Excerpt — The Mariner's Lady

1

April 1920

They came for Emilio on the fourth night. Two large men, strips of cloth tied around their faces, only their eyes and the tops of their noses visible. Rosa wasn’t sure, but she thought one of them might have been the sailor who had helped carry her bag up the gangway in Acapulco. They did not speak. There was a cold efficiency to their movements. One stepped quickly around Emilio’s prostrate form, ducking low to avoid striking his head on the large beam running down the center of the small space. Looping his arms under the unconscious man’s shoulders, he lifted Emilio easily. The other – the one Rosa thought she recognized – gripped Emilio’s knees, assiduously avoiding eye contact.

“Where are you taking him?”

They did not answer.

As if carrying a sack of flour, the two big men shuffled to the door. Emilio moaned softly, the first noise he had made in the past two hours, but he did not appear to awaken. Then the men stepped out and slammed the door behind them. She heard the thump of the bolt as it was shoved back in place and the rasp of the lock as it was snapped shut.

Relative quiet returned, the only sound the creaks of the ship as it rolled with the movement of the ocean. Rosa clutched the baby to her chest and cried silently.

#

Jack Cavanaugh took the steps down from the bridge two at a time and made his way aft. Badly shaken by what he had just learned from the ship’s second officer, his heart raced.

The SS Annabelle was making way to the northwest at nine knots, her single screw powered by the General Electric steam turbine engine below deck. It was a cloudless night, there was a full moon and the seas were relatively calm, so Jack was able to pick his way quickly along the rail on the port side. It took him less than a minute to reach the stern. He got there just as Jensen and Conley arrived with the unconscious passenger.

The two seamen lay the man down, straightened and looked expectantly at the captain. 

Gideon Johnston stood in the shadow cast by the aft crane speaking to Taylor. There was just enough of a wind across the beam to ensure that their words didn’t carry.

“Captain,” Jack called out, “Please explain what is going on here.”

Johnston turned quickly, and Jack could make out the scowl that crossed the man’s face.

Nothing new there. Jack had been aboard the Annabelle for the past sixteen months, and, in all that time, Johnston had never missed an opportunity to let him know he wasn’t welcome. 

Johnston was prickly to begin with. The crew tended to walk on eggshells around him, lest he display his famous temper and get them assigned some particularly loathsome duty. But Johnston tended to save his greatest scorn for Jack.

Initially, Jack thought it might have been based on resentment at his replacing the previous first mate, but Jack soon discovered that the former officer had requested a transfer and had been delighted when it had been approved.

Jack subsequently learned that he was the fourth first mate to serve on board the vessel following its launch from the Union Iron Works of San Francisco a little over five years earlier. Johnston had been her first and only captain. In those five years, the Annabelle had plied the waters off the west coasts of North and South America, hauling dry goods, grains and timber. She was fitted to handle a small number of passengers, no more than a dozen at a time, and had a normal crew of thirty-seven.

The other officers took pains not to give Johnston a reason to discipline them, and, when it happened, they took their consequences in silence. It didn’t stop them from grousing behind the man’s back.

That wasn’t Jack’s style. He was, of course, not one to challenge the general authority of a ship’s master. After all, it was essential that, when at sea, the crew understood their roles and the chain of command. But he found much of the captain’s behavior questionable at best. And he wasn’t willing to engage in obsequious deference to the man. So, he didn’t. It made Jack fairly popular among the others on the ship. It did nothing to help his relationship with Johnston.

Part of the problem, Jack decided, might have been the fact that, at six foot five inches, he towered over the senior officer. Johnston stood barely over five foot three, and it seemed clear that his diminutive stature bothered him. When members of the crew were called on the carpet, the dressing down usually took place on the bridge, with Johnston sitting in the elevated captain’s chair, a position from which he could look down on his victim. With Jack, he still had to look up.

