The Sky Beneath Her(8)

The man was Mr. William Weller, a US industrialist, rumored to have helped arm the Nazis during the 1930s. With the United States now in the war, Mr. Weller was wise to have left Europe.

The woman, according to the manifest, was Sigrid Stein, an Austrian by birth. Her profession was listed as “actress” on the ship’s passenger manifest. She wore diamond earrings that captured the sunlight. A half dozen ivory buttons trailed up each cuff and along the front of her jacket.

Weller had an attentive gaze as he took Miss Stein’s elbow. He kept her close at hand. A few passing US sailors paused to admire her beauty. Mr. Weller escorted Miss Stein up the gangplank.

Adjusting his uniform, Chief Mate Riggs moved to the entryway so he could greet them. “Welcome aboard the Oceanus. Mr. Weller and Miss Stein, I presume.”

“That’s correct,” Mr. Weller said.

Miss Stein stayed close to Weller, her shoulder touching his as if he were her anchor. This close, Chief Mate Riggs had to appreciate her beauty. Jet-black hair, smooth pale skin, blue eyes, and cherry red lips were hard to ignore. Like the mythic sirens he feared brought bad luck.

“I’ll have a seaman escort you to your cabin.” The ship had second-class and third-class suites. Weller’s cabin was one of the largest the ship offered. And it was one of the last available.

“Excellent. And my bags and crates are being loaded?” Mr. Weller said.

“As we speak.”

“Can I inspect them before we set sail?”

Riggs’s weakness was impatience, but a stoic stare hid it. “It’s not customary, but it can be arranged. Say in one hour?”

“That will suit,” Mr. Weller said.

Miss Stein nodded graciously to Riggs. The couple followed the apprentice seaman below deck.

“Thank you.” The chief mate watched other passengers approaching the gangplank. Most were neatly, if not modestly, dressed, and all had tight expressions pinched with worry and fear. He guessed their need to reach the United States outweighed any concerns about the dangerous, dark waters ahead. Europe meant certain death for many now. But there was a chance the U-boats patrolling the oceans would spare them all.

An older man dressed in a ship’s officer’s uniform approached. The man was Captain Joseph Stoddard. The captain had served with the US Navy in the North Atlantic when he was younger and had joined the shipping company a decade ago.

“Chief Mate Riggs,” Stoddard said. “Lovely day.”

“Captain.” The seaman raised his face to the sun. “It’s beautiful.”

“How is Seaman Hanson?” the captain asked. “He still in clinic?”

“No, sent him back to his room this morning with extra aspirin. I suspect the headaches were caused by rum rather than an ailment.”

“No time for that when we cross the Atlantic. I need all my men in top form.”

“Understood.”

Stoddard let the matter drop.

“The radios are quiet today. No sightings outside the harbor,” Chief Mate Riggs commented.

“Good.” A frown deepened the lines of Stoddard’s sun-etched face.

“It’s the trouble I don’t see that always worries me,” the chief mate replied.

“We’ll be riding low in the water, and we’re the kind of vessel a sea wolf likes to devour.”

The Oceanus was a 452-foot-long passenger freighter now laden with South African chrome ore that was destined for the manufacturing of stainless steel, as well as wood, hides, and asbestos. On board were forty-four civilians and eighty-eight crew members. Riggs knew as well as the captain did that the Germans weren’t hunting ships as much as tonnage. And sinking this vessel would earn a submarine captain eight thousand pounds of spoils.

“What about activity near the US coast?” the captain asked.

“Calm, but by the time we arrive, that information will be old news.”

“Correct.”

As he turned, a horse-drawn carriage arrived by the gangplank. In Trinidad, it was as common to see horse conveyances as automobiles. Left to its own devices, Trinidad would have remained trapped in the last century. But its prime coastal location had dragged it into modern warfare, no matter its slower pace.

The driver, a dark-skinned man wearing a worn suit, climbed down from the cart to help his passenger. She was a very pregnant woman, her rounded belly making the chief mate wonder if he could sail this vessel fast enough before she gave birth. She eased to the street and accepted a small suitcase from the driver.

“Better keep a close eye on that one,” Captain Stoddard said. “I’m not anxious to become a nursemaid.”

Riggs smiled, despite having similar concerns. “The manifest lists a doctor on board. A Dr. Brooks?”

“That’s right. But he’s a book dealer, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“If it’s all the same, I don’t want that baby born on my ship.”

“Should I issue an order to the child, sir?” Chief Mate Riggs asked.

Captain Stoddard stifled a grin. “Been my experience, women and babies have minds of their own.”

“Fingers crossed that she’ll make it to a proper hospital in New York.”





Chapter Three


Gertrude