The Deepest Waters, A Novel (7 page)

Since he’d already slept a bit, John said he’d take first watch that night. The others were already asleep. He was responsible to make sure the bowl shape of the coat remained intact throughout the night. This meant all three men could barely move. If even one rolled over, a sidewall could collapse and the water would be lost.

John estimated an hour had passed. It was peaceful and quiet. The night sky amazed him, as it so often did at sea. But all he could think about was Laura. They had only been apart one full day. Already it felt like weeks. What was she doing now? What was she thinking? Maybe she was asleep. Or maybe . . . looking up at the same sky.

She must be so frightened.

Before the hurricane hit, they’d walk the
Vandervere
’s main deck every night, and they’d have the most wonderful conversations. He loved to hear Laura’s outlook on life, on faith, on food . . . almost anything. On their first few dates she’d held back, unwilling to say anything until he’d almost have to insist. Then she’d say things he’d never heard before, unexpected things. She often made him laugh.

One lunch date in particular came to mind. They were to meet at a small French restaurant on Montgomery Street in San Francisco, just off Broadway. What was its name? He couldn’t recall. He’d invited her there thinking to impress her. The clothing shops and eateries along Montgomery rivaled the finest Paris had to offer.

He waited outside, then caught sight of her walking north down the sidewalk, mingled in a stream of passersby. She walked right past a dress shop, a haberdashery, a shoe store, and finally a jewelry store. She didn’t stop and look at a single window display. Occasionally, she glanced up to catch the sign hanging above each store. Her only interest appeared to be finding the restaurant.

Noticing this, John stood right under the sign of their agreed-upon rendezvous. Wait, that was it . . . Le Rendez-vous Bistro. She saw the sign, looked down, and saw John standing there. He smiled and waved. Her head snapped back. He’d startled her. She smiled and waved back, then hurried her pace to meet him.

Once seated inside, her face was all smiles as she carefully placed a book next to her water glass. “I’m having such a wonderful time with this novel,” she said.

Pleasure reading was a pastime he was glad to learn they shared. “What is it?”

“The latest book by Melville.”

“The one who wrote
Moby Dick
,” John said.

“That’s him. It’s called
The Confidence Man.
” She picked it up, held it like a fine vase.

“May I get your drinks, monsieur . . . mademoiselle?”

John looked up at the waiter. “Coffee for me. Laura?”

“The same.”

“Very good,” the waiter said and walked away.

John smiled and thought about the appropriate pleasantries normally exchanged when people met, particularly a gentleman and a lady so early in their courtship. But Laura was different. She began their date bursting with excitement about a book.

John loved it. “So what do you like about it so far?”

Laura took a deep breath. “So many things! For one, it’s so different than
Moby Dick
. It’s still Melville but, I don’t know, it’s lighter and the characters—to me, anyway—are much more interesting. The story begins on April Fool’s Day on a Mississippi steamboat heading to New Orleans.”

“I think I remember reading a review of it back in April,” John said. “When it first came out. It wasn’t very kind. I think the review said the book would certainly sell, if only because Melville wrote it, but it wasn’t up to his other works.”

“John,” she said, pretending to scold. “Since when do you care what some highbrowed reviewer thinks? Promise me you’ll read it when I’m through.”

“I’ll give it five chapters.”

“It starts a bit slow. You must give it at least ten before you decide.”

“Ten then.”

The waiter returned with their coffee, served in china cups with a floral print. “Are you ready to order, monsieur?”

They hadn’t even looked at the menus yet. Laura quickly picked hers up. “Give us one minute,” John said.

“Very well.” He walked away.

Laura leaned toward him and said quietly, “I can’t read a single word of this.”

“That’s not a problem. Do you like beef tips?”

“Yes.”

“How about simmered and served in a French wine sauce with buttery potatoes and green beans?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

John looked around and noticed their waiter standing off to the side. John signaled him, and he quickly returned. John gave him their order in French. The man smiled as he wrote it all down and said, “Very good, monsieur,” then walked away.

When John faced Laura, she seemed impressed. “You speak French too?”

“Actually, I don’t. Just enough to order food. If I ever took you to Paris, we could only visit the restaurants.”

Laura laughed. John realized something just then. How much he loved to hear her laugh. He wanted laughter to always be a part of their romance. “So tell me more about
The Confidence Man
.”

“I’ll say this,” she said. “It really makes me want to travel on a steamboat someday. Or even better, on one of those huge paddle-wheel steamships that come into the bay every month or so.”

