By Sally Gunning
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If you mean they don’t spoil you as I used to do—” “They’ve hurt me, sir. First him and then her. ” “Now, Alice, you don’t expect me to believe such a fib as that about my daughter. ” “I’ve grown nothing like it, sir. ” “Now you know we can’t do that. You know that Mr. Verley owns your time now,” and there he jerked around in his chair to peer out the window. “What’s that noise? Is it the fox again? ” Alice had held it in her mind all the way from Medfield that when Mr. Morton saw what had been done to her he would take her back and keep her safe, as he would have kept his own daughter safe, but now she wondered what had dulled her brain so.
With each trip above Alice noticed that the wind blew harder, which Alice’s father told her was a good thing because it would push them faster to Philadelphia, but Alice thought it good because it built white-topped mountains out of flat seawater and crashed them on deck in great snow showers. But after a time Alice’s father took the bucket from her and wouldn’t let her go on the deck anymore; she heard him whisper to her mother of a young boy who had been swept overboard, to which Alice’s mother replied, “Lucky boy,” a remark Alice didn’t understand and which her father wouldn’t explain to her.
The burned hands. The short voyage. The empty, unwatched gangway. What more could she wish for? Her mother’s voice, calling to her from the water? Verley’s voice, shouting from behind her? The thought of Verley set Alice’s feet in the direction of the gangway. She looked at the distracted crew again, the two men bent over the ledger, the woman fumbling among the fruit; still not a single eye following. She could go back unseen as well as forward unseen, of course, but how much easier to go forward, up the gangway, across the deck… Alice wouldn’t have said she had indeed decided to do it, and yet the next thing she knew, there she stood, at the top of the companionway.
Bound by Sally Gunning