The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 03

In which Miss N. tells her story and bares her "sole" (mf)

The bell that he had rigged remained silent through the night, but Liam's sleep was restless --- his dreams pervaded with bawdy adventures. He awoke groggy, and for once was thankful for the coldness of the water when he washed.

To his puzzlement, the eerie calm upon the lake was unchanged. 'Twas quite odd --- in nigh four years upon the Lakes he had never encountered the like --- but whatever be the cause, he was gladdened by the delay in their arrival in Toronto, when she would disappear from his life. Rational thought prevailing, he tempered his contentment with a consideration of how long the provisions would last.

The day unfolded much like the previous. After breakfasting, they returned to the foredeck. Liam was pleased with the progress of the repairs. She had closed more than half of the rent canvas, while he had fashioned a rough shell.

For the better part of the day they continued with their tasks. He fine-tuned the shell with a chisel, sanded it, and drilled a hole for the pin. With that completed, he rubbed a coat of oil into the wood. While his hands were grimy, he proceeded to oil the anchor, picking up where he had left off two days past.

They conversed intermittently. The long stretches of quiet were by no means unpleasant, being familiar to Liam over years of working alongside others upon the farm, in shipyards, and upon boats, however he was consumed with curiosity about her. His feelings had never been so stirred by a lass before, and he ached to know her more intimately.... For a while, as he worked, he indulged in a vision of himself rescuing her from her present predicament --- whatever it be.

He did not know if the foray into his life's story signified a shift in their relationship. Were they now on a basis where a question about her would not be out of order? From her air of polite detachment, he sensed that there still remained a distance between them, a distance delineated perhaps by the difference in social class or simply by the direction of money exchanged. Dressed in the lad's kit and sitting upon the deck near him, 'twas easy to forget that she was a wealthy young lady who had hired his services. The fact that she was a customer with whom he had entered into a contract of honor chafed at him. In any other circumstance, he would not hesitate to pursue her affections.

Bloody uncertainty! He decided to speak up. "Have ye journeyed much Miss Novikov?"

She replied that she had been to visit her aunt in Toronto, and her family had visited Chicago in 1893 for the World's Fair. When he asked her if she had brothers and sisters, the guarded expression again darkened her eyes.

"I have two brothers," she said quietly. She knotted the thread briskly on the sail and reached for the spool.

Sensing her reticence, Liam desisted for the moment. He wiped his oily hands with a rag. Donning his own sailmaker's palm, he threaded a needle and joined her at the sail, starting from the opposite end of the tear.

As they worked towards the middle, their hands and bodies gradually moved closer and closer together, till they were sitting side by side, their knees nigh touching. In such stimulating nearness, his eyes were frequently drawn up from the sail, lingering upon her beautiful face, her plush bow-like lips. On a couple of occasions her dark lashes lifted and she met his gaze briefly --- her expression opaque --- before looking back down at the sail.

By the time the sun set the first layer was completed, and a long, narrow canvas patch had been tacked in place.

*****

Later that evening Liam stood in the galley, chopping onions and potatoes. The lass leaned against the chart table opposite examining the open chart of Lake Ontario. She picked up the calipers, holding them up towards the lantern light. "What is this?" she asked.

"Calipers. They help measure distance upon the chart. Turn that screw there, ye can see how they open." He reached into a locker for plates and cups. "Would ye fancy some wine, Miss Novikov?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I've only had spirits once...it made me sad."

"If I may say --- having had spirits upon many occasions," he said with a wry grin, "I've observed that drink merely heightens what ye already feel."

She seemed to ponder this.

"What were the spirits that ye had that made ye sad?"

She turned the calipers over and over in hands before eventually replying, "Champagne."

"Champagne?" He repeated with exaggerated surprise. "Is that not drunk at fine celebrations?"

"It was indeed a fine celebration --- my mother's remarriage," she said evenly, pressing the sharp points of the instrument into her palm.

Her words sank in. "Did ye lose your father too?" he asked gently. She nodded. "How old were ye?"

