Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

eaten sandwich in the other.
    “Mal, there’s one more. Will you help me? It looks pretty flimsy.”
    “I brought you your sandwich.”
    “Help me.”
    “Sure.” He took another bite and then placed his sandwich beside hers. He set the plate down.
    Still chewing, he examined her discovery. At one time, it might have been white or ivory, but now all he saw was an old, ratty, piece of material: stained and faded, with frays and tears that spoke of many years of use. Together they lifted it out of the chest and placed it on the floor.
    Mal was eager to return to his sandwich, but Polly was fascinated. “I think it’s a quilt of some sort. It looks really old.” She never took her eyes off of the folded material. “Help me here … please?”
    They each took a corner and, one fold at a time, slowly and carefully coaxed it open. Finally, they peeled back the last fold and afraid to hold it up, looked at it as it lay on the floor. A chill went down Polly’s spine. Work done, Malcom turned for his sandwich just as something at the bottom of the chest caught his eye. Beneath the spot where the fabric had been placed so carefully, a stack of papers was tied together with a faded piece of ribbon.

CHAPTER 11
    HE BENT DOWN AND PICKED up the bundle of papers. The sheets were old and brittle, some more faded than others. He let the faded ribbon that had tied them together dangle between the second and third finger on his left hand as he carefully held the loose pages with his fingertips. Realizing he’d found a new treasure, Polly abandoned her quilt. As Malcom moved toward the open door for better light, she came and read over his shoulder.
    The script was tight and swirly. Each letter was precisely formed and flowed elegantly into the next. Something about it seemed familiar. Then it came to him. His grandmother wrote with that same careful, flowery, measured hand, not like the scribble that most people he knew tried to pass off as writing. His sandwich was forgotten.
June 4, 1773
My dearest sister,
We have been at sea now for two days and I wish that I had never begged father for the chance to visit aunt and uncle in Newport. While the weather has been good and the breeze fair and the sea calm, the motion of the boat does not agree with me. I have spent most of the time in my cabin. I cannot eat and if I try, the seasickness returns. The ship’s cook, a kindly old gentleman, has brought me porridge and biscuits this morning, but I could not bear the smell of them, let alone taste them. I feel so bad for him. He tries so hard to cheer me up and give me encouragement and all I can do is glare at him and then bury my face in the bucket next to the bed. He says that this will pass, but I fear that I am dying. He has tried to coax me to come up on deck, assuring me that the fresh air will do me good, but I think I would just rather die than move from my bed. If I do not die, I shall continue this letter on the morrow.
Your sister,
Christine

June 6, 1773
Dear sister,
I have not died, yet. Food is still abhorrent to me and sleep still provides the only respite from this malaise, but I did venture out of my cabin and saw the sky for the first time. The ocean is so vast and this ship, which seemed so large when I first saw it at home, is now so small. Perhaps it was the fresh air, but for a moment I felt better. The Captain was on deck and greeted me with a smile and commented that father would be pleased, were he here, before returning to his duties. Tonight, the cook again brought me some porridge. I managed to eat several spoonfuls. My eyes grow heavy and sleep calls. Goodnight dear sister, I miss you.
With love,
Christine
    Next to him, Polly shuddered. “I’m getting seasick just thinking about it,” she said. “You keep reading and let me know if anything exciting happens. I want to take another look at those quilts.”
    Malcom paused for a bite of his sandwich, wiped his hands, and then carried on alone.
June 8, 1773
My sister,
This morning I awoke for the first time desiring food. I left my cabin and went out onto the deck. The sun was just showing itself on the horizon and the few clouds that were in the sky were lit in shades of pink and orange. The breeze was just strong enough that the ship moved easily through the water and the sea was quite flat so the motion was not uncomfortable, or perhaps I am just getting accustomed. I was able to stand there alone for several moments, before the crew noticed me.
I