vicious as ever I’ve seen. And what does he do but sing!”
“God was with us. Isn’t that so, Father John?”
“Aye, lad. No question of that.” Falconer did not so much lower himself onto his bunk as collapse. Now that his boy was safe there beside him, he could no longer contain the rising fatigue. It came at him in waves as huge as those beyond the portal. He could barely move his lips to murmur to Soap, “It does my heart good to know you were here with the boy.”
“A joy, sir, and that’s the truth.” The grin seemed planted in place. “So we’ve survived the blow. Had me worried there, I don’t mind saying.”
“Aye.” Falconer did not wish to say more, both because his mouth felt gummed with weariness and because the boy was within earshot. “Help me with my boots…that’s a good lad.”
Matt took hold of one foot and then the other, making a game of pulling off Falconer’s sodden boots. Falconer protested mildly but let Soap unwrap his bandaged hand. The steward probed the skin. “Rope burn, by the looks of things. I’ve seen worse. I’ll just go ask Cook for some grease and we’ll wrap that proper.”
Matt asked, “Shall I sing you a chantey, Father John?”
“That would be fine, lad.” Falconer lifted his legs one by one onto the mattress. He smiled briefly at his son and was asleep before he’d drawn a second breath.
The lieutenant himself came to escort them to dinner. “Captain’s compliments, sir. He requests your presence in the cuddy.”
Soap had already informed Falconer of the captain’s intention to invite them to dine with the ship’s officers. Falconer had bathed off the crust of salt, washed his hair for the first time since coming on board, and helped Matt don clean clothes. He was in the process of tying his hair back with a bit of blue ribbon supplied by Soap when the lieutenant appeared in the doorway.
Falconer eyed the young man’s tightly wrapped shoulder. “How is the injury?”
“Harkness is a fair hand with shipboard ailments—better than most navy surgeons. He’s certain there’s no break, sir. Claims by landfall I’ll be using it again.” Bivens glanced at Matt, then added, “You saved my life out there, sir. I’m forever in your debt.”
“Shipmates who survive such a storm are not bound by obligations, Lieutenant.”
“This one is, and I’d be ever so grateful if you’d call me Rupert.”
“My own first name is John, though it is seldom used. You may join my friends in calling me Falconer.”
Soap, standing against the cabin wall to make as much room for Falconer’s girth as possible, said to Matt, “The entire ship’s crew is talking of nothing but how your da saved both their senior officers.”
Falconer felt his face grow warm. “None of that now, please.”
“Won’t do you no good to complain, sir. The crew counts Harkness as a hard but fair man. And Lieutenant Bivens here is a favorite belowdecks. They saw what you did, and they are grateful for the deeds.”
Matt’s eyes were round and wide. “Are you a hero, Father John?”
The lieutenant replied somberly, “He is in my book, young lad.”
Falconer cleared his throat and ruffled Matt’s hair. “We shouldn’t keep the captain waiting.”
“Ah, Falconer. Do come in, though with your bulk we’ll scarce have room to breathe.” But his welcoming smile belied the words. “And, young lad, how shall I call you?”
“My name is Matthew, sir. I’m Matt Hart.”
The captain took his time over the lad, which raised him further in Falconer’s estimation. “You do not share your father’s name?” he asked, bending down to Matt’s level.
“My first father was named Hart, sir. Father John says I should honor his memory with how I am called. And my mother too, of course.”
“God keep her blessed soul in eternal peace,” Soap intoned, his expression and raised eyebrows sending his meaning.
“Of course. Of course.” The captain’s gaze was thoughtful
“God was with us. Isn’t that so, Father John?”
“Aye, lad. No question of that.” Falconer did not so much lower himself onto his bunk as collapse. Now that his boy was safe there beside him, he could no longer contain the rising fatigue. It came at him in waves as huge as those beyond the portal. He could barely move his lips to murmur to Soap, “It does my heart good to know you were here with the boy.”
“A joy, sir, and that’s the truth.” The grin seemed planted in place. “So we’ve survived the blow. Had me worried there, I don’t mind saying.”
“Aye.” Falconer did not wish to say more, both because his mouth felt gummed with weariness and because the boy was within earshot. “Help me with my boots…that’s a good lad.”
Matt took hold of one foot and then the other, making a game of pulling off Falconer’s sodden boots. Falconer protested mildly but let Soap unwrap his bandaged hand. The steward probed the skin. “Rope burn, by the looks of things. I’ve seen worse. I’ll just go ask Cook for some grease and we’ll wrap that proper.”
Matt asked, “Shall I sing you a chantey, Father John?”
“That would be fine, lad.” Falconer lifted his legs one by one onto the mattress. He smiled briefly at his son and was asleep before he’d drawn a second breath.
The lieutenant himself came to escort them to dinner. “Captain’s compliments, sir. He requests your presence in the cuddy.”
Soap had already informed Falconer of the captain’s intention to invite them to dine with the ship’s officers. Falconer had bathed off the crust of salt, washed his hair for the first time since coming on board, and helped Matt don clean clothes. He was in the process of tying his hair back with a bit of blue ribbon supplied by Soap when the lieutenant appeared in the doorway.
Falconer eyed the young man’s tightly wrapped shoulder. “How is the injury?”
“Harkness is a fair hand with shipboard ailments—better than most navy surgeons. He’s certain there’s no break, sir. Claims by landfall I’ll be using it again.” Bivens glanced at Matt, then added, “You saved my life out there, sir. I’m forever in your debt.”
“Shipmates who survive such a storm are not bound by obligations, Lieutenant.”
“This one is, and I’d be ever so grateful if you’d call me Rupert.”
“My own first name is John, though it is seldom used. You may join my friends in calling me Falconer.”
Soap, standing against the cabin wall to make as much room for Falconer’s girth as possible, said to Matt, “The entire ship’s crew is talking of nothing but how your da saved both their senior officers.”
Falconer felt his face grow warm. “None of that now, please.”
“Won’t do you no good to complain, sir. The crew counts Harkness as a hard but fair man. And Lieutenant Bivens here is a favorite belowdecks. They saw what you did, and they are grateful for the deeds.”
Matt’s eyes were round and wide. “Are you a hero, Father John?”
The lieutenant replied somberly, “He is in my book, young lad.”
Falconer cleared his throat and ruffled Matt’s hair. “We shouldn’t keep the captain waiting.”
“Ah, Falconer. Do come in, though with your bulk we’ll scarce have room to breathe.” But his welcoming smile belied the words. “And, young lad, how shall I call you?”
“My name is Matthew, sir. I’m Matt Hart.”
The captain took his time over the lad, which raised him further in Falconer’s estimation. “You do not share your father’s name?” he asked, bending down to Matt’s level.
“My first father was named Hart, sir. Father John says I should honor his memory with how I am called. And my mother too, of course.”
“God keep her blessed soul in eternal peace,” Soap intoned, his expression and raised eyebrows sending his meaning.
“Of course. Of course.” The captain’s gaze was thoughtful
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