Aboard Providence Read online

  Doctor Ashton put his hands on his hips and paced the yard in front of the tiny house. His gait still had a slight limp, but it had improved considerably since being on land. “Can this wait until all the cabins are built? The elders wanted our home built first so I could have a treatment room ready in case anyone needs care, but now it’s our turn to help build the rest of the houses. With eight men working at once, the cabins will go up fast.”

  “Winter is coming.” Jonah knelt beside the captain’s blueberry plants, which he was keeping potted for the voyage home. He poked a finger into the soil. “Mr. Weathermon said he wants to be back here before it’s too cold. We won’t be gone long.”

  “It might not get cold here. We don’t know how far south Providence drifted before the clouds parted.”

  “And we won’t know unless we explore the island.” It pained him to think of leaving his family and the settlement behind if he got the chance to sail away, but he would not have peace until he at least tried to get home.

  He wished he could tell his father all of it as Marian had suggested. He wished he could be open and express himself as easily as she did, but he did not want to leave his family on bad terms. He had come this far to avoid the kind of conflict that had separated his father and grandfather, and he was determined to keep his father’s approval. He had to try to find a way home and still protect their relationship.

  Jonah stood and faced his father. “If this island is inhabited, it’s better to know before we use all the nails and supplies and our energy building a village. Mr. Weathermon and I don’t have wives or children to stay and protect. And seeing as how Mr. Weathermon is only friendly with our family, I doubt anyone will miss him. We were hoping to leave tomorrow, if you approve.”

  “You’re a grown man and certainly don’t need my permission, Jonah.”

  “I will need a tent. And I need your blessing.”

  Doctor Ashton stopped pacing and put his hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “You have my blessing. Certainly, you have had it and always will. I’m proud of you son. I know you wanted to stay and finish the medical program at Penn, but you did the right thing. And look how God has rewarded you—with the chance to build a new life in this magnificent land.” He smiled, easily. “I suspect it’s Harold’s blessing you should be seeking. Am I right?”

  Jonah chuckled, surprised by his father’s perception. “Possibly.”

  “You will speak to him before you propose to Marian. If I haven’t told you before, I’m telling you now: you must speak to a girl’s father before you propose to her.”

  “Of course, I will speak to Mr. Foster.”

  “Soon?”

  “Soon, but not yet.”

  Doctor Ashton nodded. “You’re wise to take your courtship with Marian slowly. We’re here now and there is much work to be done. There’s no reason to rush a marriage.”

  Jonah hoped it was wisdom guiding his cautious choices with Marian. He loved her and did not doubt his affection for her, but so long as there was a possibility he would have to leave without her he could not let his emotions overpower his logic. He slid his hands into his coat pocket and felt the folded corners of the letter that kept his sense of urgency burning. He curled his toes inside his boots and repeated his father’s words on a murmur, “No reason to rush.”

  * * *

  Gypsy snorted and stopped in the sandy grass near the shore. The horse refused to be ridden one more step. Marian was surprised Gypsy had let her ride that far, so she gladly dismounted. The rising sun warmed the air as she walked her horse back to the clearing. She raised the felled tree limb that served as a corral gate and removed Gypsy’s rope. The colt pushed past Marian to get to its mother, and both horses trotted away to the far side of the clearing where the other colts were grazing.

  The animals were thriving here physically, but they behaved differently than they had before the voyage. They seemed distrusting, startled easily, and stayed close to each other. The traumatic voyage might have formed unknowable bonds between the horses, as it had between the people. Maybe peace would return for all of them once they settled into their new home. Then again, maybe it was only her imagination because she had no peace knowing she might have to leave this perfect land.

  As she lowered the limb to close the pen, Jonah came from the forest path with a book tucked under his arm. Shards of morning light seeped between the gray leaf trees and lightened the grass in his path. His breath puffed in little white clouds on the chilly air. When their eyes met, he grinned and seemed more relaxed than he had been in months. “Did Gypsy let you ride this morning?”

