NOVEMBER 24

Last night I dreamed Benjamin and I were running, holding hands and running in a field. It was a bright day, windy, with an October sun, low and confusing. I stumbled and fell. Benjamin let slip my hand, running ahead, not looking back. I called out, but still he didn’t turn. Why won’t he wait for me? I thought, and then I woke up in the dark. Sophy was breathing softly, her damp little hand resting on my shoulder. I could hear the dull thwack‑thwack of the bow, slapping steadily into the waves. I said into the darkness, “Wait for me.”

Later, at breakfast, Mr. Richardson – Captain Richardson – knocked and asked permission to sit with us. “Of course,” I said. “Come in. There’s coffee in the pot.”

“I don’t want to disturb you, Mrs. Sarah,” he said. “But I thought I should speak with you.”

I felt calm in his presence, but the memory of my dream – it was so vivid – had left me disinterested and bereft of feeling. At once he told me something I didn’t know – where in this world we are. We are south of the Azores, he says; St. Mary’s is six miles distant. We are off course, but Captain Richardson will take advantage of the calm seas and relative shelter of the islands to open our hatches. The one over the hold, which has the boat lashed across it, will be opened in the morning. The crew will remove the battens from our windows then too, if I so wish it.

“How is Mr. Lorenzen?” I asked.

He looked pleased at this question. It showed I was capable of normal human discourse. “Much improved,” he said. “Up and about with his arm in a sling. It will be weeks before it’s healed enough to bear any weight, but he’s on the mend.”

If only, I thought, it was my husband on the mend and Mr. Lorenzen in the sea. This thought vexed me, as if I’d spoken it, though it wasn’t exactly shame I felt at having had it. “I’m pleased to hear it,” I said.

He sat, fidgeting a bit with his watch. Sophy was spooning in her porridge. She starts a bowl and works at it steadily until it’s empty, like an old woman.

He said a few more things, I don’t remember what. He would wire Mr. Winchester on arrival in Gibraltar. To tell him my husband is gone, I thought. Of course. To ask for further orders. “Why are sailors so eager for orders?” I asked Benjamin once. “How else will they know what to do?” he replied.

At last Mr. Richardson left us, asking again about the battened windows as he went out.

“I don’t care,” I said. My indifference displeased him, but I was indifferent to that too.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 712