The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 02

Becalmed water, agitated body (mf)

(Author's note: This chapter continues to explore the rising sexual tension. The delayed gratification WILL be rewarded in an escalating fashion in subsequent chapters.)

Liam awoke at dawn, as was his habit. He was stretched out upon a cockpit seat, and as his eyes opened he was instantly aware of a curious silence. Above him the mainsail hung listlessly. Coming to his feet, he looked out into a heavy mist hovering over the lake --- so dense it made the sky and water one. The eerie stillness of the water he felt rather than saw.

In a rush the events of the preceding day came back to him: the storm, the lass disguised as a lad. Aye...the lass! He quickly bent to peer into the main cabin --- no sign of her. But it was quite early yet.

He went below quietly, pausing to look at the barometer—the needle was pointing to fair as it had yesterday morn. Aft of the chart table he opened the door to his cabin—similar in layout to the forward guest cabin, save for a larger desk and more storage lockers. He stripped off his oilskins and pea coat and poured a basin of water. Pulling the braces off his shoulders to dangle round his hips, he tugged his shirt off over his head.

As he washed and brushed his teeth, his thoughts returned to her... he was heady with anticipation at the prospect of seeing her again. Rubbing his hand over his chin, he felt the week worth of stubble. A shave would do him he decided, and set about it, using a looking glass affixed to the back of the hanging locker door. He contemplated his reflection, wondering how he might appear to the eyes of a wealthy young lady: black hair --- somewhat disheveled, blue eyes; his height and wide shoulders the legacy of a distant Viking ancestor. A life of physical work showed in his dense muscles and scattered scars. Clearly no refined gentleman he be, he thought wryly, wiping his face with a towel. Lastly he retrieved a clean shirt from a drawer, work-worn as were most of his clothes, but 'twas at least clean.

Back topsides, he set about putting the deck in order. Hanging overnight, her shirt and chemise were nearly dry, the trousers less so. He brought them below and spread them before the stove in the galley. Taking care not to make noise upon deck over her cabin, he furled the main and staysail properly and coiled halyards and sheets.

Next he examined the damaged jib. Spreading it upon the foredeck he grimaced as he found an L shaped rent, perhaps two yards in length, near the clew. 'Twas mendable, but would take time. The jib halyard was intact along the full length, he determined, pointing to the block as the culprit. With a spyglass he looked up at the block at the top of the mast --- it appeared twisted --- hard to be sure from the deck.

By this time the fog had been burnt off by the rising sun. The Selkie was alone upon the still water with no land in sight. Liam went below, edgy. He stood in the main cabin, looking at her door. Was she ever going to come out? Perhaps she was awake, but outraged at his having undressed her? Well, if that be the case, 'twas best to find out. He crossed to her cabin and knocked upon the door.

"Miss?" He said quietly. "Be ye awake?" Through the door sounds of someone moving could be heard. "I'm making breakfast, if ye'd like some."

After a pause came a muted voice that said "Thank you."

He was putting a kettle on to boil when her door opened. He looked up eagerly. She emerged, wearing the ulster, the nightgown and boots visible below its hem. Her dark hair was loose. Her movements, closing the door and turning to the main cabin, were cautious. She stood at the far end of the cabin, advancing no further.

For a moment large, doe-like eyes met his, then dropped. Her arms moved protectively in front of her small figure, one hugging her waist, the other folding over her chest, her hand clasping the large collar of the coat up to her chin.

"Feeling better, miss?" he asked. She nodded, her eyes still averted. "Is your head hurting?"

"My head?" Her voice was small and clear. She looked at him, clearly confused.

"Did ye hit your head? There's a bump on the back."

She raised the hand that was holding the collar to her head. "I suppose I must have," she said almost inaudibly. She seemed lost, her head tilted, her fingers palpating her scalp. Then she straightened, the hand returning to the collar. "I remember the storm...I remember going to my cabin..." she searched for his name. "Mr....Mr. Thomas... what happened last night?" Her eyes lifted to his, her distress apparent.

Liam sought to comfort her; he tried to keep his tone solicitous as he continued working. "'Tis not much of a tale, Miss. After the squall blew over, I went to check on ye. Ye had...vomited on your lap and fainted dead away, so ye had." As he spoke he set a cast iron pan upon the stove.

