dinnertime, and I am not certain I would have awakened even then except for the memory of Mr. Gilpin. I wanted to ascertain that he was in good health. I donned the brown dress, since the gray would need to be mended in the sleeve, then I headed for the cuddy. The captain’s cook was there, ordering others about to prepare for dinner. He stopped short when he saw me, clearly appalled for some reason.

“I did not mean to disturb you,” I said. “Is there any news about Mr. Gilpin?”

“He’s still breathing, if that’s your meaning. Check with the doctor, if you like.” He turned away as though he did not want to look at me.

Curious behavior! I headed for the stairs, to the surgeon’s area below deck. I wondered how many other wounded men besides Mr. Gilpin I would find there.

Mr. Calow waited outside the cabin, and he bowed when he saw me, his young eyes twinkling. “Miss Goodrich!”

“Mr. Calow.” I curtsied. “I am delighted to see that you are well.”

He nodded. “Is your arm in need of attention?”

“It was a mere scratch. Phineas should not have troubled Dr. Mortimer.”

Calow’s smile fell. “The doctor is still with Mr. Gilpin.”

“Then he lives?”

“Barely, Doctor says. His leg was broken. He was also wounded in the chest and bled quite a bit, but if he holds during the day, he may survive.”

“Perhaps I can help.” I reached for the doorknob.

Mr. Calow covered it first. “Miss Whipple has helped the doctor with Mr. Gilpin, as well as the other wounded men.”

I turned. “Miss Whipple?”

He nodded. “She has helped Dr. Mortimer all this time.”

“She must be exhausted,” I said. “Perhaps I can relieve her so that she may rest.”

“Did you rest well, Miss Goodrich? You must have been exhausted.” Mr. Calow lowered his gaze. “I have never seen a lady fight before.”

“I have not exactly fought before,” I confessed. “Not with real blades, at any rate.”

Smiling shyly at me, Mr. Calow opened the door and admitted me to the surgical area. Several men with various injuries-a bruised head, a sliced arm, a nicked shoulder- lay nursing their wounds. However, all appeared to be conscious and would no doubt be better in a few days, if not sooner.

Mr. Gilpin, lying in the corner bed, did not appear to have that luxury of time. His face was waxy, a contrast to the white bandages bound to the wound on the right side of his chest. He breathed, but scarcely.

Miss Whipple sat on the far side of his bed, applying a wet cloth to his forehead. When she saw me, she looked startled. “Miss Goodrich!”

I took the chair opposite her. “How does he fare? Mr. Calow says that if he lives through the day, the doctor has hope.”

“Yes. The bleeding has lessened, and we can only hope that he improves with rest. There is no longer anything to be done for him, other than prayer.” She wiped his forehead again, and her shoulders drooped.

I felt great pity for her and admiration for her compassion. “You have been here all day?”

“How could I not? Dr. Mortimer admitted that he needed someone to help, and I was available.”

“What of Mrs. Akers and Mrs. Harrison?”

Julia smiled bitterly. “I believe they took to their own beds, promising not to rise until they were fully recovered from being shoved into the ships’s pantry in such an ungracious manner.”

“You should have awakened me,” I said. “I would have been glad to assist. Indeed, I would be glad to take your place now. You have been through a great deal.”

“I have survived worse than being taken below deck for my own safety. Besides, it is you who have endured a great deal. It is all the crew can speak of, how Miss Goodrich and Mr. Snowe fought off many of the frogs and saved the Dignity from certain plunder and ruin. If not for you two, we would all be lost.”