10 comments/ 46413 views/ 4 favorites The Little Boy in the Boat By: Penelope Street August 8, 1853 Six Leagues East of Cape Cod The shadows were already long on the deck of the Mordecai Brown as a handful of whooping sailors made their way aft, dragging with them some baggy clothes and the teenager therein. "Captain Gregg!" one of the seamen beckoned as the group reached the master's cabin. "What?" called a gruff voice from within. "We gots us a stowaway, sir," the sailor reported. A scraggly, white-bearded old man emerged from the sterncastle. He carefully eyed the unauthorized passenger as yet more of the crew gathered around. "What's yer name boy?" the captain sneered. "Ab..." The youngster's eyes darted among the surrounding horde, never settling on any one man for more than an instant before finally finding their way to the captain. "Abner." A ripple of snickers wound its way through the crowd. Captain Gregg raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "Abner, is it?" The youth nodded sheepishly. "Alright, Abner," grunted the old man. "What brings you to trespass on my ship? "I, uh," Abner gulped. "I want to be a sailor, sir." The captain leaned forward. "Oh ya do, do ya?" "Yes, sir." "How old are you?" "Nineteen." "Nineteen?" the captain sneered. "I can hear your voice crackin', boy. You'll be a man by the time we get back to port for sure, but I'll blow barnacles out my ass if you're a day over fourteen." "I'm nineteen, sir," the youngster insisted. "Really?" "Yes, sir." "And what is it you done learnt about sailin' in them nineteen long years?" Abner cowered just slightly. "A little." "Know a little do ya?" Gregg looked upwards, into his ship's rigging. "So can you name even one thing you see up thar?" Abner looked up into the billowing canvas. "Sails." "Aye, that they are, boy," The captain growled. "But do you happen to know the name of one of them?" Abner's head twisted slightly from side to side. "No." "And you don't know the name of any o' them poles and ropes up thar neither, do ya?" "No." The old man leaned back, crossed his hands behind his head, and stretched his torso to and fro, before leaning forward once again with his fists on his hips. "Then what good are you to me?" Abner's eyes wandered. "I don't know." "Well, whatever it is," began the captain, "it ain't much. You see, a sailor your age starts by bein' a cabin boy. 'Cept we already gots us one, young Tom there." The old man nodded his head and shifted his eyes left, behind the youth. Abner turned to see a tall, sinewy lad. The swarthy hue and rough texture of his baked skin leant him a look older than his twenty years. His dreadlocked tresses were as dark as his ebony eyes. Tom's countenance was a tad menacing until he flashed a broad grin, revealing a gap where his front teeth should have been. "What do ya say boys," the captain called. "Do we really need two cabin boys?" The crew cheered their general approval. The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like your in luck, lad. I guess the boys are of a mind we could use another cabin boy after all. You gots any idea what a cabin boy does?" "No," Abner replied. "Mostly cleaning," declared Gregg. "Show us how you'd be at scrubbing that thar deck." The captain pointed to the planking. Abner looked to the wood. Unsure what was expected, the youngster dropped to all fours and began to feign cleaning, in wide sweeping motions. The crew laughed. "Not bad, for a landlubber," grunted Gregg. "Now show us how you'd clean this." Abner looked up to see the captain had loosened his trousers and freed his masculinity. The semi-erect shaft looked like a hairy sea serpent to the youngster; Abner had younger brothers, but had never beheld a true man before. "Up onto your knees, boy," commanded the captain. "I'm big enough to be sure, but you'll still not reach me from there." The crew let loose another round of hooting and hollering. Still unsure exactly what was to follow, Abner moved to kneel before the ship's master. "Has your pecker even got one hair on it yet?" asked the captain as the commotion subsided. "Not exactly," admitted Abner. "Nineteen, eh?" Gregg sneered, to the continued amusement of his subordinates. "Scrawny rat like you, I guess that's possible. No matter, I don't care how old you is. Get your mouth up here and start cleaning, cabin boy." A murmur of jovial anticipation swept the crew. Abner's eyes grew wide as the realization of exactly what the captain expected struck home. Gregg saw the look of revulsion that quickly followed the look of surprise. "Am I to understand," he leaned forward, "that you don't want to clean my cock for me?" Abner's head snapped from side to side. "So you don't want to be a cabin boy?" "No, sir." "Fine," shrugged the captain. He looked up at the crew and smiled. "Toss the rat overboard." The horde swarmed over Abner. Anonymous, clutching hands came from all angles, quickly hoisting the youth from the deck. Just as quickly, the gang made their way to the railing. "Wait!" Abner cried. "Wait!" "What's that?" the captain bellowed. "Did the boy let out a peep?" "He did, sir," called a gruff voice in reply. "And did he decide he might like to be a cabin boy after all?" Abner looked at all the faces in the crowd, every one of which looked back expectantly. The teen tried to speak, but found a dry throat. Mouth still agape, the youth's head bobbed frantically. With a mock cheer, the crowd carried Abner back to where the captain stood, dropping their human cargo roughly upon the deck. The captain leaned forward, hovering over the huddled form below. "Now you don't get no third chance, boy. Understand?" "Yes," Abner replied glumly. "Good boy." The captain put his hands to his hips and thrust his waist forward for emphasis. "Now get over here and start cleanin'!" Abner inched forward. "C'mon lad," growled Gregg. The old man reached out with a hand, clutching a handful of short, black hair. "At this rate I'll die with a dirty cock." The captain pulled Abner's face into his crotch, rubbing his sweaty member all over the youth's face to the audience's general approval. Abner's nose crinkled of its own accord; it had detected worse odors, but only on beasts of burden. Gregg noticed the look of disgust as he pulled the youngster's face free. "Well, boy," he chuckled. "I told you it needed cleaning, now didn't I?" The sailors let out a roar. Gregg released his grip on the hair and moved his right hand to find an ear instead, giving a severe turn as he took hold. "Now what's it going to be lad?" The captain leered at the youth. "You can either say your prayers or start suckin'. Either way, it's time to open your mouth." Abner's mouth opened, with some faint hope of explaining why being a cabin boy would just never work. The other cabin boy stepped forward before Abner could speak. "Sir," Thomas began. "Do you remember my first time?" The old man closed one eye and stared suspiciously with the other. "Can't say that I do." "Well, I certainly do sir," declared Thomas. "I puked right away and then couldn't keep my teeth off your cock, nor could I keep going long enough to do anything more than raise your ire." "Yeah." The captain's head bobbed ever so slightly. "That could be. So?" "Well, sir," began Tom, "Do