Against the Wind Page 4

  “And I’ll have that preposterous toad in my bed! Chastity, please close your eyes and try to imagine Mr. Withers II on top of you, entirely naked, with every naked ounce of him rippling like a large platter of gelatin!”

  Chastity shrugged her shoulders. “What does it matter? Mother says that all husbands are alike in the dark.”

  Emily gasped. “Mother said that? Our mother?”

  “I think it was Mother. Anyway, someone said it. Why? Don’t you think it’s true?”

  Emily thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Chas, but if it that’s all there is between man and wife, then I will go off and become a nun, I swear it!”

  Chastity scoffed. “Don’t be silly, Em! You hated the convent. You detested the nuns. And besides, we’re not even Catholic! Father only agreed to let you study there because you threatened to jump off the lighthouse balcony.”

  “I detest Mr. Withers II even more than I did the convent, Chastity. I believe that I detest Mr. Withers more than any other person I’ve met in my entire life. More than any other person in the world! I can’t be absolutely sure of that until I’ve met all of them, of course, but I’m confident that Mr. Withers would be among the top two or three. If I am forced to marry the man, I’ll go berserk. You wait! One day very soon, in a fit of melancholy, I’ll run amuck and wring the necks of his ugly chickens and feed them to him for his damned supper! After which, I have no doubt whatever that he will take an ax and murder me in my sleep, and that will be that! If Mr. Withers II suits your fancy so admirably, you’re more than welcome to him. The two of you can play endless games of backgammon, while he drops grapes down your bodice. Oh, and if that becomes boring, try discussing your shoes. He is inordinately fond of shoes. The wedding ceremony is completely planned, and my wedding dress should fit you nicely. I will simply disappear into the fog.”

  Actually, the idea of marrying Mr. Withers II appealed very much to Chastity, who was, by the standard of the time, quite old enough to marry, and certainly ready. She was not especially particular about whom she married, so long as the prospective bridegroom was sufficiently well-off. She was even certain that she could learn a tedious game like backgammon, given proper tutelage. Mr. Withers’ nakedness and his unfortunate resemblance to a plate of gelatin was a matter of some concern, but a detail she chose not to dwell upon at the moment.

  With that arranged, Emily packed a small bag, wrote a letter of apology to her parents, and crawled up onto the sill of the Withers’ third story window.

  “But, where will you go, Em? I will worry so,” Chastity wept, with only moderate sincerity.

  “I’m young and healthy, and Halifax is a large and prosperous city,” Emily replied, with only moderate confidence. “Perhaps I can make my way as a governess, like our own sweet Margaret. Tell mother and father that I will write as soon as I’m able. Goodbye, sister. I love you, and will truly miss you. I bequeath to you my entire interest in Mr. Withers, and hope that the two of you will be very happy together.”

  Emily embraced her sister one last time, then gathered up her skirts, clambered out the window, and stepped carefully onto a tree branch. The slender branch promptly cracked under her weight and gave way, sending her bumping painfully from limb to lower limb, until she landed on her bottom in a patch of snow in a still-dormant flowerbed.

  “Emily, dear! Are you all right?” Chastity called in a whisper from the open window.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Chastity,” came the voice of her unseen sister. “Good-bye, dear. Oh, I quite forgot to tell you something. I borrowed the three dollars and twenty-five cents you had hidden in your blue handbag. Forgive me.”

  With that, Emily picked up her muddied skirts and scampered down the wide, sloping lawn to the darkened street. Chastity waved one last time, then hurried across the room to rummage through Emily’s things in search of Mr. Withers’ framed portrait. Giggling happily, she planted a tender kiss on each cheek of the dear face that she hoped would soon belong to her. She saw no sense at all in wasting this long trip, or Mr. Withers II, for that matter, and with some manipulation, she was certain that her parents would agree to a minor change of plan.

