Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers (14 page)

Because it only lasted about an hour.

First, there was a scream (but not
Millie's). Then a terrible lot of banging and commotion that seemed
to be coming right down the companionway toward their door. The
colonel jumped up and took off toward it in his navy pajamas (with
gray piping), but Stella grabbed her white terry robe (with the
Chinese collar), to put on over her rose-colored silks before
following after.

She got there just in time to see Gerald
tumble into the room with such a horrified expression, her first
thought was that Captain Stuart had passed on, and already begun to
haunt them for wrecking his boat. A thought she stoutly rejected,
considering her new-found faith that God could—and would—save her
from anything so frightening. If she would only ask. Except she
didn't get a moment to. Not ten seconds later, a staggering form
emerged out of the dark passageway, and grabbed Gerald from behind,
eliciting such agonizing shrieks and moans, that Stella screamed
(she couldn't help it), and darted behind the huge protective bulk
of her husband as he grappled to separate the two.

“Here, now—what's this—what's this?” He
finally managed to get in between them. “Stuart—Stuart! Everything
is fine—I assure you, sir! Come over to the couch and I'll
explain.” Words that had a settling effect on the haggard form.
Almost like a balloon slowly losing its air.

The colonel helped him over to the settee,
and it was then Stella noticed his right arm was dangling lifeless
at his side, and he was dragging a leg along like it was weighed
down by some invisible ball and chain. She felt a catch in her
throat that Gerald hadn't been far wrong, earlier, when he guessed
the man had been stricken by some sort of stroke.

“What a—ghastly experience!” Gerald
whispered aside to her, and rubbed a hand over his throat at the
same time. “He tried to choke me! I heard him shuffling around,
and—before I could even get out of my sleeping bag—he tried to
choke me!”

There was another garbled moan, directed at
the colonel this time, and it was clear he was trying to speak but
couldn't manage a comprehensible word. The right side of his face
seemed to have drooped and become immobile, adding a rather
grotesque expression to his already rugged features. Especially
with those bushy black eyebrows that nearly made a solid line
across his forehead. Her husband drew in a breath and smacked his
knees (she knew that decisive gesture well) before he said, “Well,
sir, it seems you've had an episode of sorts.”

Stuart gave out with another moan, mournful
this time, and a look of abject misery crossed over his face.

“Always the possibility that symptoms are
temporary, however,” the colonel went on. “You've been unconscious
for hours. We weren't even sure you'd come back to us. But you did.
A man of your strength and spirit, why, I believe—with the proper
rest and care—you most certainly will recover!”

It was a statement that should have had a
more calming effect on the man (it certainly did on Stella, and she
agreed whole-heartedly). But instead, he began to get agitated,
again, banged his good arm against his leg, and tried once more to
speak. At which point Millie burst in (wearing only a nightgown),
with Mason not far behind, clad in sweats and a sleeveless
undershirt.

“Stuart—oh, you're alive—thank God!” she
cried. “We're in terrible trouble!”

A statement that caused the poor Captain to
lapse into more audible frustrations.

“Mildred, for crying out loud!” said Mason.
“You want to give the man a heart attack on top of it? Listen here,
Stu—”

It was at that time Cole strode through the
door, shirtless and barefoot, with only a pair of hastily donned
jeans on. Lou Edna was close behind, also barefoot, in a long
purple t-shirt that only covered the necessities, and her hair
hanging loose over her shoulders. The rest of them naturally parted
to let him through (he was the only one with any rank, or knowledge
of the sea left among them)—their new leader by unspoken consensus,
even though he was young.

He leaned over to put firm hands on each of
Stuart's shoulders and their eyes locked. “I had to put her on the
rocks, Cap. It was too late to go around. But she can't sink. We
got a hundred and thirty feet of water on one side, and eighty on
the other. Little less than fifty to the shore. We're good.”

A visible wave of relief came over him.

