Heart Of The Storm. Mary Burton

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      She’d stood at her bedroom window watching him as he’d climbed into his carriage. When the carriage had rounded the corner, she’d fled.

      She’d gone to the docks and inquired about freighters that took on passengers. Forced to wait for the morning tide, she’d spent the night in an inn by the docks.

      Only a day, two at most, remained before Peter returned. A couple of days to put as much distance as she could between them.

      Within a half hour, the Anna St. Claire set sail. The trip down the river was smooth. As the hours ticked by, her nerves relaxed a fraction. Everything was going to be fine.

      By midafternoon, they reached the waters of the Chesapeake Bay and then the Atlantic. As they turned south and passed the shores of Virginia, the waters became choppy. As they headed out to sea, the waters grew rougher. The freighter’s white sails strained in the high winds and her mast creaked and moaned.

      The cabin rocked and Rachel found it hard to sit in the chair. Outside, the waves pitched. The sky had grown black. Raindrops covered the glass portal. They were headed into a storm.

      Rachel had never been a good sailor, but the constant rocking soon made her seasick. Unable to hold down her food, she found the chamber pot by the bunk and wretched. Unable to sit up any longer, she crawled into the bunk. She loosened the braid coiled at the nape of her neck. Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep.

      However, when sleep took her, she dreamed of a monster with glowing red eyes looming in the shadows. The creature moved toward her, one step at a time. Her heart raced. Tears stung her eyes. She knew if he caught her, she’d die.

      Pounding on her door had her sitting up. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but the storm was all around them, like a wraith ready to steal their lives.

      Weak with nausea, she faced the cabin door. “What’s going on?”

      Footsteps shuffled outside her door seconds before a hard object hit the hallway floor. Rachel reached for a blanket on the edge of the bed. She pulled it over her shoulders. Her hair brushed her backside.

      “The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want.” Rubin’s deep voice rushed in under the door.

      Pressing her hand to her stomach, she moved across the room, swaying to keep her balance. She opened her cabin door and found Rubin picking up a hammer. In his other hand was a crude crucifix lashed together with rope.

      Rubin glanced nervously up at her and then to the stairwell to the upper deck where the storm raged.

      “What are you doing?” she demanded.

      Hammer in hand, he stood. “I was nailing the cross over your door to break your curse.”

      Rachel stared into his brown eyes, which were wild with fear. “I’ve brought no curse on this ship.” She tried to move past Rubin.

      “Aye, you have. Ol’ Nate said we was supposed to have smooth seas all the way. Ol’ Nate is never wrong about the weather. You’ve brought us bad luck.”

      “I have no control over the weather. You are a fool to think that I do.”

      Anger mingled with fear in his eyes. “You may have fooled the captain,” he snarled, “but not me.”

      “I want to go on deck and speak to the captain this instant.”

      Rubin blocked her exit with his large body. He smelled of sweat and fear. “You’ll stay right here. The men are busy lowering the lifeboats and they don’t need your curses.”

      They were abandoning ship and leaving her behind? “I must see the captain.”

      Rubin folded his arms over his chest. “You’ll get no help from him. He’s got his hands full keeping this ship afloat.”

      “Move out of my way. You can’t make me stay. I paid good money.”

      “Dead men can’t spend money.”

      “Get out of my way!” she screamed.

      Rubin shoved her into the cabin and closed her door.

      In the next instant the ship pitched violently and she stumbled back. She lost her footing. She grabbed onto a chair, but the chair toppled forward under her weight. She fell hard and hit her head against the corner of a wooden crate. Pain registered for only a moment and then her world went black.

      When Rachel awoke, she was aware of the howling wind outside. And the cold.

      She was lying in two inches of water.

      Chapter Two

      Rain pelted Ben Mitchell as he rowed toward the wreck of the Anna St. Claire.

      His assistant, Timothy Scott, sat in front of him in the boat. It was the boy’s first sea rescue. He was huddled under his black slicker; a stocking cap covering his red hair. Even over the wind Ben could hear the lad’s teeth chattering with fear and cold.

      “The freighter is so close, I swear I could spit on her,” Timothy said.

      “Aye, she’s not more than one hundred yards from the shore.”

      Ben glanced over his shoulder at the schooner. The right side of her hull had sunk so low that stormy waves washed over her bow. The ship’s masts were broken and her torn white sails flapped in the wind like eerie specters.

      Timothy gripped the side of the dory. “Are the wrecks always so close?”

      Ben dug the oars into the water. “No. We’re lucky this time.”

      “Luck.” The boy laughed. “Only a keeper would be talking of luck while rowing out to a wreck in this kind of weather.”

      “Wait until the day you row out a half mile to a ship in weather worse than this.” This past winter had been one of the worst on the outer banks. The nor’easters had fooled many a ship’s captain. There’d been more wrecks than normal and the bodies of dozens of unnamed sailors had washed up on the beaches. He’d be glad to see spring.

      The lighthouse beacon blinked steady and bright as the seas caught the dory and dragged her further out to sea. The riptide would make getting back to shore more difficult than he’d first thought. But there was no worrying about that when there will was a ship to board and search.

      Ben had served as lightkeeper for six months. He’d been hired late last fall as the Winter Man, a temporary replacement to fill the shoes of the old keeper who had died suddenly. After twelve years in the Navy and an unexpected discharge, he’d come home to visit his aunt and cousin.

      Ben had been at loose ends. He’d had offers from several shipping companies, but he had lost his taste for sailing the seas.

      The short-term job as winter man had suited him for the time being. Two weeks ago, he’d received a letter from the Life Saving Service. The board had offered him the position full-time. He’d yet to give his answer.

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