Читать книгу Where Heaven Begins - Rosanne Bittner - Страница 16

And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.

—St. Luke 18:42

“Lizzy.”

Mama?

Elizabeth was sure she’d heard her mother calling her. No one else ever referred to her as Lizzy. She searched the dark waters. Nothing. Was her mother calling her home to heaven? Should she allow her lungs to give up and just breathe in the icy water, allowing herself to drown?

“The Father is with you,” her mother told her.

Something strong bumped her, then grabbed her, lifted her. She was near the point of passing out from holding her breath, and from futile efforts to bring herself back to the water’s surface. She felt herself rising, rising now instead of sinking. Someone had found her! Who? How many others had fallen overboard when the railing broke?

Thank you, Jesus!

In the next moment her head broke above water and she gasped, desperately gulping air, blessed air. She was alive!

“Hang on to me!” a man’s voice commanded.

She obeyed, still not even aware of who it was. He clung to her with one arm and used his other arm to swim.

“Kick your feet a little,” he told her.

“I can’t swim!”

“Just kick your feet the best you can.”

This time the words were shouted. She obeyed, surprised that kicking her feet actually helped. She dug into a muscled back with her right hand as she clung to whoever held her. “Don’t let go!” she found herself begging, her words coming through chattering teeth.

The arm holding her tightened. “I didn’t jump into this ice bath just to let go of you after finding you,” he shouted in reply.

Clint? It sounded like Clint Brady! Had he also fallen in from the broken railing, or had he deliberately dived in after her? Those thoughts flickered through her brain as she struggled against the cruel cold of the water and kept kicking in spite of the weight of her dress and shoes. Between the heavy fog and the water splashing into her eyes, she could barely see a thing, including the man rescuing her. A small boat appeared out of nowhere, and the man led her to it, lifting her slightly.

“Grab on!”

Now Elizabeth could hear other voices, men yelling for help. Two men in the boat reached for her, and the man who’d helped her put his hand on her rump and gave her a boost. She managed to climb over the side of the smaller boat and literally fall into it.

“Hello!” one of the men in the boat shouted. “We’re here! We’ve got a boat. Swim toward our voices.”

Coughing and shivering, Elizabeth managed to sit up and stare over the side of the boat. What had happened to Clint?

“You’ll be okay now, ma’am,” one of those in the boat told her. “We got rammed by another steamer, but the Damsel will make it to the closest island. We’ll get help right quick, and we’ll still make it to Skagway.”

Breathless, Elizabeth couldn’t even answer. She recognized the man as one of the Damsel’s crew. Another man removed his pea coat and put it around her shoulders. Elizabeth very gladly pulled it closer, wondering if she would ever feel warm again. She continued gasping as she waited, watching for Clint to emerge.

After a few minutes two more men came to the side of the boat. To her relief she could see Clint was one of them. The fog seemed to be lifting slightly, enough that she realized Clint had gone out to save someone else. He helped the man to the boat and left yet again, seemingly immune to the cold water.

Minutes later he again returned with yet another man. This time he climbed inside after the man he’d helped. He fell to the bottom of the boat, breathing hard, and Elizabeth noticed he wore only a shirt and pants—no jacket, no gun and no boots or even socks! Surely he hadn’t fallen in accidentally at all. He’d taken a moment to half undress so he could swim better, having every intention of rescuing as many as he could.

He sat up and put his head in his hands, still breathing deeply, and there came another cry for help, somewhere in the fog. Clint stood up and dove off the small boat again.

“Clint!” Elizabeth screamed.

Moments later he returned with a third man. Both of them climbed into the boat.

“I hope…that’s all of them,” Clint panted.

“It’s a mighty fine thing you did, mister,” one of the crewmen told him.

“Where did you learn to swim so good?” one of those he’d rescued asked.

