Free The Voyage of Promise by Kay Marshall Strom Page B

backwards and gasped.
    Sam stood behind her, sniggering wickedly. “Ever see a cockroach race afore?” He downed his tot of rum, smacked his lips loudly, then wiped his filthy sleeve across his face. “Ye wants to place a bet on yer favorite, then?”
    Icy fear gripped Grace and crept up her back. Frantically she searched for a way of escape.
    “Do yer dear capt’n know ye come to visit wi’ yer old friends?” Sam asked.
    Grace tried to push past him, but Sam would have none of it. His eyes flashed viciously and, in a near growl, he said, “ ’Ere now. Ye be fergettin’ yerself, missy.”
    The fiddle fell silent, and the race was abandoned— although Chester did grab up the biggest cockroach and slip it into his pocket. Billy strode over and placed his body on one side, blocking her way, while Chester stepped up behind her so she could not turn back. Several other men moved in to fill in the gaps on either side. Every eye was on Grace.
    “Ye knows wot the capt’n is doin’, don’t ye!” This was Billy speaking, and his words were an accusation, not a question. “Fattenin’ ye up, ’e is, and glossenin’ ye perty fer the slave ships. They be set to come by any day now. The capt’n… ’e be plannin’ to sell ye, ’e does. ’Eard ‘im talkin’ about it with me own two ears. Says ye’ll fetch ’im a better price than all the silk in China.”
    Grace tried to push past Billy, but he grabbed her and forced her toward Sam. “ ’Ere, she be yers,” Billy said. “Jist as ye said.”
    Jonas Brandt’s lash brought Sam’s triumph to an abrupt end. What happened next, Grace didn’t know—didn’t want to know. She turned and ran all the way back to her cabin, slammed the door shut and pushed the table up against it. Sam and Billy were liars, both of them. She knew it was so because she knew their kind. Yet Billy’s words tugged at the edges of her mind. Why was Captain Ross being so nice to her? Everyone wants something. Experience had taught her as much. What did Captain Ross want from her?
    The next afternoon, Grace did not go to the captain’s office for afternoon tea. Nor did she go the next afternoon, nor the afternoon after that. The following morning she was jarred by a light tapping on her door.
    “Miss Grace.” It was Captain Ross. “Please permit us the honor of your company at breakfast.”
    Grace sighed. She really was quite hungry. For the past two days, hard biscuits and moldy cheese had been her main fare. So, slowly, Grace opened the door.
    “Come,” the captain said. “A bowl of hot oatmeal awaits you, topped with sugar and cream.”
    Grace ate ravenously as Captain Ross, Nathaniel Greenway, Doctor Wills, and Jonas Brandt talked of the uncommonly fair weather. They spoke of the shipwrights’ Lenten performance of the story of Noah—they even went so far as to mimic Noah’s arguments with his wife—Ross playing the part of Noah and Brandt his wife—which set Grace to laughing in spite of herself. They talked of arriving home in time to enjoy the actual plays, what with the excellent time they were making in the fair winds. They talked of everything except what had happened on the main deck.
    But Grace had to know.
    “Captain Ross,” Grace interrupted, “do you plan to sell me?”
    “Sell you!” the captain exclaimed. “Whatever put such a preposterous idea into your head? Nothing on earth—nothing in the heavens above or in the depths of the sea—could force me to sell you.”
    “Billy said…”
    “Billy! Ach, then!” Captain Ross spat. “Is it that fool that put such fears into your heart, lassie? I will put him to the lash! I will cut his rations for two weeks! I will—”
    “No, no!” Grace implored. “Please, no punishments. Only tell me the truth. Why are you so kind to me?”
    Clayton Ross fixed his eyes on Grace’s troubled face. “Why did you care for Jasper Hathaway who has done nothing but oppress and torment you?” he asked with great