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Odd Man In
by Limey
Lorie leaned awkwardly in the hatchway as she surveyed the scene within the cabin. The crazy angle at which the oil lamp hung in its gimbals parallelled her own stance but it still spread a warm and cosy glow wherein the relative peace was at strange variance with the scene she had left outside.
Anne had disappeared into her blankets to leave a shapeless lump retained in place by the weatherboard. Terry's head protruded from an untidy tangle of covers to rest against the hard curve of an oak timber. She picked her way to his side to ease a mall cushion under the freckled face and then gently drew-up the covers.
The boy stirred and plainly mutterred "Port side, Andie".
Loretta smiled unconsciously: "You three. Your precious boat is all you ever think about. How can I compete?"
Strange how absolutely children can sleep. They'd made enough noise to wake the dead as they had dragged-out that chain from the locker but Terry went on dreaming.
"Dreams! Yes, finish it dear boy. They so seldom finish when you're awake." The smile gentled: "I think the pair of you are just as bad as your Pops."
The little vessel trembled and she looked up: "Talk of the Devil ... that's him climbing back. I suppose he's laid out that anchor."
Back out on the wildly sloping deck she saw the big man regain his ship over the bowsprit and start to adjust the heavy rope that now stretched out into the darkness: "Jim. How long will we be stuck here?"
"About another four hours." His voice was calm - quiet if you considered the racket that wind and sea was kicking-up all around them. It was as if danger did not encroach from all sides on the little family and she felt her fury rising yet again. He hadn't always been this distant, so formally polite. She had consented to this weekend in the hope that they might find again ... but he still avoided discussion, gave only the information she requested.. He treated her as he might a fractious child and acquiesced in everything except the boat.
That little devil rose again to inspire her to needle him: "The wind's rising," she said.
He remained silent while looking at her and then: "I'm surprised you noticed," he said and returned to his anchor rope.
The unusual and unexpected rudeness stung as would a slap and all words seemed drained from her. Back at home her reply would have come with some spirit but out here, in this watery and very frightening waste, she only had Jim to whom she could cling and to see him walkng away from her past the eerie red-and-green glow of the navigation lights ... it was as though he had abandoned her.
The children both were sailors and out of their learning in the way of the sea they could cope with such a situation. But Lorie, who kept that little ship at arm's length, was helpless.
She stood irresolute; her instinct was to run after him but her silly pride held her disdainfully back. Yet she knew that there was more at stake here than just pride. He was not a man to make up his mind lightly; he was very competent and self-assured; the very fact of his rudeness told her that he was worried.
How often in the past few weeks had she fought this battle. Part of her wanted Jim - yes, at any cost - and that part showed in her generous mouth and the brown wistful, often thoughtful,eyes. But another part, the part of the too-sharp chin and obstinately tilted head, held out proudly. He would come on her terms or ... she evaded that answer.
From the heavy boom, suspended above her head on taut ropes, the white mass of the damaged mainsail bellied down on to the coachroof where it flopped in the wind with irritating persistence. She moved to try and quell it.
From Jim's hurried explanation she had gathered that its demise had been the cause of their stranding a second time and she looked with dismay at the carnage: "How could he possibly repair that even in daylight?"
It was to have been such a lovely afternoon ...
Jim returned beside her and began to cut away the remnants of the sail. "Can we do without it?"
"Rig the storm sail; she'll sail well enough with this blow." But he paid her little attention as he set about his task. Loretta's childhood had been spent mainly alone and she could never face the role of odd-man-out. A little uncertainly: "Jim."
Again, apprehensively: "Jim?"
He rested his hands on the boom and allowed the sail to spill back to the coachroof again. "I'm ... I'm sorry, Jim. I'm not being very nice." And then it came with a rush: "I'm frightened Jim. Very frightened."
Again that silent scrutiny. "Lorie," he said gently, "if you can admit that, there's hope for us yet." But he returned to his sail.
