Authors: Leen Elle
"No, but he might prefer a kind, sweet girl over an overly flirtatious woman . . . I would."
But Nora didn't hear him and whispered, "Only in the books . . . Only in the minds of fanciful, romantic authors . . . And besides, Ben wants a woman like Mary.
A woman who's matured and sophisticated and beautiful.
Not me. Not this silly, infatuated, hopelessly romantic little girl. He could barely even hold a pleasant conversation with me. His eyes kept drifting off towards the sea as though he were bored and I'll bet that now, at this very moment, he's telling Jacob all about what a foolish girl I am. I can't believe I ever thought I had a chance with him, with Ben. He's much too good for me . . . And I think he knows it too."
"You can't give up that easily," said Sawyer, his mouth dry, "If you still care for Ben that greatly, don't let him slip away. You've got less than two weeks left on this ship and if you want to leave an impression on him, you have to do it now or he'll forget you forever."
"But how?
He cares for me as much as he cares for the worm at the end of his fishing pole."
"Come now! Of course he doesn't! There's still a chance. There's still hope. You just have to keep on trying. Don't fall apart now that we're so close to the end. I'll help you. We'll do it together. We'll form a new plan, a better one, and you'll snatch ol' Ben right off his feet!"
"How can you be so optimistic, Sawyer?
I can't even imagine attempting a new plan after the failure of this one."
Sawyer felt his head drop, his limp blond waves falling greasily across his forehead and his glasses dipping towards the end of his nose. His plan had been a failure to Nora.
A failure.
He'd done all he could, but he'd still failed in Nora's eyes. Nothing he did ever
seemed
to be good enough for her.
But nevertheless, he held his head high and said, "You just have to keep at it, Leonora St. James. Even when you think that everything's lost, and you want nothing more than to give up, you just have to keep on trying. Because there's still a sliver of hope left. However small it may be and however hopeless it seems, it's there. Even though it may seem like Ben will never care for you right now, you'll never know if there's a possibility unless you keep on vying for his affections as you always have."
Nora stood up, a sparkle in her eye, and a smile spread across her face. She ran to Sawyer and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
"What would I do without you, Sawyer?" she beamed, "What would I do without you? Of course I'll change Ben's mind! I'll make him see that I'm not just a silly little girl!"
Sawyer bit his lip, "'Course you will, Nora
. '
Course you will."
*****
In the dining room of the ship, just a little after lunch, Mary sat sewing and quietly gossiping with Emy. As usual, Emy didn't say much, but it didn't matter much when Mary had enough words to spare for them both.
"My God," she sighed, brushing a black ringlet out of her eyes and pushing her needle through the fabric ever so slowly, "I can't wait to get off this ship and onto dry land again. I think I've smelt enough salt water and tasted enough fish to last me the rest of my life . . . And I just can't wait to see Ethan again. It seems like it's been years, doesn't it?"
Emy nodded, "Especially since you weren't even able to write to one another."
"I swear I've read each of those old letters from him beneath my bed thirty times each since we left Laraford. I wonder if he's been thinking of me as much as I've been thinking of him."
"Of course.
I'll bet he's thinking of you at this very moment."
Mary giggled, "I wonder."
At that moment, the door opened and Nora walked in.
"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.
"Of course not," said Mary, "Pull up a chair."
Emy gave her sister a small downward glance, "So . . . how did it go?"
"How did what go?" Mary asked.
"Not as good as I would have hoped, but . . . But there's still hope."
"Oh good," Emy replied with a smile, "I'm glad."
"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Mary repeated, "Does it have anything to do with that Ben Leslie?"
Nora and Emy both looked up and began to giggle like two lovestruck schoolgirls.
"Well it's not a huge secret or anything, is it?" continued Mary, "I mean, it's really not hard to see how enamored you are with him, Nora. I'm just surprised that after so many weeks you
still
fancy him."
"Why should you be surprised?"
"Well, he's not exactly . . . I mean, he's not," Mary began to giggle, but Nora didn't laugh along.
"What are you trying to say?"
Setting down her needle and thread, Mary took a deep breath and began, "Well, I wasn't going to say this if your feelings for him were silly and harmless, but I can see now that he means more to you than a simple infatuation. You really like him, don't you?"
"Of course I do."
"That's what I was afraid of," Mary sighed, "Oh, Nora. I thought you knew better than to fall so shamelessly for a man who's not worth the lint in my apron pocket!"