“Too closed-in for the radio, though,” he
went on. “Tomorrow, I'll run the skiff out into the open and try
and flag down some help. We're good.” He continued to hold on for a
minute, as if the man might topple over if he let go, then
repeated, “We're good,” before he stood up straight, again.

All at once, the old captain seemed
unbearably weary, and it looked as if he might fall asleep, again,
any minute.

“Might as well stay in my cabin,” said
Mason. “It's closer to everybody, and you won't have to go down any
stairs. I'll bunk in with Millie. Been spending most of my time
there, anyway.”

So, the men helped him up and settled him
there, while the women murmured their second good-nights of the
long day and drifted back to their beds.

The following morning brought rain and wind,
along with a constant current of ripples in from the choppy strait,
outside the inlet. The barometer was falling, signifying another
weather front coming in. While it made little effect on their
solidly grounded vessel, there would be no venturing out into
storm-tossed seas in the little skiff to try and seek help from
other passing boats. Few people would be fishing out there, today,
wherever they were.

But even though the day was gray and raining
torrents, it was plain to see they had landed in the most
beautiful, picture-postcard of a place. And although it was only
August, the little meadow that stretched away into the mountains
was already tinged with the red and gold hues of fall. That
particular morning, there was a mother deer with two babies grazing
not far away—a sight that cheered the family up considerably, in
spite of their dire circumstances. This was Alaska!

At any rate, it seemed to stir everyone out
of the shock of the night before, and it suddenly seemed clear what
they should each be doing. The men were going to get seriously busy
on the repairs that had only been temporarily patched, and the
women, having spied a huge stand of bushes fairly sagging with
huckleberries close by, were going to take the little skiff into
shore for a land expedition. They thought.

Not long after they announced those plans,
Mason established a new rule that none of them were to leave the
ship without at least one of the men along. Something they all
quite naturally accepted, since he was an expert on survival. Not
only had he lived on his own, for weeks, back in the jungles of
Viet Nam, but had managed to save others along with himself while
he was doing it.

So it was, that Lou Edna bundled the Senator
into her backpack-carrier, appropriately dressed in a tiny yellow
rain-hat and slicker that made Stella think of the famous
Paddington Bear, of children's literature. Was there anything more
adorable? The rest of them were bundled into rain-gear, as well,
armed with a sufficient amount of gallon-sized plastic bags stuffed
into their pockets to bring home a treasure-load of berries.

Cole came along to handle the skiff, and
provide the necessary male supervision their new rule required,
although he made it clear—right up front—he had no desire to pick
any berries. Millie made a bet with him, then and there, he would
be venturing into those bushes all on his own, as soon as he got a
taste of her “Huckleberry Betty.” The windfall wouldn't be around
much longer, but if they took advantage of it, there would be
enough berries to provide jam and desserts throughout the whole
winter. Wait and see.

No one knew how to store up food, like
Millie.

It took longer to get everyone over the
side, and situated in the skiff, than to cross the fifty feet of
deep water to the shore. It wasn't until then that Stella realized
she hadn't set foot on land since that last Canadian town where
they had found the dollar store. Almost three weeks, ago. The first
thing that struck her was the delicious smell of the air. It was a
combination of pine trees, rich earth, and the sea.

Cole set out for the top of a nearby hill to
have a look at the waterfall, but promised to not be more than a
shout away, in case they needed him. Lou Edna took the baby carrier
off her shoulders and set it down in such a way that provided a
perfect perch for the Senator to enjoy a morning snack of graham
crackers, and watch the festivities. It was at that point Millie
briefly unfastened her raincoat to get at all her plastic bags,
when Stella noticed she had a huge leather holster with a
pearl-handled gun sticking out, strapped to her waist,
underneath.

“It's a specially-made, three-fifty-seven
magnum,” she replied to Stella's sudden gasp. “My first husband
bought it for me, back in our prepper days.”

“Good grief, Millie—can you actually shoot
it?”

“Of course I can shoot it. Took lessons, and
everything. I'm a pretty good shot, too, even if I say so, myself.
Wouldn't want to run into any bears without it.”