you really want to go through all that again?" "What it is yer suggesting?" growled the captain. "Out with it. I don't got all night!" "Bein's how I'm pretty good at it now," said Tom. "I reckon I could have this one," he motioned to Abner, "taught proper by morning." Gregg crossed his arms and eyed the youngster still on the deck below. He'd rather looked forward to humiliating this new cabin boy in front of the crew, but the little urchin did strike him as a potential biter. "Alright!" he snarled. "Take this one below and teach him proper." "Yes, sir," said Thomas. "I'll give you the night," Gregg announced. "By morning this rat better be able to smoke all of my pipe and lick my balls while he does it." "Yes, sir," Thomas snapped in respectful reply. "Without biting!" "Yes, sir." "Or puking!" "Yes, sir." "And loosen his ass for us too," the captain added. "That little prick of yours should get him ready for the real thing tomorrow." "Yes, sir." The captain glared. "Now!" "Yes, sir," Thomas repeated. He turned to the other youth and jerked his head. "This way." He turned to walk through a narrow gap in the crowd. Abner leapt to follow, anxious to be away from the captain, if only temporarily. "Teach him good," called one of the sailors as the two made their way forward. "You sure you don't need no help?" asked another. "Yeah," Gregg concluded as the uproar subsided. "And if I feel any of them teeth tomorrow I'll knock 'em out just like I done Tom's." Other sailors added to the din of hoots and hollers as a wide-eyed Abner followed Thomas into the forecastle and then below, into the bowels of the ship. The elder youth easily moved into the darkness, momentarily leaving his companion. "Wait," Abner begged. "I can't see." "Stay there," called Tom. He quickly found a lantern on one of the huge horizontal timbers and lit it effortlessly in the lazily pitching vessel. As the lamp chased the darkness to the corners of the hold, Abner saw the boy ahead and moved towards him. "Grab a bucket," Thomas instructed, flipping a pail and settling upon the bottom. Abner followed the example. "Where ya from?" Tom asked. "Needham." Thomas cocked his head while dropping his brow. "Needham?" Abner's mind scrambled. "What's odd about that?" "Because it's inland." "So?" "So what are you doing on a ship?" "I told you," insisted Abner, "I want to be a sailor." Tom's head bobbed slowly. "What sort of work does yer family do?" "Farmed." "Yeah?" "Yes." "Show me your hands," Tom demanded. Abner extended them in a hesitant fashion. Tom grabbed one of the hands and moved his thumb across the palm. "Them ain't no worker's hands," he noted at once. He held his own splayed hand outward for inspection. "Feel the difference?" Abner ran a finger across the open palm. "It's like a piece of wood." Thomas nodded. "So what does your family do?" Abner pondered the question for some time, regretting very much the decision to ever leave that family. "Does it really matter now?" "No," Tom sighed. "I guess not. Just thought it might be polite to get to know you a bit before I fucked you, that's all. So, which do you want to do first?" "What?" "Your butt or your mouth?" said Thomas plainly. "You got to do both, of course. Which one you want to start with?" Abner was stunned by the Tom's matter-of-fact attitude as much as anything else. "I, uh, don't know." "Well," shrugged Tom, "if you don't care, let's start with your ass. Drop your trousers." The boy stood and began to remove his own pants. Abner simply stared at the floor for a moment, then bolted for the exit. Not three steps had the teen taken before the chamber went dark. "Where are you running?" asked Thomas. Listening, he only heard the creak of the hull, but he knew the other youth had not yet reached the ladder. The movement of the ship and lack of visual references soon left Abner dizzy and disoriented. "I don't know." Tom pounced on the sound. The two of them rolled together briefly on the floor before the elder easily gained the upper hand. "Please," Abner begged, "Don't hurt me." "I don't mean to hurt you," Tom said, moving his knees atop the other's arms. "It already hurts," Abner protested, squirming. "Then quit struggling," Thomas demanded. Abner ceased resistance and concentrated instead on simply not weeping. "Good." concluded Tom. "Now let's get on with it, shall we?" He reached down to grasp Abner's shirt, intent on pulling the other cabin boy upright. Thomas paused as his closed fist detected a surprising softness beneath the cloth. Curious, he reached with his free hand to locate the other breast and found it just as supple. Tom's hand recoiled as if he had been bitten. "You're..." "No!" the prone youth squealed, struggling briefly again before Thomas regained his position and, shifting his weight, effectively ending the second fruitless escape attempt. His quarry subdued, Thomas moved a hand purposefully down the abdomen, slipping it beyond the shirt and into the trousers. "Please," the subdued youth sniveled. "Please don't." "Be still," Thomas snapped. He slid his hand across a surprisingly substantial patch of hair to find the feminine crease he had anticipated, yet feared. "You're a girl!" "So you can tell the difference!' the other cried. "Now will you get off of me?" "And you've got far more than one hair down there," Tom continued. "How old are you?" "Twenty." "You don't look twenty." "I am!" the girl affirmed. "Almost anyway! Now would you please get off of me?" "Are you going to run away?" "No!" "Stay there," Thomas ordered. He rose and walked calmly to re-light the lantern. When he turned, he saw the lass clutching her disheveled clothing in a pitiful display of modesty. "So what is your name?" he asked. "Abigail," the girl replied. "Abigail Frazier." "Well," Thomas nodded, smiling, "that's a lot better than Abner." "What are you going to do?" she asked. "I'm not sure," Tom admitted. "But, there ain't no point in teachin' you to be a cabin boy." "Cabin boy or cabin girl," began Abigail. "What does it matter?" "They're going to have me either way." "Yes," conceded Tom. "But now they'll throw you overboard afterwards." "What?" "It's more than just bad luck to have a girl aboard," noted the lad. "Why?" "Because you'll be nothing but trouble," Tom explained. "The crew will all fancy you. There'll be jealousies and quarrels, probably worse." "Over me?" "Yes, you," affirmed the boy. "Even if you weren't pretty, you bein' the only girl these men might see for a few years, well, you'd certainly look good enough after a month or two." "Years?" "Yes, years," said Tom. "This is a whaler, girl. We won't be back 'til these barrels are full and hundreds more like them." He motioned to the gigantic casks that surrounded them in the hold. "So," Abner swallowed, "they're really going to just kill me?" Tom nodded solemnly "Couldn't they just take me back?" "Have you noticed," asked Tom, "that the captain ain't the friendliest fellow?" "Yes, but..." "He ain't going to turn his boat around to take some girl back to port what shouldn't have been on board to start with. 