Free This Golden Land by Barbara Wood Page A

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dysentery cases in steerage, not as bad it seemed, likely to pull through, and then left after saying ominously, "It's this boy we're all worried about."
         When darkness fell, Neal offered to give Hannah a break. "Go topside, get some air."
         But she would not leave. So Neal went to stretch his legs and see what the situation was with the immigrants, while Hannah roused Donny, gave him sips of water and sponged his hot skin. When Neal returned, Hannah had him lift the boy from the bunk so she could change the soiled sheets. There was less discharge this time, she noted, and it had been hours since Donny had vomited.
         "How is Mrs. Ritchie?" she asked.
         "She is much better. Able to keep water down. She keeps looking at the photograph. I think it is helping. And I think you should get some rest, Miss Conroy. You'll be no good to Donny if you drop from exhaustion."
         "Yes," Hannah whispered as they stood close together in the dimly lit cabin, rocked together in the embrace of the Caprica on the undulating ocean. Neal brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. She looked up at him, his face so near that she detected the fragrance of shaving soap. She wanted to lean into him, let him take her weight and her fatigue, hold her for a while. Neal wanted to put his arms around her and draw her against him. But that was not why they were here. There was sickness on the Caprica , and possible mutiny brewing. This moment, this night, was not a luxury for them to enjoy.
         While Neal took a turn at the beside, Hannah went no farther than the wooden chair. She was soon asleep, her head resting against the doorframe. As Neal watched her, he thought of the nightmare that had wakened him one night, with Hannah crying out in her sleep. What was it that haunted her? Her father's death, perhaps? And what had truly caused her father's death? When Hannah spoke of his passing, it seemed to Neal to be in symbolism and ideals—"It was class prejudice that killed him."—but the details, Neal did not know. Exactly how did class prejudice kill a man? He wanted to ask her, and suspected Miss Conroy would freely tell him, but he was afraid of her secrets, because once he possessed them, then he was in danger of growing too close to her, of allowing himself to fall in love, and that he could

not permit. He knew there was no future for himself and Miss Conroy—she a Quaker, he an atheist, she gentle born, he a bastard, she looking to settle down and build a midwifery practice, he under a spell of wanderlust so strong that he could never stay in any town for long.
         Insurmountable odds.
         And so he would not ask her about her nightmare, would not inquire about her father, but would leave their relationship as the shipboard friendship that it was, doomed to end once they were on land and thirteen-hundred miles apart.
         Just before dawn Donny opened his eyes and asked Hannah if she was an angel. He then asked for his mother, and said he was hungry. Giving the boy some warm broth that Mr. Simms had brought, Hannah then cleaned him up and, with Neal carrying the boy, they walked up into the morning sunlight.
         As soon as Hannah and Neal appeared on the quarterdeck, the crowd that had spent the night under the stars rose to their feet and cheered in a blazing sunrise that was turning the ocean to gold.

4
    I DO NOT LIKE THE LOOK OF THAT SCUD , M ISTER J AMES ," Captain Llewellyn said as he studied the black clouds on the horizon. Through the brass spyglass, he inspected every mile of the approaching squall and arrived at the grim conclusion that before him lay a storm for which there was no way around, nor was there any nearby port where they might find safe anchorage until the storm had passed.
         "It's a big one, sir," the First Mate said quietly. "And it is approaching fast."
         "That it is, Mister James," the master of the Caprica said solemnly.
         "What are