Miss Whittier Makes a List (11 page)

She sighed in relief, overlooking the growling of her stomach.

A few moments later,
the sentry clicked to attention again and she sucked in her breath and held it.

“
Miss Whittier? It
’
s Lieutenant Futtrell, ma
’
am. Would you ... could you ... take mutton with us in the wardroom?
”

She let out her breath, sat up, and felt for the cannon with her foot.
“
I would be delighted, Lieutenant Futtrell,
”
she said.

Hannah dined in the junior officers
’
wardroom that night, washing down salty mutton with boiled coffee. She watched Captain Spark
’
s lieutenants and the three midshipmen tap their sea biscuits on the table to drive out the weevils, and wondered why she ever complained about Mama
’/font>
s cooking. While the others looked on in amusement, she rapped her biscuit on the table, and gave a little shriek whe
n two well-fed worms rolled out,
and in the glare of publicity, huddled themselves into tight balls.

“
Some prefer them in the biscuit,
”
Lieutenant Futtrell observed.
“
They claim it gives the food more crunch.
”

Hannah shuddered at his words and gave a more vigorous tap to the biscuit. Another worm tumbled out.
“
When in
Rome
,
”
she murmured, and took a bite, dreading the thought of any crunching.

“
Bravo!
”
said the lieutenant named
Lansing
. The three midshipmen, none of them a day over twelve, looked at each other and giggled, then turned red.

“
Don
’
t mind them,
”
Lieutenant Futtrell said
generously.
“
They
’
ve been at sea since they were ten, and don
’
t know much about ladies.
”

Hannah sighed.
“
No one does. See here,
sirs. I do not wish to continually be running afoul of Captain Spark. Tell me what I must do to prevent further disaster.
”

Futtrell pushed away his plate.
“
Stay off the quarterdeck unless invited. And that will never happen. But if it ever does, stand on the lee sid
e with us,
and not the weather side with him.
”

Lansing
laughed.
“
I think coming between a captain and his wind must be like getting between a mother bear and her cubs.
”

She nodded.
“
And?
”

Lieutenant Lansing stared thoughtfully into the mutton fat congealing on his plate.
“
Do not
—
I
repeat
—
do not come
above deck
before eight bells. The captain likes a shower under the wash pump about then. God knows how he can tolerat
e it, but he washes in seawater,
no matter the weather.
”

“
Cleanliness is next to godliness,
”
she reminded them, amused at the thought of the dignified captain capering about naked in cold weather. I wonder if he removes his hat, she thought.

“
The captain inspects the ship on Sundays,
”
offered one of the midshipmen, who blushed beet red and ducked his head when she looked in his direction.

Hannah smiled and crossed her hea
rt
.
“
I promise to keep my
bed
made and all my numerous possessions put away.
”
She glanced at Lieutenant Futtrell, who was eyeing her, a smile on his own well-weathered face.
“
Surely he would not inspect my cabin?
”

Futtrell
shrugged.
“
He runs a taut ship, Miss Whittier.
”
He nodded to the orderly hovering in the shadow of the bulkhead, who hurried forward to remove the plates.
“
He likes everyo
ne on board to be useful, Miss Whi
ttier. You might study in your mind how you can do this. We
’
ll be another six weeks at sea.
”

“
Six weeks!
”
she exclaimed in dismay. Six weeks to
England
, and at least another six weeks home. It would be months before her parents knew she was alive.
“
Six weeks,
”
she repeated, her voice softer.
“
I could
become
most amazingly bored.
”

The lieutenants looked at each other and grinned.
“
Best make yourself useful,
”
Lansing
said. He took a last sip of his coffee before the orderly removed it and made a face.
“
And start
by doing something about this coffee. I swear it is made of bilge water, or deck swash./font>
”

“
Does the captain complain about his coffee?
”
she asked.

“
It
’
s probably the only thing he complains about, at least, until you came aboard,
”
Lansing
said, getting to his feet and ducking his head to avoid the deck above.

“
Oh, dear,
”
she said.
“
I wish one of thee could tell him that I didn
’
t throw myself off the
Molly Claridge
with the expectation of being picked up by a frigate of the Royal Navy, Captain Spark commanding.
”
She sighed.
“
But I owe him my rescue, at the very least.
”

Futtrell smiled and pulled out her chair as she made to rise.
“
One thing else, Miss Whittier. It might be better if you said
‘
you
’
instead of
‘
thee.
’
Makes me feel like a guilty sinner.
”

“
Well, is thee?
”
she asked, her voice crisp. She reconsidered immediately.
“
I am sorry. I wil
l try to remember. Can ...
you ...
think of
anything else?
”

“
Only this,
”
said
Lansing
as he ushered her toward the companionway.
“
When the captain gives an order, obey and don
’
t ask why.
”

She put her hands on her hips.
“
That is fearsome undemocratic.
”

Futtrell bowed elaborately, to t
he amusement of the midshipmen. “Thee
is in the Royal Navy now, Miss Whittier.
”

The air was much fresher on deck. As Hannah took several gulps of the b
risk air,
she vowed to spend as much time on deck as possible. She was not alone in this desire. Adam Winslow sat on a forward grating, deep in conversation with the other
Nantucket
sailor. He raised his hand to her, but made no move to come closer.

Their voices low, other sailors had grouped themselves about the scuttlebutt for one last drink before going below to sleep. As she watched, they pulled their hammocks from the webs of rope lining the railings.

“
Why do they keep their hammocks there? Isn
’
t it dreadfully inconvenient to do that?
”
she asked Futtrell.

“
You would think so, until those hammocks stored there deflect cannonballs during battle.
”

“
Oh,
”
she said, her eyes wide.
“
Does thee ... do you ... think we will run into trouble with the French between here and
England
?
”

He nodded, not a trace of humor in his voice.
“
You can depend upon it, Miss Whittier. It is only a matter of time.
”

She took that bit of news below deck
with her as she prepared for bed
. She wondered what she would sleep in, as she said good night shyly to the sentry at the door and entered her tiny cabin. Draped across the cannon was one of the captain
’
s nightshirts. It was not the one she had worn, greasy with salve, but a fresh one. She picked it up.
“
Captain Spark, thee is a strange man,
”
she murmured out loud. She fingered the
shirt
and though
t of her friend Charity Wilkins,
recently married, declaiming on the simplicity of men. Thee does not know Captain Spark, if thee thinks men are simple, Hannah thought
.

In a matter of moments, she was in the hammock, still dubious about dumping herself out, then reassured as it enveloped her again in its comfort. She squirmed into a comfortable position and folded her hands across her stomach. As she lay there, waiting for sleep, she thought of her list
.
It seemed so long ago that she had composed it
.
Now it was a meal for the fish, along with nearly everything else that had once comprised the
Molly Claridge.
But I won
’
t think of that,
she thought, for it makes me too sad.

She concentrated on the list
.
I asked for a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes, she thought, and considered Captain Spark, with his rather fine curly hair and somewhat disturbing pale eyes. Perhaps I am too arbitrary, she considered. T
here is nothing wrong with dark,
curly hair.
“
Not that I am for even the smallest minute considering thee as a possible husband,
”
she said firmly.
“
But perhaps I should not be too picky about color of hair and eyes.
”