  Emily’s escape, once begun, did not go as well as she had planned. Finding pleasant accommodations that first night was difficult, and she spent several cold, damp hours in what appeared to be a gardener’s shack before an idea occurred to her. If she could find her way back to the harbor, she might easily slip aboard the Liza, again. By her admittedly uneducated reckoning, the ship’s crew and captain would be out and about in the city for a good two or three days. By which time, she reasoned, her parents would have returned to Nantucket. It was not the most excellent of plans, but it was the only one that seemed possible at such a late hour.

  Getting on board the Liza has been even simpler than expected, and after arranging a hiding place from several canvas bags and wooden crates, Emily had slept soundly—if not cozily, under a berth in the same cabin she had occupied on the voyage to Halifax. Later, she would slip off the ship by the same route she’d arrived, and make her way into the city.

  By midmorning, though, contrary to Emily’s estimate, the Liza’s entire crew was already aboard, awaiting the afternoon tide. Had she not been so tired after her hectic dash from the Withers’ home, she might have been awakened by the tell-tale creaking of the ship’s timbers as it prepared to set to sea, or by the raucous noises made by the crew as they went about their assigned duties. The vacant cabin was well aft of most of that morning’s activities, however, and with the heavy oak door securely closed, Emily slept peacefully on—until the call of nature woke her.

  Emily knew enough about ships to sense immediately that her plans had gone terribly awry, and as she crawled from her hiding place, stiff and damp, her trepidation turned to alarm. She crept silently from the cabin and climbed up the companionway to peek out the open hatch. Through the scuppers, immediately at eye level, she could see nothing but ocean, and hear only the boom of taut canvas in a stiff wind. The Liza was under full sail, in deep water and a leading wind, bound, unless she was mistaken, for the far coast of Newfoundland.

  And there, on his quarterdeck, looking with a concerned expression seaward, stood a tall, forbiddingly stern figure—Captain Ethan McAllister.

  Emily slipped back into the cabin, locked the door behind her, and sat on the low bunk to think. She had no idea how many days a voyage to Newfoundland would require, but since the empty cabin offered neither food nor water, she suspected she would die of starvation or thirst long before that. With no visible bedding other than the soiled canvas tarpaulin in which she had wrapped herself the previous night, she might also perish of the cold between this place and the ship’s destination. It was already noticeably colder than when she had slipped aboard in Halifax harbor.

  Finally, she decided that there was nothing else for it. She must make her presence known, and insist that the cad McAllister turn about at once and return her to Halifax. Emily felt safe in promising that her father would repay the surly captain for whatever this inconvenience cost him. The only question left was how to announce her sudden appearance with the least possible uproar, and with the least unpleasant consequences.

  In addition to the discomfort created by her distended bladder, Emily was very, very hungry. She had eaten and drunk very little of the fine supper offered by the Withers, and since then, nothing at all. In the far corner, beneath the bunk, she discovered a cracked chamber pot, which provided temporary relief from her most immediate problem, but the idea of facing the almost certain wrath of the Liza’s ill-tempered and brutal captain was more than she could manage, just now. It was past dark when she finally brushed her hair back as neatly as possible, gathered her resolve, and made her way on deck.

  There were few crew members in sight, and at first, none of them appeared to notice her as she walked slowly to where he stood in the bow, speaking with another man. It was as if she were invisible, and for one miraculous moment, it seemed she
would be at his side before anyone became aware of her presence on deck.

  But the, a voiced cried out from somewhere above, in the ropes. “Look here, Cap’n, sir! It seems we got us a stowaway!”

  Ethan McAllister whirled on his heel and faced her.

  “What in the name of…” he roared, adding a thunderous obscenity. The last part of his oath was lost amid the sound of flapping sails and general confusion.

  Emily stood before him, unafraid, or pretending to be.

  “I find myself in a complex predicament, Captain McAllister,” she began, trying to control the small quaver in her voice, “requiring my immediate return to Halifax. Upon my safe arrival there, my father will, of course, reimburse whatever…”

  “Are you out of your bloody mind?” McAllister bellowed, striding toward her in a menacing manner. “How the blazes did you get back on my ship?”

  “That is of no consequence, now,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I demand that you turn your wretched boat around and deliver me to Halifax, at once!”