Perhaps a little desperately she tried again: "It's not fair to blame me. It's not all my fault. OK, maybe had I not gone to bed you wouldn't have grounded again. But is it my fault we quarrel?"
He jumped down to stand beside her in the cockpit. In the near darkness he seemed to her heightened senses to be even bigger than normal, a giant she knew could be so gentle. "Look Lorie. It's no use to blame anybody. We're in trouble all round. The boat's sitting on a sandbank, there's a sea running, wind is getting unkind, our marriage is drifting on to rocks. None of it will matter unless we get off in one piece. Only one thing we can do and that is to try."
He had taken hold of her arms above the elbow and she found herself wishing that he would not let go. "I've said I'm sorry. How far do I have to go?"
"Yes. And I know what that cost you. But Lorie, will you still be sorry when we get back?"
"Shall we get back?"
Jim threw back his head and the sudden impulsive laughter, so seldom heard of late, thrilled her as on that day she first met Jim Willoughby. "This shouldn't have happened ... but it did. This weather shouldn't have happened ... but it did. We're certainly a long way from home," he said: "But not that far ."
As though in answer a gust of wind came biting across the wet sand to shake the little ship. "It's good to hear you laugh, Jim" but her voice sounded very small in that gathering maelstrom.
He held her away from him allowing the meagre light from the navigation lamps to fall on her face: "We've had a lot to laugh about, you and I, haven't we? Was it really so long ago?"
"Oh Jim." She slipped against him and was rewarded by his arms tightening around her. And tighter yet. Then the mounting misery of the past weeks was swept away in the joy of one kiss. He did, oh he DID, still love her.
She dropped her head to press her face into the thick jersey that covered his broad chest. It tasted of salt! Lorie had knitted this for him, her first present, a labour of love from a woman deeply in love; it had been a token that she was prepared to meet Neptune half way. But it hadn't gone that way ?
She was recalled to the present by his hoarse whisper in her ear: "Pet. This is crazy. We've trouble all around. Let's sort this little lot first. Eh?"
Odd that it should be Jim suggesting they do things in the right order? For months she had been trying to bring common sense and organisation into their lives. Meal times were the worst problem; The family seemed to be interested in eating only when they could spare a moment. Meal TIMES as such were ... what were they?
Of certainty this was an unusual moment because even Lorie was behaving oddly: "Let me help, Jim. Show me what to do."
"There's not much you can do up here in the dark," he said and there again was that snap rising in his voice. "I can bend the sail ... there's pletny of time. You see to the kids, get the lifejackets ready, make some hot coffee and sandwiches. Lord knows when we shall eat next. Stow everything that can move - or nail it down."
She smiled again unseen in the dark: "There we go. Food again."
Silhouetted against the green starboard light she could see that wretched pipe was back between his teeth. "When the water comes back," he said, "it will bounce us on the bottom. Very frightening but she can take it. When it starts it will wake the kids. Get them into lifejackets ... and yourself and stay with them. I'll holler when I need you. We can do this."
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The compass was spinning again. That gyrating smug little disc, serene inside its softly-lit binnacle, had tormented her for more than an hour now. It see-sawed back and forth edging constantly imperceptibly away from the proper mark Then, taking advantage of a big wave as it glided madly under them, it would spin madly.
Foot braced against the locker, back aching, muscles bursting Lorie hauled on the tiller with both hands. The compass card slowed its mad dance, stopped and then began to edge its way back toward that all-important mark.
She allowed it to overshoot a little before she eased the pressure and was rewarded as the yacht steadied on course. "Got you sized up now," she rejoiced. Indeed during the last couple of hours she had learned many things particularly the painful result of hanging on to the tiller when the little ship decided to slide sideways from the top of a wave. Her ribs were still talking about it.
As Jim had warned, it all started when the water returned with sufficient depth to start them lifting. As they pounded the sand Jim had sent her below to sit with the children but indeed, their faith in their Father's ability to deal with it all touched her deeply. Nevertheless, as the ship hammered and crashed and the noise grew ever greater, it was a comfort to have them cling to her. Slowly with each successive horrendous bump the little ship assumed her natural position until, with a noise unlike any before, the motion changed and the noise of water swishing past the hull showed that they had broken out the anchor and were underweigh.