  “Only for a few minutes,” Marian answered as she met him on the path. She reached into her dress pocket. “But I got a handful of the leaves from that bush down shore I told you about—the one that looks like a tea bush but its leaves smell like coffee.” She pulled a leaf out of her pocket and held it up to him.

  He sniffed it once. “So it does.” His grin faded slightly. “Just because the bush smells like coffee, doesn’t mean you can brew its leaves. Don’t let your desire for discovery lead you to death by poisoning.”

  She liked when he worried about her, but found it unnecessary. “Surely pessimism is the end of exploration. Someone had to dig up the first carrot and eat it… and the potato… and the onion. Imagine the poor soul who had to take the first bite.”

  “Must have been on a dare.”

  “Probably.” She laughed. “But now they’re all normal parts of our diet.”

  He chuckled and shook his head at her, then his serious demeanor returned. “Just promise me you’ll be cautious. I care about you, Marian. I can’t bear the thought of you suffering.”

  “I promise.” The words came quickly, but she meant them. “I’m always cautious. An explorer’s caution might seem different than a physician’s, but I am cautious nonetheless.”

  “Good,” he said as he drew the book out from under his arm and handed it to her. “Maybe this will aid in your exploration.”

  She accepted it and traced a finger over its embossed cover. “Balfour’s Class Book of Botany.”

  “I thought you might like to study it while I’m away.”

  “Away?” Her fingers continued to feel the lines in the cover, but her mind forgot about the book. Despite knowing his plans and his desires, her questions poured out. “Must you go so soon? Do you have to find a way home right now?”

  He groaned impatiently, but his eyes lit as he looked at her. “Mr. Weathermon and I are only going to explore the island. If this land is small, we’ll be back in a couple of days. If not, we will return in two weeks. I promise you that no matter what I find, I will come back for you. If something happens and I don’t return, please know that it was not by choice. I promise I will do everything in my power to come back for you.”

  She wanted to cry, to pout, to beg, but all that came out was a whisper. She curled her arms around the book. “Don’t go.”

  He lowered his face until his lips were a breath from hers. “I must.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek and kissed her.

  She closed her eyes and let him and for one slow, magnificent moment the questions ceased and the air caught in her lungs and she did not dare let it out or move or release the hum of contentment that threatened to escape her throat. The air went still around them and when he slowly pulled away, she felt his breath on her skin. Her eyelids fluttered open without permission, and her fingers gripped the book still wrapped in her arms.

  He left his hand on her cheek and stared down at her from so close she could see nothing else. The trees disappeared and the forest and the Land melted away and it didn’t matter where they were on earth because it was only them.

  She wanted to say something worldly and mature, but no words came to mind. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was their first passionate kiss—hers anyway, but perhaps not his. She had not considered it before. Maybe he had kissed other women. Of course he had. He was a college man, accustomed to socia
lizing and the city. The thought created more questions, but she could not have voiced them if she wanted to. He gazed down at her. What was he thinking? Maybe there was something she was supposed to do and hadn’t. She held still and waited for him to move.

  He drew his hand away and grinned, seeming pleased with himself. If his purpose had been to silence her, he had found a fantastic method. He took a small step back and looked at her lips. “I will be back in a few days. Please be careful while I’m gone.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jonah shooed a fly from the mouth of his tin canteen and took a swig of water. The ocean air blew over him as he sat in the sunshine on a boulder at the forest’s edge north of the settlement that the elders insisted on calling Good Springs. He and Mr. Weathermon had been walking for two days and, even though he expected to have found the port by now, every step they took felt like a step closer to success.

  It did not matter that in two days of walking, the coastline still continued due north; Marian loved him enough to go back to America with him. With her support he could defeat any charge and earn his degree in no time. The paralyzing voice of his grandfather denigrating men who called themselves Doctor without a medical degree would not be able to taunt him much longer.

