Whispers in the Wind

He came to slowly, noticing the dimness of the room, and then the rocking of his bed, the sound of water slapping wood. He raised his hand to hold his head. Dizzy, disoriented, he simply lay there for a few seconds.
"You'll be all right." This time, James wasn't surprised to see the terror come immediately to the other man, the way he cringed away, trying to become smaller against the wall. "You'll have a nasty bruise on your left temple, but that's all. I know you're Ray Young. I'm William James. I'm the captain here on the WHITE RAVEN. We're on our way to the Indies." He watched Young look around, seeking a way out of his predicament. "I don't think you're strong enough to swim all the way back to England, and jumping into the ocean is the only way off my ship." 
He gripped the cold, trembling hand, felt it grow dead in his. "You've nothing to fear here. No one will harm you. Do you understand?" He waited but the fear remained.
James tugged the younger man toward him. "Come on! I'll show you around the ship, introduce you to the men. Ray!" Young's violent reaction both irritated and puzzled him. He held the young man firmly but said sharply, "All right! If you don't wish to leave the cabin... I'll not ask it of you. Calm down! Calm down!" James realized he would have to step away from Young before the shear terror the young man was experiencing would cease. "I'll have food brought to you." Young cowered in the corner. As James left, he wondered,

The door slammed open and Young, who had been dozing, cried out in silent horror. The old man who lugged the tray inside did not pay any attention to him as he grumbled, "If you think I'll be waiting on you hand and foot, you've got another think coming! I'm a cook, not a cabin boy!" He glanced at the young man. "Well, at least you're cuter than the last one he had in here!" Still grumbling, he left, slamming the door behind him.
When James stepped into his cabin an hour later, he found the food untouched and Young still huddled on the bed. "Haven't you eaten?" There was no reply. "You must eat. You cannot go without food." Once more he waited but the other man remained still on the bed. "And you cannot stay there the full three months. The call of nature alone will turn your feet elsewhere." James sighed in exasperation. "I'll not have you using my bed for a chamber pot." He ran his life roughened hands through his hair. "The food is cold, and it is probably tastes as though it were meant for the dungheap, but it won't kill you. Come to the table, Ray."
He gave the other man ten seconds then went to him, gripped his arms. He ignored the emotions that emanated from Young and drew him up and off the bed. "I said come to the table." Young shivered as though he were freezing and his green eyes were dark with the emotions that surged through him. "I'll not be hurting you. You were brought to my ship for safety. What they'll do to keep you safe after we dock back in England again is no concern of mine." 
He tugged the other man to the table, made him sit on the closest chair. "Eat." Pausing brought no results. "Must I feed you?" Gritting his teeth, James forced the spoon into the cold hand. "Eat! Or so help me, I'll force the food down your throat!" He watched in grim satisfaction as Young took a bite. He could see it was hard for the man to swallow but the food went down. "Eat it all." 
James went to his chest, drew fresh clothing from its recesses. "I can't have you on my ship without doing some kind of work. My men would resent you and make it hard for you." He stripped off his shirt, pulled down his pants. He viewed Young's sudden hunching, the rigid body, with disfavor. Shaking his head, he continued to disrobe. "I have no cabin boy right now. You're a little too old for that position but it is the only one you're fit for. I can't see you climbing the mast and I'll not be having you sit around on your arse the whole voyage. I want you to understand that here and now." He walked naked to the pot of water, poured some into the white, porcelain bowl and proceeded to wash. "You can have a bath when you've finished eating. I bought some of your clothing. It's in the valise beneath my bunk." 
Gagging sounds made him turn. He ran to Young, jerked him toward the chamber pot, held his head down until the upheavals ceased. He used his own wash rag to cleanse the mouth, to wipe the perspiration from Young's brow. He helped the quivering, ill man to the bunk, helped him lie down. "The sea often does that to a new stomach. You'll get used to it after awhile." James covered up Young then moved to his clean clothing, began dressing.
Finally, tucking his shirt into his breeches, he said, "Your father trusted me to take care of you. Don't you trust your father?" He looked around, noticed the troubled eyes watching him. "Well, don't you?" He stopped, took the few steps toward the bed and stood staring down at the ill man. "I was serious about you working on my ship. No one gets a free ride here. I expect you to keep my cabin clean, keep my clothes repaired and washed. When you're feeling better, you'll be fetching my meals in to me. There's one bed in here. I don't like sharing. You can sleep on a pallet on the floor. I have extra bedding in that huge chest. "Look, I'm sorry you had to leave your home. I know you'd rather be there than here, but you are on board my ship and you're old enough and smart enough to make the best of things. Are you still ill?" Young shook his head. "Then you might as well get started with your new life now. Take the cold food back and bring back hot. The galley is straight down the hall. You'll hear Cook cursing his helper." He stood back, watched Young stumble upwards. He looked old and tired, beaten, and James felt a twinge of pity for him.
Still...
No one got a free ride on the WHITE RAVEN.

