olderman—the slim, graying fellow to whom Jerome McKenzie had given the order to sail last night—nodded her way.
“Good morning!” she called politely.
He nodded again. She saw Jeremiah Jones then, sitting on a keg, polishing a rifle. “Hello, Jeremiah.”
“Miss Magee.”
“It’s a beautiful morning. Is it all right if I walk the deck?”
Jeremiah looked to the older man. He shrugged in return. Apparently, it was generally assumed that she could cause little trouble aboard ship. It seemed they’d been given no direct orders regarding her—and that they’d paid little heed to their captain’s warning that she had a penchant for swimming.
“I’m sure it would be fine, Miss Magee,” Jeremiah said. He offered her such an innocent and earnest smile, she felt a moment’s guilt.
“Thanks, Jeremiah.”
She walked casually around the deck.
The ship carrying the Union soldier was off the aft of the ship. Risa made her way there, aware that the remaining skeletal crew of the
Lady Varina
paused in their work and conversations to observe her. She smiled to them; they nodded in return. When she reached the aft, she leaned against the railing, as if she enjoyed the breeze. The men who had watched her warily as she passed grew weary of their surveillance after a while and returned to their tasks.
Risa waited.
She heard the hum of conversations as the men talked and worked.
She looked down to the water. The
Lady Varina
was not a large ship, and yet the surface of the sea seemed very far away. She reminded herself that she needed to slip over the railing quietly, without making a splash.
She pondered the distance to the Union ship, and the weight of her skirts. She wasn’t laden down with petticoats today. And she was a strong swimmer. Her father had thought that only fools refused to learn to swim when bodies of water were so abundant. Swimming, toan army man, might mean survival. So Risa swam, and well. She could do it.
She casually glanced back. The aft of the ship was deserted except for two fellows who were mending a canvas sail. Their heads were lowered over their stitches.
She hastily scooted up to the railing, swung her legs around, and looked down to the water once again. Then she slipped in with what grace she could manage, attempting to fall with her body straight and slim so that she wouldn’t make a splash audible to the men above.
The water was neither too cold nor too warm, rather it was cool and pleasant. Her dive had taken her straight downward, perhaps ten to twenty feet into the water. She swam hard, trying to put some distance between herself and the ship before she surfaced.
Her head broke from the water, and she inhaled on a deep gasp. Air filled her lungs. It was delicious.
The ship with the Union soldier aboard seemed farther away than it had from the deck. Her clothing, even minus petticoats, was heavy. She needed to move, and quickly.
She was exhausted, nearly spent, by the time she neared the ship. She paused, breathing deeply, treading water. She opened her mouth to cry out to whomever might be aboard, but before she could do so, she was gripped firmly by the ankles and jerked beneath the water’s surface.
She inhaled salt water. Her lungs and nose burned.
She was jettisoned back up, where she coughed and choked, desperately gasping to breathe. She wondered what form of monster had so nearly killed her, and she struggled to free herself from the arms holding her. She twisted to realize that her Rebel captor had come upon her, even there, in the very midst of freedom.
“Let me go this instant! I’ll scream—”
“If you do, you’re an idiot,” he told her flatly, his eyes reflecting the sun’s glitter on the water.
“That’s a Union ship—”
“That’s a nest of deserters, Miss Magee.”
“I don’t believe you. And I will scream!” She opened her mouth to do so. He swirled her around, clamping ahand over her mouth, and plunging them both beneath the
“Good morning!” she called politely.
He nodded again. She saw Jeremiah Jones then, sitting on a keg, polishing a rifle. “Hello, Jeremiah.”
“Miss Magee.”
“It’s a beautiful morning. Is it all right if I walk the deck?”
Jeremiah looked to the older man. He shrugged in return. Apparently, it was generally assumed that she could cause little trouble aboard ship. It seemed they’d been given no direct orders regarding her—and that they’d paid little heed to their captain’s warning that she had a penchant for swimming.
“I’m sure it would be fine, Miss Magee,” Jeremiah said. He offered her such an innocent and earnest smile, she felt a moment’s guilt.
“Thanks, Jeremiah.”
She walked casually around the deck.
The ship carrying the Union soldier was off the aft of the ship. Risa made her way there, aware that the remaining skeletal crew of the
Lady Varina
paused in their work and conversations to observe her. She smiled to them; they nodded in return. When she reached the aft, she leaned against the railing, as if she enjoyed the breeze. The men who had watched her warily as she passed grew weary of their surveillance after a while and returned to their tasks.
Risa waited.
She heard the hum of conversations as the men talked and worked.
She looked down to the water. The
Lady Varina
was not a large ship, and yet the surface of the sea seemed very far away. She reminded herself that she needed to slip over the railing quietly, without making a splash.
She pondered the distance to the Union ship, and the weight of her skirts. She wasn’t laden down with petticoats today. And she was a strong swimmer. Her father had thought that only fools refused to learn to swim when bodies of water were so abundant. Swimming, toan army man, might mean survival. So Risa swam, and well. She could do it.
She casually glanced back. The aft of the ship was deserted except for two fellows who were mending a canvas sail. Their heads were lowered over their stitches.
She hastily scooted up to the railing, swung her legs around, and looked down to the water once again. Then she slipped in with what grace she could manage, attempting to fall with her body straight and slim so that she wouldn’t make a splash audible to the men above.
The water was neither too cold nor too warm, rather it was cool and pleasant. Her dive had taken her straight downward, perhaps ten to twenty feet into the water. She swam hard, trying to put some distance between herself and the ship before she surfaced.
Her head broke from the water, and she inhaled on a deep gasp. Air filled her lungs. It was delicious.
The ship with the Union soldier aboard seemed farther away than it had from the deck. Her clothing, even minus petticoats, was heavy. She needed to move, and quickly.
She was exhausted, nearly spent, by the time she neared the ship. She paused, breathing deeply, treading water. She opened her mouth to cry out to whomever might be aboard, but before she could do so, she was gripped firmly by the ankles and jerked beneath the water’s surface.
She inhaled salt water. Her lungs and nose burned.
She was jettisoned back up, where she coughed and choked, desperately gasping to breathe. She wondered what form of monster had so nearly killed her, and she struggled to free herself from the arms holding her. She twisted to realize that her Rebel captor had come upon her, even there, in the very midst of freedom.
“Let me go this instant! I’ll scream—”
“If you do, you’re an idiot,” he told her flatly, his eyes reflecting the sun’s glitter on the water.
“That’s a Union ship—”
“That’s a nest of deserters, Miss Magee.”
“I don’t believe you. And I will scream!” She opened her mouth to do so. He swirled her around, clamping ahand over her mouth, and plunging them both beneath the
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