From the deck above, through all the noise and commotion, a strange sound reached her ears. Exhilarated by the performance of his beloved ship, as she ploughed her way through the rolling seas bearing his family to safety, that mad husband of hers was singing ! Below him his two scared children drew strength from Lorie as the three of them clung together. It was a long time since that ship had seemed to come between them and her elation was tempered with the knowledge that she had let jealousy cause the rift.
Jim called her to take the helm while he worked with the bilge pump. She tucked the children back into their berths. "I must go and help Pops," she said to Anne's heap of bedding. You'll be all right now?"
" 'Course ," came a muffled reply. "G'night Mums." Perhaps this ghastly trip would be worth it to graduate from plain 'Mummy' to 'Mums' alonside 'Pops'. Terry was more a chip off the old block - he was already asleep !
Extraordinary. Mid all this noise and commotion, not to mention the motion as the little vessel rolled across the racing waves, Jim had wedged himself against the hatch doors and there he too slept. She had never felt so lonely but he ought to get what rest he could against their need of him later.
"Let me keep it, Jim," she had pleaded
"Keep a lookout," he had shrugged and settled in that corner only to fall instantly asleep.
She suppose that he would not sleep had there been anything to worry about yet she sensed that something was wrong. She had been on the helm before but it had never been as heavy as this. But then she had never been out in such a blow as this? Never before had she worked so hard on that malignant tiller. Probably the sails needed to be adjusted - or whatever they did to them - but she had always left those things to Jim. While, obstinately she refused to awaken him and relinquish her command, at that moment Lorie would have given much for the knowledge so wilfully rejected.
A sibilant hiss astern heralded the approach of another of those great waves. But now familiarity was her partner and it supplanted fear with exhultation as she watched their little ship throw up her stern to let the wave pass harmlessly under the quarter.
She shifted her gaze to the other side eager now to see the moonlit spectacle as that monstrous sweeping valley chased off ahead of them to make way for the next. She had long since come to realise just how small was Lorie Willoughby as she stood there with her feet below the water surface.
When first the moon had risen such a sight had scared her witless. It hadn't been so bad when she was unable to see what the world was doing around her. She laughed, a short mirthless bark of sound: "I was more scared when Jim went forward to fix that sail."
"Keep her there," he'd shouted. "Right there." And he had gone.
Then, high and fast, had come the water. It had roared down the side decks, a deal of it spilling into the cockpit while most of it seemed bent on pursuing Jim. Flying spray filled her entire world while everything
dissolved into confusion. Jim , knee-deep, an arm around the mast fought a mountain of whipping ropes. The Tiller kicked rebelliously as she fought to hold the ship's head constant so fearful that Jim would be washed away.
The compass frenzied, wilful, lost. The loose sail had thundered in the wind shaking the vessel from stem to stern and from truck to keel. Those memories, flickering painfully through her thoughts, had been her only company since Jim had gone to sleep.
Of course he'd had no option but to go forward and deal with the problem but he had gone without hesitation and she knew that it all had depended on her efforts. The sandbank had been waiting behind in anticipation of their early return. Had she lost Jim then ...
Crouched over the compass she had been startled when he dropped back into the cockpit. "Got my feet wet," had been his only comment as he went below.
Loretta was conscious of a change. She, Loretta Willoughby, was crouched in a tiny hole in a vast ocean, tossed around by a sliding corkscrew motion, bruised, battered into deafness by the roar of an unrelenting wind, half blinded by the crusting of salt on her eyes, wanting to just cry with fatigue and loneliness while she fought a never-ending battle with the Elements.
What had happened to Loretta, the smart sophisticated sought-after chic and efficient secretary? Submerged in a bedraggled damp red-eyed being that former Loretta was no more. For the umpteenth time she dragged hair from her mouth to enable her to swear.
