Hope In The Storm

This uplifting short story by Becca Robin is set in the 1830s.

Luke and Eliza prayed that the ship’s figurehead would keep all who sailed on her safe . . .

KEEP those eyes tight shut. We’re nearly there.” With his hands covering her eyes, Luke steered Eliza towards the canvas-covered corner of the shipyard.

“One, two, three,” Luke counted.

He had been longing for this moment, desperate to see his wife’s reaction to the ship’s figurehead he had finished recently. He took his hands away. “You can open them now.”

There was a long pause. “It’s me,” Eliza said softly. “Oh, Luke, you’ve made it look so like me, with my curls and all. I’m even wearing my Sunday-best shawl.”

“The owner requested a female for the front of the ship, but he said I could choose my own model.”

Eliza’s face was a picture of astonished delight. He tried to wrap his arms around her, but this was difficult with the child inside her grown so big.

Luke had nearly argued with Eliza’s mother, Jane, about the wisdom of taking her out on such a cold morning, but he’d promised not to keep her there long.

He simply had to show her the figurehead he had carved and painted in her honour.

“It’ll be fixed to the bow of yon new packet, the HMS Homestead.”

He pointed across at a medium-sized ship in the final stages of construction.

Beyond the shipyard, the docks were a forest of masts and rigging.

In the distance, stately ships with sails unfurled headed out to sea.

“To think,” Eliza began. “my likeness on the front of that vessel, sailing the ocean.

“And there’s me, never set a foot out of Falmouth all my life.”

“From now on, you’ll be voyaging across the

Atlantic to Halifax, Nova Scotia and back, carrying post and goods and passengers,” Luke declared.

“We can’t build the ships fast enough at the moment.”

“Is Michael still thinking of going to Canada?”

“He says so.” Luke puffed out his cheeks.

Michael was his younger brother.

“He’s saving for a ticket. Reckons when he gets there he’ll labour on the railroad and save enough to buy a plot of land.”

Eliza didn’t appear to be fully listening. Luke could see she was still entranced by her likeness.

The figurehead was carved from five feet of Baltic pine and painted brightly, her eyes cornflower blue like Eliza’s own, and the same chestnut ringlets falling on either side of her face.

One hand was clasped to her bosom, as though holding the shawl in place. The shawl had been tricky to paint, but Luke was pleased with the result.

“Do you like her?” he asked.

“I do.” She nodded. “’Tis the biggest compliment you could have paid me, husband. Just think of her travelling all that way.

“She can do the adventuring, but I’m content to stay here with you and this little one.” She stroked her belly and Luke ached with love for his young wife.

“Come on. I promised your ma I wouldn’t keep you out long,” Luke said.

Taking a last look at the figurehead, they left the yard.

Three weeks later, there came a knock at their cottage door after supper.

In walked Michael, his tall frame stooping slightly beneath the low ceiling.

“I’m not disturbing you, I trust?”

He went straight to Eliza, who was sitting beside the fire knitting a baby shawl, and kissed her cheek.

“Sit you down.” Luke gestured towards the old stick chair on the other side of the fireplace from which he’d risen. “Can I fetch you some tea?”

“There’s cake in the pantry,” Eliza said.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve come straight from the table at home.”

At nineteen, Michael was still living with their parents.

“I have come to tell you I’ve bought my ticket and I sail next week.”

“Oh, Michael, we shall miss you!” Eliza’s eyes filled with tears, although she was clearly trying her best to smile.

“And I you,” Michael replied sincerely. “’Tis now or never, and Canada’s constantly on my mind.

“I’ve never taken to shipbuilding like Pa, and I have no talent for carving like Luke here. I want to make a fresh start in a new country.”

For a moment, Luke was struck dumb.

He’d known this day was coming, but the thought of not seeing his brother for years, maybe for ever, was overwhelming.

All he could do was shake Michael’s hand and congratulate him, then perch on a small stool by Eliza’s side to hear the rest.

The firelight shone around the cosy, panelled room, glinting off the gilt picture frames displaying prints of flowers and ships. It shone on the pair of copper lustre jugs upon the dresser.

Most of all, though, it shone in Michael’s eyes, as his plans unfurled before them like sails, filling with the winds of his youthful ambition.

“How long will the voyage take?” Luke found his voice at last.

“Best part of two months,” Michael replied. “I’ve booked my passage aboard the HMS Homestead, on her maiden voyage.

“Yes, Luke! With your carving of Eliza at the front of the ship to keep me safe the whole way, there’s nothing to fear, is there?”

Eliza clapped her hands to her face and Luke’s mouth fell open.

Michael looked from one to the other and laughed.

The HMS Homestead set sail on a brutally cold morning in February.

Luke had persuaded Eliza to remain at home while he went to the docks to see Michael off, together with his father, mother and two younger sisters.

There wasn’t a dry eye as those remaining on the quayside watched the younger son take up position near the figurehead to wave.

