Chapter 49
By dinner the next evening, Rackham had regained his composure and confidence with the help of Anne’s fawning. Mary surveyed him with disinterest as he downed four cups of punch. The entire crew bypassed the alcohol rations, Mary noted, and no one dared or desired to protest.
She took a spoonful of mackerel stew and swallowed. Salty. Oily. The beans a bit crunchy and undercooked. She felt a bone with her tongue and picked it out. Dunking hardtack in the hot broth, Mary felt relieved she managed to keep meals down now.
Corner and Rackham were arm wrestling on the table in the brisk night. Howell, with a bottle in each hand, crowed like a rooster again—good as new.
As Mary raised her spoon, she froze.
What was that?
Her hand flew to her stomach. The unpleasant fluttering in her gut.
Oh no, she thought, dropping her spoon with a clatter.
I can’t lose you.
Not you, too.
Anne caught Mary’s attention. Her eyes mirrored the terror in Mary’s face.
No.
Mary rose so fast she knocked aside her bowl. She darted away, feeling her throat constrict. She needed to get away. Privacy. She needed … What did she need? What was going on?
She paused at the hatch. The lower deck? Too exposed. She hurtled past the single mast and continued toward the stern, where the lantern light was low and she wouldn’t be disturbed.
Then it came again. That strange onset of pressure, altogether new.
Crouching in the dark, Mary checked her undergarments.
No blood that she could see. She felt her chest seize—from relief or terror, she couldn’t assess.
She inhaled, exhaled, then pulled her trousers up and sat with her back against the rail.
She closed her eyes and prayed with all her feeble faith.
“What’s wrong?”
Mary turned, and the heat behind her eyes morphed into tears. “What did it feel like to lose the baby?” she asked Anne.
Anne hurried forward and unclamped Mary’s hands from her stomach. “Like a tidal wave of unbearable exhaustion. Illness—like the onset of ship’s fever. Then cramps pummeling my lower back. Like the pains of monthly bleeding, but ten times worse.”
Mary sucked in a breath. This didn’t feel like that, she told herself.
“Hurry,” Anne said, shouldering Mary up. “You could be seen here.” She glanced around, then led Mary to the captain’s quarters, shutting the door quietly behind them.
“What do you feel?” Anne said, rummaging for clean cloths and medications in the cabinet.
“I …” Mary began, shaking.
“Are you losing blood?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet.”
Anne’s lines of worry eased and she stopped rifling through the trunks. “Take the bed.”
Mary pulled a face. “I’m not taking the bed you share with Rackham.”
“Take it! You order me around all the time. Do as I say for once.”
Mary sat on the mattress, her whole body stiff. She refused to lie down.
“What happened?” Anne demanded, taking her hand.
Mary inhaled, long and steady. What happened?
“I felt something shift,” she said at last. “An uneasy pressure in my abdomen.”
“Like you have to pass wind?”
Mary reddened. “Not quite …”
“Like a fish flopped?”
Mary lifted her chin. “Actually …”
“A kind of quickening?”
“Yes,” Mary said, whirling to search Anne’s face—all traces of anxiety dispelled. “That. I felt that.”
Anne beamed. “You’re not losing the baby. Holy God above, and to think you felt it before me, when I’m a good month ahead of you.” Anne gestured toward Mary’s stomach. “May I?”
Mary hesitated, then drew up her linen shirt. Anne pressed a cold hand to the slight swell of Mary’s stomach.
The door flung open, and in stormed Rackham.
Anne tore away as Rackham glared from her, to Mary, then back to Anne. “This is where you go behind my back?” he roared, stalking forward and knocking into the map table. He snatched Anne away, holding her by the arms. “Sneaking into my quarters to pleasure another man!”
Mary pulled down her shirt and stood. “Rackham.”
He spun on her and drew his pistol. She sighed and did the same.
“Enough!” Anne said, throwing her arms between them. “Jack, listen. I can explain.”
He reeked of alcohol, and the fury in his glazed eyes shone with something dangerous. “How could you?” he groveled, searching Anne’s face. He ran a finger along her jaw, then gripped her shoulder. “After everything—”
“I’m with child,” Mary shouted, lowering her pistol.
Anne and Rackham spun on her. It took him a few seconds to process this information before raking his eyes over her body. His hold on Anne’s shoulder loosened.
Mary swallowed. Definitely drawing attention to yourself. This was not how she meant to leave the crew. Penniless.
“It’s true,” Anne said, reaching for Rackham. “I’ve been tending to her. She’s been a friend to me, and I to her.”
“Read is a … woman?” he said, mouth twisted, though the hardness of his features had softened. He rubbed his head, then laughed.
Anne and Mary smiled nervously.
“A woman,” he repeated, his laugh ringing louder. “Anne, do you have any idea how mad you’ve made me? A common brute crazed with jealousy? And now you’re telling me Read is a woman?”
Mary bit the inside of her cheek.
He swayed, then hugged Anne before kissing her with a world of relief. “You had me worried sick,” he slurred.
“There is one more thing,” Anne said, pushing him back and staring up into his face.
Mary closed her eyes. Anne sure had a curious sense of timing.
“I’m with child, too,” she said.