Young felt numb as he made his way down the dimly lit passageway to the galley. Nothing felt solid. Everything had a sense of unreality. He paused as he heard laughter from topside. Someone began singing a song. Even that seemed distant, unrelated to the moment he was living.
He entered the large, spice scented area, and the old, grizzled cook glanced sharply up and demanded, "What are you doing in here!? No one's allowed in here." The young man who stood next to him, his carrot red hair a bright beacon in that hot room, threw Young a look of compassion. "Well!?" Balancing the tray, Young made eating motions with his hands.
"Can't you speak?" the red haired man asked quietly, ignoring the look of animosity the cook gave him. Young shook his head.
"I've already fed you! And look at that! You didn't eat what I gave you!" He took the tray, slammed it down on a side board. "No one gets different food on this ship! You eat what I serve! Now get out!" Young shook his head and touched his chest, then he made eating motions again.
"I told you..."
"Is it for the captain?" the red haired man asked gently. He dodged the smack the old man tried to give him. Young nodded in relief. "Should I make a tray, Hudson?" he asked the old man who only grunted and whirled around to the flour bin. "I'll fix the tray. You're kind of old, aren't you, to be a cabin boy?" Young nodded. "I was one on the Crossbear. I served under..."
"Shut up and get working! If we're late for supper..." The old man smacked the counter with a large meat cleaver.
Sighing, the red haired man prepared a tray for James. As he handed it to Young, he whispered, "I'm Jim. If you ever need help, just let me know." Young nodded and took the tray.
James did not glance up when Young entered. He was working on huge charts but he stopped, rolled them back up when the other man placed the tray on the tiny table.

"Did you have any trouble?" James inquired as he sat down. Young shook his head. "Would you like to join me?" When the answer was negative, James asked, "Would you like to go on deck?" He wasn't surprised by the quick glint of fear that sparkled briefly in the green eyes. He was, however, surprised that it was so quickly extinguished. Young shook his head. 
"Well, I have a shirt you can mend. I tore it this morning. I left it and the sewing box on the trunk top." He motioned toward the white shirt with his chin and then bent over his food. "I hope you're better at repairing clothes than I am."
After eating, he investigated the work Young was doing and praised him. "I'm going up. Would you like to go with me?" Young shook his head as he stared down at his hands. A key was thrust into them. He looked up, startled. "Keep the door locked when I'm not here. Only... don't lock it on me." When the slim man agreed, James left.
Young stared at the key, stupefied. Then he smiled, faintly, but in honesty. Help always came, in some form. He rose but the door opened again. "I said lock it. I expect my orders to be carried out instantly. Do you understand?" Young nodded and the door was shut once more. Swiftly, Young hurried to the door and locked it. Only then did his tight muscles began relaxing. he was safe.