She squeezed the caliper legs together and tightened the screw. Then her eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. When at last she spoke, her voice was strained.

Miss Novikov's Story

Earlier today I said that I have two brothers --- that is partially true. I had two brothers, one older, one younger. When I was fifteen, my elder brother Lucas fell ill with fever; the physicians could not save him. Lucas was just one year older than I, and was my constant companion and protector during childhood. Oh what fun we used to have romping about the house and garden when we were little, playing hide and seek, enacting fairy tales, making up games for our younger brother.

When we were older he would provide me periods of respite from my mother's dictates upon the proper decorum of a young lady. He taught me to ride a horse astride like a boy. I would dress in his clothes and we used to slip out to the stables then explore the city.

Scarce one month after his passing, my father took to his bed and simply refused to live. I am convinced that he died of a broken heart. So might we all have done at that juncture, had it not been for the kindness of my Aunt Elizabeth, who came to Rochester to comfort us immediately after, then brought my younger brother and me with her back to Toronto for an extended visit, before eventually returning to Rochester.

A sense of quietude was just starting to reestablish itself some ten months later, when to my brother's and my astonishment, my mother announced that she was to remarry...and the man to take my father's place? A scoundrel is too kind an epithet for him. My father had been president of an investment bank, as well as owning several flour mills near Rochester. This man had at one time been a business associate of my father. A few years prior, he had caused my father much consternation when he jeopardized the bank's standing by recklessly speculating with investors' funds.

I suspected his intentions toward my mother were not honorable, and that his object was her considerable fortune. Subsequent events were to prove my suspicions correct. I know not how he recommended himself to my mother --- whether he played upon her vanity, or preyed upon her grief. Perhaps she truly had some affection for him --- he is what many would consider a handsome man.

They married and he insinuated himself into our home where my father had been. I was sent off to finishing school shortly thereafter. I was glad to go; I could not bear to see him in our home, lounging in my father's chair, rearranging my father's library, putting his arm about my mother.

When I returned home from school for the holidays I began to have a sense of unease. I noticed that he often maneuvered himself so as to place us alone together, whereupon he addressed me in a most discomfiting manner --- inquiring if I had a beau, if my maid helped me bathe, noting how my figure had changed since he last saw me. He would touch my arm or my waist, or impose a "fatherly" embrace upon me. I was grateful when the holidays were over and I returned to school.

But my reprieve was short lived: this past June I was graduated from the academy and had to return home. It was then that his true character emerged. His attentions toward me escalated; try as I might to avoid him, he succeeded in cornering me for brief moments before my mother or a servant appeared, whereupon he would put his arms about me and ask me the most...crude...[she faltered at this point].

The tipping point came one evening when we had all gone to the theater. My mother left early, complaining of a headache. My stepfather sent her home in the carriage, saying that he would hail a hansom cab to take my brother and me home after the play. However, when the play ended, my brother begged to go home with a playmate also in attendance, and stay overnight --- of course my stepfather gave him permission.

Thus I found myself alone in a hired cab with him. He set upon me in short order --- embracing me, trying to raise my skirts, putting my hand upon...his trousers. At this, I threw myself out of the cab. I implored the driver to let me ride atop with him...a kind man, he perceived the situation and kept by my side until I was safely home.

I kept my bedchamber door locked after that, although I suppose that would not have kept him out were he determined to enter. I believe he truly thought himself an accomplished seducer --- his pride was sorely injured by my rejection, but I don't believe he would have... forced me. He seemed to find a perverse pleasure in tormenting me until I would submit in humiliation.

The repercussions of my rebuffing his attentions were swift. The next morning when I rose my maid came weeping into my chamber carrying a bundle of cloth. She unwrapped it to reveal my dear pet cat, dead, her neck broken. She had found her poor body in the garden below my window. We wept together and she helped me bury her in the garden before she had to return to work. I stayed by the grave, making a garland of catnip to place upon the stone.

My stepfather appeared beside me. In full view of the house he made no advance upon me, but said: "I hope you now appreciate now the perils of denying me." In horror I understood that he was the murderer. "I shall give you a choice. You will either submit to me... or I shall arrange your marriage to my business associate, Mr. D---. I see from your expression that you are acquainted with him. He has taken a fancy to you."

