The Sky Beneath Her(11)

“This might be my last trip for some time,” Dr. Brooks said. “The war makes travel too dangerous.”

“We all keep saying the war will be over by Christmas, now that the United States is in the fight,” Chief Mate Riggs said.

“That would be excellent,” Dr. Brooks said. “Best get our mother-to-be to her cabin.”

I considered arguing but realized resistance could draw attention. “Thank you, Dr. Brooks. Chief Mate Riggs, it was a pleasure.”

“Ma’am. Dr. Brooks,” Chief Mate Riggs said. “Can I have someone escort you to your room?”

“I’m happy to see her to her cabin,” Dr. Brooks said.

The doctor’s kindness caused concern. I’d found few on my journey who helped without expecting something.

As I walked across the deck, the shifting water tossed my swollen belly off balance. Dr. Brooks was ready, taking my elbow in hand and steadying me. We stepped through a portal into a narrow hallway. Walking into the ship set my senses on edge. In this vessel I was trapped, and if we encountered trouble, I’d have nowhere to go.

“Accommodations aren’t luxurious on ships like this one, but they’re acceptable, especially in war,” Dr. Brooks said.

“I’m used to simple.”

He tossed me a sideways look. “I would argue that you have known luxury.”

“Why do you say that?” I held on to a railing as I descended a set of stairs.

“The war has stripped away many things, but a good upbringing is hard to disguise.”

Silent, I continued down a hallway, and I was relieved when Dr. Brooks announced we’d reached my cabin. He twisted the key dangling from the lock and opened the door for me. “Your new home, Frau Werner.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Brooks.”

“Very happy to help. Perhaps you can join me for dinner.”

A question that sounded more like a directive. “I’m very tired. I’m not sure if I’ll make it to dinner.” I didn’t know the man, and I was hesitant to take his kindness at face value.

“Of course. You must rest.” He carried my bag into my room and set it on a small bunk.

The room was furnished with a tiny closet, a table with one chair, and an oval mirror over a washbasin. The room retained the port’s heavy wet heat, making the air oppressive. I’d grown to dislike tiny rooms.

Dr. Brooks crossed to the twelve-inch porthole overlooking the harbor. Twisting the brass latch, he opened it. Thick, slightly cooler humid air rushed the room. Despite the heat, the fresh air was welcome.

“Perhaps I’ll see you during the journey,” Dr. Brooks said.

“Yes,” I lied.

“I find the ocean invigorating,” he said. “I hope you do too.”

“I’m looking forward to the voyage,” I lied.

He removed the key from the door lock and handed it to me. “Your cabin is number 110. I’m 120. On the same level, but at the far end.”

“Excellent,” I lied.

As he turned to leave, he paused. “The toilet is at the end of the hallway.”

“You’re very kind, Dr. Brooks.”

“Not at all.”

When he closed the door behind him, I released the breath I’d been holding. I tugged off my gloves and set them and my hat on the small table. I sat on the bunk and unlaced my shoes and wiggled my swollen toes. The short walk had taken its toll on my lower back, which had been aching for days. I unrolled my thin socks and laid them on the chair to air out. Sweat pooled at the base of my back and under my full breasts.

I’d had little activity over the last eight months. And the journey from the carriage had been more taxing than I’d imagined.

Very carefully, I lay back on the bunk and stared out the porthole. The baby kicked in my belly as the boat rocked gently in the harbor waters. I breathed in and out, trying to calm the energy surging in my body. I was certain I would never fall asleep. But slowly my eyes drifted closed.





Chapter Four


Tula





Tuesday, June 9, 2026, 9:15 a.m.


Norfolk, Virginia


I wanted to sleep in. I didn’t want to face cleaning out vacation rentals or an old house or think about how I’d gotten here. A silent current had pulled me, like an untethered boat, out to sea, and now here I was, lost.

I’d slept like shit. I rolled over every hour, checking the red numbers on my ex-husband’s digital clock. Everything about this room, from the heavy wood furniture to the dark walls, was Dave’s. Beyond my clothes in the closet, there wasn’t much of me in this house. There never had been. I’d woven myself into Dave’s world and lost mine. But even after seven years on dry land, I could still stuff my worldly belongings into a large garbage bag.

Over the last year, it had been hard to wake up most days. My alarms would blare several times before I’d finally rouse myself and notice the empty side of the bed. At first, panic had swamped me, but now I felt nothing.

My mother had always been good about locking down her emotions. And my ex-husband had accused me many times of being cold and distant. I’d tried to assure him I was not like that. But now I realized, maybe I was. Good. I was done feeling anxious or needing a hero.

Out of bed, I stumbled into the bathroom. I turned on the shower tap and stepped inside. I stood under the water, letting it run over my face and body for a good half hour. Only when the hot water ran cold did I shut off the tap. I toweled off, coiled my damp hair into a bun, and dressed in a T-shirt and my largest shorts.