  He would soon find the port, scoop Marian into his loving arms, and they would sail home. He would not have to disappoint his father. Maybe the whole group would sail back and he would be hailed a hero for helping them home safely. When surrounded by the unsullied beauty of nature, the feeling of victory easily emboldened his fantasy of success.

  He unwrapped one of the packets of dried meat his mother had sent with him and ate a strip of it as he propped his feet on a rock. In the distance, deer walked through the tussock grass between the seashore and the forest. He glanced down at the salted venison in his hands and offered the packet to Mr. Weathermon.

  Water dripped from Mr. Weathermon’s chin as he took a noisy quaff from his canteen. “Plentiful game here,” he said before ripping the tough meat with his molars. “I wish I’d brought my bow.”

  “On the voyage?”

  “No, I brought it on the voyage. I meant that I left it at the settlement and now I rather wish I had it in hand.”

  “I didn’t know you were a hunter.”

  Mr. Weathermon nodded as he chewed. The mid-day sun gleamed off his forehead. “My father lived for the hunt. I enjoyed going with him as a boy, but when I grew up, I never made time for it. I’ll have time now, won’t I? Plenty of game here, it seems, and good fishing too. I have been enjoying the fishing.”

  It was puzzling how Mr. Weathermon spoke wistfully of his future here even though he didn’t seem to like most of the elders, and he had agreed this land was probably already claimed. If Mr. Weathermon had changed his mind about the settlement, Jonah felt less victorious. Without Marian around to reassure him, he needed to reiterate his position. “There is plenty of game in America too. Perhaps if we can’t stay here, you can go out West with the group when we return home.”

  Mr. Weathermon drew a deep breath as if preparing for a booming retort, but his voice lacked its usual fullness. “You’ve made a catalog of plans for us, young man, yet you know as little about this place as everyone else. The rest of the men believe we are home and they are building accordingly.”

  Jonah feared he was losing his lone supporter. He arched his back. “But when we studied the stars and the maps, you said this might be Saint Helena or possibly Ascension Island.”

  “Might, Jonah, I said might. These are all speculations… yours and mine. Neither of us knows where we are for certain. We might be on Saint Helena. We might be on Antarctica. We might be on an uncharted land and no one else has ever been here or will ever come here. We’ve walked two days along the coast and the land still continues north; it’s too big to be either of those islands you mentioned.

  “You’re young. Young men always believe they know something that older men have missed. Understand this: you might be right or your elders might be right or you all might be wrong. Regardless, we’re on this island now and without a ship… unless you’re so anxious to get back to America that you’re willing to build yourself a ship. You could start working on it now and maybe in a couple decades it would float. You’d be like Noah.” Mr. Weathermon chuckled. “The lone man building his ship to save his family.”

  Jonah ignored Mr. Weathermon’s attempt at a joke. “As a man of industry, surely you don’t believe this place is ours for the taking?”

  “I am out of the business now. Whatever this place is, I’m here for my retirement. How in blazes would I know where we are? The ship’s compass never worked well, we were under cloud cover for weeks, and Spence—God rest his soul—never could estimate the ship’s location.”

  Jonah felt blindsided by Mr. Weathermon’s lack of enthusiasm for their exploration. When Mr. Weathermon handed him back the meat packet, Jonah stuffed it into his satchel without taking another strip. He rose to his feet, ready to continue their hike north, hoping the coast would soon veer west and he would spot a port in the distance.

  Mr. Weathermon gripped his walking stick and stood. He made some comment about the contrast of the deciduous trees’ autumn colors against the thick silvery foliage of the gray leaf trees. It was not the beauty of the forest that stole Jonah’s attention, but the way the land steeply inclined away from the shore ahead.

  Jonah grunted a response to Mr. Weathermon. He slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and trudged through the sandy soil. The terrain was changing. He pointed at the rocky bluffs ahead. “If the tide comes in before we are past those rocks, we’ll be trapped down there. We should go into the forest and up that incline but still follow the coast north.”