I was indeed acquainted with the man of whom he spoke; he had attended a dinner party at the house. He too was old enough to be my father and most fearsome in appearance, his features grotesque from years of indulgence in liquor and cocaine. In behavior he was cut from the same cloth as my stepfather --- at that party I had momentarily retreated to the morning room to fix the catch of my necklace in the looking glass. He had suddenly accosted me, lifting my gown with his cane before I escaped him.

My stepfather then added: "You have until your eighteenth birthday to choose."

My birthday was six weeks away. I was at my wit's end, and had no one to whom I could turn for assistance. He had threatened that if I went to my mother, he would tell her that it was I who had been importuning him most crudely, and that she would believe him and cast me out onto the streets.

He claimed that she was impatient to see me married and would support his decision in the matter. This I believed; it was apparent that she doted upon him and was jealous of him. I had sensed her eagerness to have me out of the house, deceived though she was as to the direction of the unwanted attentions.

I contemplated running away; I thought my aunt Elizabeth might help me, but I needed to get a message to her. He must have guessed at my intentions for he summarily fired all the household staff and replaced them with people loyal to him. My new maid was naught but a spy for him. The only time I was not watched was when I... used the commode. I could not get a letter or telegram out. His hired ruffians patrolled the grounds to guard against my escape. At that point I informed him that I would marry Mr. D---, thinking to gain some time. He was enraged, but the wedding preparations were begun.

My mother took me to the dressmaker's to have the wedding gown made. It was there that a ray of salvation manifested itself. Working in the shop as a seamstress was a girl whom I had known at the academy; she had been employed there as a maid. The previous year I had defended her when she had been falsely accused of stealing a student's locket.

My mother was ignorant of our acquaintance. While this girl took my measurements I had a moment out of hearing of my mother and the dressmaker, who were looking at fabrics at the front of the shop. I told her that I was being forced to marry against my will and begged her help and discretion. She eagerly agreed.

I returned in a few days for the first fitting. As we had arranged, I had sewn a telegram to my aunt to the inside of the dress that I wore to the shop. She extracted it while the dressmaker and my mother inspected me in the wedding gown. When we returned for the second fitting, she sewed my aunt's reply inside my day dress while my mother fussed over the final details of the gown.

My aunt's telegram promised her assistance. I knew that the final fitting for the wedding gown was to be in two days' time. I packed a valise with a suit of Lucas' that I still had in my armoire and the money my aunt had sent me upon my graduation. In the morning before we set out for the shop, I tied the valise under my dress with a cord about my waist, the bustle of the dress hiding the bag.

Upon arriving at the dressmaker's, I feigned a need to use the commode --- it was in the back of the shop. There I quickly changed into Lucas' suit and climbed out the small window I had spotted during a previous visit. I ran from the building down small streets and alleys until I found a hansom cab for hire, and rode to the waterfront.

"From there, I believe you know the rest of story, Mr. Thomas."

Liam was dumfounded. He stood rigid holding the knife, having ceased chopping during her story. Outrage and sympathy fought upon his tongue till at last he could formulate a thought. "I be confused --- your mother --- she be your birth mother, not your stepmother?"

"Yes."

"How could she take part in this scheme? Do this be the normal manner of mothers in America?"

"We have never had an affectionate relationship—she does not have a motherly disposition."

"Then your aunt—she be your father's sister?"

She nodded.

"And your birthday --- when is it?"

"It was the day before we left Rochester."

"Do ye think your stepfather will try to find ye?"

"I have to believe him capable of anything."

Liam shook his head. "Jesus, what ye endured! Thank God ye convinced me to sail. I canna abide the thought of that brute anywhere near ye."

"Thank you again for that. I am most...most grateful, Mr. Thomas." For a moment he thought he saw the shine of tears in her eyes, but she turned her face away, returning the calipers to the table with much deliberation, trying to approximate the legs to their original open position.