“Where would you want to go?”

“I don’t know yet. I just want to be on one. I think it would be a wonderful adventure.”

John sat back in his chair and smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just love talking with you.”

John’s previous conversations with women back in New York had always been so formal. Laughter never made an appearance. He remembered his younger sister Allison; she’d laughed often as a little girl. As she grew into her teen years, their mother had put an end to it. “We must form you into a proper young lady,” she’d said. And that’s what poor Allison had become: a younger version of his mother, just as proper, just as boring. There was nothing he could do to rescue her.

Laura was so different. It was refreshing to hear a woman so feminine and refined, yet one who’d thought so thoroughly about so many things. There had been no tension in their conversations, no fear of saying the wrong thing or forgetting to say the right thing. He had never imagined being in love could be so enjoyable.

Just then a small wave splashed hard against the raft, dousing him in saltwater. Dousing also these pleasant thoughts, replacing them with a more melancholic stream. He recalled what Laura had said back then, about wanting to take a voyage on a paddle-wheel steamship someday. She’d talked about it many more times as she read Melville’s book. That’s why he’d chosen this trip for their honeymoon.

But she wasn’t on a steamship anymore. And neither was he.

He looked around. He was on a raft adrift at sea, protecting a coat full of rainwater in the middle of the night. His beloved was on an old wooden ship sailing farther away from him with every breath. By now Laura must have accepted the fact that the
Vandervere
was gone. She would believe that he was dead.

And if she believed that, she would have read his note.

He looked up at the half-moon lighting the sky.
Oh God, I don’t know how or what to pray
. He heard someone moan, Robert perhaps. He must have been praying out loud. He looked, but the coat hadn’t moved.

Please, Lord, ease her pain. Especially the pain I’ve caused. Go before her to New York and prepare the way
.

Lexington Avenue
Two blocks north of Gramercy Park
New York City

Joel Foster stepped through the iron gate, up the curved granite stairs, and through the front door opened by Beryl, the family butler. Beryl held out his hand to receive Joel’s silk hat. “The gate is squeaking again, Beryl. Get someone on it.”

“Right away, sir.”

The nicest of the family’s three carriages remained out front; the driver had been instructed to wait.

“Your coat, sir?”

“I’m going to leave it on. I’m afraid Mother might be sending me out again in a moment. In fact, don’t put my hat away just yet.” He walked through the foyer toward the dining room.

“Is that you, Joel?” a woman called out. “Allison, you’re slouching. Please sit up straight.”

“Yes, Mother.”

He walked in, and his mother lit up at the sight of him. She tilted her face to the side, allowing him to give her a peck on the cheek. He reached into a silver bowl for a warm biscuit.

“Joel, if you’re going to eat, please sit down. I’ll have the cook fix you an omelet.”

“I’ve already had breakfast, Mother. Just got in from a sunrise meeting with some investors.”

“Why so early?” she asked.

“The same thing I asked Father. Now he wants me back at the office by noon. Having a big catered lunch for some clients all the way in from France.”

“Paris?” Allison asked.

“I have no idea, and I don’t care,” he said. “But I will be there by noon to eat those lobsters.”

His mother glanced at the mantel clock, annoyed. “Didn’t you tell him what I’d asked you to do?”

“I’m sorry, what was it you asked me to do again?”

Allison laughed.

“I’m not in the mood, Joel,” Mother said. “And don’t talk when you chew.”

“I’m just toying with you, Mother. There was no need to tell Father.” He was still chewing. “There’s plenty of time to run your little errand and get back to the office for lunch. Why so tense?”

“You know why.”

“The letter from the prodigal?” he asked. “Where is it?”

“There on the hutch, in the brown envelope.”

He walked over and picked it up. A servant girl walked in. “Oh, Sally,” Joel said, “the butter dish is empty. I must have another of those biscuits before I go.”

“Yessuh, Missuh Foster.” She grabbed the dish and quickly returned to the kitchen.

“Joel,” his mother said, “you’ll get smudges on the letter.”

“It’s not as if we’re going to frame it.” Joel unfolded the single page and read for a moment. “The SS
Vandervere
. He says it’s supposed to arrive at three o’clock tomorrow. But you know these ships are never on time. Sometimes they don’t even come on the correct day.”

“That’s why I want you to go down to the steamship company,” she said. “It’s close enough to the arrival time; they should be able to give us a better idea.”

“I’ll go, but I don’t see how it will make any difference. Ships don’t run on a rail, Mother. They arrive when they arrive.”

