Prize of My Heart

“Two grown men to look after him, and neither of you knows where he’s gone?” Lorena bounced her annoyance from George to Edward, infuriated with them both for not minding Drew, infuriated with herself for entrusting the child to them.

“How could this have happened? Edward, no one is more responsible than you. And, George, Drew would never disobey you by running off.” She darted a glance across the wharf. Lorena tried to remain calm, to hold the panic at bay, but already queasiness was forming in the pit of her stomach. “A busy waterfront is no place for a small boy to wander alone.”

A small hand slipped over hers and squeezed Lorena’s fingers. “We shall find him,” Temperance assured. “Drew’s a clever boy. He knows better than to stray far.”

George nodded. “Edward, do you suppose he could still be aboard the Lady Julia? Let us go check.” He tugged at his friend’s sleeve and started toward the brig.

Edward made to follow, but Lorena stopped him. “No, let me go.”

George regarded her a moment, then tucked his bundles under one arm and offered her his hand. He turned to the others with renewed enthusiasm. “Edward, while we’re gone, would you be so kind as to go back to the carriage for another look? Temperance, you had better wait here in case Drew returns on his own.”

He led Lorena away, hastening toward the Lady Julia. He swept her into a bustling scene of activity and at a pace more expedient than Lorena could have managed on her own.

She’d heard seedy tales of the waterfront, even horrors involving children. They’d no time to waste, and suddenly Lorena found herself putting her trust in George and in the quick manner he had taken control.

With her free hand she held on to the rope alongside the gangplank as they boarded. She was feeling somewhat light-headed as she stepped onto the deck and grabbed the rail for support. Already the wind was snapping the white cotton sails. Between the noise and commotion of the passengers, those working the brig and others still trying to load last-minute baggage and supplies, it was unlikely Drew would hear his name being called.

“I’ll search forward,” George shouted, releasing her hand, his voice echoing strangely in her ears. Suddenly she wasn’t feeling so well. “You check the stern.”

Lorena knew her way around a vessel, as did Drew. When he was not to be found on the main deck, she wended her way to the waist of the brig, where the last crate of chickens and wooden casks of grog waited to be stowed. Pausing at the fore hatchway, she made one last sweeping appraisal of the area before descending the ladder below.

The boy could be anywhere if he were playing an imaginary game of captain, as he’d played only recently with Brogan when they inspected the Yankee Heart. Or had something happened to Drew already? Was this the manifestation of her uneasy feelings these many weeks?

She hoped she was overreacting, but it did not help her fearful disposition, this sickening dizziness that had come upon her. And in this state Lorena could not tell whether it had been brought on by physical or emotional distress.

She followed a small, dark companionway that reeked of the whale oil burning in the lamps. They creaked on their chains. The fumes irritated her eyes as she made her way down into the cargo hold. At the bottom she found very little air or light. She covered her mouth to hold back the bile rising in her throat, then steadied herself with a breath before calling out Drew’s name.

It returned unanswered in a cavernous echo.

Above decks a shrill whistle blew, and then Lorena heard the cry, “All visitors to shore!”

Her head swam dizzily. This time she could not shake it off. She needed to make haste, to return above for a breath of air, but found herself unable to move swiftly as she grew increasingly unsteady on her feet. For caution’s sake, she tread deeper into the hold, calling for Drew, until she was forced to stoop for lack of headroom. Other than a scuffling of tiny rodent feet among the barrels, her cries were met with silence.

Lorena began to pick her way back toward the companionway, convinced Drew had not ventured this far below, when a shadowy figure descended the ladder. Hopefully George had come to tell her the boy had been found.

“Hello,” she called. “George? Are you there?”

The brig rolled heavily. She straightened, grappling for balance, only to hit her head with a shattering crash on a crossbeam. Lorena cried out, the pain nearly blinding her, blazing through her skull. She staggered forward. The vessel pitched suddenly and she was hurled flat onto her face. A wave of nausea overtook her and she heaved onto the deck.

Was someone there?

As she waited for aid, her stomach settled, but relief vanished the instant she tried to raise herself from the puddle of her own mess. Nausea returned afresh, immobilizing her. Lorena could scarcely raise a brow without the movement making her so ill she felt she would die. What is happening to me?

She retched again.

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