"I remember that now," she murmured. "I had slipped and was upon the floor. I remember retching. After that... I recall nothing."

"Well, I figured ye'd be miserable lying in the mess." He set two tin mugs upon the counter, more abruptly than intended. The unspoken rest of the tale expanded in the silence. Despite his efforts to appear composed, his body stirred with nervous excitement to be speaking to this bonnie lass whom he had beheld unclothed, knowing that she was now thinking on it too.

He looked up from the counter and into her eyes, his mind uncontrollably flooded with vivid images of her naked beauties. Her gaze dropped, a hot blush in her cheeks.

He cleared his throat. "I washed your clothes," he ventured. "They be dry now." He pointed them out. "I put your hairpins in the pocket of the coat ye have on."

"Now Miss," he went on, changing the subject. "Will ye take some tea?"

After a moment she said softly, "Yes. Thank you." She was still looking down.

"Do ye want to eat here or outside?"

"Outside."

"Go on up, Miss. I'll bring it up in a moment."

She remained where she stood, hesitating. He glanced at her. "Will ye not go out to the cockpit?" he asked gently. He saw her eyes go from him to the companionway ladder next to him, and he suddenly perceived that she was too embarrassed to climb the ladder with him standing below her.

He took himself out of the galley, away from the ladder. She moved quickly past him and ascended to the cockpit, flashes of blue stocking visible with each step. He thought her modesty charming, although naïve --- if she only knew how much he had already seen...and imagined!

When he carried the tray of food to the cockpit, she was standing upon the starboard seat looking out at the glass-like water. "Are we still upon the lake, Mr. Thomas?" she asked.

"We are."

"But where is the wind?"

"Aye! That be the question. Where indeed? Becalmed, so we are."

"Becalmed," she repeated. "Then this will delay our arrival in Toronto."

"It will. No help for it...unless ye have a steam engine."

If she was disturbed by this news, she gave no indication of it. Noticing the breakfast tray, she turned and stepped down off the seat to sit. He sat behind the wheel, cross legged upon the seat. "Thank you," she said politely when he handed her a plate and a mug of tea.

They ate in silence --- fried eggs, biscuits, and sliced apples --- Liam studying her surreptitiously. For her part, she sat straight-backed, knees together, eyes moving absently over the deck and water. She had folded the long coat sleeves back to hold the plate and fork. He tried to recall his usual manner of conversing with female passengers.

Presently he spoke up. "Miss Novikov...," he paused. "Novikov...be that your name?"

Her gaze flicked to him. "It will do," she replied.

"Miss Novikov, is your cabin satisfactory? Be there anything ye need?"

"It is quite agreeable, thank you."

At this close range, he noticed her eyes were a luminous brown, almost hazel. Framed by the thick lashes they were truly beautiful, but most arresting was their enigmatic expression. Guarded? Grave? 'Twas disquieting. Liam suddenly came back from his reverie --- she had just said his name.

"Miss?"

"Will you be returning to Rochester after this voyage?"

"Weather permitting."

She took a sip from the cup, holding it with both hands. Then she looked at him directly. "Mr. Thomas, as you have already come to my aid in my hour of need, I am hoping that I can appeal to your...your chivalry again."

"In what manner, Miss?"

"When you return to Rochester, or indeed any port you visit, I implore you not to disclose to anyone that you have seen me." Those mesmerizing eyes entreated him. "Anyone," she repeated. "Be it a friend or...or should someone be making inquiries at the docks."

"Are ye in danger?"

"Will you promise, Mr. Thomas?" she pleaded.

"I will, Miss. Dinna worry. Ye have my vow of discretion. I've seen none of your description at the pier."

"Thank you." Her eyes searched his face.

"Can I be of assistance to ye otherwise?"

"Indeed you have already, immeasurably, by taking me away from Rochester."

"Be there anything else I can do?" he pressed.

She shook her head somberly. "It would be best for you not to be involved." She spoke no further upon the subject, and upon finishing the tea, went below.

*****

When she returned to the deck she was again clad in the lad's clothes. From the foredeck, Liam glanced up from putting tools in a small canvas bag as she came forward, her hand touching the shrouds as she passed them. Her hair was still down, although the locks in front that had tumbled into her face during breakfast were now pinned back. Upon reaching the foredeck she considered the torn sail. "Did that happen in the storm?"

"It did."

