When he met my eyes again, I could see the sadness there. He felt for Graham. It was clear to me that Graham’s happiness was close to Mr. Ashby’s heart. Just as it was to mine. I nodded. “I can reciprocate those feelings,” I said. “I, too, felt as though I were being forgotten.”
“Never!” he said quickly. “You could never be forgotten, Miss Findlay. Believe me on that. His whole world revolved around you.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That is not what his most recent letter told me.”
“As I said, he had changed. I think our business failing took a larger toll on him than it did on me.” He shook his head. “I imagine it is because he had put all his hopes on securing a future with you. For me, the business was just business. For him, it was how he would marryyouand provide foryou.”
I didn’t speak to that. Graham was a fool for staking our future happiness on a business. I loved him for trying to secure a living for us, but his vision of our future must have been different frommy own. He’d failed to account for my unwavering devotion to him and my belief that we could face anything together. I tried not to think it, but his mistake of not trusting my love for him could possibly be our downfall.
No. Our relationship had not yet come to that.
I smiled to clear away the cobwebs in my mind and went with a lighter perspective. “It seems fate has played a part in our separation. Otherwise, all of our letters would not have been lost and we would not have doubted each other.”
“What if it werenae fate, but something more human?” Patrice asked, specifically to Mr. Ashby.
He furrowed his brows and then considered her question. Slowly, his eyes widened and he placed his hands flat on the table. “What if…it was the pirates? The ones who were targeting our business?”
Patrice seemed to already have guessed as much. I had no idea such a thing was a possibility. “Why would they keep back something as mundane as letters from home?” I wondered aloud.
“Because they wanted to stop anything that would help us. They must have intercepted our post.”
“Why didn’t you figure this out ages ago? If you weren’t receiving any post at all, wouldn’t you have known who did it?” I didn’t mean to sound belittling, but how would they not have put something like this together until now?
He shook his head. “Because…we still received some mail. From our investors. They came by different post; usually they were escorted by the Royal Navy or even the U.S. Navy, depending on who our investors were. The pirates wouldn’t intercept navy ships unless they wanted to battle a 40-gun frigate. Oh, how could we have been so blind?”
I huffed. “So because of these pirates, Graham gave up on us. Because our letters were being intercepted and because the business had been ruined.”
Mr. Ashby made a fist. “Graham must have realized it by now. That would have stoked his hatred toward them. We can only hope once he made that connection, he didn’t charge them immediately and without preparation.”
“Surely he isn’t that foolish…” But he probably was. He very well could have sought revenge without taking precautions. I closed my eyes and let out a heavy breath.Oh Graham. You heedless, reckless fool.
Patrice and I lay on our beds, groaning occasionally from the rolling and dipping of the ship. We were fully seasick now. The storm had been raging for two days, and everyone on the ship seemed to be going mad. We were all hungry, thirsty, and exhausted from lack of sleep. We tried not to eat much because the contents of our stomachs came back up. Wasting food aboard a ship was criminal.
The ship gave an enormous lurch, more forceful than I’d felt so far. At least from my foggy memory.
I sat up, sensing another surge of nausea, when a horrible crack sounded above us. Yelling began and Patrice looked into my eyes. Panic gripped me. We spoke at once. “What was that?”
Despite the misery of seasickness and the terrible movement of the ship, we raced out onto the mess deck to find everyone crowding the hatch to go up. But it wouldn’t open. Were we stuck down here? Andwhathad caused the hatch to become stuck? My eyes raised to the ceiling. That loud crack couldn’t have been…
The answer came from a sailor to my left. “The mast is down.”
“I’ve heard that sound before, and it surely is the aft mast,” another said.
My heart shuddered and I stared wide-eyed at Patrice. The main mast at the rear of the ship being down would surely put an end to our journey. Questions went through my mind as quickly as panic seized my heart. We had no carpenter to repair the mast—at least not an official one. Mr. Miller had taken up the post, but was he experienced? Would we be stuck in the middle of the sea forever? Then a terrifying realization struck me.
“Where is Mr. Ashby?” I gripped Patrice’s hands tightly.
We both looked up again, imagining what had become of our friend and protector. Just then, aheave hosounded near the hatch and it was pushed open. Rain and seawater came down into the mess deck, drenching everyone. I wasted no time following the crew up, Patrice right behind me. On top, the wind tore at the ribbon and pins keeping my hair in check, pulled at my clothing, and made me stumble around as rain pelted every inch of me, nearly blinding me. The chaos was overwhelming. Crewmembers’ yells and screams were somehow heard over the roaring wind and rain. Before me, the aft mast lay beside the hatch. It had been on top of it.
I raced fore, searching every face to find Mr. Ashby. There were men at the fallen mast, and a cry sounded beneath it. Someone had been crushed by it. My heart lurched and I went over to the group of men trying to help the man.
“Arthur!!” I screamed as I reached the scene.
But it wasn’t him. It was Simon Rigby. Seeing him there, under the mast, made a sob come out of me. I aided the men who were getting him out from under the heavy mast. When it had been lifted slightly, Patrice and I pulled him out. He was utterly still. Perhaps the cry I’d heard was his last. I screamed Simon’s name. I patted his face. Perhaps his eyes were not opening because of the rain. “Wake up!” I said as loudly as possible over the torrents around us.
I looked up at Patrice, who looked as scared as I felt.
An awful creaking sounded above us and when I looked up, I saw the main mast swaying like a hundred-year-old pine tree. Only this wasn’t the forest near Edleroy. This was a ship, and masts were not built to withstand such winds. I continued to look up at it as I held on to Simon. Another death. Another friend gone. And here I sat, unable to do anything at all but watch the mast sway and potentially break altogether.
