Soon, Peter saw to it that she never left the house unless he was with her. He chose what she wore, what she ate and when she slept. She’d become a prisoner with only her needlework to occupy her time.
Two nights ago, they’d come home from a party. Peter had been in a rage because she’d talked too long to a young man. He’d accused her of having an affair. Though she’d tried to allay his fears, he’d grown angrier by the moment. And this time he’d hit her.
For the first time she’d seen the true monster that lurked behind the blond hair and blue eyes.
As she’d lain on the cold floor, bruised and bleeding, Rachel had begun to plan her escape.
The next morning, Peter had kissed her on the
cheek and bid her good day. He’d planned to take her on his business trip to Baltimore, but her left eye had been far too black. Her appearance would have raised questions. So he’d been forced to leave her behind. Next time, he’d scolded, she should not make him so angry.
She’d stood at her bedroom window watching him as he’d climbed into his carriage. When the carriage had rounded the corner, she’d fled.
She’d gone to the docks and inquired about freighters that took on passengers. Forced to wait for the morning tide, she’d spent the night in an inn by the docks.
Only a day, two at most, remained before Peter returned. A couple of days to put as much distance as she could between them.
Within a half hour, the
Anna St. Claire
set sail. The trip down the river was smooth. As the hours ticked by, her nerves relaxed a fraction. Everything was going to be fine.
By midafternoon, they reached the waters of the Chesapeake Bay and then the Atlantic. As they turned south and passed the shores of Virginia, the waters became choppy. As they headed out to sea, the waters grew rougher. The freighter’s white sails strained in the high winds and her mast creaked and moaned.
The cabin rocked and Rachel found it hard to sit in the chair. Outside, the waves pitched. The sky had grown black. Raindrops covered the glass portal. They were headed into a storm.
Rachel had never been a good sailor, but the constant rocking soon made her seasick. Unable to hold down her food, she found the chamber pot by the bunk and wretched. Unable to sit up any longer, she crawled into the bunk. She loosened the braid coiled at the nape of her neck. Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep.
However, when sleep took her, she dreamed of a monster with glowing red eyes looming in the shadows. The creature moved toward her, one step at a time. Her heart raced. Tears stung her eyes. She knew if he caught her, she’d die.
Pounding on her door had her sitting up. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but the storm was all around them, like a wraith ready to steal their lives.
Weak with nausea, she faced the cabin door. “What’s going on?”
Footsteps shuffled outside her door seconds before a hard object hit the hallway floor. Rachel reached for a blanket on the edge of the bed. She pulled it over her shoulders. Her hair brushed her backside.
“The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want.” Rubin’s deep voice rushed in under the door.
Pressing her hand to her stomach, she moved across the room, swaying to keep her balance. She opened her cabin door and found Rubin picking up a hammer. In his other hand was a crude crucifix lashed together with rope.
Rubin glanced nervously up at her and then to the stairwell to the upper deck where the storm raged.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Hammer in hand, he stood. “I was nailing the cross over your door to break your curse.”
Rachel stared into his brown eyes, which were wild with fear. “I’ve brought no curse on this ship.” She tried to move past Rubin.
“Aye, you have. Ol’ Nate said we was supposed to have smooth seas all the way. Ol’ Nate is never wrong about the weather. You’ve brought us bad luck.”
“I have no control over the weather. You are a fool to think that I do.”
Anger mingled with fear in his eyes. “You may have fooled the captain,” he snarled, “but not me.”
“I want to go on deck and speak to the captain this instant.”
Rubin blocked her exit with his large body. He smelled of sweat and fear. “You’ll stay right here.
The men are busy lowering the lifeboats and they don’t need your curses.”
They were abandoning ship and leaving her behind? “I must see the captain.”
Rubin folded his arms over his chest. “You’ll get no help from him. He’s got his hands full keeping this ship afloat.”
“Move out of my way. You can’t make me stay. I paid good money.”
“Dead men can’t spend money.”
“Get out of my way!” she screamed.
