Free The Sea Between by Carol Thomas Page A

they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven…
    Setting the Bible down on his desk, Richard rested his forehead wearily in his hands. He had just sailed through three days of the worst weather he’d ever experienced and he could identify with every word the psalmist had written. He and his men truly had staggered about on the heaving decks like drunken men, at their wits’ end. Never in his life had he seen such wild seas. As for crying out to the Lord—he’d done a fair bit of that over the past day or two. But his cries had been answered, thank God. An hour ago the boiling seas had at last showed signs of calming, and although his crew were battered and bruised they’d all come through with their lives, and for that he was truly grateful.
    Numb with fatigue, he sat for five or ten minutes, half-dozing,then with an effort forced his eyelids open, closed the Bible, reached for Charlotte’s letter and read through it again. At the last page he smiled, as he did every time he read it.
…I must tell you about something that happened last Sunday afternoon. I’m sure it will make you smile. As it was too wet for his usual Sunday afternoon stroll, Father had settled into his armchair in the parlour and was reading. I was sitting by the window, mending one of Father’s shirts, and Matthew and Arthur were lying on the hearth rug playing with their wooden fort. After a while I went off to get a drink of water, but I got waylaid by Mrs Hall on my way back, so I was gone for quite some time. When I eventually returned to the parlour, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw what was going on. I really should have put a stop to it there and then, but I couldn’t resist standing in the doorway and watching for a minute. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. Father had fallen asleep in his chair and was snoring loudly, which is probably why Matthew and Arthur didn’t hear me coming. The two of them were standing in front of his chair and they were taking turns at holding a little brown feather—the sort that pillows are stuffed with—in front of his mouth. The little monkeys had noticed that every time Father snored he followed it by a big huff as he breathed out, and they had invented a game of holding the feather in front of his mouth then letting go of it just as he huffed so that it floated up into the air. They were giggling fit to burst, and it was all I could do not to laugh myself. I knew I would never be able to keep a solemn face if I went in to tell them off straight away, so I stepped back into the hall and tried to put on a ‘stern aunt’ expression. I was just about ready to go in when all of a sudden there was a terrible outburst. I dashed into the parlour and there was Father, purple as a plum, coughing and retching, and Matthew and Arthur gaping at him in horror. You can perhaps guess what had happened. My father had got the feather stuck in his throat. I suppose at the critical moment he had breathed in instead of out. Anyhow, to cut the rest of the story short, Father eventually managed to cough up the feather, and my two nephews got sent to bed with no supper and smarting backsides.
    Well, I am almost at the end of the sixth page, and since I have told you all there is to tell, I shall end here. Father, Edwin and Sarah send their fondest regards, as always. I pray for you each night, for calm seas and for your safe return.
    Yours affectionately,
    Charlotte
    Dropping the last sheet on to his desk to join the others, he reached for a clean sheet of paper and plucked a pen from the inkstand. Dipping it into the glass inkpot, he began to write, hoping that it might take his mind off his leg, which was throbbing like blazes.
Monday, 30th March, 1865
    My dearest Charlotte,
    Your letter, along with one from my mother, was waiting for me in Port Elizabeth when we called there to replenish supplies. They made welcome reading, especially yours.
    He reached across to dip the pen into the