Insistent knocking roused Young from a sleep of jumbled dreams, half-there kind of things that made groggy. He heard someone laugh and say, "Trouble in paradise, Captain? Hasn't he tasted your long..."
Silence, then... "Young, it's me. Open the door."
Young stumbled toward it, turned the key and the heavy piece of wood swung open. Their eyes met for a moment, then James entered, shutting the door firmly once more. "You're asleep on your feet. Go back to your pallet." He watched the young man move sluggishly toward the quilts on the floor in the corner. He looked around then and said, "You did a fine job cleaning in here. Thank you." But Young was lost to him as sleep claimed the young man instantly. Sighing, James undressed and climbed into his bunk. He was awakened during the night by sounds of distress from Young's pallet. James rose, hurried to him. He knelt down, shook him. Young reacted instantly, cowering away.
"You were having a bad dream. Are you all right?"
Young managed to pull himself together. He nodded though he still trembled.
"Bad one?"
Again, the other man nodded. He pushed dark curls out of his face and sat up.
"Would you like a glass of water?"
Young agreed silently that he would.
"The water bucket is on the table. If you're feeling better. I'm going back to bed." With that, James went back to the bunk. He could feel troubled, green eyes on his back but he wasn't going to baby the other man. Maybe the father had, but William James wasn't going to.

