Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

strike me as a very nice man, and I find it hard to believe that he and my uncle know each other, let alone are friends.”
“Mr. Whitbey may seem a hard man, but he is a man of great character and a fine seaman.”
“Tell me, then, how he knows my uncle.”
“As you know, your uncle is a successful merchant in Newport. Mr. Whitbey is one of many shipmasters, like myself, who set sail for your uncle. Simply, he finances the voyage and upon our return, benefits from the profits. Your uncle has been both lucky and shrewd, and as such he is now one of the wealthiest men in Newport.”
“I saw Mr. Whitbey hand you a letter. Was it word from my uncle?”
If the atmosphere at the table had cooled when she had first asked about Mr. Whitbey, then with this last question it truly froze over.
He stiffened and offered no explanation other than a hard look. From his demeanor, she understood that she had pressed too far and that to ask anything further would be a mistake. She said nothing more and simply looked down at her plate. Whatever conviviality had existed before was now gone, and dinner was finished with little more conversation before she returned to her cabin.

CHAPTER 21
Since the start of the voyage many things had changed. Her cabin, which had seemed so much a cell, had now become her sanctuary. The motion of the ship, which once made her wish for death, now felt soothing. The creaks and groans of the working ship, which had terrified her before, now were like music in her ears. Alone in her cabin, with her quilt pulled close, her thoughts turned to home.
That night she had dinner with the Captain, sleep had come easily, but it had not been comforting or restful. At first light, she jerked awake and it took a moment for her to understand where she was. The dream she had been in was fading fast. People and places that only moments before were so real, now were just shapeless phantoms, memories without form or substance. She knew that something was wrong, but what?
The following day, whether on deck or in her cabin, that dream stayed in her thoughts, and it blended with real events until she couldn’t separate them. Even though the details had faded, its impressions had remained so vivid that she began to question what was real and what was imagined. Images flashed in and out of her head, but as soon as she tried to summon them for further consideration, they disappeared. It mattered not what she tried―those faces, places, and events remained just out of reach.
The one image that never changed and remained strong was that brief glimpse of the two men as she had walked by the Captain’s door. In the Captain’s hand was the letter that Whitbey had handed him on deck when he arrived. Whitbey was standing with his back to the door and their movements and muffled words spoke of serious matters. Then later, when she had been summoned to the Captain’s cabin to formally meet Mr. Whitbey, the atmosphere was strained and the meeting short. Dream and reality had become as one and she began to question her sanity. She had to know.
As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, Christine looked to the east at the great darkness that was fast approaching. Then, turning to the west, she watched as the final vestiges of light from the now set sun were slowly overtaken by the eastern darkness. The ocean remained calm, as the ship, driven by a steady breeze, continued on toward its final destination. But the serenity of the moment was broken when she heard some voices. She turned to see the Captain, who had just come on deck, gesturing while speaking to the mate on watch. He was clearly agitated and she didn’t wish to be witness to his temper, so she returned to her cabin.
Descending the stairs, she could hear his voice as he continued to berate the crew for some unknown offence. As she approached his cabin, she saw that the door was ajar. Curious, she moved toward the door and looked through the narrow opening. Inside, she could see the table, the one that Mr. Whitbey and the Captain had been standing in front of. The image of Mr. Whitbey handing the Captain a letter when he first arrived on board flashed through her head. Then she saw a pile of charts and papers. Irrational thoughts filled her head. She had to know what was in that letter.
Even as every bit of her being cried “No,” she put her hand on the door. Taking a deep breath, she considered again what she was about to do. She withdrew her hand and was