  Mr. Weathermon nodded rapidly. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all day.” His cheeks puffed and he tapped his walking stick on a rock. “Lead us up the incline then, Jonah. Find your way home!”

  Jonah took high steps through the tall grass as he hiked the incline. Mr. Weathermon breathed heavily behind him, and they kept moving slowly up the hill until they came to the level bluff that rose over the sea. Jonah hooked a thumb around the strap of his satchel and stared out at the ocean to the east.

  Mr. Weathermon tapped him on the shoulder. When Jonah turned around, Mr. Weathermon did not say a word; he only panted as he pointed west over the treetops.

  Jonah looked out at the unexpected view, which spanned to the periphery of his vision. The forest went on for miles until it faded into a green and silver blur where a mountain range rose from the distant horizon. Snowcapped peaks met the crisp blue of the sky and Jonah suddenly felt small.

  “This is no ordinary island, my boy,” Mr. Weathermon said.

  Jonah’s eyes followed the mountains as far as he could see to their southernmost point then to the north. This land was neither ordinary nor insignificant in size. They would certainly not circumnavigate it in seven days. “How far away do you think those mountains are?”

  Mr. Weathermon shook his head and for the first time seemed to be without words.

  For an instant Jonah feared Mr. Weathermon had gone into some kind of shock from the steep hike. “Are you all right?”

  “Hm? Oh, quite.” He gaped at the distant mountains. “How far? Fifty, sixty miles maybe. What an incredible view!”

  Dumbfounded, Jonah took a step back. “Fifty or sixty miles?”

  Mr. Weathermon nodded. “I once saw Mount Washington from the Atlantic. It was about seventy miles inland. Of course, Mount Washington is over a mile high. Those mountains are much lower. I’d say there’s a good fifty miles of land between this coast and that mountain range and who knows how much land lies to the west of them.”

  “Maybe this is Brazil after all.”

  “It’s not. The flora and fauna are all wrong for Brazil. We were in the middle of the South Atlantic.”

  “But you said we could be on Antarctica for all you knew.”

  Mr. Weathermon
raised an eyebrow at Jonah then returned his gaze to the mountains. “It was just an expression. We are on an uncharted land. There is no one here but the persons who were aboard Providence. We came to the exact place the men had hoped: a new land.”

  “I can’t accept that.” Jonah gripped the strap of his satchel, needing something to hold onto. “I can’t.”

  “You’ll have to. You might never get where you want to be and that is how life goes, not just for you, for most of us. What determines your peace of mind is how you handle where you are. Learn to be content and you will have peace no matter your circumstances. We could walk for weeks but we aren’t going to find any port.” Mr. Weathermon pointed a thumb to the north. “I’ll continue this exploration as I promised, but only to prove to you there is no port here. The sooner you accept that this is your new home, the better off you’ll be.”

  “I can’t.” Even as the words of denial slipped from his tongue, he absorbed the truth of the expanse before him. He had spent the past two days scanning the coastline, looking for masts or houses or paths or huts—anything, but so far he had witnessed no sign of human life. Mr. Weathermon was right. This land was their new home, and it was vast and plentiful, but painfully isolated.

  Jonah wanted to go home. He didn’t consider the settlement called Good Springs home. Philadelphia wasn’t his home either, nor was Dover, nor was Accomack. Still, he wanted to go home.

  Maybe home was simply wherever his family was. His family would be enjoying a hot meal back at the settlement. His back ached from sleeping on a bedroll on the ground. His family would have their mattresses fluffed and their beds arranged in their cozy new cabin by now.

  Marian was back at the settlement too, and he missed her. He wished he could see her now and kiss her again, but he had to press on. Perhaps he would write a letter for her when they stopped for the night. Of course he would. He felt close to her when he wrote to her even though she wouldn’t read his letters unless he gave them to her, which he didn’t plan to—most of them anyway.