“I’ve read these steamships are much more reliable. Just go, please, and see what they say.” She released a deep sigh. “This whole thing is so unnerving. We haven’t seen or heard from John in almost two years, and he sends us this? A single paragraph? I don’t know if he plans to stay here, at a hotel, how long he plans to visit. Nothing.”

Joel set the letter down, walked behind his mother, and rubbed her shoulders. As he did, she began to cry. “Why would he do this? Why does he treat us this way?”

“I don’t think he meant to hurt you, Mother,” Allison said. “I’m looking forward to seeing John again.”

Her mother shot her an angry glare. “You don’t understand the trouble he caused us when he left, the way he left. It was so . . . humiliating. I couldn’t show my face for months.”

“Don’t you want to see him?” asked Allison.

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “He’s my son.” She picked up a linen napkin and dabbed her eyes. “But he could have at least mailed us a few pages. Telling us how he’s been, what his plans are. Now I don’t know what to expect. My whole social calendar is up in the air.” Her stern, in-control face had returned. “I simply must cancel that charity tea next week. We’ll have to think of something, some excuse.” She looked at Joel and Allison. “I don’t want anyone to know about John coming home till we know what we’re dealing with, is that clear? No one is to say a word.”

“Mother,” Joel said. “Please.”

“I mean it, not a word.”

“All right, but I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. John is broke and coming home in shame. Don’t you think if he’d made a go of it, he’d have written more? There’d be two pages spouting off his achievements. He’s broke and doesn’t want to admit it. My advice? Have the staff make up his old room. He won’t have money for a hotel, you can be sure of that.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” she said. “You go on now, to that steamship place. If you hear anything, you come tell me right after your lunch.”

“I will,” Joel said. “But if you don’t see me until after work, I didn’t find out anything more.” He picked up the letter. “I’ll bring this with me, to make sure of my facts.”

“Take it,” she said. “What good is it to me?”

“Robert, look what you’ve done! You may have just finished us.”

John awoke to find Ramón yelling at Robert. Robert buried his face in his hands. He looked at John. “I’ve let all the water spill,” he said. “Now we’re dead.” He was frantic.

John saw the coat. Most of the water was gone. Last night, he’d passed the watch to Robert. After a few hours, Robert was to pass it off to the ambassador.

Ramón put his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Calm yourself. Nothing can be done about it now.”

“But we’ll never get home now. We’ll die out here.”

John looked at the two men. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he felt no confidence for their future either. Their situation seemed bleak and would grow bleaker still as the cool morning gave way to another blistering afternoon.

Now one without water.

He had a thought, one that had been pestering him since they’d come on the big raft. He felt he had almost a duty to talk about God, maybe to share the gospel with these men, since it seemed clear that death was all but a certainty. He’d never explained it to anyone before. He’d just offered hints or alluded to it in a handful of conversations back in San Francisco. Laura would know exactly what to say. She had a way of introducing religious things that seemed as normal as conversations over tea.

John looked at the ambassador; his light, jovial demeanor had completely disappeared. He seemed as discouraged and anxious as Robert.

John didn’t want to talk about this, but felt if he didn’t say something now, he might not have the energy once the sun began to beat down. “Robert, Ramón . . . I agree, it doesn’t look good. And you may be right, we may die out here . . . today, maybe tomorrow. I’m no preacher. But I’ve been listening to a good one for just over a year. I don’t know where you gentlemen stand, what either of your religious backgrounds are . . .”

He paused. Neither man said anything. Robert was looking down. Ramón seemed lost in his thoughts.

“I thought this might be a good time to share something that happened to me last year. Well, actually, it happened after I understood something for the first time. One Sunday morning—”

“Please, John,” Robert said. “I don’t want to hear about church right now.”

John looked at Ramón. He looked at John then turned away. He wore a look that said:
Do we have to do this?

John stopped talking and looked out to sea.

For the next hour, hardly a word was spoken. John felt foolish. He kept replaying in his mind things he should have said, certain he had botched the whole matter terribly. But there was one encouraging note, something about himself he now knew to be absolutely true. And what he’d discovered surprised him.

He really wasn’t afraid to die.

He wanted to survive, if at all possible, but he had no fear if this was indeed the end. With the water now gone, it seemed almost a certainty now.

The only heaviness he felt, and it bordered on unbearable, was the thought of never seeing Laura again. And the added care of knowing how afraid she must be of facing the future alone.