NOVEMBER 14

At last we are in calmer waters, though there’s still a strong headwind making things difficult on deck. When I woke this morning, I was nauseated and had to rush to the water closet. This seemed odd, as the ship is running along without much pitching about and I haven’t eaten anything unusual, but then it dawned on me that it is two months since last I employed a grandy rag. I packed a store thinking I was only late, but, after another bout of retching, I did the calculation, putting one and one together to equal three. When I came out, B. was on the settee with Sophy on his lap – she likes to cuddle with him when she wakes up if he’s near – crooning, “I see a ship a‑sailing.”

I stood in the doorway smiling at them; they are so sweet together. B. finished the verse–“and the captain says quack, quack.” Sophy quacked along with him; she knows that song well and waits for the ending with rising excitement. Her father looked up at me and said, “Mother, are you well?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “But you might ask Sophy if she’d like a little sister, or would she prefer another brother.”

Sophy caught the word “brother” and said “Otter.” B. set her down on the carpet, which was still wet from the flood and crunchy with salt, and came to me, passing his arm round my waist. “Sweetheart,” he said. “Is it true?”

“I think so,” I said.

Then he looked anxious. I lost a babe three years ago, early on, but there was no trouble with Sophy, so I feel confident this time. “I’m fine,” I said.

“When will it be, do you think?”

“May or June. I can’t be very far along.”

Sophy picked up one of her blocks and brought it to us, holding it up high, wanting to know the sound for the letter. “It’s a G,” I said. “Gh, gh. Good. Good girl.” She followed my lips, as she does, and made a very respectable g sound.

“Won’t she be a fine big sister?” her papa said.

Later, after his watch, B. came in looking thoughtful. “I’ve made up my mind,” he said. “We should have enough saved after this trip for me to stay home until this new baby is safe among us. With the interest I’ve got in this ship, I’ll have a little coming in, and if I can find a good investment, I won’t let it slip away this time. With any luck this will be my last voyage.”

Well, this is good news, of course, and I breathed a sigh of relief, but my poor darling has made this vow before and been forced by circumstances to break it. He and Olie were set to take over Mr. Hardy’s store, but they hesitated when it came down to it and the chance eluded them. Olie is of the same mind. They are both sick of going to sea and want to be home. Olie bought the land abutting his father’s house last year and before he left, he built a wall around it. Hopefully, between them, they can make a go of some shore concern and we can raise a passel of glorious landlubbers and do our sailing on a ferry.

At supper Mr. Head reported that Mr. Lorenzen has a fever and is delirious. B. went forward and dosed him with laudanum for the pain and bathed his forehead with vinegar. B. said the other Mr. Lorenzen stood by, murmuring to his brother in German, trying to comfort him. B. was reminded of Olie and the time when they shipped together – Olie was just a boy – and B. felt he was growing a third eye that kept a lookout for his brother. Then we both wished we’d not missed Olie in New York before we sailed, and we said a prayer that we find him, hale and hearty, in Messina.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 614