Free Heart's Safe Passage by Laurie Alice Eakes

the basin. Phoebe roused herself enough to request she save some for her.
    “I will, but you’ll have to pour out what’s in the basin. It’ll take two hands, and I might fall.”
    “Which is one reason why you shouldn’t be on a brig this size. The risk—”
    “Never you mind the risk. I’ll be careful, and it’s worth it. Will you help me cut out some clothes for me to sew for the baby?”
    “Yes, of course.” She might as well. The hours, days, weeks stretched ahead without much hope of a change.
    At least Phoebe hoped for no excitement, as that would likely mean a gun battle with another vessel, maybe even an American.
    She shuddered and drank more ginger and awaited her turn to wash. When it came, she made quick work of it, wrinkling her nose at Belinda’s lavender soap, frowning more at the wrinkled state of her gown. Her hair proved hopeless. She gathered it into a ribbon and tied it atop her head. The effect likely made her look like a chrysanthemum, that flower she’d seen once on a journey to Philadelphia with her husband, but at least her hair was confined away from her face with little trouble. If Docherty would see her outside the cabin, she wouldn’t be embarrassed.
    Not that she should be. He was the enemy, a man who stood for everything she abhorred. But she must talk to him. She’d wronged him too.
    She finished readying herself for her first full day aboard the brig and gathered up the fabric Belinda wanted to sew. It was of the finest lawn, soft enough not to irritate a baby’s skin, and the color of fresh cream.
    “Do you have patterns?” Phoebe knelt on the now gently rolling deck and began to spread out the fabric.
    Belinda raised her head from a book she’d been reading. “Pattern? Somewhere, I think. Wasn’t it with the fabric?”
    “No.” Phoebe returned to the box.
    The door lock grated. She froze, every sense alert like a dog’s pricked-up ears, to see who would enter.
    Mel again, this time with the nasty little dog in tow. The former smiled that elfin grin. The latter sat and glared at Phoebe.
    “If she bites me again,” Phoebe said, “I’ll toss her overboard.”
    “That’s what Captain Rafe says.” Mel grimaced. “But he doesn’t mean it. He loves Fiona.”
    “Which doesn’t speak highly of him,” Phoebe muttered.
    “You should be nice to him,” Belinda said. “He didn’t lock you in the hold last night.”
    “And he says I can take you up top,” Mel said. “Mrs. Chapman too, so we can clean in here.”
    “Thank you.” Phoebe’s stomach settled. It should remain that way on deck—she hoped. If she got sick in front of him again, she’d lock herself in the hold.
    She gathered up his boat cloak, realized she shouldn’t be using it without his permission, and started to put it down again.
    “You’ll want that.” Mel drew Belinda’s from the back of a chair. “It’s cold out there, even in the sun.”
    So Phoebe wrapped herself in the cloak that dragged on the deck behind her like a train, and followed Mel, Fiona, and Belinda up the companionway and onto the main deck.
    Wind like the blast from an icehouse slammed into her face. She gasped and braced herself against it, turning her face away. Belinda squealed and tried to retreat.
    “Nay, madam.” The mate called Jordy appeared down the quarterdeck ladder and took Belinda’s arm. “The captain says you’re needing exercise, and I’m to walk with you to hold you steady.”
    “Why, that’s so kind of you, sir.” Belinda batted her long eyelashes at him. “Such a handsome escort.”
    Jordy was attractive, with his silver-gilt hair tied in a queue at the back of his neck and his strong, regular features, but handsome seemed a bit overdone, and Phoebe glanced away to hide a grin. She met Mel’s eyes, and they laughed.
    “Jordy will get tongue-tied if she keeps flirting like that,” Mel whispered.
    “’Tis good for him.” Docherty appeared at the quarter rail. “You wish to speak with