"I'm sorry Mr. Thomas. Since it was I who pressed you to sail in the face of danger, I would like to compensate you for its repair or replacement. When we get to Toronto I can obtain the money."

He shook his head. "'Twas I who made the decision. Besides, I can mend it myself." He looked down at her. "There be something ye can assist me with, if ye have a mind to."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to climb the mast." At her perplexed expression, he explained: "That sail fell because the block at the top of the mast --- the pulley --- failed. I need to repair it if possible."

Moving to the base of the mast he removed his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "'Tis high --- dinna worry, ye won't have to hoist me --- I'll be relying upon my own strength to get up."

He unfastened the main halyard and knotted one end round his waist. "'This be a safety line. As I climb, pull the slack down. When I get to the top, cleat it. Watch." He slowly wound the line round a cleat upon the mast, demonstrating the motions. When he gave her the line, she cleated it properly upon the first try. He was impressed but made her repeat it thrice more.

Satisfied, he slipped the strap of the tool bag over his head and across his chest, then gripping the first in a series of wooden pegs along the sides of the mast, started climbing. Foot by foot, he scaled the mast, pausing to check the rigging as he ascended.

From the top, nigh eighty feet in the air, he could see her small figure looking up at him. He shouted down "Cleat it!" He lifted the block and discovered that the shell on one side was broken --- 'twas not mendable up here. Wrapping an arm round the mast, he squeezed it in the crook of his arm, freeing both hands to undo the shackle. The block went into the bag.

"Release it!" he called. He descended arm over arm --- with her eyes upon him, he could not resist showing off a little. He swung himself onto the deck.

He showed her the broken block and explained, "I'll make a new shell, and rebuild it with the metal pieces."

"Will we not be able to sail without these repairs?" she asked.

"We can sail --- 'twill not be as fast."

"Mending the sail means sewing it, does it not?"

He nodded.

"May I assist you with it, Mr. Thomas?"

He was surprised. The women he had met in his life could, of course, ply a needle. He knew little of elegant young ladies. "Ye can sew?"

"I've not sewn a sail, I grant you, but I'm confident it cannot be too taxing upon my abilities." There was a hint of a smile about her lips.

"Very well, then. I'll show ye." Liam knelt to remove a tin box of supplies from a deck box. He was about to suggest she use the deck box as a seat, but she startled him by simply sitting upon the deck next to him.

'Twas a novel experience to see a lass in trousers; he was very conscious of her legs --- although in the oversized garment, there was in truth little to distinguish them from a lad's limbs. But now knowing her to be female, the sight was curiously tantalizing. The lass herself remained lady-like in her demeanor, and he knew 'twas his own bawdy thoughts that agitated him.

She picked up a needle and looked to him for instruction. He showed her how to draw the heavy thread through beeswax before threading the needle. "Instead of a thimble, we use this." He showed her a leather sailmaker's palm, buckling the strap over the back of his hand.

"On what hand do ye wear a thimble?" he asked. "Right? Good. Ye can wear this one." He held up a smaller leather palm. "'Tis Abe's, my cabin boy. Perhaps 'twill fit you." Unbuckling it, he looked at her inquisitively. "With your permission, Miss?"

She held out her hand. He slid her thumb into the opening first, then brought the straps round to the back. Without forethought he set her palm upon his knee to fasten the buckle; he tightened it to the smallest size. Her hand was warm upon him, her fingertips resting lightly upon the muscle above his knee.

Of a sudden, an awareness of the provocative contact made him thrill. Had he taken too great a liberty? He glanced up, but she was examining the beeswax cake in her other hand. He cleared his throat, and announced that it fit. He then explained to her the sequence for closing the rent canvas in two layers with a patch, and demonstrated the running stitch. She followed suit, quickly learning the use of the leather palm, and he was pleased to see her adept needle work.

Now he turned his attention to the block. From a locker in his cabin he fetched his wood working tools and scraps of wood. Sitting upon the deck forward of the sail, he set about dismantling the block to salvage the usable parts.

For some time they sat upon the foredeck working at their respective tasks in the peaceful calm --- the quietness broken only occasionally by a seagull's call. The sun was full risen and warm upon their backs.

