Chapter Six Gertrude
Chapter Six
Gertrude
Four days until the Oceanus is torpedoed
Land had fallen out of sight, and we were surrounded by endless choppy waters smacking against the ship. My stomach curled in knots.
The currents of the Danube River, bordered by muddy banks, might have felt trivial compared to the Atlantic’s mighty rolling waves, but they were just as dangerous.
Though I’d put miles between myself and Strauss’s blue Danube, its waters flowed west to east, dumping into the Black Sea before trickling into the Aegean and Mediterranean Seas and finally the Atlantic Ocean.
I imagined some of those waters now sliding past the Oceanus, circling the hull of the ship named for the Greek god who’d fathered the river creatures.
Four years ago, I’d stood on the Danube’s banks and struck a deal with those gods when I’d tossed my wedding coin into the sliding waters.
I drew in a breath. You won’t escape me. The words whispered close to my ear.
A knock on my door had me turning. “Yes?”
“It’s Chief Mate Riggs. Captain Stoddard asked me to check in on you and deliver you a lunch plate.”
I unlatched the chain and opened the door.
I’d barely noticed him when I’d boarded the ship, but now I had a clear view of his face.
The seaman was a pleasant-looking man with thick dark hair that swept across his forehead.
Crow’s-feet radiated from brown eyes. And when he smiled, his sun-drenched skin set off even white teeth.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
My rounded belly was hidden by the partially opened door.
“I am well, thank you.”
He held up the tray. “The lunch hour passed, but the captain said you might want to eat. The baby must be hungry.”
Baby. I am not afraid, I reminded myself. Early in my pregnancy, I’d ignored the baby’s existence. I’d blamed the morning illness on poor food, stress, and dread until the physician had confirmed my fears. Whatever creature was inside always pulled at me now.
I am not afraid. The mantra, worn bare now, had lost most of its power as it was overshadowed by my growing belly. I fully opened the door and accepted the tray. “You are very kind.”
“You’ll get in touch if you need any help? The captain wants you to ask for any assistance.”
I’d seen the astonished looks on the sailors’ faces when they’d seen my large stomach. The men were terrified I’d deliver on the ship. “Of course.”
He dropped his voice. “Are you really well?”
“Very well.”
“If you’re still hungry, the first dinner seating is at six. You will join us?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.” I braced against the door as the ocean swayed beneath the ship. I hadn’t traveled by water for over two months, and my sea legs had abandoned me. The rolling water felt unnatural, and I craved solid ground.
His eyes brightened. “I’d be happy to escort you around the deck after dinner.”
“Very kind, but I will manage.”
Disappointment chipped at his smile. “Of course.”
“I’ve been on the ship since Cape Town,” he added. He’d missed my cue to leave. “The food is good, and you’ll find the company acceptable. You’ve met Dr. Brooks. He’s promised to entertain us with his cards and charms tonight.”
“I don’t have formal wear.” I owned the frock I wore and two others. And unfortunately, the best of the three was tight around my waist.
“We don’t stand on ceremony on the Oceanus.”
My manner of dress was the very least of my fears or worries.
What bothered me most was that I might become the topic of conversation among strangers.
The human mind liked having neat facts, and if there were no answers to be found to questions, the brain filled the cracks with fiction and speculation.
It didn’t matter if their theories were right or wrong.
They were as real to them as fact. I could not risk their gossip for the remaining five days.
“I will consider it.”
“Excellent.” He bowed slightly.
I closed and locked the door. I set the rattling tray on the table and lay down on my bunk.
My body reverberated with fatigue. I wanted to pull the blankets over my head and sleep for the next year.
In that year, the distance between the past and me would have widened, and perhaps the world would have changed for the better.
I rested knitted fingers across my chest. The cabin rocked back and forth, creaking and moaning as if trying to soothe me.
You are safe here now, the waters whispered.
“I’m not safe anywhere.” My husband’s reach was far, and he would not rest until he found me.
My fingers skimmed the rough skin just below my neckline. It was a crescent scar that mirrored the signet ring my husband had worn.
Alfred heated his metal signet ring in the fireplace and crossed to me. I was so naive. I didn’t understand what he planned, but then he climbed on top of me and pinned my arms with his knees.
As the hot metal drew closer to me, I squirmed. “What are you doing?”
“This is for your own good.”
The heat drew closer. “Alfred, please stop, I beg you.”
And then the metal pressed hard against the skin above my breast. My flesh seared. Shock gave way to pain. I screamed.
When he pulled the ring away, I struggled to catch my breath. “What man does this to his new bride?”
“One who loves her more than life.”
He climbed off me, and I rolled to my side. Tears streamed down my cheek.
He set the ring down and reached for a vial of ointment. Gently, he rolled me onto my back.
“Stop,” I demanded. “Not again.”
“Shh.” His salve-dipped finger smoothed the wounded skin.
I winced. “Please, you’re hurting me.”
He continued to rub, and soon the pain eased. “You’ll find that I’ll always do what’s best for you.”
His touch was now so gentle. So soft.
“You understand, don’t you?” he asked.
Back was the kind man who’d wooed me with rare books and treats for an old cat, protected our little bookshop from those who would burn it, and helped me bury my uncle.
When he kissed me on the lips, I tasted the champagne from our wedding toast. His face hovered inches from mine, and he said tenderly, “I love you so much. Tell me you understand.”
I wanted to believe the monster was gone forever. But the worst monsters shifted shapes and never vanished completely.
“Yes. I do.” But I would soon learn that Alfred enjoyed cruelty.
The warning signs were lost on me early in our marriage, and I paid dearly with more of his lessons in love.
But I grew to watch his moods carefully, ready for a light mood to darken.
Eyes to narrow. His voice to harden. A fist to rise.
I quickly learned never to ignore harbingers of trouble.
I’d lived on tenterhooks for three years.
Now, I stared at the ceiling of my cabin, watching the sun dim and cast shadows. Most nights, I never fell into a deep sleep. My mind always hovered somewhere below consciousness, as if I was ready for danger.
Shouts rang out from the hallway, and I sat up. My heart knocked against my ribs. Sweat dampened my upper lip and pooled at the base of my spine.
Swinging my legs over the bunk, I rose. The rolling floor caught me off balance, forcing two quick staggered steps until my unwieldy frame steadied.
And then the clock chimed six. Somehow, I’d fallen into a deep sleep.
Footsteps thumped past my doorway. I had become skilled at listening for signs that Alfred was outside my door. Now, I heard only the rattle of keys and the tones of conversations. Whoever was passing by my cabin sounded relaxed, slightly joyful. A deep voice mentioned beef tips and sorbet.
I looked toward the tray of food. Safer to eat here and keep to myself. But I didn’t want to remain in this cramped room alone with my darkest memories.
I walked toward the washbasin and filled it with water.
I splashed cold water on my face and pressed fingertips to puffy eyes.
I didn’t dare gaze in the mirror as I turned from the stand and dried my face.
These days I didn’t recognize myself, and the near stranger staring back reminded me of my own stupidity.
I brushed my dark hair, noting more strands clinging to the bristles.
I secured my hair in a twist with the few pins I still had and brushed the wrinkles from my dress.
Lowering myself into the tufted chair, I slid on my shoes and grunted slightly as I leaned over to tie the laces.
In five days, I would be in the United States.
I would deliver this child in a hospital, and then I would leave the infant behind in the care of people better suited than me.
Though I hated what this child represented, I prayed my small act of mercy would allow me to one day forgive myself.