Free Scattered Seeds by Julie Doherty

that burned their eyes and nostrils.
    Neither Henry nor Father hungered under such conditions, but they forced themselves to eat, supplementing their diet with Thomas’s raisins and the dried nettles brought from home. They could hardly call it food, but the bittersweet concoction enabled them to fare better than most.
    Rumors threaded like filthy ribbons through the berths. Some passengers worried that Captain McElwain conserved the provisions because gales blew them off course. Others conjectured that he stowed too little food in the first place. Having seen the barrels in the cook’s storeroom, Henry knew better.
    Besides, their proximity to the cook’s cabin meant they caught the occasional scent of cooked food. Somewhere, someone ingested hot meals, but not in steerage.
    Henry sat cross-legged in the berth with a borrowed dough bowl clamped between his knees. He picked the worst of the worms out of the water it held.
    His father sat on the berth’s rail waiting for Henry to shave off the rest of his sparse hair. His eyes had lost their sparkle in recent days, and his usually ruddy cheeks were peaked.
    Henry wet a remnant of soap offered by a fellow passenger, and its lavender scent brought tears to his eyes. He lathered his father’s head and drew the razor across his scalp, which was red and flaky from scratching at unwelcome companions.
    When he’d finished the job, he sat at the edge of their berth while Father searched for a spot to dump the dirty water. He smelled his hands, savoring the scent of cleanliness and noticing a burning in his chest as he inhaled. Oh, to have fresh air.
    He stared at the hatch and wished it would open.
    Miraculously, it did.
    A humid gust of air coiled down the stairs as Reed, the brig’s second mate, and his two companions, with neckerchiefs covering their mouths and noses, delivered the day’s victuals and a cask of small beer. They dropped the cask and crate and turned to leave.
    Father blocked their way, looking like a man who had been boiled headfirst. “See here, is there naught ye can do to improve our situation? Ye can claim no misunderstanding about the misery suffered here. By the cloots o’er your very noses, ye betray your knowledge of our difficulty. Many have been sick for a fortnight.” He gestured toward a coughing girl two berths over. “That wain needs fresh air and a hot meal.” He pointed to a man across the aisle. “And that man is as close to death as he can be.”
    Reed faced him, and his usually cheerful expression turned somber. “I’m sorry, but the last gale did some damage, and the carpenter is makin’ repairs. Only sailors aboveboard until she’s spotty dog an’ the cap’n’s confident he’s made up for lost time.”
    “But the seas feel calm. These folk will die.”
    “I’m sorry, but there’s naught I can do. We are sailing as fast as we dare, but we’re two men down. Last gale took ’em.” He dropped his gaze.
    “I am sorry for your loss, but can ye at least gi’ us something to hope for, mayhap a guess as to how many days until we may be allowed on deck?”
    A look of sympathy crossed Reed’s face. He shook his head.
    Henry slid out of the berth and stood on weak legs. “At the very least, could ye let the hatch open so we may have more than a fleeting moment of fresh air?”
    “I’m sorry, lad. The mate says it only opens to empty the pots and deliver the victuals.”
    “Empty the pots?” Henry pointed at the puddles under the berths. “Does it look like the chamber pots are being emptied?”
    Father scowled. “Few men would abuse an animal like this, let alone people.”
    Reed leaned in to whisper. “I wish there was more I could do, but I’m under orders—”
    Father pointed to a woman quaking in spite of her shawl. “I’ll wager ye would nae care so much about your orders if that poor creature was your maw.” He looked again to the coughing girl. “Or if that lassie there was your daughter.”
    Reed followed