  McAllister motioned to the largest sailor at hand. “Remove the lady to an empty cabin, Roberts. I’ll deal with her later. Right now, we have a ship to run.”

  As the brawny seaman approached her, Emily stepped back, sweeping her skirts aside in a defensive stance.

  “I warn you, sir! I will fight!”

  McAllister smiled. “You will lose that fight, Miss. Mr. Roberts, here, weighs a good deal more than–”

  “I will scratch your Mr. Roberts’ eyes out if he attempts to lay hands on me. Even an ox is of little use when he is blinded!” Roberts looked suddenly unsure of himself.

  Just as suddenly, Ethan tired of the game. He pushed Roberts aside and strode quickly to where Emily stood. She took one swing at him, and when the blow missed its mark, the captain bent forward, grabbed her around the knees, then threw her easily over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of her. Then, with Emily dangling upside down and wailing in complaint, he carried her aft. Enraged by this inappropriate and unaccustomed treatment, she hammered his back and thighs with her fists as hard as she could, and when that achieved no result, she buried her teeth firmly in his shoulder. This proved to be a very large error in both judgment and timing, because Ethan McAllister had just reached the extreme limit of his patience. With one hand, he reached up and landed a great thumping whack to Emily’s squirming bottom, a blow strong enough to hurt even through her heavy skirt and petticoats. She was still protesting the first outrage when he dropped her to her feet, encircled her waist with one strong arm, and hauled her like a sack of potatoes down the short set of steps that led to his cabin.

  McAllister shoved open the door and dumped her in a chair, then sat on the edge of his desk and pulled the chair closer.

  Emily spoke quickly, before he could begin shouting at her again.

  “I regret that you have found it necessary to treat me in this unkind manner, Captain. Had you simply been more patient, I would have explained how extremely sorry I am about my unexpected arrival here. I found it necessary to hide myself temporarily, and I had no idea that you were putting to sea so hurriedly. I apologize if I’ve upset your schedule, but now, I must insist that you turn your boat around and take me back to Halifax, immediately.”

  Ethan stared at her as though she might be an alien being, dropped onto his vessel from another planet.

  “This ship is bound for Newfoundland, Miss Fowler, where I intend to unload my cargo, take on provisions, and return, after many weeks at sea, to Boston. Not to Halifax, nor to Nantucket, nor to Timbuktu, or wherever it is your idiot itinerary requires! When and if I am able to send word to your parents that their dim-witted child has been located, I will do so, and if there is the slightest chance at all that they want you back, which I sincerely doubt, I will deliver you to them—at my convenience. In the interim, you will work your winsome tail off in return for your passage. During your tenure here, you will be adequately fed and clothed, and if you are well-behaved and very, very lucky, I will refrain from throwing you overboard—which was my first impulse upon seeing you on my ship again. Have I made myself completely clear?”

  Emily had expected a certain degree of vexation on the part of the captain, but not this sort of personal reprimand. She was unaccustomed to being upbraided in an insulting manner, and had no intention of tolerating it.

  “You are a bully and a fool, and a person of no refinement whatsoever, Mr. McAllister, and you have made a serious error in treating me so shabbily. It happens that I have recently become betrothed to Mr. Harlan Withers II, of Halifax and London, an influential gentleman of whom I’m sure even a person of your apparently low estate has heard?”

  McAllister slammed his fist on the desk, sending charts and pens flying.

  “What I heard, Mistress, is that the very rich and very fat Mr.Withers II has taken to his sick bed because his recently betrothed climbed out a third-story window and bolted like a turpentined cat rather than bed him, and that he is now threatening suit for breach of contract against the lady’s unfortunate father and all of his holdings, wherever they might be. As I have indicated before, you are the single most insolent, vain, thoroughly selfish creature I have ever met. Why someone hasn’t seen fit to lay a strap across your ungrateful backside before now is a mystery to me!”