Rubin shoved her into the cabin and closed her door.
In the next instant the ship pitched violently and she stumbled back. She lost her footing. She grabbed onto a chair, but the chair toppled forward under her weight. She fell hard and hit her head against the corner of a wooden crate. Pain registered for only a moment and then her world went black.
When Rachel awoke, she was aware of the howling wind outside. And the cold.
She was lying in two inches of water.
R
ain pelted Ben Mitchell as he rowed toward the wreck of the
Anna St. Claire.
His assistant, Timothy Scott, sat in front of him in the boat. It was the boy’s first sea rescue. He was huddled under his black slicker; a stocking cap covering his red hair. Even over the wind Ben could hear the lad’s teeth chattering with fear and cold.
“The freighter is so close, I swear I could spit on her,” Timothy said.
“Aye, she’s not more than one hundred yards from the shore.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder at the schooner. The right side of her hull had sunk so low that stormy waves washed over her bow. The ship’s masts were broken and her torn white sails flapped in the wind like eerie specters.
Timothy gripped the side of the dory. “Are the wrecks always so close?”
Ben dug the oars into the water. “No. We’re lucky this time.”
“Luck.”
The boy laughed. “Only a keeper would be talking of luck while rowing out to a wreck in this kind of weather.”
“Wait until the day you row out a half mile to a ship in weather worse than this.” This past winter had been one of the worst on the outer banks. The nor’easters had fooled many a ship’s captain. There’d been more wrecks than normal and the bodies of dozens of unnamed sailors had washed up on the beaches. He’d be glad to see spring.
The lighthouse beacon blinked steady and bright as the seas caught the dory and dragged her further out to sea. The riptide would make getting back to shore more difficult than he’d first thought. But there was no worrying about that when there will was a ship to board and search.
Ben had served as lightkeeper for six months. He’d been hired late last fall as the Winter Man, a temporary replacement to fill the shoes of the old keeper who had died suddenly. After twelve years in the Navy and an unexpected discharge, he’d come home to visit his aunt and cousin.
Ben had been at loose ends. He’d had offers
from several shipping companies, but he had lost his taste for sailing the seas.
The short-term job as winter man had suited him for the time being. Two weeks ago, he’d received a letter from the Life Saving Service. The board had offered him the position full-time. He’d yet to give his answer.
The service had hired Timothy less than a month ago in the hope that the extra help would entice Ben to stay. Timothy had been raised in a family of fisherman who worked the waters off the outer banks. Though Ben thought the boy talked too much, he understood the ocean and the dangers of the Graveyard’s waters. Whether Ben stayed or left, Timothy would serve well.
“Why didn’t the ship’s captain heed the flare you fired?” Timothy asked, shouting over the wind.
“Who’s to say?” Ben dug his oars deeper into the water. He’d fired flares from his Costen gun several times when he’d first spied the ship, but the captain had not altered his course. Ego, pride or most likely the captain had already abandoned the ship. He’d find out soon enough.
The two lapsed into silence as Ben dug the boat oars into the water and drove them toward the freighter.
Within minutes the dory skimmed the side of
the boat just below a burnished sign that read
Anna St. Claire.
“Take the oars, Timothy. Hold her steady while I go aboard to see if there’s anyone left to save.”
Relief washed over Timothy’s face as he scooted forward and took the oars. “I don’t mind coming with you, sir.”
Ben had enough trouble on his hands without the worry of a green lad traipsing about a dying vessel. “Stay put and keep the dory steady.”
Waves crashed into the side of the rowboat. Cold rain drizzled. Timothy didn’t offer an argument.
Ben wiped the rain from his face. He grabbed a rope dangling from the side of the ship. He tugged on it to make sure it was secure.
“Ben, do you really have to board her? The ship looks abandoned. It’s like the ghost tales I’ve heard the seamen tell.”
Superstition was as much a part of this region and the wind and sea, but Ben had little patience for talk of ghosts and curses. It had been his experience that trouble was caused by the living not the dead. “There’re no ghosts aboard this vessel.”