'Specially since all you'd do once you got there was spread rumors about his nastiness, and true ones at that." "How can he just do that?" the girl gasped. "Just kill people? And how can you talk about it like it's nothing?" Thomas tensed at the unexpected verbal assault. "I didn't mean nothin'," he stammered, gulping before he continued. "I just thought I ought tell you the truth sooner rather'n later." "I may as well jump myself then," Abigail resolved, "and not give the dogs the pleasure." The lass released a long, mournful sigh; hoping; wishing; praying this was all just a bad dream. But she knew better. She foundered upon the bucket, too depressed to even sob. She could see all her hopes, all her aspirations, and all her silly childhood fantasies. That she might never achieve any of them now was crushing even to her resilient spirit. Thomas just sat, feeling more helpless, more apprehensive, than he had ever felt before. He could think of nothing to say. He dared not even look the girl in the eye. Abigail's eyes sprang from the floor to the boy's face. "Will you do me?" "What?" Thomas queried. "I want to know a man before I die. I realize it's no big concession, but you appear to be the best of the lot." "Oh, I, uh..." Tom started. "And I don't want your captain to be my first, either!" Thomas eyed the little lass. Her frame was delicate, as were her facial features. Her black hair was cropped short and uneven, looking much like the upturned end of a worn mop; still he imagined it was a comb away from shining. Two tiny ebony orbs wandered with apparent randomness below a pair of thick eyebrows. The girl's smooth skin sported a few moles, but was otherwise pale, in stark contrast to her dark hair and eyes. Abigail looked every bit as helpless as she was, but she had courage; and Tom knew she was meant for some fate other than satisfying the loins of sailors or the bellies of sharks. "I got a better idea," he announced. "Follow me." Thomas walked to the far end of the hold. "You hide in here while I get a few things ready." "What?" queried Abigail. "Get in the barrel," Tom ordered gruffly. "Oh," Abigail muttered. She hastily jumped inside the huge wooden cask. Her nose wrinkled as she discovered the foul scent that subtly permeated the hold was overwhelming within the container. "What's that smell?" "Just a bit o' leftover oil in the wood from last voyage." said Tom. "You'll get used to it. Now settle down and be quiet. Don't move until I get back." "What are you going to do?" "I'm not even sure yet," the lad admitted. "You just be quiet and keep out of sight while I figures it out." Abigail reclined into the odorous vat, anxious, but somehow hopeful that she might yet see the sun rise. She rested in the darkness for over an hour, hearing an occasional voice or thud, but generally having only the creaking and rolling of the hull for company. At long last, Abigail heard the approaching footfalls and saw a shadow play across the rim. "I'm so glad you're back," she said, her smiling face popping from the confines of the cask. Her features melted as she saw the visitor was not whom she had anticipated. "Where's Tom?" asked a gaunt and weathered mariner. "I don't know," Abigail admitted. The man walked to the barrel. "Leave you all alone did he?" Abigail froze, unsure what reply, if any, was best. Grinning through a dentist's nightmare, the sailor grasped the edge of the container and threw it roughly on its side, spilling Abigail onto the planking. "I reckon if he's stepped out for a spell, ain't no reason I can't learn you a thing or two myself." Abigail rolled onto her stomach, intent on gaining her feet. She regretted the maneuver instantly as the man sat atop her backside. "What's the trouble, boy?" the sailor asked. "You and my cock will be old friends by tomorrow anyway." The man shifted his weight to the girl's torso. Reaching for her trousers, he began to loosen them, and none too gently. "Tom's supposed to teach me!" Abigail protested. "Aye," drawled the sailor. "But looks like he's derelict o' duty. I won't report him though, if just you settle down and quit making such a fuss." A shadow crossed Abigail's head. The sailor's neck swiveled in response, but it never brought his eyes to bear. The first blow caught the man just below his left temple, stunning him. The second sent him and both of his teeth to the deck, in separate piles. The third landed with a sickening crunch on the already unconscious form. "Guess we'll have to go sooner rather'n later now," declared Tom, dragging the pliant form of the seaman from atop the petrified girl. Abigail scuttled to her knees. "Is he...?" she gasped, looking at the limp body of the man who had so recently accosted her. "If he ain't, then I broke a perfectly good oar for nothin'," Tom noted, tossing the splintered shaft aside before looking back to the girl. "Can you swim?" Abigail shook her head slowly. "No." "I thought as much. Follow me." The boy picked up the lantern and walked calmly to the ladder, then turned and hurled the lamp back into the hold where it shattered into a mass of flame. The Little Boy in the Boat "What are you doing?" gasped Abigail. "No time for questions," insisted Tom. "Move." Abigail scaled the ladder and emerged onto the darkened deck. The cool night air would have been refreshing on any other occasion, but the girl found her chest heavy, breathing difficult. Putting a hand to her breast, she found her heart racing. "C'mon," insisted Tom. The boy walked casually aft along the railing until he reached the sterncastle. There he simply stopped and leaned on the rail. Abigail looked at the enormous barrel, the handful of lidded buckets and the coils of rope assembled in the small alcove. After a few minutes, her curiosity got the better of her. "What are we doing?" "Waiting." "For what?" "As soon as someone notices the fire," Tom began, "We're going to tie you to the barrel and throw it overboard." "What?" "Then," the lad continued, "You jump, pull yourself to the barrel and climb in." "But I can't swim!" Abigail objected. "That's why we're tying you to the barrel," explained Tom. He nodded toward the smoke rising from the hold. "Get ready." He looped one end of the rope through the barrel rung and tied the other just beneath Abigail's arms. "This rope is short so you won't have too far to pull," Tom said. "But that means you'll have to jump as soon as we toss the barrel or it'll yank you into the rail." "Alright," nodded Abigail. From forward came the cry Thomas had been awaiting. "Fire!" The boy calmly stooped to grasp the lower rim of the barrel as a great commotion arose on deck. "Ready?" Tom asked. He had but to look into her widened eyes to know the answer. "Ready or not," he said. "We have to go. Now help me pick up the barrel." With a grunt the two began to lift, but the large wooden cask was heavier than Tom had anticipated; or Abigail was weaker. "Shit," the boy muttered, running his fingers through his tangled hair. "Get over the side!" "What?" Thomas picked the girl up and placed her on the rail. "Get on the other side," he explained, "Grab the rope and push with your legs." Abigail grasped the rope, put her feet against the rail and bent her knees. "Like this?" "Yes! Now push!" The two youths strained. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the barrel began to budge. As it did, the girl lost her balance and fell. Abigail continued to grip the cord for a half-second as it slid through her hands, scouring them raw as it went. Then she instinctively let go and fell the rest of the way, until the rope broke her plunge with a painful jolt. For a second she dangled there, swinging over the choppy waves, looking upward as the rope receded to, and then over, the rail of the gently pitching whaler. It was a long second. The girl's thoughts drifted back to her childhood when she had swung from ropes in the great elms of her father's estate. What am I doing here? I'm really about to be in the ocean; in a barrel! How could I be such an idiot? Was I really home just yesterday? Heaving with all his might, Tom continued pushing the barrel even as the girl plummeted. There was moment when he thought he would drop it, but then the ship rolled gently in his favor. He managed to bring the power of his legs beneath the wooden cask and thus coerce it to the rail before pushing it overboard. The rope went slack. Abigail's meandering mind returned to the present. She released a sharp cry as she fell toward the ocean, not so much because of the fall as the barrel plummeting down towards her. The girl and the vessel struck the water nearly as one. At once Abigail panicked. The cask that she thought would surely crush her now seemed terribly far away. She found herself swamped by the waves. She thrashed wildly for several seconds, ingesting a mouthful of seawater for her troubles. Tom looked over his shoulder as Abigail's cry reached his ears. Much as he suspected, such a feminine sound was bound to attract attention, even with all the other noise on deck. Turning away from the gapes of the sailors, he grabbed the string of buckets and tossed them over the rail. Without glancing back, he leapt to follow the pails into the sea. Abigail finally felt the tug of the rope as the barrel drifted away from her. At last remembering her lifeline, she began to pull upon it, but her arms were exhausted before they had made a handful of draws. With a gritty determination, she ignored the anguish in her arms and pulled again. And again. Until her muscles were spent. Finally, she could but cling to the cord. Soon Abigail began to spend more time below the waves than above them. She gasped each time she crested the surface, but found herself inhaling more water than air. Her lungs burned, begging her to breathe, but she resisted the impulse. Then the rope began to pull her. Initially she thought it was just the tug of the waves against the barrel, but soon she realized that, wherever the other end of the rope was, there was Thomas. With renewed hope and vigor, she clung to the cord and held her breath longer than she imagined possible. Tom yanked the rope with purposeful strokes, not sure if he would find girl or a corpse on the other end. When he finally spied her wavy black mop in the water, he grasped her hair with all his might and tugged, freeing her face from the sea. Dragging her to the rim, Thomas pulled first one arm, then the other over the barrel's edge. Abigail spat a bit, then gasped, repeating this process several times as she struggled to replenish her lungs. "You alright?" Thomas asked as soon as he saw that the girl had enough strength to hold herself in place. Still panting, Abigail issued an ardent nod in reply. Tom collapsed against the far side of the cask, breathing just as heavily as his companion. After a few minutes respite, the lad began to haul the buckets aboard, stowing them in the bottom of the barrel. Only then did he pull the girl into their makeshift boat. The two settled atop the buckets. Abigail clung to her improbable savior, still striving to comprehend all that had just occurred. She pulled away a bit to admire him, but the dimness hid all but a silhouette. "Thank you," she said, as plainly, yet as sincerely, as one can say utter two simple sounds. "You're welcome," replied Tom with a similar candor. He looked away to the side of the barrel as if he could see through the wood to the ship beyond. Only then did he begin to analyze the events of the past several hours. Every time he found cause to distrust his course of action, he glanced to the reposing damsel that leaned upon his shoulder and his doubt evaporated in an instant. * * * * * Thomas squinted as the first rays of sunlight crept over the rim of the couple's makeshift vessel. Wiping his eyes, he stood. Figuring it to be mid-morning, he scanned the horizon, expecting to find nothing. Instead, he saw something far worse, and much closer; his old ship. Instinctively, he ducked back into the barrel, as if to hide. Chuckling at his own impulse, Tom stood, realizing how difficult it would be for a lookout to spot a barrel on the open ocean. At the same time he imagined how angry the captain must be to spend a morning searching for them thus. Abigail stirred. "What is it?" "Just morning," Tom replied, crouched with due haste to rest beside the girl. "How'd you sleep?" "Pretty good," Abigail said, "considering the mattress." She looked down at the lids of the buckets below. "Why do we have to sit on these?" "That's our water supply," Tom noted. "But they float, right?" asked Abigail. "Why can't we just leave them tied outside of the barrel?" "Well," began Tom, "first, all wood leaks a bit. If you look in the bottom of the barrel, you'll find a little water already, I'm sure. So if we floated them, the seawater would get in. Second, we're using them as ballast." "Oh." Abigail nodded, unwilling to confess her further ignorance by asking what ballast was. She looked again at the buckets beneath her. "Is our food there too?" "I didn't get any," Tom said, reaching into his pocket. He produced a rag-wrapped lump. "Except this." "What is it?" "Salt pork. I could have got some hardtack too, but this was handy and it had already took longer than I thought it would to wedge them lids good on the buckets." "Considering what happened, I guess I'm glad you didn't go looking for more food." Thomas nodded as he recalled the rage he had felt upon seeing the other sailor sitting atop Abigail. "Me too." "How'd you get all this stuff ready last night? Surely you didn't move that barrel all by yourself?" "That wasn't too hard, really." Tom declared with a grin. "First, I told a few of the crew that the captain meant to have you over a barrel in the morning, literally. They helped me hoist the barrel from the hold and gather a few ropes to tie you up with. Then I said I'd need some water as well, to clean up the mess you were likely to make." "Mess?" queried Abigail. Tom looked at the naive young girl and quickly decided not to elaborate. "It was just an excuse. Sailors ain't too bright." Abigail twitched her nose. "I wish we didn't have to put up with that stink." "What?" the lad queried. "Whale oil? You'll get used to it. Besides, you should be happy it's there. We wouldn't stay afloat nearly as long without the wood bein' soaked with it." Abigail nodded. "How long will long be?" "What?" "How long will we be at sea?" Thomas avoided her gaze. "I got no idea." "What?" "I don't know," Tom repeated. "We was only a day out of port, but most of that day we always sails due east so we can get near the edge of the coastal current. Whether that current will take us to sea or shore, I got no clue." "Can't