"What do you mean? He's worth thousands times more than the lint in
your
. . ." her voice trailed off, "I just don't understand why you would say such a thing. What's he ever done to you?"
"Nothing, yet.
But I've heard enough stories to prove that he's not a gentleman worthy of your affections, dear sister."
Emy sat silently with her eyes wide and asked, "What's he done?"
"First off, let me say that I don't know the dependability of all these stories, but they come from trustworthy sources, several of the sailors aboard this ship, so I believe strongly in their truth. Alright . . ." she took a deep breath and began, "I'm not saying this because I want to damage your spirits, Nora, I'm saying it because I care about you and I don't want you to continue vying for such a terrible man . . . Michael and Jess have told me all about your dear Mr. Leslie. Apparently, he's got a reputation worthy of the most low-down, horrendous scoundrel you'll ever meet. When the boat docks at one of its ports, Ben's known to lose any sort of respectful conscience he formally beheld. He drinks and swears like a sailor, looking at women as though they're objects rather than humans. With his good looks, he can easily steal the heart of any woman he meets and once he does, he bears no shame in persuading them into an intimacy worthy only of married couples. He can charm them into his bed and let's them belief that he'll become their husband one day. And because of that, because of that promise, they don't feel
too
terrible about going against everything they've ever been taught. But then, without any warming at all, he'll leave. He'll board this boat again without ever saying goodbye and leave the women feeling hurt and ashamed and angry. Ben Leslie's a horrible man, Nora.
A horrible, lowdown rat.
His bad reputation spans the entire coastline! I only wish I'd known how greatly you admired him sooner so that I could have saved you from wasting your heart on that man. He'll never be worthy of you, or any other respectable young lady."
Poor Nora sat in shock, letting Mary's words sink in. Never had she imagined that anything like this might occur, but now that she knew she felt furious at both herself and at Ben. She'd made such a fool of herself!
"I'm sorry, Nora," Emy whispered, "There's no way you could have known."
"And at least now you're saved from continuing with your misconceived crush any longer," added Mary.
Nora sighed, letting her shoulders drop, "It's just so embarrassing. I let myself get so carried away with it and . . . and it was all for nothing."
"Don't be embarrassed. It's not your fault," said Emy, "It's Ben's.
Evil Ben's.
He never deserved you anyway. You deserve someone kind and sweet.
Someone who will dote upon you when you're sick and care for you no matter what.
Someone who will . . ."
"But there's no man out there that wonderful. I'll never find him and I'll just be a silly old maid for the rest of my days," Nora groaned.
"You're only sixteen. You've got a good many years left to find him."
Mary, picking back up her need and continuing to sew, murmured, "Seems like she's already found him to me."
Nora looked up, her head cocked to the side, "Whomever are you talking about?"
Mary shook her head with a small smile, "My lord, Nora. I never thought you'd be so blind."
Emy, feeling her cheeks begin to redden, let her head drop and pursed her lips shut.
"Who?"
Nora repeated, "I don't understand."
"I can't believe you've never realized it," Mary continued, still shaking her head, "He does anything you ask. He plays checkers and cards with you everyday and just ignores the fact that
your
more interested than the handsome rogue Ben Leslie than in the game. He continues to stand by your side even though he knows how much you fancy another man. In fact, I can't even believe it, but he's actually assisted you in your effort to gain Ben's affections. I didn't understand it for so long. I didn't know why he continued to be your friend when you could only speak and think of Ben. I don't think I could have done it, spending each hour with you and listening to you go on and on about another man. I didn't understand how he did it or, more importantly,
why
he did it. But then I saw it. I saw that look in his eyes, that tiny glimmer of hope, and I knew . . . And if you still can't see it, if you can't see how greatly he cares for you, then my heart goes out to that poor boy. All he ever wanted was to see you happy. He'd forget all about his own happiness in favor of yours. And he deserves far more than he's ever received."
Once again, Nora was speechless. She stared off into space for a few seconds before reacting to her sister's words. And when she did react, she could barely make out the words her heart was feeling, "But he's just . . . he's just Sawyer.
Just Sawyer."
"
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door
;
Only this, and nothing more.'"
As Gail continued the poem, a lengthy piece called "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe, her voice began to soften. Nathaniel was barely listening anymore. It seemed useless to keep speaking, but she did so anyway.