Timothy stared up at the shadowy vessel. “Yeah, but what if there are ghosts and they are watching us now? Sends a shiver down my spine.”
A slight smile tipped the edge of Ben’s mouth. “That’s the icy waters, lad, not ghosts.”
Ben gripped the rope and, using it as balance, scaled up the side of the ship. He swung his leg over the ship’s railing and landed on the deck. It listed beneath his weight.
The center mast had cracked two thirds of the way up and fallen into the ocean. The other sails were torn and flapping wildly in the storm. Wind scattered the ropes and crates over the deck.
“Can you see anything?” Timothy shouted.
The rain blew sideways, stinging Ben’s face as he started his search. “No. Not yet. Hand me up the lantern.”
Timothy moved to the edge of the dory and on wobbly legs handed the lantern up to Ben.
Ben cursed the wind that made the light flicker and spit. Protecting the flame with his body, he turned up the wick.
The lantern light cast an eerie glow on the ship. A quick survey revealed that Timothy had been right. All the lifeboats were gone. A closer inspection of the top deck confirmed there wasn’t a sign of any soul. Likely, the men had fled the vessel when the main mast had started to go.
No doubt the sailors would turn up somewhere along the outer banks, either dead or alive. The
chances of finding any survivors on the
Anna St. Claire
looked slim.
But Ben was thorough.
He’d learned that perception and fact didn’t always agree. So he would search this vessel, and only when he’d confirmed with his own two eyes that she had been abandoned, would he leave.
He moved to the ship’s railing and called down to Timothy. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, leave.”
“Where are you going?” Timothy shouted over the wind. He huddled in the boat, his hands wrapped around his body.
“Belowdecks.”
“The lifeboats are gone, Ben. The sailors have all abandoned ship. Give up the search.”
“I’ll make a quick check belowdecks before I write this ship off.” His tenacity served him well. It had also led to his court-martial.
What made you great was your undoing,
the admiral had said to him. “Remember, if I’m not back in ten, leave.”
Timothy wiped water from his face. “I won’t leave without you.”
“You just celebrated your twentieth birthday and you and Callie are to wed in less than a week. Ten minutes, Tim, and I expect you to start rowing.”
Just then the freighter shifted, pitching Ben forward. He nearly dropped the lantern. Wood splin
tered and cracked somewhere on the vessel. He gripped the railing, his muscles bunching under his thick cable-knit sweater and dark jacket. His iron grip kept him from falling headfirst into the ocean. The lantern light nearly went out.
Timothy’s face was pale and panicked in the lantern light. “Please, sir, give it up. The ship is going to break up.”
Water dripped from his nose as Ben glared down at his assistant. “Ten minutes.”
Without another word, he strode across the badly sloping deck. By the time he reached the hatchway that led below, rainwater had drenched his black pea coat. Turning the knob, he shoved open the hatch.
He held up the light. Three feet of black ocean water lapped against the third rung of the ladder. Outside the wind howled.
“Hello down there!” he called. Silence.
Debris floated past three doorways that fed into the hallway. Two on the left and one on the right.
Seconds passed as he strained to hear. “Hello!” he shouted again. Nothing.
Perhaps Timothy was right.
Everyone was gone or dead.
Ben turned on the ladder ready to climb above deck when he heard the muffled scream. At first he thought it was a trick of the wind.
But he stopped and listened. The wail returned, sounding more human—and more feminine—than before. But a woman aboard a freighter didn’t make sense.
“Hello down there,” he shouted.
The screaming stopped and for a moment there was only silence. Then he heard, “Is someone out there?”
The woman’s voice was unmistakable.
“Yes! I’m here,” he shouted.
“Thank God! Please help me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the cabin on the right.” Her voice sounded broken, as if she’d been sobbing. “They locked me in.”
Ben raised the lantern and looked around for something he could use to break the door. He spotted an ax hanging on a wall by the stairs.
