thought you went below with Belinda.”
“I left Fi with her for company, but I forgot I need to finish a mathematics problem before I stay below.” Mel perched on the edge of the chair and applied chalk to slate. “Jordy and Watt and Captain Rafe insist I know my calculations for celestial navigation.”
“Do they think you’re going to be a sailor?” Phoebe smiled.
“I wish I could be. I love the sea.” Mel glanced at the angry waves piling up along the horizon. “Being up top is like flying, though Captain Rafe doesn’t like me up there. He says it’s too dangerous.”
“I should think so. It makes me queasy to look at the men climbing.” Phoebe took a deep breath of salty air. “I didn’t know I was such a weak creature,” she admitted to Mel. “Land is so substantial, it doesn’t demand much of a body.”
Mel balanced the slate on her knees and performed some complicated calculations before responding. “I don’t like it, but Captain Rafe says we’re staying ashore after this voyage.”
“Indeed. I wonder how he intends to get us back to Virginia.” Phoebe risked a glance upward.
A handful of raindrops spattered onto the deck.
“You’d best go below.” Mel rose, tall for her age and whipcord thin. “I need to show Jordy or Captain Rafe my calculations.”
“Why don’t you call him Father?” Phoebe asked.
Mel looked surprised. “No one’s supposed to know we’re related. He’s afraid they’ll harm me to get to him if they do.”
“I guessed so.”
And he’d told her. Confided that bit of information in her when he didn’t need to. She wondered why.
“You have the same cheekbones,” Phoebe added.
And Mel would be a stunningly beautiful young woman.
Phoebe glanced up again in time to see Docherty sliding down a backstay. She’d seen enough sailors doing it to realize it was a typical method of reaching the deck, yet it looked rather entertaining and carefree, something a boy did as a lark.
Rafe Docherty looked neither boyish nor playful as he stalked forward to Phoebe. “A squall’s blowing up. You need to go below.”
“And good day to you too, sir.” Phoebe rose, curtsied, and gave him a sweet smile.
Mel giggled.
Docherty set his hands on his hips. “I said you are to obey me, did I not?”
“You’d best,” Mel whispered loudly enough to be heard at the helm.
“I’m not one of your crew.” Phoebe pushed her chair further beneath the canopy. “A little rain won’t harm me.”
“Nay, but a great deal will. Now go, or I’ll carry you down.”
The threat nearly worked. She didn’t want him that close to her. His proximity made her insides feel odd, rather tense and tingly. Even at that moment, when more than a yard of deck separated them, she experienced a tugging to rise and step forward, as though he were the North Pole and she the compass needle.
She gripped the edge of the table. “I’ll take the risk.”
“All right. I dare say the weather will punish you enough. But you get below, Mel, either to the ladies’ cabin or to your own.”
Mel cast Phoebe a pleading glance. “Do come, Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Chapman says she is going to make me put on a dress.”
“I think you’ll look quite pretty in a dress,” Phoebe said diplomatically.
“I’ll look like a freak, won’t I?”
“You’ll look like what you are.” Docherty touched Mel’s cheek. “My daughter. Now scoot.” He glanced at Phoebe. “Both of you.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Whatever you wish, sir.” The girl gathered up her things and dashed through the increasing showers to the companionway.
Watching her, Phoebe made two observations—Melvina Docherty spoke uncommonly good English for a child who had run away from four schools and spent more time than was prudent skulking in port cities or aboard a ship, and she was desperate for female companionship. Of course. She was twelve. Her femininity would soon be impossible to disguise well.
And she shouldn’t remain around a
“I left Fi with her for company, but I forgot I need to finish a mathematics problem before I stay below.” Mel perched on the edge of the chair and applied chalk to slate. “Jordy and Watt and Captain Rafe insist I know my calculations for celestial navigation.”
“Do they think you’re going to be a sailor?” Phoebe smiled.
“I wish I could be. I love the sea.” Mel glanced at the angry waves piling up along the horizon. “Being up top is like flying, though Captain Rafe doesn’t like me up there. He says it’s too dangerous.”
“I should think so. It makes me queasy to look at the men climbing.” Phoebe took a deep breath of salty air. “I didn’t know I was such a weak creature,” she admitted to Mel. “Land is so substantial, it doesn’t demand much of a body.”
Mel balanced the slate on her knees and performed some complicated calculations before responding. “I don’t like it, but Captain Rafe says we’re staying ashore after this voyage.”
“Indeed. I wonder how he intends to get us back to Virginia.” Phoebe risked a glance upward.
A handful of raindrops spattered onto the deck.
“You’d best go below.” Mel rose, tall for her age and whipcord thin. “I need to show Jordy or Captain Rafe my calculations.”
“Why don’t you call him Father?” Phoebe asked.
Mel looked surprised. “No one’s supposed to know we’re related. He’s afraid they’ll harm me to get to him if they do.”
“I guessed so.”
And he’d told her. Confided that bit of information in her when he didn’t need to. She wondered why.
“You have the same cheekbones,” Phoebe added.
And Mel would be a stunningly beautiful young woman.
Phoebe glanced up again in time to see Docherty sliding down a backstay. She’d seen enough sailors doing it to realize it was a typical method of reaching the deck, yet it looked rather entertaining and carefree, something a boy did as a lark.
Rafe Docherty looked neither boyish nor playful as he stalked forward to Phoebe. “A squall’s blowing up. You need to go below.”
“And good day to you too, sir.” Phoebe rose, curtsied, and gave him a sweet smile.
Mel giggled.
Docherty set his hands on his hips. “I said you are to obey me, did I not?”
“You’d best,” Mel whispered loudly enough to be heard at the helm.
“I’m not one of your crew.” Phoebe pushed her chair further beneath the canopy. “A little rain won’t harm me.”
“Nay, but a great deal will. Now go, or I’ll carry you down.”
The threat nearly worked. She didn’t want him that close to her. His proximity made her insides feel odd, rather tense and tingly. Even at that moment, when more than a yard of deck separated them, she experienced a tugging to rise and step forward, as though he were the North Pole and she the compass needle.
She gripped the edge of the table. “I’ll take the risk.”
“All right. I dare say the weather will punish you enough. But you get below, Mel, either to the ladies’ cabin or to your own.”
Mel cast Phoebe a pleading glance. “Do come, Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Chapman says she is going to make me put on a dress.”
“I think you’ll look quite pretty in a dress,” Phoebe said diplomatically.
“I’ll look like a freak, won’t I?”
“You’ll look like what you are.” Docherty touched Mel’s cheek. “My daughter. Now scoot.” He glanced at Phoebe. “Both of you.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Whatever you wish, sir.” The girl gathered up her things and dashed through the increasing showers to the companionway.
Watching her, Phoebe made two observations—Melvina Docherty spoke uncommonly good English for a child who had run away from four schools and spent more time than was prudent skulking in port cities or aboard a ship, and she was desperate for female companionship. Of course. She was twelve. Her femininity would soon be impossible to disguise well.
And she shouldn’t remain around a
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