we paddle?" "Not against a current," explained Tom. "Would be a waste of strength." "Surely a ship will come by." Abigail jumped up and scanned the horizon. "Why, look; there's one now." She began waiving her hand. "Hello!" Thomas pulled her arm from the air. "That's the Mordecai." "What?" asked Abigail. "That's Captain Gregg's ship." "Well," said Abigail "Perhaps he's not so bad after all if he wants to rescue us. Was he maybe drunk last night?" "No," said Tom. "He wasn't drunk and he doesn't want to rescue us." "No?" queried Abigail. "Then why is he still here?" "Most likely he means to exact some measure of revenge," Tom suggested. "I did set his ship afire. I expect that made quite a mess and he's down two crewmen. He'd probably return to New Bedford if not for the embarrassment of doin' so." "Oh," said Abigail. "What will we do?" "Same as we've done all morning," said Tom, reclining back into the barrel. "He hasn't found us yet. I rather doubt he will." Abigail huddled next to him. "But what if he does?" "Then," Tom sighed. "I'll throw you overboard." "What?" "They'll kill us anyway," said Tom. "I know drowning seems bad, but I'm sure Captain Gregg can think of plenty things worse." Abigail took several somber, deep breaths, licking her lips between. "I want you to, how'd you say it, fuck me?" It was Tom's turn to be confused. "What?" "I still don't want to die a virgin," said Abigail. "You should save yourself for your husband," countered Tom. "I may not ever have a husband." Abigail argued. "Besides, you saved me. Every girl dreams some great knight will save her, then carry her away to live happily ever after." She shifted to lean against the lad. "That's just in bedtime stories." Tom sighed, admitting to himself that the feel of her body against his was an entirely pleasant one. "Are you saying you didn't save me?" Abigail pressed. "Well," Tom began, "This isn't exactly what I'd call saving." "Do I look too much like a boy to please you?" "No," Tom insisted quickly. "That ain't it at all." "Then what is it?" Abigail moved to sit upright. "You were ready last night to poke me everywhere you could find an opening. What's the matter now?" "I thought you were a boy then," said Tom. "Oh," muttered Abigail. She focused on the wood for a while. "So you don't like girls? I have heard some sailors don't." "No!" Tom said quickly. "I think every sailor prefers women; that's what makes having one on board so dangerous. Love is far more dangerous than fucking, when you think about it." "So," started Abigail, her brow furrowed. "You're saying I'm dangerous?" "Well," Thomas began, "you were on board less than a day and look what happened." "But I didn't mean for any of that to happen." "Yeah," Tom said with a wry grin. "I bet you'd be really dangerous if you put your mind to it." Abigail sensed in his smile an opening and leaned her form back onto his. "I bet I could be some other things too, if you put your mind to it." Tom squirmed, trying to adjust a growing, yet uncomfortable cock that begged him to accept the danger, and whatever else she had to offer. In spite of his puissant yearnings, the lad still managed to shake his head. "What's your hurry?" the boy asked. "You didn't even know me when you woke up yesterday. Seems to me a lady ought know someone a lot longer than that before, uh, she thinks to, uh, give her, uh..." "Before she decides to fuck?" Abigail interrupted. "Yeah, that." Abigail snorted. "How many so called ladies save themselves for marriage and end up with some husband they don't even love?" "Plenty, I reckon," Tom relied. "Ok. So what's so wrong with me wanting to fuck some boy I might love?" Tom's chest puffed outward as his heart skipped a beat within. He wanted to believe her, but he had heard similar words before and had suffered for putting his faith in them. "Well?" Abigail pressed. "What's wrong with that?" Tom ran a fingernail between his incisors as he considered the matter. "Nothing, I guess," he finally concluded. "Then what is it?" Abigail snapped. "Am I ugly?" "No." "Then what?" Tom fingered a bit of grime from his earlobe as he thought. "I don't know," he finally admitted, "It just seems wrong. Like I'm taking advantage of you." "Oh!" Abigail's brow jumped. "And what you were going to do to me last night? That wasn't taking advantage of me?" "I told you," Tom explained. "That was when I thought you were a boy. And I was trying to help you. Really. How was I supposed to know you were a girl and didn't want to be a sailor?" "What about you?" she asked. "Did you want to be a sailor?" "Yes," Tom nodded. "But only because I didn't think I could ever be anything better." "What do you mean?" "Well..." Tom began. His mouth remained open, but his teeth clenched behind his parted lips. "What is it?" asked Abigail. "You're my knight in shining armor, remember? You can tell me." "Well, this knight's mother was a harlot in Barbados," Tom announced. "A mixed-blood harlot, no less." Abigail looked at her dejected rescuer. "None of us pick our parents," she declared. "It's what we do after we're born that counts." "Really?" Tom cut his eyes. "Well, after I was born I grew up among the whores. And as soon as I was old enough, I joined them. Does that count?" He eyes moved from the girl's bright face to focus instead on the dark wood of the barrel. "I guess I lied; some sailors prefer boys after all." He looked back to Abigail, certain this revelation would end any foolish romantic notions she might still harbor. "Do you?" Abigail asked calmly. "Do I what?" "Prefer boys?" "I already told you I didn't." "Yes," agreed Abigail. "And you just told me you lied as well." "Oh," snorted Tom. "And you ain't lied?" "Not to you." "What about being named Abner and wanting to be a sailor?" Abigail crossed her arms. "I told the captain that lie. And the first time you asked me, I told you the truth." Tom checked his memory while at the same time trying to decide what level of deception qualified as a lie. "What about being twenty?" "Almost twenty," she insisted. "You still don't look that old." Tom argued. "My father certainly thought I was old," Abigail said. "He was already worried about me becoming a spinster. What about you?" Thomas shook his head. "No, I can't ever picture you as a spinster." "No," Abigail clarified through a smile. "How old are you?" "Oh." Tom chuckled. "I'm not sure. Couple years older than you, I think." "Ok," said Abigail. "So what else have you lied about?" "Nothing," he replied. "Nothing?" "Nothing comes to mind." "So," Abigail began, raising her eyebrows. "No more lying?" "No more lying," Tom agreed. "Good." Abigail smiled. "Did you join the, uh, whores because you wanted to or because your mother needed the money?" Thomas immediately regretted his offer to be honest. "The money." "You did say you wanted to be a sailor," Abigail recalled. "Is that true?" "Yes," Tom replied. "But it wouldn't have mattered. You see, my mother sold me to Captain Gregg." "She sold you?" Thomas nodded. "I didn't know at the time. Captain didn't tell me for a couple of years. I thought it was my choice and I was itchin' to go. Being a sailor seemed so much better than being a whore. Of course, I found out being a cabin boy's pretty much the same thing." "Are a cabin