Grant Taylor, the man Johnston had been talking to, was the ship’s acting surgeon. He wasn’t a real doctor, and it was unclear whether he had any medical credentials at all. He was a seaman assigned to the surgery, and, near as Jack could tell, his best skills consisted of replacing bandages and emptying bed pans. The regular ship’s surgeon, Bill Henderson, had suffered a heart attack several days earlier. When Jack had last seen him, he was in a hospital in Guayaquil.

“You have the watch Mr. Cavanaugh,” Johnston snapped.

“Yes, I do. Mr. Paxton is at the conn.” Jack stepped closer. “I’m asking again, sir. What is going on here?”

Johnston’s scowl deepened. “We are dealing with an imminent threat to the crew and passengers.”

“What threat would that be, sir?”

“That threat would be the Spanish Flu,” Johnston said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it run wild on my ship.”

“How do you know he has the flu?”

Johnston glanced at Taylor. Then he returned his attention to Jack. “We know.”

Jack shook his head, in part to clear it and in part to express the incredulity at what he feared might be about to happen. “So, you’re just going to throw him overboard?”

“I’m going to do what is necessary to protect my ship.”

Jack took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. Knowing he was on fragile ground, he chose his words carefully. “Sir, I respectfully submit that it is not clear this man has the flu. Quarantining him and his family may be a defensible decision. This,” and he paused, keenly aware he was treading dangerous territory, “is not.”

“You are out of line mister,” Johnston barked. “Stand down.”

Jack raised two hands in a placating gesture. Fighting the rising panic, he said, as calmly as possible, “Sir, I have an obligation to point out to you that this is not legal.”

Johnston exploded at that. “I am the master of this vessel. My word is the law when we are at sea.” He whirled and pointed a finger at the two masked sailors. “Do it.”

The men looked at each other.

“Now,” Johnston commanded.

Without further delay, the two men stooped, took hold of the unconscious passenger, and lifted him. The railing along the stern was about five feet off the deck. Swinging their load back and forth, one of the sailors gave count.

“One,” he called out.

“No,” Jack yelled, his blood chilling, but the men acted as though they couldn’t hear him.

“Two.”

Again, Jack cried out. “No!”

The sailors swung toward the rail a third time. “Three!” And they let go.

The body of the man cleared the railing easily. It seemed to hang in space for a moment. Then it plummeted to the waters below, which churned with the rotation of the screw. There wasn’t even a detectable splash. The body just disappeared into the roiling tumult.

Jack fought the anger that welled inside him. For a long moment, he stared out at the ocean, willing time to reverse itself. Slowly, he returned his attention to the captain. Making no effort to hide his distain, he said, “Are you planning to do that to the woman and child too?”

Johnston didn’t answer immediately. He turned and began walking toward the starboard rail. He glanced back over his shoulder, and his answer made Jack’s blood chill even more. “I will if I have to.”

#

The compartment in which Rosa had been confined had no windows. The only light source was a small incandescent bulb screwed sideways into a socket on the wall near the door and protected by a wire mesh covering. It burned day and night. After a while, Rosa wasn’t sure which was which.

Every few hours, a seaman, wearing a mask, unlocked and opened the door. He placed a tray of food on the floor just inside the doorway and removed the old tray. Then he retrieved and replaced the two buckets – one that contained water and the other that Rosa, reluctantly, used as a toilet. There seemed to be three of them, and they rotated on a random basis. 

Rosa tried to speak with each of the men, but they pretended not to understand her. That struck her as dishonest. She knew her English wasn’t perfect, but it was passable. For the last several months, in anticipation of the journey she and Emilio were planning to take to Los Angeles, she had practiced her vocabulary and grammar with the Norteño, an old man who lived in their village and who claimed to come from a place where the lakes would freeze solid in the winter.

The food they brought her was basic. Usually some kind of oatmeal dish or a bowl of soup, with bread on the side. Occasionally there was a chunk of meat, though she couldn’t tell exactly what kind. In reality, she had no appetite. Were it not for the need to generate the milk that the baby so eagerly suckled from her breasts, she might well have chosen to eat nothing. Her bed was a thin, worn mattress that barely covered the wooden platform dominating the tiny space. Blanca was her only comfort. When the little girl stared at her with those magnificently blue eyes, Rosa could, for a brief moment, escape the horror that her life had suddenly become.