It took a while for Young to accept his new life. When the captain realized Young could read and write, communication between them grew easier. He allowed the other man to read his books, and he made him write most of what he tried to say. He resisted James's attempts to get him out on deck for the first ten days but he eventually went. The desire to see sunlight, to feel fresh air grew too much one day. The tiny portal in the captain's cabin was no longer good enough. James hid his pleasure at seeing the slim form appear slowly from the dark depths. Several men made comments but the look their captain threw them hushed them instantly.
"Work all done?" James inquired quietly. Young nodded. "Good, then you can help Gunther swab the deck. Gunther...?"
"Aye, Captain. Here, you take this mop." And the blond, deeply tanned man thrust a wet mop into Young's hand. Do what I do." 
Young tried. He felt awkward but though Gunther grinned in delight, no one said anything until the cook appeared topside to dump slop over the rail. Young's mop swished dirty water over the man's feet. Enraged, Hudson dropped the bucket and charged for the younger man. James intervened.
"He didn't do it on purpose and you know it." The old cook murmured beneath his breath. James caught only the word, unnatural. "If you're speaking to me, speak up." He waited but Hudson only scowled. "Well?"
"I've got dinner to prepare." the old man dumped the slop over the railing and vanished down the hatch.
"You'll have to get rid of him one day, " Murdock, James's second-in-command remarked as he came to stand beside the captain. There was a concerned, thoughtful expression on his homely face. He was only two years younger than James, and many said the captain had made a mistake putting such a young, inexperienced man in as his second-in-command, but Murdock had proved himself over and over. Everyone accepted him now. "He's mean enough to poison the food."
"Aye, and gets meaner every day." James narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to Young. "Have you finished mopping?" White faced, Young shook his head and began the clean up process again.
"He's a strange one to be sharing your bed, " Murdock said in a low voice. "Doesn't he shake too much?"
"He's not sharing my bed." He ignored the look of disbelief the other man threw at him. "You're right though. He's too scared of life. He's too thin too."
"Aye, that he is. He doesn't talk much, does he?"
"He can't speak."
"Oh." They watched Young plod his way through the mopping session. "William, let Jim come up on top. He knows a lot about rigging and it's time he was given a chance. Remember the last storm? He was on deck instantly, helping. And he did help. I didn't have to tell him a thing. He was onto problem the moment my mind formulated a command."
"Do it. Just as long as you take the blame, it's all right with me."
"Blame?"
"Hudson won't like it."
"Have you ever known him to like anything?"
"No."
"Well then?"
"What about help for Hudson? I assume you've thought about a replacement."
"I have." He smiled faintly at James but remained quiet.
"Must I drag it out of you?" the captain asked a bit sharply.
"Let the boy do it." Murdock suggested.
"Boy?"
"Your Young."
"He's not a boy."
"He's not quite a man yet, either."
"No."
"Are you going to remedy that?" Murdock asked dryly, a trifle sarcastically. The look his captain threw him made him chuckle. 
"And he's not my Young!"
Murdock watched the new arrival trying desperately to keep up with Gunther. "Is that something you're going to remedy as well?"
James cursed, forced himself to become calm once more. "I wouldn't mind him being my Young...if I wasn't married to Mary, I could become quite... interested...in him. He's got something... special about him."
"He's off limits." The hard, cold look he threw at his second-in-command gave the other man pause.
"Is he?" Murdock finally inquired in interest.
"Yes."
"Shall I pass the word along to the men?"
"You tell them if anyone lays a hand on him, they'll answer to the cat."
Murdock's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "The cat?"
"You tell them."
"He's beautiful, and this is a long voyage. Some of the men are going to... Well, hell, William, look at them." James searched the faces of several men who were watching Young intently. Scowling, he ordered them back to work. "It's a long voyage, " Murdock repeated, slightly worried. "You can't keep..."
"They do anything to him, say anything, and I'll use the cat myself. Make sure they all know that he's not to be considered as a bed mate for any of them."
"What's so special about him?"
"He's to be treated like a...guest..."
"You don't treat him like one."
"He's an...unpaid...guest. Besides, I don't have to; I'm the captain.."
"Oh, aye, you keep reminding me of that." 
James glared at him. "See that you don't forget it!"
"Have I ever?" Murdock asked softly.
"No." He clasped the other man's shoulder. "You've been a good friend and a good second-in-command. I thank you for it all."
"You know I'd do anything for you; anything."
"Aye, I do." He sighed, a sound straight from his soul. The man next to him patted his back. They watched Gunther stop, glare back at Young.
"He's off limits, huh? Does that mean to you as well?"
"Just tell them! And keep your bloody lip to yourself."
"Aye, aye, captain." Murdock grinned cheekily at him.
James's jaws tightened. "I found a small rips in the top sail."
"I had it taken down. Angus is working on it now."
"Why wasn't it done back in England?"
"It wasn't torn back in England."
"Then why is it ripped now?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"William, they looked like knife cuts."
"On my ship!?" Murdock nodded. "I'll not be having destruction like that on board my vessel. If we hadn't discovered them and a storm came up." He shuddered. "Find out who were the last three people to handle it."
"I'm already on it."
"When Young's through doing that, let him help Angus repair the rips."
"You don't want him to help Hudson?"
"No. I want him alive after this voyage."
"Your word is my command, oh, captain, my captain." Murdock's hazel eyes teased in an old, familiar way.
Try as he could, James could not dredge up any anger toward his friend. "Just do it!"
"Didn't I say that?" He laughed beneath his breath as James walked away. "Who's going to help Hudson?"
"You choose." He grinned without warning. "Make it a pun-ishment area." 
Murdock laughed in pure delight. Eyes turned toward him. "Aye, aye, Captain! A fitting punishment it will be too!" Even James laughed at that one.

Gunther stopped his work. He laid his mop down, went back to a distraught Young. He grinned at the other man. "You'll never finish that way! You're sweating already! Here, you do it like this!" He reached for the mop and Young took a step backwards. "I wasn't gonna cosh you!" Gunther announced in disgust. "Where the hell did the captain dig you up!?" The blond watched the play of emotions across Young's face but they irritated him more than anything. His hand shot forward, grabbed the mop and said, "Watch me!"
Young was so exhausted when he finished an hour later, he fell asleep over the sail Angus had spread in his lap. He was cuffed for that. He landed on the deck with thump.
Angus said, "You're not fit for much, are you? Get up and watch what you're doing!" He scowled at the younger man. "If you didn't make such a neat stitch..." The old man shook his head in disgust. He watched the ashen face for a moment. "You don't talk much, do you?" Young shook his head. "Cat got your tongue, did he?"
"He can't speak, " James said quietly from their left. Their attention turned toward him. "I want my supper now, and a warm bath. See to it, " he ordered Young, who only nodded tiredly and left. He stumbled a bit as he did.

