The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons by Barbara Mariconda Read Free Book Online

conviction.

5
    I awoke the next day before dawn—not even a thin trace of daylight showing through the porthole. Annie was still breathing in the steady rhythm of sleep, and Pugsley, curled in my bunk, was snoring. Clearly, neither of them was troubled by vexing anxieties of any kind. My thoughts turned to Mother and Father—to Aunt Pru—and feelings of grief and loneliness swirled around me. So strong was the current of these emotions that I felt I might drown in them. I sighed. My feelings were so like the sea—how quickly they could turn from calm to stormy. From confident to sad.
    This was not the proper state of mind in which to embark on our voyage! I dangled my legs over the edge of the hammock and swung it back until my feet touched the floor. One thing I could thank my late Uncle Victor for was this—he’d taught me that the best medicine for self-pity was hard work. Not his, but mine.
    I got up, pulled on my denims, and tied my sturdy work boots with double knots. As if affirming my intent, I suddenly heard the muffled sounds of voices above. Hurried steps on deck. The shuffle and drag of supplies being moved. Good. There would be plenty to do if we were going to set sail today. And much to learn. What with the threat of the curse, along with the usual challenges of the sea, I was bound and determined to become the best sailor I could be. It’s what Father would have expected.
    I walked through the narrow corridor, my hand skimming the smooth polished banister, and paused outside the chart room. After a moment’s hesitation I slipped inside. The collection of Father’s seafaring paraphernalia bolstered my spirits further. Hastily I picked up his fine brass spyglass and hung it around my neck. It would be fun to watch the Boston waterfront fade as we sailed out of the harbor. Without further delay I scaled the narrow stairs to the main deck.
    Marni nodded a good morning. The captain stood amidst the carefully coiled lines and folded canvas. Grady, Quaide, and Walter moved and adjusted what would become the means of our wind power. The Reds scaled the yardarms, and Tonio and Irish hauled crates and barrels, then neatly coiled the thick lines waiting to be called upon when needed. Rasjohnny, too, moved deftly from task to task, humming under his breath. Marni knelt beside Addie, guiding her able hands along carefully folded and wrapped sheets of sail. I took my place, pointedly ignoring the look of disdain on Quaide’s face, and concentrated on working twice as hard and fast without complaint. I would make Father proud and force Quaide to swallow his unspoken scorn. As I worked, tugging, folding, tucking, my eye traveled past the trestletrees, spars, and yardarms that stood perpendicular to the masts, the complex system of rigging and ratlines running between them. Once we set sail, we would all be taking a watch, sometimes up in the crow’s nest platform at the highest point aloft. My heart thrilled, while my knees went weak. Excitement and trepidation, all rolled into one.
    The sun was climbing the horizon, a layer of molten gold over the water. Walter caught my eye, smiled, and gave me a thumbs-up. I grinned back, delighted I had apparently passed this first test. “Not bad for a girl,” Grady added, staring at me from beneath his ample brows. He pronounced girl in two syllables: “goy-el.”
    The cap’n said, “Nice job!” The Reds nodded. Marni looked at me with an expression that said, “Told you so.” And my spirits soared.
    The aroma of coffee and frying bacon and eggs drew us to the galley, all but Quaide, who had, he said, “some last-minute dealings onshore.” He would have to be quick about it—already, on our starboard side, a stocky little tugboat readied herself to tow us on an ebb tide out of the harbor, until we could hoist sail and let the wind take us. And there was Javan, pressing bacon in the cast-iron