Liam observed her covertly. He marveled anew at her stirring beauty, her shining hair a dark cascade round her white face and neck. Her lovely eyes were intent upon her work. Curious as to how he had been taken in by her disguise, he stole glances down at her body --- 'twas the overly large garments that had hidden her bonnie female form, he saw.

She was not wearing the lad's jacket now, and with her movements he caught occasional glimpses of the shirt fabric betraying the curves of her bosom...igniting his memory of the brief bounce of her breast in his palm during the storm. Unconsciously his hand squeezed tight upon the block as he lingered on the thought. Those sweet rosy nipples...aye...he yearned to feel them between his fingers...between his lips...

At other times she knelt up to reach for the thread or wax; as she did so, he watched the trousers stretch tight, momentarily displaying her fetching bottom cheeks and cleft between. He shifted uncomfortably upon the deck and glanced furtively down at his trouser front. As rousing as the sights were, he could not give his lewd thoughts free rein, in view of the too noticeable reaction of a young man's body that was instinctively following...easy lad...he swallowed and turned his attention back to cutting the rough shape of the block from a piece of wood.

They broke for food midday, again consumed in the cockpit. As they returned to the foredeck with mugs of tea, she addressed him. "You are from Ireland, Mr. Thomas?"

"I am, from birth."

"How came you to America, to Rochester?"

"'Tis a convoluted tale, Miss." He smiled at her, shaking his head a little.

"Do tell it, Mr. Thomas. Please do. I know so little of the world outside Rochester." Her eyes met his with shy curiosity. He could not refuse her. As he whittled away at the wood block to form the new shell, he began:

Liam's Tale

I was born near Carrickfergus, a town upon the coast in northern Ireland. Ye'll not likely have heard of it, but ye may know of Belfast --- 'tis 10 miles or so from it. My da was a sheep farmer, like his father before him, and I grew up upon the family farm. I was the eldest of four children, having two sisters and a brother. My ma saw to our schooling --- very adamant was she that we be educated as well as children of gentry, at least 'twas her hope. We all had our chores; my da taught me all the workings of the farm, anticipating that one day I would take over.

When not doing chores or lessons, I played with my mates. In the town of Carrickfergus is an old castle right upon the water, built back in the days of King Arthur, I suppose. On a clear day ye can make out the coast of Scotland from that castle. We would play at being knights or pirates there. Every once in a while we would beg a ride to Belfast, where we loved to see the great ships being built.

This pleasant boyhood came to end in my fifteenth year. One day in the field my da cut his hand mending a fence. He did not trouble himself over it as his hands were ever bruised and wounded from his work. But within a day, the wound festered; within three days he was carried off by blood poisoning.

None could have ever predicted that a great strapping man such as he would be felled by a little cut. Even now --- nigh ten years later --- I grieve over his ignoble end; in my memory I always see him a heroic figure, the wisest and kindest father a lad could have.

We were in shock for several weeks. I was determined to take on the running of the farm, but, heartbroken, my ma would have none of it. I was angry with her, so I was, but I can see now that she wished to spare me the burden of responsibility at my tender age. Instead she put the farm up for sale, and we were taken in by my aunt --- my da's sister. She had married a Glasgow man, a ship-builder by trade, and so we moved to Scotland, into my aunt and uncle's home.

My ma offset our upkeep with the proceeds from the sale of our land, as well as assisting my aunt with keeping house. I was apprenticed to my uncle to learn the ship-building trade. I found I had an aptitude for the work, and applied myself with much enthusiasm. Indeed, were it not for the circumstances that brought me there, 'twould have been a happy time for me.

My apprenticeship continued for nigh three years. When I turned eighteen, I expected I might be advanced to master apprentice, being that the position had just been vacated by graduation. To my chagrin, my uncle gave the position to my cousin, his son, also apprenticed to him, but who was a good year behind me in experience. I realized then that my future in my uncle's business would always be limited. That and...an unhappy event in my home life... convinced me to leave Glasgow and seek my fortune elsewhere.

I enlisted in the British Merchant Navy. For two years I sailed the oceans of this globe; 'twas grueling work at times, but well worth it, I warrant, for the knowledge I gained of seamanship, and the opportunity of seeing cities in far lands, lands of which I had only previously read.

When my service ended, I was adrift in London, finding work where I could upon the wharves. I was resolved to go to America --- 'twas promised to be a land of opportunity. I used all the money that I managed to save to book passage in steerage to New York.