With the post office bags and other goods already on board, it wasn’t long before a little tugboat arrived to guide the vessel out of the harbour.

Michael had promised that he would write to say he’d arrived safely.

Waiting for that letter would be terrible, but wait was all they could do.

The figure of Eliza looked splendid, her colours glowing in the morning light.

There was a long tradition of belief amongst sailors that a figurehead would protect its ship.

Luke offered up a silent prayer that his brother would arrive safely at the end of what could be a difficult and dangerous journey.

No-one spoke as they watched the Homestead sail further and further away until it disappeared from view.

The first of Eliza’s dreams occurred a week later.

Luke was awoken in the middle of the night by his wife’s mumbling, and when he turned to look, he saw sweat on her brow and that she appeared distressed.

“What is it?” he said. “Is the baby coming? Should I send for Peg Larke?”

Peg Larke was the local midwife, who had been present at Eliza and Luke’s own births.

Eliza eyes opened.

“Oh, Luke. I had such a terrible dream! I was in the middle of the ocean in a storm.

“I was tossed about on the waves, so one moment I was high in the sky and the next I was crashing down into the water.”

“All’s well.” Luke held her close. “’Twas only a dream. Dreams can’t hurt you.”

That wasn’t true, because the next morning Eliza looked tired and drained.

Luke sent word to Jane, asking if she would come to look after her daughter while he went to work.

Luke had begun another

“I’ve bought my ticket and I sail next week”

figurehead of an eagle.

Sometimes he was asked for animals and sometimes for people, real or from old-time legends.

He had found a drawing of an eagle in the old pattern book, so he was working from that.

As he chiselled away at the wood, he thought about Eliza.

It had been a scary dream. She’d probably been dwelling too much on the idea of her likeness ploughing the waves.

Luke had never been to sea himself, but what she’d described sounded just like you’d imagine a ship in the middle of a raging storm.

Michael was obviously on her mind.

It took a few days for Eliza to recover her strength, then she had another dream.

This time Luke heard about it at breakfast.

“I was with your brother on the deck of the Homestead. We were far out at sea, with the horizon clear in all directions.

“The day was calm, and the sea was gentle, but the wind was icy cold, and he was shivering. I drew him to me.

“He laid his head in my lap and I wrapped my shawl around him for warmth and comfort,” she continued. “It was a more pleasant dream this time.”

“I am sure Michael

knows we’re all thinking about him,” Luke told her.

The frequency of Eliza’s dreams increased over the coming weeks and Luke began to worry.

Sometimes she reported peaceful dreams of comforting his brother on board the ship, but sometimes, just like that first time, they were nightmares of thunder and lightning, gale force winds and crashing waves.

Each time she had a nightmare, Luke could see how it left her exhausted and low in spirits.

With little time before the baby was due, this wasn’t good for her.

Luke wondered what it was doing to his young wife’s mind, to be constantly dreaming of the voyage – dreams which sometimes frightened her to tears.

He wished he hadn’t made the figurehead resemble her, if this was what it had led to.

It was early April when Eliza took to her bed.

Peg Larke was calling several times a day to check on her.

On the afternoon of the seventh of April, Luke’s sister Molly raced into the yard.

“You’re to come home at once!” she cried. “Eliza’s unwell. She has a fever and she’s raving.

“They think the baby’s on the way.”

Luke raced back to the cottage and up to the bedroom.

He found Eliza tossing and turning, her eyes fearful and her face deathly pale.

The sweat rolled off her brow and Jane tried cooling her with damp flannels while Peg Larke busied herself at the other end of the bed.

Both older women looked grim.

As soon she saw him, Eliza seemed desperate to rise up from her pillows.

“I have lost sight of Michael!” she cried. “The waves are bearing down on us now, worse than ever! The wind is roaring.

“Yet Michael must not lose hope. The captain is steering us away from the rocks and all will be well.

“This storm shall pass. I must tell him.”

Luke took her hand, wanting to reassure her.

He promised that all was well and urged her to lie back and calm herself for her own sake and the baby’s.

He tried to persuade her she was not on the ship, but it was no good.

She carried on tossing and turning as though she was being flung from one side of the deck to the other.

“The baby comes,” Peg Larke said as Eliza let out a deep moan.

“Comfort her,” Jane urged. “Tell her anything she wants to hear.”

“I have seen Michael.” Luke was kneeling on the bed beside her now.

As she continued to pant and groan, their eyes locked and she seemed to be taking in his words. He nodded vigorously. “He is waiting in a place of safety until the storm blows itself out.

“Michael knows the worst is nearly over. He knows all will be well.”

Eliza screwed up her face and bore down one last time.

There was a piercing cry, and when Luke looked behind he saw the child splaying its tiny red fingers and taking its first breaths.

“A boy, praise God!” Jane cried.

Eliza fell back upon the