Where, she wondered, had they taken Emilio? Who was caring for him? Was anyone caring for him? Her feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. She drifted in and out of a fitful, restless sleep.

She awoke with a start. 

Something was different, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. 

After days of constant motion, the ship was now still. Instinctively, she glanced at Blanca and saw that the baby was sleeping, an angelic look of peace on her face. Not wanting to disturb the child, Rosa remained motionless, listening intently. She could hear the muffled sound of men calling out, and there were thumping and scraping sounds above and around her.

Finally, she eased herself off the platform, taking care not to disturb the sleeping child. Blanca stirred slightly, but her breathing did not change. Rosa crossed to the door and rotated the handle. As had been the case for days, the door did not budge. She tapped lightly, looking back over her shoulder to see if the sound would awaken Blanca.

A minute passed. She tapped again, this time a little harder.

Blanca’s swaddled feet kicked, and, after a moment, she began to cry softly. Rosa stepped back to the platform and lifted the child to her chest. Patting her gently, she hummed a melody and rocked back and forth. It didn’t help. Blanca’s cry intensified. It became a wail. Quickly, Rosa undid the sash that bound her dress, pulled aside the fabric and pressed a nipple to Blanca’s mouth. The baby turned her head away and, taking quick breaths, began to screech at the top of her lungs.

Blanca’s howls galvanized Rosa. She re-covered herself, tightened the sash and returned to the door. This time she didn’t tap. She balled her free hand and pounded on the metal surface. She screamed as loudly as she could. After a time, her shrieks began to mimic those of the baby. As Blanca would pause for a breath, so would Rosa. The sounds in the small enclosure, which had for so long been deathly quiet, were now deafening.

As she drew another breath, she heard the scrape of the door handle. She paused abruptly and stepped back. Oddly, Blanca, too, stopped crying, and there was a sudden silence.

The door opened, and a man stood in the entryway. He had on a white shirt that appeared freshly starched. On his shoulders were a pair of dark epaulettes, each bearing an insignia that Rosa didn’t recognize. His receding hair was peppered with gray. He wore a white face covering.

Slowly, the man reached a hand up behind one ear and undid the mask. He lowered it to the other side, and, as he did, his nose wrinkled.

Rosa was suddenly embarrassed. She hadn’t bathed in days. She had been relieving herself in the waste bucket that sat by the door. Though she had tried her best to wash the diapers she tied around Blanca, they were not exactly clean. The space where she had been living, she realized, must have smelled horrible.

In heavily accented and broken Spanish, the man asked, “Why having you make loud?”

“Who are you?” Rosa asked in English.

The man seemed surprised. He gave her a sharp look. Switching to English, he said, “My name is Johnston.  I’m the ship’s captain.”

“Why have you kept me prisoner?”

“You are not a prisoner. You were quarantined for the safety of my crew.”

She had assumed that. Still, it made her angry. “You treated me like a prisoner.”

He shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

Rosa bit back a retort. “Where is my husband?”

For a brief moment, there was a crack in the man’s veneer of imperiousness, but it quickly closed. He lowered his chin slightly and gave her a solemn look.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, and it almost appeared as though he meant it. “He did not survive.”

Rosa experienced a feeling of lightheadedness. Her knees buckled. Fearing she would fall, she took a step forward and instinctively put out a hand.

The man recoiled.

Rosa recovered her balance, pulled back her free hand and, as she stood upright, put it protectively around Blanca.

“Dios mío,” she exclaimed. “Qué está diciendo?”

She realized she was speaking in Spanish. Switching to English, she said, “What do you mean?”

The man shrugged. It was almost as if he were making an effort to be nonchalant. “Just what I said,” he replied evenly. “The flu took him.”

Breathing hard, Rosa said, “The flu didn’t take him. Your men took him.” She could hear the quiver in her voice, but she wasn’t about to stop. “Where did they take him? I want to see him now.” For emphasis, she repeated, “Now.” The last word came out almost in a shout.