The fear and fatigue were now of no account; they were nothing beside the majesty of the scene around her. For all its power to inspire terror there was a beauty that she would never forget. Vast poppled valleys of water rolled smootly past in an unending stream seeking the Dawn. The little ship, with haughty unconcern, rode up and down gracefully allowing them passage beneath her rounded bosom.
She was beginning to understand why Jim so loved his boat; the feeling that once, but only once, he had tried to explain to her. Something about a partnership. "To see a little ship fight ... against such odds ... makes your heart swell." The soft but resonant voice came back to her from memory as, pipe forgotten, he had gazed out over the glassy surface of a placid sea: "And it comes to you that her ability derives from your skill. Boat and helmsman together ... they're almost invincible; alone they are both helpless."
How like Jim to put in that simple word 'almost'. How like her to close her ears to him, to think that she could win him from this. Lorie ... she knew for certain now ... would never be a sailor although she never would forget this moment of magnificence.
As though on cue the Sun's upper limb lurched above the water's edge and she could only stare in mute admiration. The boat staggerred, steadied and then tobogganed down the glistening back of a wave that led her eye down and down into a vast valley of churning water. She slipped sideways pressing the rudder hard to one side; Loretta, feasting on that extraordinary sight, was caught off guard; she resisted the Tiller's kick and was thrown clear across the cockpit.
Painfully, tearfully, she coaxed the vessel back on course. It was the third time she had paid toll to this pitiless taskmistress. She turned her eyes west to where the night was fleeing from the Sun's advance and, in the corner of her eye, there flashed a pin-prick of light.
For the next ten minutes, between hasty glances at that demonic compass, Lorie studied the erratic flashes from the beacon until, sure of her identification, she reached a foot to rouse the sleeping man.
Jim started up to look first at his watch. Then his gaze went aloft as he checked his gear and then, finally, to the light. He said only: "You should have wakened me" and disappeared below for the chart.
***********************************
With the hatch doors closed the saloon seemed remarkably snug and peaceful. Somewhere outside, to the accompaniment of the rocking motion of their little refuge, the wind and the sea were singing a duet of defeat. The little craft, hugging the precious cargo, rode daintily to its anchor in the shelter of the familiar creek.
Jim opened the hatch to heave out the wet clothing. "It might rain," Lorie protested.
"They'll not get much wetter. And it will get rid of some of the salt."
He wrapped a blanket around her and then, leaving an arm across her shoulders: "You did well out there, Lorie." Then after a short pause: "Have to thank you too for helping to clew up."
So unusual for Jim to appear nonplussed. She leaned into that arm and said smugly: "I had to finish it."
"Finish it? Finish what?"
She turned: "I want to say sorry again." A little later, when she continued, she added: "When we first met I was so proud of the boat. One up on the Jones's I suppose. I never was ... and never will be ... a
sailor but last night I learned something.
"You see people were always saying 'And where did you go this weekend?' We didn't! You and the kids were happy just to be mucking about on it. I began to hate the beast and then ... you."
He would have spoken but she broke in quickly: "Don't stop me. Not while I have the courage. Tonight ... last night ... when the tide came back the children were frightened, the noise was awful, the bumping on the bottom ...
"The children ... your children ... came to ME for shelter. There, instead of the boat coming between us, it was showing me that I was included. I was needed. I had a place to fill. You once said 'It's as though a boat is determined to fight it out.' I let you sleep because I had to match her. Did I take too much of a risk?"
He gave a slight imperceptible shake of his head. "We're here," was all he said. "And the kettle's boiling.!
The boat rocked gently and Lorie was content. A consuming warmth was spreading over her chilled body. With a tremendous effort she murmured drowsily: "I've never seen her like that before."
Jim peered through a cloud of steam: "Seen who, like what?"
"Our boat. At sea like that."
He said softly: "OUR boat?" but there was little doubt that he would have to go solo on that pot of tea.
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