up.”
“So, Robert, what do you suggest?” said John. “We start kicking anyone who comes near? Then just watch them die of thirst, one by one?”
“If we must.”
“I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“Then let’s vote,” said Robert.
“That seems fair,” Ramón said.
“I don’t think it is,” John said. “Some matters are too big to entrust to majority opinion.”
“Nonsense,” said Robert.
“John, I’m surprised at you,” Ramón said. “I thought all Americans believed in majority rule.”
“We vote on a lot. But not whether a man lives or dies.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Robert said. “What do you think juries do? Weren’t you at that big hanging in San Francisco last year? Hung those two killers, Cora and Casey, right out there on Sacramento Street. Must have been ten thousand people watching. They got a trial, the jury voted, and the vote was all about whether they lived or died. And they died.”
John remembered the hanging. And he remembered being curious enough to want to go see it. But Laura would’ve been mortified, so he pretended not to care.
“I think he’s got you there, John,” said Ramón.
“All right then,” John said. “We’ll vote.”
“No, we won’t,” said Ramón. “I’m sorry, I’ve been toying with you men. Robert, as a delegate from Peru, I could never cast a vote that would bring harm to a citizen of your country. And you already know I’m not a fighting man. Though my preference is to keep the water for ourselves, I have to side with John on this.”
Robert restrained his anger and looked away. A moment later, he turned back to face John and Ramón. “Well, then, we will all die out here together.”
12
The night breeze calmed Laura’s nerves.
She was still standing near the bow. About an hour ago, the first mate had called Micah away to some duty. She had no idea what time it was. But she felt relieved to have made it through her first full day without John. It didn’t carry the weight of an achievement; she dreaded the thought of falling asleep, only to wake up and face another day. She tried remembering what it felt like when she was alone all the time, but it didn’t help. That was a different kind of alone.
A picture came to mind: the large purple bougainvillea that grew just beyond her kitchen window in San Francisco. When in full bloom, it was almost shocking in its splendor. And it had bloomed just so throughout the summer. Everyone who saw it felt compelled to speak of its beauty. But just before the wedding, knowing she’d be gone a few months, she’d pruned it back. It broke her heart to see it after. Half its size, void of color. Its fullest branches lopped off and barren.
That was her now.
She noticed the sea had completely calmed. Maybe tonight she should just sleep out here on deck. She turned to find a suitable spot and noticed a young woman she had seen earlier today. She was about her age, the only woman on board who’d showed no signs of grieving. She was leaning on the rail at the same place as Laura, on the opposite side of the bow.
She turned and saw Laura looking at her and smiled. Laura nodded, and the woman walked toward her and extended her hand.
“I’m Melissa,” she said. “Melissa Anders.” She was pretty, a little shorter than Laura; her hair was a bit darker.
They shook hands. “I’m Laura Foster.” She still cherished saying her last name.
Melissa walked past her and leaned on the railing where Laura had just stood. “I love this breeze,” she said.
“It is nice.” Laura came up beside her.
“I’m so glad the waves have stopped. I thought it would never get calm again.”
Laura looked at her face, bright and focused. Not a hint of sorrow. “I remember seeing you on the ship.”
“Which one?” asked Melissa.
“Both, I think.”
“That’s possible. I was on the Sonora and the Vandervere .”
“I don’t think I saw you but a handful of times, though,” Laura
“So, Robert, what do you suggest?” said John. “We start kicking anyone who comes near? Then just watch them die of thirst, one by one?”
“If we must.”
“I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“Then let’s vote,” said Robert.
“That seems fair,” Ramón said.
“I don’t think it is,” John said. “Some matters are too big to entrust to majority opinion.”
“Nonsense,” said Robert.
“John, I’m surprised at you,” Ramón said. “I thought all Americans believed in majority rule.”
“We vote on a lot. But not whether a man lives or dies.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Robert said. “What do you think juries do? Weren’t you at that big hanging in San Francisco last year? Hung those two killers, Cora and Casey, right out there on Sacramento Street. Must have been ten thousand people watching. They got a trial, the jury voted, and the vote was all about whether they lived or died. And they died.”
John remembered the hanging. And he remembered being curious enough to want to go see it. But Laura would’ve been mortified, so he pretended not to care.
“I think he’s got you there, John,” said Ramón.
“All right then,” John said. “We’ll vote.”
“No, we won’t,” said Ramón. “I’m sorry, I’ve been toying with you men. Robert, as a delegate from Peru, I could never cast a vote that would bring harm to a citizen of your country. And you already know I’m not a fighting man. Though my preference is to keep the water for ourselves, I have to side with John on this.”
Robert restrained his anger and looked away. A moment later, he turned back to face John and Ramón. “Well, then, we will all die out here together.”
12
The night breeze calmed Laura’s nerves.
She was still standing near the bow. About an hour ago, the first mate had called Micah away to some duty. She had no idea what time it was. But she felt relieved to have made it through her first full day without John. It didn’t carry the weight of an achievement; she dreaded the thought of falling asleep, only to wake up and face another day. She tried remembering what it felt like when she was alone all the time, but it didn’t help. That was a different kind of alone.
A picture came to mind: the large purple bougainvillea that grew just beyond her kitchen window in San Francisco. When in full bloom, it was almost shocking in its splendor. And it had bloomed just so throughout the summer. Everyone who saw it felt compelled to speak of its beauty. But just before the wedding, knowing she’d be gone a few months, she’d pruned it back. It broke her heart to see it after. Half its size, void of color. Its fullest branches lopped off and barren.
That was her now.
She noticed the sea had completely calmed. Maybe tonight she should just sleep out here on deck. She turned to find a suitable spot and noticed a young woman she had seen earlier today. She was about her age, the only woman on board who’d showed no signs of grieving. She was leaning on the rail at the same place as Laura, on the opposite side of the bow.
She turned and saw Laura looking at her and smiled. Laura nodded, and the woman walked toward her and extended her hand.
“I’m Melissa,” she said. “Melissa Anders.” She was pretty, a little shorter than Laura; her hair was a bit darker.
They shook hands. “I’m Laura Foster.” She still cherished saying her last name.
Melissa walked past her and leaned on the railing where Laura had just stood. “I love this breeze,” she said.
“It is nice.” Laura came up beside her.
“I’m so glad the waves have stopped. I thought it would never get calm again.”
Laura looked at her face, bright and focused. Not a hint of sorrow. “I remember seeing you on the ship.”
“Which one?” asked Melissa.
“Both, I think.”
“That’s possible. I was on the Sonora and the Vandervere .”
“I don’t think I saw you but a handful of times, though,” Laura
Similar Books
