The Dreamer by May Nicole Abbey Read Free Book Online Page B

and opened it, revealing the remainder of the set.
    I sat down and eagerly reached for a roll and tore it with my fingers. “I’ve had such a delightful day. Mmm. Delicious. There’s nothing in the world like George’s rolls are there? I would love to learn to bake like this. Perhaps I’ll consult the cook. Oh, I almost forgot,” I said between bites. “What does that stocky man do on the side of the ship, with the stick and long, knotted rope?”
    I pushed my plate closer to him and accidentally knocked his drink, sloshing the crimson liquid inside. He quickly caught the glass and steadied it. “It’s to gauge speed,” he explained. “It tells us at how many knots we’re traveling.”
    I gasped. “Knots? I know this word. It’s used —” I stopped, and then continued a bit more subdued, “at my home, too.”
    He looked at me furtively, cutting his food. “Rachel, that’s part of the reason why I wanted to dine with you tonight. We are close to port, and it’s time we decide what to do with you once we get there.”
    I looked down at my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. I did not want to think of the shore.
    “Will you tell me about your home? Where you come from?”
    I looked at him and opened my hands, a plea in my voice. “It would be futile. I cannot return.”
    He eyed me for a moment, his mind at work, and then leaned forward and said with some gentleness, “If there was an indiscretion, some sort of … crime, I’m sure ….”
    I laughed. “The very idea. I am no criminal!”
    He leaned back and sighed. “Well then what is the problem?”
    I looked down, saying nothing, the curtain of my hair falling forward and partially hiding my face. I absently pushed the dried fruit on my dish with my fork.
    “Then surely you can tell me where you came from at least?” He waited. “No? The ship you fell from? Where you were destined? Nothing? What on earth are you hiding from me?”
    I dropped my fork. “Captain, try to understand. I do not wish to be difficult, but the truth will not help us. It is impossible for me to return.”
    “Were you mistreated?”
    “No! It isn’t that. I would return if I could. There’s nothing I’d love more. But I’m stuck here. At least for now until I discover a way out.” I rubbed the tips of my fingers on my brow in weariness.
    “How did you get that scar?”
    I blinked in confusion. “Scar?”
    “Yes.” He gestured vaguely to my head. “The thin scar that runs along your forehead, dividing the hair of your brow. You have your fingers on it now.”
    My hand went to my brow, my fingers searching. “My scar?” I picked up my butter knife and peered into it to find my reflection.
    “You didn’t know?” he asked in disbelief.
    “Yes … but it’s hardly visible. How on earth did you notice it?”
    “I’ve often wondered how you got it.”
    Still peering into the knife, I answered distractedly, “I tripped and fell and cut my head on a rock.”
    “But the scar is so thin,” he replied, leaning forward to look at it.
    “My parents used a butterfly bandage.”
    “A what?”
    I cleared my throat and looked at him. “A home remedy. It’s very effective.”
    “And why, may I ask, were you climbing around on rocks?”
    I laughed. I put down the knife, my other hand still fingering the scar. “I wasn’t climbing around on rocks. I was running.”
    “Playing a game?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “Then what?”
    “It was so long ago, I don’t … oh yes,” I breathed. “I was running away.”
    “I thought you said you weren’t playing a game.”
    “It was not a game,” I answered thoughtfully. “I was doing it in all seriousness. I was running away from home, resolving never to return.”
    “The past repeats itself,” he murmured.
    “What do you mean by that?” I asked sharply.
    “Well, since you won’t tell me why you are running away now , will you tell me why you were running away then ?”
    “I’m not running away