Ben grabbed the ax off its peg, hung the lantern in its place and climbed down the ladder. Raising the ax high over his head, he started to wade into the hallway. The eerie creaks and sways of the dying ship echoed around him. “I’m coming for you.”
The woman began to pound her door harder. “Hurry, the cabin is filling with water.”
Ben pushed past the floating debris. His limbs
tingled from the cold. He tried the knob on the door. It was indeed locked.
“Please don’t leave me.” The woman’s desperation punctuated every syllable.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Step back,” Ben shouted. “I’ll have to cut my way through the door.
He heard the splash of water. “I’m away from the door.”
Ben’s shoulders ached and the weight of his damp clothes made it nearly impossible for him to raise his arms over his head in the narrow hallway. It was only a matter of minutes before he’d lose feeling in his feet in the cold waters.
The lantern swayed and flickered in the wind behind him. Gritting his teeth, he jerked the ax back an extra inch then drove it with every bit of force left in his body. The blade sliced through the door as if it were butter. Ben yanked the ax free and drove it again into the door. Soon the door snapped in two.
Immediately water from the hallway rushed into the cabin. He heard the woman scream. Dropping the ax, he bolted into the darkened cabin.
The river of seawater knocked Rachel off balance.
She tumbled backward. Salt water filled her
mouth and nose as her arms flayed around. She didn’t know what was up or down as she groped wildly for something to grab onto.
For all her desperate plans of escape, she feared she was going to die. Peter would have smiled at the irony. He’d always said he’d kill her if she tried to leave.
Strong hands banded around her arms and hauled her forward above the surface of the water. She sucked in a breath.
Her eyes burning, she stared at the silhouette of a very large man. Hints of lantern light from the hallway flickered on chiseled features and black eyes.
The cold had seeped through her dress and sapped her strength. Her teeth chattered. Her hair, in a long thick plait down her back, draped over her shoulder like a wet rope.
“Is there anyone else?” His voice was deep, rusty and full of authority.
“I don’t think so. I heard them lower the lifeboats hours ago. I screamed but no one came.”
The man muttered a savage oath. The boat shifted then, knocking her off balance and into his chest. Warmth and energy radiated from him. And for just the faintest moment she felt safe.
His strong fingers gripped her arm and he pushed her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he ordered.
“We don’t have much time before she’s completely flooded.”
Wading across the tiny room in waist-deep water and then down the hallway took every ounce of strength left in Rachel’s body. The weight of her skirts added to the burden of every step.
When they reached the ladder leading to the deck above, the boat tilted and groaned again. Water rushed down the ladder. She fell back into the stranger.
He wrapped strong fingers around her shoulders. “Move, or we both will die here,” he growled in her ear.
He placed his hands around her narrow waist and propelled her forward through the icy waterfall. The thick wool of her dress was completely soaked and it clung to her body like a second skin.
Rachel coughed as she stumbled forward to the upper deck. She sucked in a deep breath.
The rain had slowed. In the distance she saw the lighthouse beacon. There, she’d be safe. But it was so far away.
The deck above was sloping badly now, and each time she tried to stand, her foot caught in her drenched hem. The stranger grabbed her elbow and jerked her up.
“I can’t walk. My skirts are so heavy.” Lord,
but she sounded weak. The cold night air pricked her skin.
“We’re almost there.” Urgency laced each word. “Just a few more yards.”
She forced herself to remain standing. “I am not going to die now. I’ve come
too far.
I’ve come too far.” She hadn’t realized she’d chanted the words out loud until he spoke.
“Aye, we’ve both come too far to die now.” He pushed his shoulder into her midsection and lifted her up off the ground. His shoulder dug into her belly and she could barely breathe.
He dashed across the deck until he reached the railing.
She caught a glimpse of the ocean below. A small boat bobbed in the water. The black seas churned.
She gripped his wet coat with her frozen fingers. “I can’t swim!” she shouted.
“I can.”
He tossed her over the side of the railing into the churning waters.