boy's duties the same on every ship?" "I don't know," admitted Tom. "I wasn't on any other ship." "But you don't stay a cabin boy forever, right?" "No," said Tom. "I was listed as a greenhand for this voyage." "What's that mean?" "Means I was one of the lowest members of the crew, but at least I got a share. I was a real sailor. For all of a day, that is. Strange how fast things can change." It was Abigail's turn to feel unworthy. "I'm sorry." "Don't be," Tom insisted. "It wasn't your fault." "There you go again," said Abigail. "What?" "Lying." "When?" "Just now," she said. "It was my fault. I didn't have to get on your ship. You said yourself I shouldn't have been there. You're right. I shouldn't have." "So why were you on the ship?" asked Tom. "I know you didn't want to be a sailor." "No," said Abigail. "But I didn't want to be a wife either. I was supposed to marry Henry Medfield. Right about now, I think." "Who's he?" "Some fairly well-off old widower my father arranged for me to wed. Had four kids from his first wife. My father thought that was a good situation. Never mind that I thought he was the most loathsome man in the world." "Bet Captain Gregg changed that!" "You got that right!" Abigail exclaimed. The both shared a laugh at the old man's expense, then the girl's grin vanished as her expression turned serious. "Did he really knock your teeth out?" Tom shook his head. ""No. One of my mother's friends saved him the trouble." Abigail winced. "So why'd you pick Gregg's ship?" asked Tom hurriedly, seeking to save her the burden of empathy. "I was just running," Abigail explained. "Didn't even know where. Ended up on the dock night before last. Asked some guy what ship was sailing next day. He said yours. Seemed like a quick way to escape at the time." "Where did you think you were going?" "Away from Henry," said Abigail. "That's all I was thinking about. Rather odd. In a way, both of us were sold by our parents." "Well," Tom snorted. "I guess you could look at it that way." "You lied to Gregg too, didn't you?" Abigail noted. Tom let out a more pronounced snort. "Which time?" "You said you puked your first time," reminded Abigail. "But you didn't, did you?" "Oh, I puked all right," Tom insisted. "It just wasn't the captain I puked on." They both laughed. "So," Abigail began calmly. "Now that we've been polite and got to know one another and all, can we fuck?" Tom closed his eyes and laughed. The Little Boy in the Boat Abigail scowled. "What's funny?" "Hearing a lady say 'fuck' like you do," began Tom. "It just sounds odd." "Why?" asked Abigail. "That is the right word, isn't it?" Tom opened his eyes as his chuckle faded to a grin. "Well, yes, that is the right word. But it ain't no word one usually hears from ladies like you." Abigail pushed her body against Tom and brought her nose to touch the end of his. "Enough distractions. Do you want this lady or not?" "Well," Tom stammered, suppressing a gulp. "I'm still not sure..." Abigail terminated the boy's sentence by planted her palm squarely on his groin. His spine stiffened at once, mimicking the state his cock had long ago assumed. "Part of you is plenty sure," Abigail whispered, bringing her lips to his. She kissed him; an inquisitive peck more than anything else, but a kiss nonetheless. "What about you?" Tom gasped. "Are you sure?" "I've been sure," Abigail insisted. "It's you that's stalling." "I didn't save you just so I could, uh," Tom paused, "fuck you." "I know," Abigail smiled. "You could have done that anyway." Her eyes locked on his, she moved her hand to loosen his trousers. For the first time, Tom's yearning for the girl overruled his sense of chivalry, and he allowed her to continue. Slowly, Abigail slid her hand into his pants, pausing to run her fingers through his curly mat. "You have more than one hair too," she commented. Trying to conceal her own insecurity, she continued to chatter as she proceeded into what was for her unknown territory. As Thomas did not object, the girl proceeded, moving her palm to cradle his member. She winced slightly as she irritated her rope burns. Looking to Tom, she saw his eyes closed, his features calm. She withdrew her palm and rubbed him gently with her fingers, her thumb finding his crown as it peeked beyond his foreskin. Finding the tip already moist, she rubbed his sensitive aperture in slow circles, coaxing yet more seepage. Tom squirmed. His pulse accelerated. "Do you like that?" asked Abigail excitedly. "Yes." "I like it too," she whispered. Tom squirmed, realizing that he liked it far too much. His eyes snapped open. "You'd better stop." Abigail smiled, but did not heed his request. Tom felt the tingling as his balls began to tighten. "Stop," he insisted, grabbing her wrist. "Why?" Abigail asked, her fingers still rhythmically flexing on the crown of his shaft. "Alright," Tom moaned. "Don't stop." He closed his eyes as his body shuddered. Abigail felt his member expand within her caressing digits as his first pulse coated her thumb. Tom issued a short grunt, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. The girl looked to his face, noting his grimace. "I'm sorry I didn't stop," she gasped, "Did I hurt you?" Stunned by both Tom's expression and his member's unexpected discharge, she froze as his cock liberally covered her hand with its load. "No," Tom managed between pants as his climax subsided. "You didn't hurt me." Abigail's eyes wandered. "Is it supposed to do that?" He nodded blearily. "Yes." Abigail withdrew her hand, holding it away from her face, fingers spread, examining the sticky white substance that covered it. Timidly, she brought her still-splayed hand to her nose and sniffed. A befuddled look took her features as she turned to face the lad. "It's not urine, is it?" Thomas grinned and stifled a chuckle. "No." "Then what is it?" she asked. "Seed." "Seed?" "That's what I've always heard it called," Tom said. Abigail wiggled her nose as she sampled the subtle aroma again. Her eyes wandered as she tried to place the scent. "Hardly smells at all, but it does remind me of something." She presented her hand to Tom. "See?" "No." The lad smiled at her innocence as he shook his head. "Can't say as it reminds me of anything." He expression changed from amusement to concern as his noticed the injury to her hand. Grabbing it, he held the palm towards him and gingerly brushed the semen from her lacerations. Abigail flinched. "When did this happen?" Tom asked. "Last night. When I fell, I didn't let go of the rope." "Well," Thomas sighed. "Looks like you're trying for a pair of worker's hands after all." Abigail looked at her palm. "Why don't you stink like the captain?" "What?" "Your cock," Abigail clarified, pushing her hand again towards his nose, "why doesn't it stink?" Tom recoiled. "I suspect it's because I'm not married." "What?" queried Abigail. "You'll smell like that after we're married?" Thomas gazed at the girl, trying to conceive of an appropriate reply. Abigail stared back, hardly believing what she had just said. "Captain Gregg is married," Tom finally began, "so I'm fairly certain he spent the last week before we sailed with his wife, since he won't be seeing her for a few years." Abigail nodded trying to comprehend the meaning. Then