Woman Overboard

Chapter 2 : Lighthouse (1)

Edward

August 21st, 1820

(11:35 AM)

Like a lighthouse in a dark night, The Brookes shone as a beckon backed by sunlight. Edward fixed his eyes on its dirty white sails, refusing to look back at the knot of destruction floating behind him.

Danielle crouched in front of him, her small body pressed to the little boat's bow like a living figurehead. Each time another shrapnel shell exploded, the lifeboat gave a sudden jerk, then rocked from left to right with dangerous unbalance. Through it all, the little girl clutched the walls, never once moving from her position.

Behind him rowed the four men he had picked up on his way: Jamie, the nervous cabin boy who chopped at the water with uneven strokes; Willie, who laid uselessly in the back, skin torn by fire and metal; Chris, their gunner who yelled out rowing orders although no one could hear them; Parris, their surgeon, who treated his oar like a suggestion, giving the sea delicate taps with the thing; and Pedro, their sturdy swab who wore a mask of calm, his thick arm muscles making up for Willie's dead weight.

The Brookes seemed so close, yet their rowing seemed to only inch them toward the ship. It didn't seem to be getting any closer. Between the choppiness of the cannon-churned waters and the discombobulation of his little crew, they couldn't get more than a rope's length away from The Elizabeth.

"Hey!" he yelled, his voice ripping through the drone of gunfire and shouting. "Together! Do you want to survive? Then follow Chris's orders!"

So Christopher began to yell louder, his enthusiasm renewed by Edward's validation. "Heave," he cried, "Ho!"

With the steady pulse of Chris's voice, they moved as one giant arm, propelling the sad little rowboat forward. It bucked with power, but Danielle remained stoic and unshaken, her knuckles white around the lifeboat walls. Edward wondered what she could be thinking about. Her mother? Death? Fear? Nothing at all?

Each scream from above filled him with fresh anxiety that leaked away when he realized it was that of another man, not Alessandra. He couldn't believe he'd left her behind, even if that had been her order. Aless, he had learned, didn't always know what was best for herself. Now that Danny was gone, didn't the responsibility of keeping her safe fall to Edward?

Aless was a difficult woman to keep out of harm's way. Headstrong and guarded, she couldn't be kept to the sidelines. Even before she was made captain, she could always been found defending her daughter from rude men or stubbornly arguing with Braiden about who was responsible for a certain destruction or spillage. She could never let a man be wrongfully punished, even if it meant trouble for her.

Alessandra and Braiden often got in these fights when Daniel wasn't around to protect her. Some days, if no one stopped him, the man gave her the punishment instead, shouting about how women used to have respect.

She never cowered or apologized, which Edward both admired and found foolish. It would be so easy for her to bat her eyes and walk away, escaping below deck to the safety where the captain's wife belonged.

The role of captain suited her. She held such command and startling charisma that no one had the guts to doubt her. Edward had heard some of the men muttering about how they wouldn't let some woman boss them around, but none had ever said anything to her face.

In the past month, though, the animosity had faded. Edward stopped fearing mutiny; the crew settled back into their usual form, all changes accepted. In fact, things were better in some ways with Aless as captain. She kept track of supplies and food with careful logs, aware of every weapon aboard the ship and the state of every man's health. They never went hungry or unprotected, nor did they roam the seas without plans any longer.

Despite her skillfulness and drive, Edward knew Aless had a soft side. It was the side Danielle usually knew, a side Daniel had always owned. She rarely showed it to Eddie, but he savored the moments when she did.

He saw it some nights when they laid in bed together, and she sidled closer to put her arms around him, or when he caught her singing quietly to herself as she worked. At those moments, he wanted to trap her in the palm of his hand and never let her go. If only she could stay that perfectly sweet all the time.

They kept rowing, their strokes growing slower with fatigue. Pedro and Parris alone remained unharmed -- Edward winced with every movement as the wound in his side bled; Chris wore burns like sleeves up and down his arms. And who could forget Willie, limp as a throw rug, matted with blood?

Danielle had sustained several injuries as well. Below what her skirt hid, Edward could see burns on her ankles. They spotted her arms as well, like ungainly patches on a broken quilt. Though she did not cry, Edward guessed she was in pain by the way she bit her lip and grasped the walls, as if trying to distract herself from the pain.

"On'y a few more min's," he promised, reaching out to ruffle her hair. She had inherited Danny's soft brown locks, not her mother's flossy blonde ones. Danielle merely nodded, not bothering to look at him.

"Heave! Ho!"

His side throbbed, pulsing to a steady, aching beat. He wished it would be acceptable to cry. His heart felt like it had caved in, leaving its contents broken and scattered across its dewy red floor. He felt raw, emptied by his pain.

Ahead, The Brookes grew like an alarmed cat, becoming more impressive and frightening with every stroke they took toward her.

Flanking them on the other side was The Hampshire, looming like a storm cloud, raining bullets. They rippled through the sea yards away, but close enough that Edward feared for his life. How could they survive this volley of fire sailing for them?

There was no way to know, so he kept on rowing.