The man raised a hand in a soothing gesture. “Easy there,” he said, in an infuriatingly calm voice. “I know this is hard. But I’ve heard what happens when the influenza takes hold on a ship. It’s just too dangerous.”

“Where is he?” This time it was a shout. “I want to see him now!”

She took another step toward him, and it appeared as though the man had to make an effort not to retreat.

With his hand still held up in front of him, the man said again, “I’m sorry. He’s not here anymore.”

Rosa summoned all of the energy she could muster and screamed, “No!” She took a deep breath and repeated even louder, “No!” Again, she stepped toward him.

This time the man did back up. Then he closed the door with a slam. She heard the lock being put back in place and snapped shut.

Rosa stepped backward and sat heavily on the platform. Blanca looked up at her mother’s face, her blue eyes searching intently.

#

Jack paused briefly in the corridor outside the ship’s brig. He leaned one hand on the bulkhead, and, with the other, rubbed his beard. He didn’t know what to say to the young woman. He was afraid of what he might say.

He had, over the past several days, struggled with his decision. He questioned whether it had been the right call. The fact that the woman and her baby were still alive suggested he had. But the bargain came at a high price.

It had been less than an hour after the passenger’s murder. Jack, his shift having just ended, sat alone in the officer’s wardroom, staring at a cup of coffee on the table between his two hands. He was mulling his options.

“Mister Cavanaugh,” a voice announced, shattering the quiet.

Startled, Jack looked up. Johnston stood in the doorway. Reflexively, Jack pulled back his feet and leaned forward, preparing to stand. After all, Johnston was his commanding officer. But then Jack stopped, fighting the impulse. Under the circumstances, standing out of respect for the man didn’t feel remotely appropriate. Instead, Jack sat back slowly and considered the captain.

Oddly, the look that crossed Johnston’s face appeared to be one of relief, as if he preferred that Jack had not stood.

The two men stared at one another, neither speaking. A long moment passed. Finally, Johnston stepped into the room and closed the door.

“You had no business at the stern,” Johnston said abruptly.

“On the contrary,” Jack replied, “as you pointed out, I had the watch. The entire ship was my responsibility.”

Johnston pursed his lips. “And what do you intend to put in your report?”

“I intend,” Jack said, evenly, “to report exactly what happened.”

Johnston snorted. “What? The fact that I saved the crew and passengers from the Spanish Flu?”

Jack shook his head. “You don’t know that he had the flu.” He leaned forward. “And now we’ll never know.”

“We will if the woman and child come down with it,” Johnston said, and there was a new menace to his tone.

The foreboding Jack had felt earlier returned. “If they come down with it,” he said, “we’ll keep them quarantined. And, in the meantime, we’ll give them the medical assistance I’m now informed has been sadly lacking.”

“We will keep them quarantined no matter what,” Johnston said angrily. He pointed a finger at Jack. “And you will not tell me how to run my ship.” His eyes narrowed, and his next words came out slowly. “If you care so much about that woman and that baby, you might want to think about what you put in your report.”

Jack sat back, stunned. He looked carefully at Johnston. The man did not appear to be bluffing. If anything, his eyes narrowed further. A long minute passed. Finally, Jack said, “Are you making a threat?”

“I’m offering you a deal.”

Jack had to make an effort to control his breathing. “It sounds like a threat.”

“I don’t care what you think it sounds like,” Johnston said. “Those people are nothing compared to the safety of this ship. That should be your focus. But,” and his lips curled into a sneer, “you care about them. And you don’t even know them.”

He looked away and shook his head in disgust. Returning his attention to Jack, he said, “Here’s the deal. This one time, I’ll overlook your violation of protocol and interference with my handling of matters. I’ll even guarantee those two will get to Los Angeles. I can’t guarantee they won’t have died from the flu, but they’ll be in that cell when we arrive.”

