An Irish Wind

Chapter Fourteen - A Long Way from Home

My knee twinged rather painfully as if to remind me that in a real physical fight I'd already be at a disadvantage.  Not that it had ever happened, but I knew if someone where to aim a swift kick to my injured knee, that would be enough to floor me.  It wasn't so much the pain because I was well used to it but rather the queerest feeling I sometimes got when I bent my leg.  It was almost as if my leg bones were straining to pull free of their sockets.  One strong kick might just unlock them.  I turned and leaned back against the railings, placing my elbows on the polished wood as a brace to take some weight off my knee.  The waters were still and calm as they had been for days now, but I knew not to let that fool me.  Usually waters that were too calm would encourage a sense of foreboding aboard a ship.  It usually meant a storm of some form was on it's way.  I shook myself slightly to rid my mind of such thoughts.  I'd seen enough storms for a while.  

I stayed in my spot overlooking the decks of the ship for quite some time as the sun came up, feeling the warmth of it on the back of my neck when I pulled my hair away from my face and tied it all up with a torn piece of cloth.  Yet again I was reminded of the sheer heavy weight of my hair as it hung suspended at the back of my head.  I'd considered cutting it a few years before, when we'd made port and I'd been offered decent coin for it.  It was no street pedaller either but a wig-maker with his own shop.  That's why I really considered it, because I knew I'd get what was owed.  I'd stood in the street and stared at his shop front for a long time, running my fingers through my mass of curls and wondering how I'd feel if I went through with it.  I knew well enough that I'd still have a good length of hair that would more than likely still reach my collarbone and it would of course grow back, but Mick had managed to persuade me not to enter the shop.  He said if I was so torn about my decision, I couldn't really want to rid myself of my hair so badly.  He must have been right because afterwards I'd not really had any regrets.  I had never wanted to do it for the money really, but it had occurred to me that it would be a waste to sheer it off and not get something for it if I could.

The ship gradually came to life as I stood watching, and at long length the quartermaster was relieved and another man took his place.  I wondered how the deck hands who had been up all night would get any sleep with the racket that went on all day.  I'd always struggled with it aboard The Grace, but sleep did not seem to be an issue for my aboard The Surgence.  I'd had some sleepless nights of course when Mick swam to the forefront of my thoughts as I lay down or when I thought too much of my parents, but I'm inclined to think that tiredness won out.  I was more tired aboard The Surgence than I think I'd ever been in my life.  I wouldn't have admitted it back then but I think the stress and anxiousness did that to me.  

As the first officers emerged from below decks I felt the first pangs of nervousness.  I'd no idea if James would really listen to what I had to say, or if he'd pick holes in what I told him.  He was an intelligent man if nothing else so I was more than aware of how silly my made up story sounded.  I'd planned not to tell him about the dreams and for the most part I knew I'd stick to that plan but I began to think as I waited for him that it would make more sense to remain as close to the truth as possible.  I could tell him I had a dream about maps and charts and that it jogged my memory.  He didn't need to know that the jogged memory had also been a dream.  I lifted my hand in a small wave to Lieutenant Thompson who stood on the forecastle deck and I'm sure he only knew it was me because of my hair.  He nodded and turned back to the men he was speaking with, but our greeting had made another aware of my presence.  

I felt James's eyes on me for a full minute before I turned my head his way, raising my eyes to his as if in a challenge.  He seemed a little taken aback by such an expression but I held his gaze.  His eyes reminded me so much of a colour I saw so often at home. Ireland was such a green country, populated by so much farmland and field and I'd not seen an abundance of that colour since I'd left.  Then suddenly I was seeing it almost every day in his eyes.  I narrowed my own olive green eyes as I pondered that thought.  I shouldn't really have given any thought to his eyes at all for he was nothing to me but I told myself it was only that the colour intrigued me.  It's too early in this story of mine for such romantic notions, but I'll say it because then you might understand the gravity of my thoughts.  His eyes looked like home.  I know it's sickening and not in place with how we both felt in regards to each other back then.  It was a thought I pushed from my mind before I let myself dwell upon it too much.  It was just a thought.  I don't think there were any feelings attached to it at all but let's leave it in your minds as an established appraisal I made of him early on.