Thomas.”
The doctor dried off his hands meticulously hanging the towel back on a small rack.
***
The next day dawned followed shortly by a cabin boy bringing Mary her breakfast tray. “Would you come back to show me to the surgery? I would like to check on my chaperone.”
“Miss, I will get the doctor.”
Mary only picked at her food. She worried about Magdela. Had she caught something on the ship? Was anyone else sick? If they had been on land would Magdela still have gotten ill? Did the doctor have the medicines needed to cure her? The guilt of being attracted to the captain while Magdela was fighting for her life hit her hard. How could she be so selfish? Every thought should be for Magdela’s safety. Every prayer should be about her health, but in the middle of her prayers, she would catch herself asking God to make a future for her and Bennett together.
All too soon there was a knock at the door.
She swung it open expecting to see the doctor, but it was Bennett.
He stepped inside and closed the door with his hand behind him. He took the other and reached for her arm, “I am sorry. Magdela passed away before dawn.”
Mary let out a sound and fell against him. He held her as she cried. He rocked her gently leaning his head on hers.
Death would be acknowledged, and take the offerings of tears and cries, the debt it felt it was owed by the living.
When her tears had slowed, and her breathing calmed, he said, “We must go up top and pay our respects as she is laid to rest.”
“What?” Mary said into his chest unwilling to part from the comfort of his arms.
“I am sorry, but we must do a burial at sea. We are too far away from port, and it is too risky taking the boat towards the shallows by shore.”
Mary dried at her eyes with the back of her hand. She slowly lifted her head from his chest.
She took a deep breath and said, “I am ready.”
He escorted her up the stairs to the deck where all the men were mustered. Magdela’s body was encased in a thick canvass bag, balanced on a plank near the edge. The first officer handed Bennett a Bible, from which he began to read the Lord’s Prayer. When he finished, he closed it and spoke, “The sea will one day give up its dead for judgment. May she rest in peace until that great day. Amen.”
All the men followed with a murmured, “Amen.”
The men holding the plank tilted it, as Magdela was given to the sea.
A cabin boy escorted Mary back to her cabin. She locked herself in and cried the rest of the day away. She wouldn’t open the door for a tray at lunch or even when the captain came knocking later in the day. She slept.
When she’d exhausted every tear, Mary hoped the nightmare would be gone when she awoke. She stayed in bed until the sun rose again. She went to her easel and worked on her paintings, making them as real as she could. If she could bring her paintings to life then maybe Magdela would come alive, too. It was a foolish thought she knew, but it gave her a purpose. When Magdela was sick she had not given her as much thought or attention as she could have. This was one way to honor her memory, the only way she had, the only way her talent let her.
Mary heard another knock at the door, “You must eat, or you will get sick.”
It was one of the cabin boys calling to her. Mary raised her voice, “Leave it, I am working.”
She stayed in and worked on turning the sketches she’d done in to vibrant living moments. She knew she would get restless and need to go on deck soon. She half hoped the captain would come to check on her again, but he did not. His absence spoke to her more than his presence could. She saw the way he looked at her, and she could not help but look back. The men would talk, if they weren’t already. She was an unescorted woman on the ship. Her honor was in grave danger, and she could see no way to save it from gossip. Her thoughts would flit between grief over Magdela, and longing for Graham, and fear over what
The doctor dried off his hands meticulously hanging the towel back on a small rack.
***
The next day dawned followed shortly by a cabin boy bringing Mary her breakfast tray. “Would you come back to show me to the surgery? I would like to check on my chaperone.”
“Miss, I will get the doctor.”
Mary only picked at her food. She worried about Magdela. Had she caught something on the ship? Was anyone else sick? If they had been on land would Magdela still have gotten ill? Did the doctor have the medicines needed to cure her? The guilt of being attracted to the captain while Magdela was fighting for her life hit her hard. How could she be so selfish? Every thought should be for Magdela’s safety. Every prayer should be about her health, but in the middle of her prayers, she would catch herself asking God to make a future for her and Bennett together.
All too soon there was a knock at the door.
She swung it open expecting to see the doctor, but it was Bennett.
He stepped inside and closed the door with his hand behind him. He took the other and reached for her arm, “I am sorry. Magdela passed away before dawn.”
Mary let out a sound and fell against him. He held her as she cried. He rocked her gently leaning his head on hers.
Death would be acknowledged, and take the offerings of tears and cries, the debt it felt it was owed by the living.
When her tears had slowed, and her breathing calmed, he said, “We must go up top and pay our respects as she is laid to rest.”
“What?” Mary said into his chest unwilling to part from the comfort of his arms.
“I am sorry, but we must do a burial at sea. We are too far away from port, and it is too risky taking the boat towards the shallows by shore.”
Mary dried at her eyes with the back of her hand. She slowly lifted her head from his chest.
She took a deep breath and said, “I am ready.”
He escorted her up the stairs to the deck where all the men were mustered. Magdela’s body was encased in a thick canvass bag, balanced on a plank near the edge. The first officer handed Bennett a Bible, from which he began to read the Lord’s Prayer. When he finished, he closed it and spoke, “The sea will one day give up its dead for judgment. May she rest in peace until that great day. Amen.”
All the men followed with a murmured, “Amen.”
The men holding the plank tilted it, as Magdela was given to the sea.
A cabin boy escorted Mary back to her cabin. She locked herself in and cried the rest of the day away. She wouldn’t open the door for a tray at lunch or even when the captain came knocking later in the day. She slept.
When she’d exhausted every tear, Mary hoped the nightmare would be gone when she awoke. She stayed in bed until the sun rose again. She went to her easel and worked on her paintings, making them as real as she could. If she could bring her paintings to life then maybe Magdela would come alive, too. It was a foolish thought she knew, but it gave her a purpose. When Magdela was sick she had not given her as much thought or attention as she could have. This was one way to honor her memory, the only way she had, the only way her talent let her.
Mary heard another knock at the door, “You must eat, or you will get sick.”
It was one of the cabin boys calling to her. Mary raised her voice, “Leave it, I am working.”
She stayed in and worked on turning the sketches she’d done in to vibrant living moments. She knew she would get restless and need to go on deck soon. She half hoped the captain would come to check on her again, but he did not. His absence spoke to her more than his presence could. She saw the way he looked at her, and she could not help but look back. The men would talk, if they weren’t already. She was an unescorted woman on the ship. Her honor was in grave danger, and she could see no way to save it from gossip. Her thoughts would flit between grief over Magdela, and longing for Graham, and fear over what
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