Free Pirate's Wraith, The by Penelope Marzec Page B

that she had to play the part of a cabin boy—and boys did not cry.
    “Is this heaven or hell?” Her words came out tight and high.
    “Many have wondered, but it matters little. We must live out our destiny.” He sounded like a New Age spiritualist. If he lived in 2011, he could write a bestselling book and appear on talk shows.
    He boiled herbs and bark. Why hadn’t he been strung up for being a witch? Or were only women considered witches in this chauvinistic society?
    The doctor went from patient to patient, tending each of them in some rudimentary way. Some other crewmembers came to remove the dead.
    The liquid in the bowl cooled and Lesley lifted the cloth edges to twist the herbs into a tight knot. The brew looked like muddy tea as she squeezed out the juices, but it had a pleasant aroma. As she finished, the doctor came back. He added a splash of rum to the mixture along with a dollop of molasses. Then he dipped mugs into the decoction.
    “Help the men drink from the cup—those that are able. This will bring down the fever.”
    She nodded her understanding and proceeded to dole out the medicinal cocktail as the doctor did the same. 
    “Did you know you remind the cap’n of someone?” he asked as they made their way along the rows of wounded men.
    “No.” The captain reminded her of someone, but she would not reveal that to the doctor.
    “It is someone who caused him much pain.”
    Terrific. Obviously, she reminded the captain of a witch. Just her luck.
    If she was a witch, she would be sitting on the couch back home with a huge slice of pizza and a cold beer. Her pizza would be covered with pepperoni, meatballs, crumbled sausages, and roasted red peppers. It would be coated with a generous helping of Parmesan cheese—so liberally applied it would resemble snow. 
    Dammit. She would never taste pizza again. How could she survive in 1711?
    Then she remembered the funerals. She stood.
    “The captain expected me to show up for the burials on deck.” 
    Dr. Gilroy frowned at her. “Did you not hear the boson’s whistle?”
    She shook her head.
    “No matter. The cap’n knows I need assistance with the wounded and you seem to have a gift for healing.”
    “I wanted to become a doctor.”
    “But ... that would be impossible.” He chuckled.
    She glared at him. In this backward era women had babies, cooked, cleaned, and died. Oh, and maybe they did a little embroidery along the way if they had the chance, but without washing machines, microwave ovens, and the usual timesaving devices of the twenty-first century, women worked from dawn till dusk without any let up.              
    Good thing they disguised her as a boy. She ought to continue in the role for her own well-being.
    Lesley rubbed her forehead. Why didn’t it hurt anymore? Had the pressure of being the best pharmaceutical rep for Quixotic caused her more stress than she could handle?
    Or had trying to love Jim been the root of her migraines?
    “Tell me who the boson is and what the whistles mean.” She went back for more of the decoction for another patient.
    “Our boson is Mr. Lallyput.”
    For no reason at all, she started to laugh when she heard the name. “Are ... you ... serious?” She tried to stop laughing but found it impossible. “It ... sounds ... like Lilliput ... or lollipop.” Tears eked out of the corners of her eyes. Her emotions had gotten way out of hand.
    “He’s a good bosun. Always fair to the men.”
    It took a few moments, but Lesley finally got a hold of herself and calmed down.
    “Sorry I laughed, but this whole situation is so unreal. It’s like I’ve been dropped down into the middle of Oz . ”
    “Oz?”
    She nearly winced. She had to be more careful about what she said. “It’s a fairy tale I heard. It’s not a real place. Just imaginary.”
    “The men enjoy stories. You should entertain them.”
    She thought about that, but the story of Oz involved witches—granted there was a good one