her nose wrinkled. "So that's how a women smells?" She glanced down at her own loins, as if she might suddenly get a whiff of them. "Do I?" "No," said Tom. "I think it's the combination of a man and a woman." "Really?" Abigail sighed. "That's rather depressing." "Speaking of the captain..." Thomas stood, surveying the ocean. Abigail quickly found his side. "I guess he's given up." Tom nodded in the direction of the vessel. "Looks like he's headed south." He examined the ship briefly before adding, "Or we're going north." "What?" "The current," explained Tom, "I think it's carrying us north. I'm surprised he doesn't know it." The lad snapped his head back to the boat, scrutinizing its motion and sail. "No," he concluded. "I think the spiteful old man is still looking for us. He must be in the other current." Abigail dropped her brow. "What does that mean?" "He's in the coastal current, but we're in the ocean current." "But what does that mean?" the girl repeated. "Will he find us?" "No," Tom shook his head. "Not now. We should relax and conserve our strength. We might have us a much longer trip. North isn't really the direction we'd like to go." "It isn't?" asked Abigail anxiously. "No, but at least it isn't east," replied Tom, hoping to raise her spirits. It seemed to work. Abigail leaned over and kissed him again, this time the more substantial exchange shared by couples already comfortable with one another. "I still want you," she whispered as their lips parted. Thomas looked at her, the endless expanse of water, and back to her. "I promise," He said, "I will; but only if I see that we are doomed and not before. Agreed?" Abigail's eyes dropped, then recovered. "Do I not interest you?" Thomas pulled her to him, cradling her head on his shoulder. "Yes, you do." he said. "It's just that I care about you far too much to take advantage of you." "Men!" Abigail shoved him away. Breathing through her teeth, her lower lip extended, she tried not to cry. "One minute you'll take a woman without her consent, the next moment you won't touch her with it? If I pretend to no longer want you, will you have me then?" "You don't understand." "Really?" Abigail's sarcasm was unbridled. "Well why don't you explain it to me." "I done seen it before," Tom said. "It is far too easy to love someone when there is no one else." Abigail paused to consider the somewhat cryptic reply. She tilted her head. "Who hurt you?" As the girl's words struck home, Tom felt as though a heavy weight had been laid upon his chest, compelling him to exhale. "It's a long story." "And we don't have a long time?" Abigail pressed. "Maybe," he admitted. "But let's cycle the buckets first and see how much the barrel leaks." "What do you mean?" the girl asked. "I'll show you," Thomas replied. The lad proceeded to set the water buckets afloat and then they bailed the bottom of the barrel with a tiny tin cup; a process the couple repeated again just before sunset. The next day started with the same routine. Each time it took them a little longer to clear the seepage. Each time their buckets were a few cups lighter. Each day the bucket lids seemed a little less comfortable. Abigail considered bringing up the subject of copulation again each day, but always decided against it. Suspecting there was more to his reluctance than he had said, she contented herself with the lad's promise and waited for him to tell her more. He did tell her more, but not what she really wanted to know. The two chatted constantly; there was nothing else to do. But the subject was always light: the weather, friends, what foods they liked, or some humorous anecdote. By the third day the food was gone and both of their abdomens had developed that twisted, hollow feeling that accompanies hunger. As their strength ebbed, neither was willing to discuss edibles, or much else. After a week, Abigail felt certain it was time for Tom to make good on his promise, however lack of energy effectively suppressed anything resembling a libido. The relatively light work of their routine seemed onerous. "Would you do it again?" asked Tom one morning, as they began the tedium of removing the buckets prior to bailing. "Do what?" "Run away." Abigail considered the question for but a moment. "Yes." She paused for a breath. "And you?" "What?" "Would you save me again?" Tom did not even have to consider it for an instant. "Absolutely." The passage of another week found the couple keeping the lid on their barrel most of the time to block out the sun and the occasionally heavy sea. The storm that Tom had feared, but never mentioned to Abigail, was upon the tiny craft before either of the passengers realized the danger. Soon it was all the two could do to wedge themselves tightly in the barrel, pulling on the ropes that dangled from their lid as they struggled to keep the raging water out of their cask. There were times when each wanted to give up hope and let go, but neither was willing to allow the other to perish, so they both struggled long past when their underused and underfed muscles ought to have collapsed. All the while, the storm propelled the modest vessel northward, eventually pushing it out of the Gulf Stream and into the Labrador Current. Unbeknownst to the occupants, as the winds died and the waves calmed, the barrel began to drift back whence it had come. Thus the tempest that the couple imagined would slay them accomplished quite the opposite. "I'm cold," Abigail mumbled as she stirred from the deep sleep that followed the exertions of fighting the storm. Tom's eyelids quivered for a few seconds before shifting upward. "What?" "I'm cold," Abigail repeated. Thomas passed a series of breaths through his parted lips as he evaluated the girl's claim against what his own senses told him. "You're right," he concluded. "It is colder. We must still be heading north." Cupping his hand, the lad scooped up a sample of the water that swished just below him. He spat it out at once. With a heavy breath, he stood and pushed the lid from the barrel. A thick blanket of fog was all that greeted his eyes. "Well, let's get them buckets out before our water gets any worse. We've a lot of lot of bailing to do." "What does it mean?" Abigail asked as she handed a bucket upward. "Heading north, I mean." "It means we're near Greenland, I think." "Does anyone live there?" "Doesn't matter, the current will take us past it. I don't know if we got a chance of reaching Iceland, but I doubt our water will hold out that long anyways." "Then why bother bailing?" "Because we may be in a shipping lane," Thomas explained. "Last night was the time to give up, not now." Abigail nodded as she hoisted a second bucket. The two worked in silence thereafter, taking several hours to accomplish the simple task. "I'm still cold," Abigail announced as the two mariners resumed their normal positions in the cask. Thomas shifted across the buckets into an uncomfortable position to drape his arm around the girl. "Better?" "Yes, thanks," Abigail muttered between breaths. She pried her eyes from the waterlogged wood to the lad's face, barely visible in the dim light. "What will you do if I die first?" Thomas licked his lips once. "Cry." Abigail managed a chuckle. "That's sweet. But that's not what I meant." "It is