I was praying for God’s protection as I lowered myself into the water, inch by terrible inch. And crying, too, though crying only ever turned him wickeder. But I hadn’t a prayer of holding back my tears.
It took all my strength to let go of the wherry. Every bit of bravery I had. With the clouds reflecting on the sea, I couldn’t see the shark till it broke the surface. Here. There. Close—then much too close.
“Well, Frannie?” Sewel leaned over the rail, staring down at me with his rum-bleary eyes. “You gonna learn to govern your tongue?”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” I stammered as I kicked furiously.
“And?”
“And I’m sorry for back-talking you!”
“Lying’s a terrible sin. An abomination unto the Lord.”
“But I en’t lying!” The water shimmered near me. Any moment, teeth would slice into my legs. “I’m sorry!”
“You are lying.” Sewel’s eyes narrowed. “But I am feeling generously today. You are forgiven.” He reached down to help me aboard. “See, Francisca? Things can be good between us.”
A few days later, we sailed to the Tumbado wreck, once again hoping good fortune would find us. Two hours into diving, the only thing that had found me was disappointment.
I rubbed my stinging eyes and sucked on the cut on my thumb that I’d gotten from a broken piece of pottery—the only thing I’d uncovered. The afternoon had brought thunderheads rolling in. Sunlight sliced through them in long beams that roamed over the sea.
Dedos de dios, Mama had called them. God’s fingers.
Sewel and Mr. Baines had tied their boats together and were carrying on about a battle in South Carolina colony in which we’d lost to the despicable, cowardly, treasonous rebels. God help us. I knew I shouldn’t risk angering Sewel—I’d begun to think he’d forgotten our conversation, to hope it’d just been the rum talking—but he looked occupied for now, and I saw a chance I couldn’t pass up.
I drew a breath and swam for deeper water. Though Sewel had taught me to dive, I always felt it was these clear waters that guided me. Sometimes I heard whispers when I swam, telling me what to do. Voices of the Lucayos who’d lived on Grand Bahama long before we did. They’d been able to dive for a whole hour on a single breath, according to Mercy. We hadn’t managed that yet.
With the seabed dropping beneath me, I shored up my lungs once more. Then I swam down, down, down, plunging one fathom at a time, till suddenly, I felt the sea gently wrap round me and there was no rising anymore, no sinking. Just floating, there in the belly of the ocean.
I’d reached it—the seventh fathom. My dreaming depth.
The whole world far away, I stretched out my arms and set my imagination loose.
Sometimes it wandered to Mama’s stories and I daydreamed of the castle in Baiona, or of the time she’d seen a tiger in a street market in Cádiz. But today, I went into my own imaginings.
I saw myself as I was—small and square as a boy. Big wide eyes and an “impudent nose,” as Sewel called it. My dark hair tied back, but still falling in my face. But instead of my diving garments, I wore a fine blue coat with a ruffled white neck stock and sleeves dripping with lace. I stood at the bow of a grand ship, a spyglass tucked under my arm, as I guided it over every inch of the globe’s waters.
For as long as I could hold my breath, I went on adventures and I felt free.
* * *
The clouds opened as I swam back to Mercy. In a matter of moments, the swells rose to six feet and the sea sizzled with a furious rain.
We met behind her papa’s boat, where we listened to Sewel and Mr. Baines shouting at each other. Instead of heading for shelter as we ought to have been, they were arguing over whose bright idea it had been to come out this far, exposing us to such foul weather.
“Sewel’s never had a bright idea in all his life,” I said.
“He’s never even had a dull idea.” Mercy wiped the rain from her eyes. Our knees bumped underwater, talking to each other as we did. “Shame he en’t more like my papa.”
I’d had the same thought a dozen times myself. In the boat above us, Moses was busy stashing conches in a crate. As we dove for hidden treasures, he dove for dinner, which struck me as wiser. “The real shame is he en’t more like yesterday,” I said.
Mercy wrinkled her nose. “How’s that?”
I grinned. “Gone forever. Never to be seen again.”
Mercy laughed, showing all her pretty teeth. Her papa looked down from the boat with a scolding glance that seemed rather mild to me, but Moses never did look mean. He had a face like he was always about to tell you a sad story, even when he smiled.
“C’mon, Mercy. ’Fore the storm trap us out here.” He helped her aboard. Then he rowed for West End, his strokes steady as wings in spite of the choppiness of the sea.
“Fran!” Sewel shouted, spotting me in the water. “Get over here!”
I swam over and hoisted myself into the wherry, huddling my shivering body into the curve of the bow.
Sewel shook his head, disappointed at my lack of sturdiness. “Wiggins find anything?”
“No, sir.”
“He was diving the wreck and didn’t find a thing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Useless.” He cast a hateful glance at the retreating boat; then he reefed the sail and weighed anchor, sure and swift, like seafaring was a dance he knew all the steps to.
He was made for the sea, Sewel was. Everything I learned about sailing and wrecking, he’d taught me. For that, I had to be thankful. Mama had told me once that as a boy he’d dreamed of serving in the Royal Navy. I couldn’t imagine Sewel as a boy with dreams. But I could picture him fighting in a tavern over a spilt drink and killing somebody, which was how he’d earned the M on his thumb. By reciting a Bible verse and getting the brand, he was saved from swinging by a rope round his neck.
“You trying to burst your eyes out your head?” he asked as he took the tiller.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“No sir, yes sir, no sir,” he piped, shaking his head in disgust. “How about making use of that owl stare and keep track of Baines, if you’d be so kind? I won’t have him blamin’ me for getting lost out here, top of everything else.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and turned to the beating wind.
The Baineses’ boat crashed along to our leeward, rising and sinking behind the swells. Moses and Mercy had pulled ahead and were fading into the billows of rain.