HOURS AFTER THEY LEFT THE SAFE WATERS OF PUGET SOUND, HEAVY BLACK clouds rolled in from the north and enveloped the St. Mihiel. The ocean turned dark, wind whistled around the heavy-bodied smokestack, and water surged against the ship.
Soon passengers and crew were ill. Some hung over railings, while others lay on their bunks below or makeshift beds on deck. All prayed for deliverance. Will, Laurel, Brian, and Justin seemed unaffected. Luke and Jean had gone pale and were unusually quiet. Susie slept in her mother's arms.
“Luke, you're not looking so good,” Will said.
“I'm not feeling so good.”
“You, Laurel?”
“I'm fine, and hope I stay that way,” she added, glancing at a passenger bolting for the rail.
Will placed an arm over Jean's shoulders and pulled her close. “You look as bad as Luke. You all right?”
Holding Susie in one arm, Jean rested a hand on her stomach. “I'm sick. I need to lie down.” The ship lurched over a swell. “Oh, dear.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, handed Susie to Will, and lunged for the rail where she emptied her stomach. Resting her face on the top of the balustrade, she said weakly, “I'm really sick. I don't know how I'll take care of Susie or the boys.”
Will tenderly brushed her hair back from her face. “Don't worry about anything. We'll look after the kids. You need to get to bed.” Handing the baby to Laurel he said, “I'll see to your mother, but I'll need you to take care of Susie and keep an eye on your brothers.” He gently lifted Jean and cradled her against his chest.
Laurel held the baby at her shoulder. “Don't worry, Mama. I'll take care of the children.”
Her mother managed a small smile.
“Is Mama all right?” Brian asked, watching his father carry his mother to the stairway.
“She's sick, but she'll be all right,” Laurel explained just as Luke made a dash for the rail. “Oh, no! Not you too?”
“I've got to lie down,” Luke said, staggering to the lounge chair he'd set up as a bed.
“Can I get you something?” Laurel asked, knowing her sixteen-year-old brother would refuse any help. He'd always been annoyingly self-reliant.
“No. I just want to sleep.” He closed his eyes and pulled a blanket up under his chin.
Justin and Brian wandered down the deck. Laurel stood at the railing and stared out at the ocean. The swells looked taller and closer together. Whitecaps skipped across the top of waves. She hoped the weather wouldn't get worse. Susie's cheeks gleamed bright red, and her eyes teared. Laurel cuddled her close, hoping to warm the little girl. She kissed the top of her knit hat.
“Hi there,” Robert said, joining Laurel. “Looks like you're faring well.”
“I'm good.”
He held out a hand to Susie, and the little girl grabbed his index finger. “So, you've got baby duty I see.”
“Yes. My mother's sick.”
“Mine too, and my sisters.” He shook his head. “I don't know what to do for them. Thank the Lord for Mrs. Prosser. She shooed me out and took over their care. She's a good woman.”
Laurel nodded. “Daddy carried Mama down to our room. He's taking care of her for now. I guess we'll take turns.”
Robert leaned on the rail and gazed at the waterline. His eyes wandered out over the ocean as a new set of swells lifted the ship, forcing Robert and Laurel to grab hold of the railing. “It's hard to believe that only a few hours ago we were docked in a calm, sunny harbor.”
“Do you think the bad weather will last?” Laurel asked.
“Hope not. But I overheard a couple crewmen say it's a big storm and might hang on the entire trip.”
“Oh, no. I wish we'd taken the Inside Passage. Do you know how long it takes to get used to the movement?”
“Depends on the person, but I read somewhere that seasickness usually passes after a couple of days.”
“That's under normal conditions,” a man's voice said.
Laurel turned and found Adam approaching. She didn't want to talk to him. She nodded curtly and turned her eyes back to the ocean.
Robert's pleasant expression faded.
Adam stepped between Robert and Laurel and rested his arms on the rail. “Not everyone recovers from seasickness, and it's especially tough to shake when the seas are rough.” He looked at Laurel, then Robert. “Looks like you two are doing all right.”
“I'm fine,” Robert said curtly.
Laurel didn't respond. She was angry over the way Adam had shoved his way between her and Robert and into their conversation.
Adam scanned the deck. Several lounge chairs were occupied by the sick. A few individuals still clung to the rail. “Looks like the healthy are in the minority here. I'd guess that at least two-thirds of the passengers and crew are sick.” He shook his head. “I even saw a sick dog. Poor thing was lying in the corridor, whining and drooling. He didn't even raise his head to look at me when I passed.”
Another wave lifted the ship, and Laurel's stomach turned over. “Please don't talk about it anymore, or I'm going to be sick.”
Robert moved around Adam and fixed himself beside Laurel. Pressing his back against the rail, he rested his elbows on the edge. “Laurel, what are your plans once you're settled in Alaska?”
Laurel didn't answer at first, then hesitantly she said, “I'm not settling. Living in Alaska is my parents' plan. I'm not going to stay. Once they're set up, I'll return to Wisconsin and go to college.”
“Oh. I didn't know,” Robert said, unable to hide his disappointment. “Why college?”
“I've always loved history. I worked with the children at our church, and I'm good with the kids. I thought I'd teach and maybe do historical research.”