what I meant. I'll just keep crying until I die too. Never doubt I love you more than anything else God every created." Abigail felt her eyes moisten at the prospect. "I love you too. So, if God sees fit to allow us to live, will you be wanting to go back to sea?" "I don't know. Hadn't thought about it." "What if you had a wife?" Abigail pressed. A handful of seconds passed before Thomas whispered, "I'd never leave her." Another pause, even longer elapsed before the girl replied. "I want to be your wife." "It's the boy who's supposed to do the asking," Thomas noted. "Then ask," Abigail insisted. Tom's throat pulsed as if to swallow, though there was no moisture available. "Now isn't the time." "Now may be all the time we have." "It ain't that I don't..." Out of the dimness, the girl's face loomed before the lad, terminating his response. "As far as I'm concerned," she began, "you are already my husband. If God has issue with my thinking on the matter, I suppose he can take it up with me directly." Unwilling to give the boy a chance to reply in a way she did not wish, Abigail brought her lips to his and held them there until she was convinced he would issue no additional opinions upon the matter. Soon the two slept, huddled together for warmth. They rode the waves in the dark, slipping in and out of a dreary delirium, as the sun traversed through the sky untold times. Their sporadic waking moments were spent in a melancholy impasse, mostly trying to reconcile the desire for a drink with the reluctance to taste what the water had become. * * * * * Abigail awoke as her head bounced off the interior of the barrel a third time in succession. Initially she thought the makeshift vessel might finally be sinking, and wondered if she should bother to wake Tom. The jostling continued in an irregular, yet ceaseless pattern. She considered whether it was worth the trouble to stand and see what might be the cause. Seeing daylight peeking through the cracks above, Abigail decided to make the effort. She stood and forced open the lid. Her eyes widened as the circular ring made a distinctive thud against the exterior of the barrel, rather than the splash she had expected. Pushing herself erect, she gasped at the sight before her while struggling to maintain her balance in the tottering cask. Abigail reached down to shake Tom's head. "Wake up." "What?" he answered groggily. "Get up!" she insisted. "Get up and tell me this isn't a dream." Thomas twisted and stretched as he rose. He looked to find their barrel bouncing against some grey rocks along a craggy, deserted coastline. "It ain't no dream," he confirmed, after blinking his own eyes several times. Abigail clambered from the barrel and dropped into the water. Her legs, weak from malnourishment and inactivity, buckled immediately. She simply sat on the rocks of the low tide, dazed but unhurt. Tom scrambled from the cask, alighting beside her. "Are you alright?" She nodded. "I think so." The lad extended his hand. "Come on." Abigail accepted it and the two made their way across the rocks and up the beach, disused muscles protesting every step. Just past the high-tide mark, the couple collapsed upon the sand. "I never thought dirt," sighed Abigail, "could feel so good." "Me neither," Tom agreed. The couple half-rested, half-napped for nearly an hour before either of them moved again. "I'm going to get the buckets," Tom announced. "Wait here." Abigail was happy to oblige as the lad gathered what was left of their water supply and hauled it up the beach to her. Dropping the pails, Thomas continued away from the sea to the crest where the beach gave way to a sparsely treed prairie. Looking beyond the grassland, he saw heavier timber in the distance, but no signs of habitation. Suddenly having so many choices, after weeks of having none, he felt overwhelmed by the burden. "We'll move down the beach there to that tree," he announced as he returned to Abigail. "And wait there until dusk." "Why?" The girl asked. "Shouldn't we go looking for help?" "Which way?" Tom countered, motioning with the sweep of an upturned palm. "You can hardly move as it is. No one is likely to have a fire this time of year, but we may catch sight of a lamp come nightfall." The pair moved their camp the short distance to the shade of the tree and settled down for the afternoon. "We're going to make it, aren't we?" Abigail asked hopefully. "I don't want to get your hopes up," began Thomas, "but our chances are much better here than out there." He nodded towards the ocean. The girl rolled to use the lad's shoulder as a pillow, tossing her arm across his torso. "I knew you'd save me," she sighed. Thomas moved his arm to cradle the girl. "So much for not getting your hopes up." "You're a good man Thomas..." As she paused, Abigail raised her head to view him. "I don't know your last name." "I don't got one." "You don't have one?" The lad shrugged. "I suppose it would be my mother's, but I don't know what hers was either." "It doesn't matter." Abigail said, returning her head to his shoulder. "You're still as good a man as any that has a name." She raised her head again to look upon his face. "Tell me her name." "Who?" asked Tom. "My mother?" "No," clarified Abigail. "Whoever it was that hurt you." Thomas looked to his left, away from the girl, and picked up a handful of sand only to let gravity pull it through his fingers. "Elizabeth," he muttered as the last grain left his palm. "Who was she?" "She's the daughter of another whore that worked with my mother," explained Tom. "We bein' the only two the same age, we naturally became," he paused, before concluding, "friendly." "Was she your first?" "No," said Tom. "That was one of my mother's friends, another harlot. Mom thought she was doing me a favor, I suppose." "Not sex," clarified Abigail. "Love. That is more important than fucking, remember? Was Elizabeth your first love?" Tom stared at the sand. "I suppose she was that. Of course, Elizabeth was a whore too as soon as she was able, but I always dreamed I'd make a fortune and come back to save her." "Is that why you wanted to be a sailor?" "Yes. I told her I'd come back for her, and she promised she'd be there." "What happened?" asked Abigail. "How do you know she's not still there waiting?" She felt her hands tighten as she considered the prospect of a distant rival; a pitiful girl trapped in a sordid life, impatiently longing for her beloved's return. "Is she still waiting?" "No," Thomas replied quickly. "The Mordecai was back a year ago last fall. Some client had took a fancy to her." He cycled a deep breath. "Guess she figured a bird in town was worth two at sea." Abigail closed her eyes and silently thanked the heavens. "Don't worry," she said, placing her head back upon his shoulder. "I'll never abandon you no matter who might take a fancy to me." Thomas held Abigail close, wanting to believe her, yet again haunted by the recollection of a very similar oath the other girl had once uttered. * * * Abigail slept peacefully most of the afternoon, but Tom remained wakeful, anxiously awaiting dusk. As he had expected, the sun crossed the beach and disappeared from sight behind the forest. He pulled himself slowly from the still resting girl. Abigail stirred. "What is it?"