He reached out and put his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. “In return, you will put nothing in your report about this incident. You will tell no one about it. And,” he added, “you will have nothing to do with them.” He leaned toward Jack. “Now, I want your word on that. Otherwise, I make no guarantees. About anything.”

Jack studied Johnston’s face. Would the man really throw the woman overboard? He knew the answer before he even formed the question. Of course he would. He had just done it to her husband. In fact, Johnston wouldn’t even wait to see if she got sick. He’d pick a time when Jack was distracted, or asleep, and he’d do the same thing to her and the baby. He would claim she came down with the flu. It would bolster his conclusion that the husband was contagious. Could Jack protect her all the way to Los Angeles? He feared not. He couldn’t take the risk.

“All right,” Jack said quietly. “You have my word.”

For the briefest of moments, Jack thought he might have detected a look of relief on Johnston’s face, there for an instant, then gone.

Johnston straightened, then tapped the top of the chair in front of him. “Done.” Then, without another word, he turned, opened the door, stepped out and was gone.

During the remainder of the voyage, neither man said anything to the other about the matter. Jack kept his word and did nothing that could be construed as involving himself with the two confined in the brig. To his relief, they were still there when the ship arrived in Los Angeles. And, thank God, they were alive.

Jack waited until he and Johnston were alone on the bridge. “Captain, I think it’s time.”

Johnston lowered the report he’d been reading and gave Jack one of his patented scowls. “I’ll handle this. You stay here.”

Johnston was back in less than five minutes. There was a flush to his face. “Get that goddamned woman off my ship.” He gave Jack a fierce look. “And don’t you forget our deal.”

Now, as Jack stared at the cell door, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he undid the lock, threw back the bolt and opened the door. Ducking his head, he stepped inside.

The woman was standing a few feet away, cradling the baby protectively. She looked pale. And tired. And sad.

“I’ve come to help you off the ship,” he said.

She said nothing.

He noticed her bag lying on the floor. There were a few items of clothing beside it. He stepped over, picked up the clothes and put them inside the bag. He turned and, setting a hand gently against her arm, said, “Please.”

She angrily yanked her arm away.

He nodded and gestured toward the door. She walked over and stepped out.

Carrying her bag, he joined her in the corridor and pointed to the narrow stairway. She hesitated. Again, he nodded, stepped over to the stairway and climbed up to the main deck. He walked over to the gangway, turned and waited for her.

When she stepped out onto the deck, she immediately pulled her head to the side and, with her hand, shielded the baby’s face from the early-morning sun. She stayed that way for several seconds. Finally, she looked up, squinting. Confident she had seen him, Jack stepped out onto the gangway and made his way down to the pier.

The place teemed with workers. A crane lifted a large container from one of the Annabelle’s holds and easily swung it around, depositing it next to a collection of similar containers.

When the young woman finally made it down, Jack retrieved her travel documents from his breast pocket – a couple sheets of paper folded into a small cardboard cover – and he handed them to her.

“Your husband’s death certificate is also in there,” he said, softly.

She took the documents and considered them for a moment. Then she looked up at him. “Does it say how he died?” For just a moment, her eyes flashed. “Drowning?”

He winced.

“It says he died as a result of the flu.” Quietly, he added, “I’m very sorry.”

He fished in the pocket of his trousers, withdrew his hand, and looked at what he had. Two whole dollars. Great, Jack. He extended his hand and said, “Please, take these.”

She looked at the coins, then back up at his face. “Am I in Los Angeles?”

He nodded. “You’re at the port.  Downtown is that way.” He inclined his head to the left.

“How do I get there?”

“You can catch the Red Car over there.” Again, he tipped his head.

She stared up at him. Jack felt himself at a loss. He wanted to say something, anything, but no words came. Not knowing what else to do, he held his open hand out further. “Please,” he repeated.

She looked down and hesitated. Then she reached out her free hand and plucked the coins from his.

He stood and watched as she walked away, a feeling of emptiness gnawing at him. Men and equipment scurried back and forth as her small figure receded. Finally, he sighed, turned and made his way back onto the ship.

 

^top