“Lake Michigan,” Clint answered, “a long time ago. I wasn’t so sure I’d have the strength I needed, it’s been so long.” He took several more deep breaths. “Good thing I got the last of you. I was about out of breath.” He coughed and glanced at Elizabeth. “You all right?”

“I think so. Oh, Clint, how can I thank you enough? First my handbag, now this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved her off. He coughed again, then sneezed. “Let’s get back to the Damsel,” he told one of the crewmen, who began rowing.

The crewmen and others from the ship began shouting back and forth to each other, and in moments the Damsel, its back end sitting low in the water, came into sight. Another ship sat close by.

“She’s takin’ on water, but she’ll make it to the closest island,” one of the crewmen repeated. Men on board threw down ropes, and the crewmen rigged them to trollies on each end of the smaller boat, tossing the ends back up to the deck, where men began hauling the lifeboat upward in even jerks until it was high enough for the passengers to climb onto the deck.

Clint helped lift Elizabeth, and she couldn’t help being aware of his strength. Men on deck helped her the rest of the way up, then helped Clint climb on deck. Those he’d rescued were already telling others what Clint had done and what a good swimmer he was. There came a round of thank-yous, and Clint took Elizabeth’s arm.

“You’re coming to my cabin whether you want to or not. No arguments! You’re getting out of those wet clothes and under some covers, and then you’re going to pray you don’t get sick.”

The words were spoken with such command that Elizabeth didn’t even consider arguing. She had to half run to keep up with him as he directed her to the wooden steps that led to cabins on the second level. She lifted her soaked dress and managed to climb the stairs, feeling more and more weary with every step, worn out from her struggle, shivering fiercely from the cold. She followed Clint through a door.

“What about the steamer? Isn’t it sinking?” she asked Clint.

“They said we’d get to the closest island, and I believe them. Other ships will come along to help us. They’ll figure it out.” Clint closed the door. “Meantime, we’re on the second level. We can probably stay right here until help arrives.”

We? “I…what will I change into? What about my things below?”

“I’ll go get them for you. You get yourself undressed and under those covers.”

“But…I don’t have anything to wear!”

Looking rather disgusted, Clint dug through a duffel bag and threw a shirt at her. “Put this on and just get under the covers. I’ll be back.”

Still soaked and shivering himself, he left before Elizabeth could say a thing. She looked around the tiny room, lit by a lantern and warmed by a small, potbelly stove. She could see glowing embers through the partially open vent. She felt totally bewildered, full of questions, as she began undressing.

Realizing Clint could come back any time, Elizabeth hastily removed her dress, her many slips, her now-squishy high-button shoes, her stockings, and her camisole. Her money fell out. She gasped and quickly gathered it up, looking around for a place to put it, then turned and shoved it under the feather mattress of Clint’s narrow bed.

She then removed her wet drawers. “Oh, dear Lord!” she lamented. She was completely naked, but how else was she to dry off and get warm? Still, she was in a man’s cabin, about to crawl into a man’s bed! How humiliating!

She hurriedly put on the shirt he’d given her, which was far too big. It fell past her knees, but as far as she was concerned, it still didn’t cover her legs enough. Elizabeth looked around again, noticing Clint’s six-gun hanging over the back of a wooden chair, looking so intimidating and dangerous. She noticed a towel lying beside a bowl and pitcher, and she grabbed it up to dry her hair as best she could, taking out the few pins left in it.

Suddenly she felt nauseated and dizzy. She crawled under the covers, pulling them over herself and settled into the pillow, relishing the warmth of the room, the comfort of the first bed she’d slept in for over a week. She could smell Clint’s scent in the pillow, a very pleasant, manly scent, much nicer than the smells below deck. The room itself smelled of cigarettes, leather and wood smoke.

She watched the red coals of the stove, and thought what a blessing fire could be.

“Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered, “for fire, for saving me…for Clint Brady.” Oh, how wonderful felt the warmth of that potbelly stove! She thought about hearing her mother’s voice. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.