The thought suddenly occurred to Stella that
she better inform Cole about this, before he got too far away. She
would tell him to be sure and make plenty of noise, coming and
going, so he wouldn't get mistaken for a bear. Something that would
also give any nearby bears a warning to keep their distance, as
well. She did not want her friend take a pot-shot at one (that
didn't hit home), and only make it mad. Stella had read enough bear
stories to know such things happened more often than not, when all
parties had their attentions distracted by berries.

But it wasn't so easy to catch up with Cole,
and she finally had to call out to him. He turned around and waited
for her. It wasn't until they were close enough that she noticed
how upset he looked. Maybe he and Lou Edna had argued, again.

“Sorry to break in on your quiet time,” she
spoke first. “But I thought I should warn you to make plenty of
noise on your way back, because Millie's packing a gun.”

He murmured something Stella didn't quite
catch under his breath, and shook his head. “If there's one thing I
got to say about this group, it's nobody's boring.” He sat down on
a large, nearby rock and looked out at the view... a gray desolate
expanse of rock-strewn inlet (so many of them were visible, now
that it was low tide), and the
Dreadnaught
perched on the
tallest cluster, like some giant bird with a broken wing. “Did
anyone tell her you can't drop a bear with some lady's
pea-shooter?”

“Oh, it isn't a pea-shooter. It's a... what
was it, now... oh, yes. A three-fifty-seven magnet.”

He laughed, and shook his head, again.

“Anyway, that's what I thought she said.”
Stella sat down next to him. “Of course, I've read a lot of Louis
Lamore westerns, and know most handguns aren't accurate at long
distances. Either way, it's an accident waiting to happen, so maybe
you should holler out before you come down. So you don't startle
her.”

“Thanks. I'll do that.”

He was quiet for so long that she got to her
feet, again.

“Mrs. H?”

“Yes?”

“How did a person like you end up getting
mixed up in all this?”

“Well, I guess you could say I had the fine
good fortune to get a second chance at life. So, even with these,
umm... unusual circumstances, I'm still having a marvelous
time.”

“You think you can forgive me for being so
rough with Cap?”

“Well, of course I forgive you. I admit I
was shocked to see you push him like that. But...”

“I had to get him off the wheel. He was
stuck to it like rigamortis set in, and I knew we were gonna
hit.”

“Oh, I understand all that, now. The colonel
says we would have sunk if you hadn't run us up onto the rocks so
hard. On account of it being so deep around here.”

“We'd have lost everything if we did. Gerald
and Buddy... they never would have made it up from below fast
enough. Even if they had, that water's way too cold for either of
them.”

Stella suddenly realized how sensitive he
was. Funny how tender hearts were often housed in the toughest of
bodies. And she was touched that he had even taken her suggestion
and come up with a name of his own to call the Senator, the way all
the rest of them had. He seemed to have taken on the responsibility
of actually being a father to the little boy. As far as Lou Edna
would allow, anyway. “It was exactly the right thing to do, Cole. I
find it amazing you could even think that fast.”

“Sorry I had to be so hard on Cap, though.
Didn't mean to cause him any brain damage.” He shook his head and
looked out at the view, again. “I love that old man!”

“You did not cause brain damage,” she
replied firmly. “His brain was starting to misfire before we even
got here. Millie noticed it over a week, ago. She mentioned it to
me.”

“Well, getting shoved on his ear didn't help
it any. Thing is, I lost my folks early. Been hanging around
waterfronts—working my tail off—since I was fourteen. He's the only
one ever gave me any kind of break. The only one. I just...” He
took a deep breath and leaned his forearms across his knees. “I
just wish I could have done better for him.”

Stella sat down next to him, and rubbed a
comforting hand across his broad shoulder. “I think he knows that.
You're the one he responds most to. The one who doesn't patronize,
and tells him the absolute truth. If you ask me, I'd say he feels
the same way about you.”

“Well, you can bet I'm going to take care of
him for the rest of his life. Because what he did for me? I don't
take that light. Lou and I talked about it, and we both feel the
same—”