The Bride Ship

Gillian frowned at her. “Then may I please have a piece of cake instead?”

Maddie laughed as she gave Gillian a hug. “Sure’n, me darling, I’d bake you one right now if we had the proper ingredients.”

“And I’d let you eat it,” Allie promised. “As it is, this seems to be the best the Continental can do. When we reach Seattle, I’ll bake you a cake myself.”

Gillian nodded and returned to her beans.

Allie nodded, as well. She’d never baked a cake before in her life, but surely Maddie or one of the other women could teach her. She hadn’t washed dishes or made beds before, either, and she was managing that. It wasn’t talent that was required but determination, and the Lord had given her plenty of that lately.

That was why she turned to Clay, who was sitting just down the table from them and looking no more pleased with the fare.

“Mr. Mercer said he had resolved the financial issues,” she told Clay. “Have you been reimbursed?”

He smiled at her, and she could not help smiling back. “Mr. Mercer hasn’t said a word to me, but your presence and Gillian’s are all the reimbursement I need.”

It was a charming thing to say, and she felt her cheeks heating. Enough of that!

“Then I can only hope to take up the matter with Mr. Holladay,” she promised Clay, “when we reach Seattle.”

He shrugged, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he thought she’d never convince the wily transportation king to part with the money or if Clay truly didn’t care. She made herself focus on the conversation around her, which, thankfully, was generally more satisfying than the food. She found it amazing how many people from all walks of life had decided to make this journey to Seattle.

Mrs. Boardman, for example, was blind, and her husband was particularly solicitous of her because, he told Allie with great joy, she was expecting their first child.

“Though it does concern me that we have only a dentist abroad for medical assistance,” Mrs. Boardman told Allie, one hand on her swelling belly.

“Ms. Stanway is a nurse,” Allie assured her. “I’m certain she’d be glad to help.”

Clay spoke up. “You may want to settle in San Francisco if a doctor’s care is important to you, ma’am. There’s only one in Seattle, and he treats natives as well as the settlers, so he tends to be busy.”

Mrs. Boardman thanked him for his advice, but Allie couldn’t help her frown. Only one doctor in the growing town? What if Gillian became ill or was injured? Would Catherine’s skills be enough to save her?

“Mortality on the frontier is notably high,” a young lady named Ms. Cropper put in as if she found the matter fascinating. “Cholera, typhus, dysentery, scalpings.”

Allie shuddered. Time to turn this conversation back to the pleasant. “New lands to discover,” she countered. “Opportunities for new friends, family.”

“Husbands,” Maddie put in with a wink.

“Employment,” Catherine added.

Others chimed in then with their plans to teach, to establish businesses. Allie caught Clay watching, a slight frown settled on his brow. Had they given him as much food for thought as he’d given them?

The meal ended with optimism restored. Everyone seemed in an excellent mood and so excited about their journey, the sights they’d see along the way, the hopes they had for their destination. But as the evening wore on and groups formed to read aloud, talk or play cards, Allie began to feel a change in the ship. Saltcellars slid from one side of the table to the other. Pots clanked in the galley. When she stood, she had to put out a hand to steady herself before taking a step.

One by one, the other women grew quiet, turned ashen. Some dashed up the stairs to the deck, and Allie caught a quick glimpse of them leaning over the railing before the door swung shut behind them and cut off the light. Others retired to their bunks. Clay helped more than one to the kitchen in search of hot water or empty bowls.

Allie was only thankful she, Maddie and Gillian were spared the bouts of seasickness. They retired a short time later and passed the night listening to the dishes clatter against each other in the galley. More than one woman called out that the ship must be sinking. Gillian clung to Allie with a whimper.

Allie had been that afraid many times—when she’d realized her answer at the ball had driven Clay out of Boston, when Frank had marched away to war, when Mrs. Howard had advised her in that cold voice that Allie’s only choice was to marry Gerald. Now she could not fear. Despite Clay’s comments about medical care in Seattle, she knew she was on the right path.

“The ship isn’t sinking,” she assured Gillian, stroking her daughter’s silky hair in the dim cabin. “Captain Windsor is very wise, and every sailor we’ve met is strong and able. They’ll see us safely through this storm.”

“But it’s so bumpy,” Gillian said, huddling closer.

“Think of it like a carriage ride along a country road,” Allie advised. “Just a few bumps and then we’ll be at our destination.”

“Seattle?” Gillian piped up hopefully.

“Seattle,” Allie promised. “But not for a while yet. We must be patient.”

Just then someone pounded on their stateroom door, and she recognized Mr. Debro’s voice. “Mrs. Howard! Mrs. Howard! Come quick! It’s Mr. Howard, and he’s in a bad way!”

* * *

Clay couldn’t remember being so miserable. He kept his eyes tight shut as the ship bucked and rolled. With a whoosh, a wave heaved up over the bulkhead and doused the door of his stateroom. An answering slosh told him that some of the seawater had forced its way under the door and was spilling across the hardwood floor.

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