The cook was on a rampage in the kitchen. He waved his meat cleaver at Young who immediately froze in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"
Young sighed wearily. He pointed toward the hot water and then back down the hall. 
"Take it! And you can tell that stupid captain his dinner will be late! I've no one to help. He's seen to that!" Hudson slammed the meat cleaver into the already scarred table top. "Taking Jim away like that! Making him a deck man! It'll give him airs! You mark my words! Make him think he's better than someone like me!"
Young hesitated only a moment. He used a thick rag to pick up the pail of hot water and hurried from the galley. In James's cabin, he poured the hot water into the huge, white bowl and then added a touch of cold water. James entered. Young patted his own chest and then motioned toward the door.
"Yes, you can go. But I'll be wanting my dinner when I'm through here." Young made eating motions with his hand and then pointed toward the door. "What about the cook?"
Dole clasped both hands together and sighed in mild exhaust-ion. He grabbed a clean sheet of paper, a pen and wrote, "I would like to help Hudson."
James noticed the dark circles beneath the other man's eyes. Had he been pushing him too far? He had never been coddled and thought nothing of pushing himself and his men to the very ends of their endurance. He expected it of himself and those who worked with him. Young was another matter. It would have been obvious from his thinness even if his father hadn't told the other man's history, that he had been pampered. Young's father hadn't done him any favors.
"You want to help Hudson?" Young nodded. "Why?" Young bent to write once more. "I suppose dinner isn't ready yet?" the captain guessed before reading what had been written. Young shook his head and handed him the note anyway. "Well, I won't be getting any food until it is. You might as well help."
Young hurried off.
"You're a strange one." James muttered. He stripped and washed.

"What do you want?" Hudson demanded when Young reentered the galley. "I told you dinner wasn't ready! Now, get out of here!" He slammed the huge hunk of salt beef down on the table. "Rats! I hate 'em! When I retire..." He glared at Young. "And that won't be for a long time! But when I do, my home won't have any rats in my home! I guarantee you that!" He uttered a string of curses. "Well?" he demanded as he glared over at the tall, slim man who stood stiff and quiet in the doorway. 
Young entered and did his best to tell the cook why he had come back but it wasn't until the young man wrote his reasons on a crumbled sheet of paper that Hudson finally understand. A look of pleased relief swept over the craggy features but that emotion was quickly hidden by gruff irritation.
"You can peal the potatoes."
Young searched for the potatoes, a pot and a knife, and then he settled quietly over on the edge of the table and began to work.
Hudson watched him for a moment and then he too got busy with slicing the salted beef.

That night when Young had his dream and James went to him, the young man didn't awaken, but he didn't cringe from the captain's soothing touch. He moved into it. A peaceful expression settled over the troubled face. Protectiveness flowed over James but he crushed it. He must never forget and become soft again.
Memories of Jamie with his shaggy blond hair and hazel eyes that danced and sparkled with life and love...Jamie who had died saving James.
Pain ripped at his soul.
Jamie!
Blood on his hands, blood that flowed from the solid, muscular body, blood that allowed Jamie's soul to flee.
Blood that meant the death of one he loved.
Stifling a moan, James hurried back to bed. He pulled the covers up around him, curled into a tight ball as agony tried to slice his soul from his body.
Jamie!
No, he would never love again. That protectiveness he had felt frightened him for it meant a softening, a relaxing of his guard. James tried to force a hard coldness back around his heart, but it was melting and nothing he could do could stop it. Fear tingled in his mind. He must not love again! He mustn't!
Jamie!
James moaned into his pillow.
Memories of a naked body swimming next to him in the ocean, of running before him, teasing...laughter...love, overwhelming love... and making love in the sand...not caring who saw, unashamed of what they felt, what they shared.
Jamie, who was dead...and would never lie next to him again.
One lone tear escaped the blue eyes, rolled down a cold cheek.