Free The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons by Barbara Mariconda

notice me—this I’m sure of.” I was nearly breathless, my heart racing at the breadth of my confession. I waited.
    â€œWell, let’s look at this one piece at a time. In the first place, you didn’t tell me of the kidnapping because you thought it was somehow your fault?”
    â€œIt was my fault, should have been more careful. I didn’t want to let you down. I—”
    â€œIt wasn’t your fault. Lucy?”
    I looked up.
    â€œIt wasn’t your fault. This sort of thing has occurred as long as there have been ships to sail, work to be done, money to be made. You were not responsible. But keeping it a secret was a mistake. Then, I suppose, as often happens, one omission leads to another.”
    I nodded. “Yes . . .”
    â€œUnfortunately, the second omission—this business onshore between Quaide and these men—is concerning in an altogether different way. But it confirms my instincts about the man.”
    â€œBut if you felt that way about Quaide, why did we hire him?”
    Marni sat forward. She stared over my head at some distant spot, real or imagined, and her eyes narrowed. “I had a strong feeling about him,” she said. “I disliked him, as I know you do. But he felt integral to some bigger plan. My instinct told me he would be important to this quest in some way. And I’ve learned, through the years, to listen to my instincts.”
    â€œBut what do we do? ”
    She sat back, thoughtful.
    â€œFirst, I intend to have a few words with the captain. He must know that he exercised poor, though well-intentioned, judgment in helping to keep your secret. Secondly, he must know our concerns about Quaide. Third, we must have a family meeting—everyone must be vigilant, cautious. And,” she added pointedly, “forthcoming in all things.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Marni,” I began.
    She silenced me with a gentle raised hand. “We understand each other, that’s what’s important.”
    She stood, and seemed taller to me than usual. She flashed a smile. “There is good news in all of this! It seems the magic that transformed this ship is once again your ally! Come along with me to the helm,” she said. “You can take over the wheel for a bit, while the captain and I have a little talk.”

8
    A t the helm—the knobs of the ship’s wheel secure in my fisted hands, the wind in my hair—it was relatively easy to put aside my worries, at least for the moment. Grady hollered out directions (perhaps from the chart Quaide had retrieved?): “Sou’ by sou’east. . . . Keep ’er close t’ the wind!” This I was able to do almost on instinct. That we were far from rocky coastlines, and there were no other ships in sight, no doubt lent to my air of confidence—we were, by all estimations, about a week from the Azore Islands. Georgie eyed me jealously from his bell platform, sounding the next half-hour mark. “No fair!” he muttered, clanging the bell with unnecessary vigor, the rest of his complaint lost to the crash of the waves.
    It wasn’t long before Marni and Captain Adams strolled back, side by side, their heads inclined. I glanced their way and then out to sea, suddenly uncomfortable, anxious to have the awkward exchange that was sure to take place over with.
    â€œYou make a good helmswoman, Miss Lucy,” he said with a smile. “Must be in your blood!” I stepped aside, avoiding his eyes, and he took back the wheel. “It’s always good to have the air cleared, wouldn’t you agree? A squall, while challenging, usually yields blue skies in its wake.” I could detect nothing in his tone but affection.
    â€œYes, Cap’n,” I said. Like Marni, the cap’n had a knack for moving through difficult places with ease and grace. What more could we want when we hit the inevitable storms at sea?
    The cap’n went on,