"Dinna trouble yourself over those, Miss."

"Perhaps I should wash and dress for supper now," she said, standing.

"Aye, Miss." While she was in her cabin, Liam pulled out the pan and lit the stove. He was deep in thought --- incensed by her story. The poor lass! 'Twas no wonder she be so guarded. Wielding the knife, he slashed salt pork into pieces and tossed them into the pan. If he could but get his hands upon that bloody bastard --- he would thrash him within an inch of his life --- and perhaps not stop there.

The aroma of spices warmed the cabin as the stew cooked. Her return to the main cabin restored a smile to his face. She had changed into her nightgown and the ulster, and the tendrils of hair round her face were damp. He reminded himself to make sure she had enough water in her cabin.

While he finished cooking, she laid places at the table, pausing when he handed her the cups. She tilted them in her hands to consider them. "Mr. Thomas, you mentioned wine...perhaps..." she looked up hesitantly.

"Will ye try some?"

"I'm willing to venture the experiment."

He searched the lockers and brought out the bottle of madeira. "A memento from Portugal --- my last voyage in the navy. I've been keeping it for a worthy occasion."

"Oh no, I would not want you to squander your treasure upon me."

"Nay, Miss. In the past four years, I've not found an occasion more suitable." He uncorked it and filled the cups, apologizing for the lack of fancy goblets.

She tasted it cautiously, then took a larger sip. "It is most pleasant," she observed.

While they ate, Liam described to her his visit to Lisbon, the fantastic wager he had made with his shipmates, and how he acquired the madeira. As the meal progressed and she consumed the wine, he became aware of a subtle alteration in her manner: her cheeks grew pinker, her eyes brighter, her posture gracefully softened. It heartened him to see the air of repose in her countenance, so somber she had been these two days past.

"Your cooking is quite delicious, Mr. Thomas," she said by and by. "I did not anticipate such fare after your warning about the provisions." Her expression was playful.

"Thank ye Miss Novikov. It took only a few weeks of hard tack to persuade me acquire some proficiency in the galley."

"None could argue with your success." She looked into her cup. "May I have some more wine please?"

"Would ye like to take the wine up on deck and look at the stars, Miss?" he suggested as he refilled their cups.

"Oh that sounds delightful. Let's." She smiled and stood up from the table. He climbed up the ladder carrying the wine bottle, she following.

They sat in the cockpit, leaning back against the coaming, breathing the crisp night air. The sky was moonless. "I've never seen so many stars!" she exclaimed. "Oh what is that Mr. Thomas? How lovely." She pointed at a hazy band of light arcing over the lake.

"'Tis called the Milky Way, Miss. 'Tis thousands and thousands of stars. When you're in a big city with all its lights, ye canna see it."

They sat for some time with their wine, contemplating the heavens --- she sighing "Ohhh..." at the intermittent falling stars. When at length she emptied her cup, she came to her feet and stepped over the coaming onto the side deck. "Oh Mr. Thomas, this is a most wonderful night!" she announced as she started toward the bow, her gait unsteady. Quickly he rose to follow her, fearing she would tumble overboard.

Upon the foredeck, she spun round in circles with outspread arms, her head tilted back. Stopping short, she swayed sideways then abruptly plopped down upon a deck box, whereupon she turned her back to him and bent forward, stretching her arms to the deck. For a moment he supposed she was about to retch, then he realized with a guilty thrill that she was removing her boots and stockings.

When she stood again he saw dimly in the starlight the flash of her pale feet below the nightgown as she danced about. She giggled. "I cannot remember the last time I was barefoot outside the bathing chamber." She darted about the deck, testing the feel of various items against her bare feet.

She marched comically up and down upon the canvas sail; she stroked the wooden deck and a coil of rope with her toes; she slid her foot along the varnished wood of the staysail boom. 'Twas a sight to see --- her bonnie face alight with joy. He could not stop grinning as he trailed behind her --- ready to catch her should she lose her balance.

She started to climb onto the cabin top, but then suddenly stopped, jerking her right foot up. "Owww!" she yelped.