The Stowaway

VIII

"Life is a blank canvas, and you need to throw all the paint on it you can." Danny Kaye

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VIII.

The sea really was a hypnotic phenomenon. Eliza did not think that she had ever really appreciated it until now. She had been looking out over the ocean from her bedroom window for years now, but had the truly seen it until now?

It looked to go on forever. There was a vastness that was purely mesmerising. She had never before seen something that truly looked infinite.

The wind was chopping the water, breaking the miniature waves into tufts of white. The water was slapping against the side of the ship, spraying as it moved through the ocean.

She leaned against the railing of the ship near the helm. Eliza smiled as a song came into her head. "There was a rich lady lived over the sea, and she was an island queen. Her daughter lived off in the new country, with an ocean of water between them."

Eliza had heard that song at a concert before Christmas and never had words resonated with her more.

"We've got ourselves a singer, Cian!" cried a voice from behind her.

Eliza jumped and spun around to see the helmsman and another man both watching her with enjoyment. They were both quite young, with features about their faces that showed great resemblance. Eliza would wager that the two sailors were brothers.

"I am not a singer!" she cried out. "But I can whistle." Eliza was certain that she had read about sailors whistling shanties in her novels. No sooner had she put her lips together to whistle a tune, both Cian and his brother launched on her, crying out for her to stop.

"Don't whistle!" cried Cian, holding out his hands with a wild look in his eyes.

"It's bad luck!" said the first brother.

Eliza clamped down her lips. "Oh, I am terribly sorry!" she apologised profusely. Whatever else could be bad luck?

Cian and his brother chuckled. "You weren't to know."

Eliza detected a rather thick accent. Perhaps Irish?

"I am Cian Flanagan," Cian introduced himself. "This is my brother, Diarmuid. While he is on board, you aren't to worry about being a Jonah."

Diarmuid elbowed his brother.

"What is a Jonah, Mr Flanagan?" asked Eliza.

"Just Cian and Diarmuid is grand, boer," Diarmuid corrected. "But a Jonah is someone who is considered to be bad luck." Diarmuid pointed to the mop of curly red hair atop his head. "Redheads are the worst of the worst. Now, if you were a woman and a redhead, you might have pipped me."

Eliza smiled, finding the whole thing fascinating. "My name is Eliza," she introduced. "I am pleased to make both of your acquaintances. I do not think you are a Jonah, Mr Flanagan," she said to Diarmuid.

Cian and Diarmuid exchanged a glance. "Eliza Lee," they both said at the same time.

"No, just Eliza," she corrected.

Cian chuckled. "Did anyone ever tell you you're some boer, Eliza Lee?"

Was he ... was he meaning to be insulting? "I am boring you?" Eliza frowned, offended.

"Boer," repeated Diarmuid. "B-O-E-R," he spelled. "It means you are a very beautiful girl, Eliza Lee."

Eliza had never received such a brazen compliment before. Men simply did not note a lady's appearance in the circles that she was used to being in. And she certainly had not thought herself to be very beautiful now.Captain Buckley had only just before compared her to sewer rat.