  Instead of regarding these words as a veiled threat, Emily responded with a failed attempt to slap the captain’s face. He swore mightily, and in one swift motion, yanked her up from the chair, pulled her across his hip, and tossed her skirts over her head. Then, with Emily’s barely protected backside at his mercy, he administered a half-dozen smarting blows to the tautly drawn seat of her white ruffled drawers. Emily reacted as any young woman unused to such an indignity might, and bit the captain again, clamping her teeth painfully into the flesh of his upper arm. The second bite proved to be even more unwise than the first, though, and Emily enjoyed only a brief moment of satisfaction from it before retaliation arrived. While Emily screamed with outrage, McAllister tucked her head firmly under his strong right arm, and used his left hand to pull her drawers down to just above her knees. Emily struggled wildly and threatened dire reprisals, but the threats rang rather hollow in light of her limited capacity to move even one inch from where she was, and the invective only increased the captain’s determination. After repositioning her bare and squirming buttocks over his muscled thigh, McAllister landed the first agonizing smack of what he intended to make a spanking of truly epic proportions.

  As Emily began to understand his intention, she fought even harder, but with each new escape attempt, he merely increased the tempo and spanked even harder. With his helpless victim poised advantageously—bottom-up across his lifted knee—the captain smacked at random for a few moments, then settled into a steady rhythm, alternating his swats in equal measure and intensity between each of Emily’s cheeks, which had already begun to take on a gratifying, deep pink glow. She squealed and bucked and writhed desperately, doing her level best to bite him again, and emitting the sorts of obscenities McAllister would not have expected from a young woman of her religious upbringing. In an effort to correct the shocking language, he took advantage of her ongoing attempts to kick him by administering a stinging blow to the sensitive inside of Emily’s thighs every time she opened her legs. At this humbling assault on her dignity, Emily finally began to sob with frustration and humiliation. From the middle of her buttocks to just above her knees, her skin felt like it was on fire, and each new smack seemed to strike an already raw, burning spot. And at last, as her pride gave way to her pain, she surrendered.

  “Please!” she wailed. “Please stop! Ow! Oh, dear God! Please, Captain, I beg you!” Ethan slowed the pace, and for one moment, he almost softened, concerned that perhaps he had overdone things just a bit. But then, sensing victory, Emily made a serious miscalculation, and attempted to regain control of the situation. “Now, let me up this minute!” she hissed. “And be assured that the very moment
we arrive in port, I fully intend to…”

  Ethan sighed, and with an odd feeling of regret, reached beneath his jacket and pulled the wide leather belt from around his waist. With the battle of wills obviously not over, he took a moment to readjust his adversary over his knee, (which was, by this point, rather tired.)

  “I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay there a bit longer, Miss Fowler. It appears we’re not quite finished. Or, to paraphrase our great naval hero, John Paul Jones, perhaps I should say, ‘I have not yet begun to spank’?” Emily’s obscene response turned to an agonized howl as he laid the first blow across her already scorched bottom with the doubled belt, leaving a wide red line across both cheeks.

  Emily’s renewed shrieks of pain and rage could now be heard a deck below, a deck above, and from bow to stern. She continued kicking, not only in an effort at escape and to avoid the sting of the raw leather, but tin an effort to kick Captain McAllister in the testicles. But despite her writhing, he kept her firmly across his knee, and delivered every slow, deliberate blow solidly across the softest part of her flaming backside. The captain’s aim was excellent, and his swing strong as he worked upward and back down, from the middle of Emily’s buttocks to mid thigh, making certain that no inch of that territory escaped the bite of the leather. Emily wailed loudly, screeched insults, and for each new obscenity, she was rewarded with another blistering swat.

  Perhaps because she knew instinctively that the whipping wouldn’t be over until McAllister wished it to be, she refused to apologize again, or to plead for him to stop. With her pride even more injured than her bottom, it was a battle she was unwilling to concede.

  Finally, he lowered her skirt and helped her to her feet, then turned politely aside to replace his belt and roll down his sleeves while Emily did what she could to pull up and straighten her twisted drawers. When she had composed herself and wiped her nose discreetly on her sleeve, she stood up to her full height and tossed her hair out of her eyes.