Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel by Suzanne Woods Fisher

scratched behind his ears and the dog curled up, lay down, and went to sleep.
    Anna tried not to think about who was at the edge of her hammock, but it was like trying not to think about a cricket chirping. The more you don’t think about it, the louder it gets.

7

    July 8th, 1737
    In the dark of the night, Bairn could see a glimmer of lighthouses on the southern coast of England. In just a few hours, the Charming Nancy would proceed around the Cornish coast and put into the port of Plymouth, and it was a sight he could hardly wait to see. Even more so, he could hardly wait to go ashore. He had already applied to the captain. The work of going ashore, placing orders, and handing over cash was done by Captain Stedman and whichever of the officers or tradesmen he trusted most. In the case of the crew of the Charming Nancy , that meant only two men: Mr. Pocock and Bairn. Happily, Mr. Pocock’s gout caused him such suffering that he chose not to apply to go ashore.
    Scarcely two hours later, Bairn stood on the fo’c’sle deck, relaying the first mate’s orders through the speaking trumpet to the sailors on the upper deck and half deck. There was a terrific flap and slither of canvas as mainsails came down to reduce the ship’s speed. Water that was breaking against the hull gentled as the ship slid into more sheltered waters, and finally Bairn gave the order to release the massive anchor cable.They floated slowly until a slight tug brought the Charming Nancy to rest. The anchor had dropped.
    Dawn was barely visible on the horizon as Bairn gazed out on the Sound. The Charming Nancy was one of a mass of vessels crammed into Plymouth Sound. This was one of the busiest ports in England and was full of working craft: fishing fleets, pilot boats, private merchantmen. And then there were the Royal Navy ships: His Majesty’s men-of-war. Plymouth was the last provisioning stop for vessels sailing south to Africa or the Indies or the Azores, for those sailing west for America or Newfoundland. The quantity of shipping in port, and the clumsiness of a large ship under sail, meant sailing across the Sound to pick up supplies was impracticable, so the captain would send delivery boats back and forth to fetch supplies.
    In the heat of July, with the air still, Plymouth Sound smelled like one vast privy.
    “Bairn!”
    He whirled around to face Mr. Pocock.
    “The captain wants to see you.”
    “Did he say why?”
    Mr. Pocock shrugged, but averted his eyes.
    It was an intimidating thing to be summoned into the Great Cabin. It didn’t happen often and it left an impression when it did. On this occasion, the captain was attired in his best breeches, preparing to go ashore. He pointed to the chair for Bairn to sit down on while he stood, a customary practice for him because of their height differences. He leveled his eyes at Bairn and told him that his application to go ashore was denied. “You are in charge of repairs to the ship while Mr. Pocock and I secure provisions. I want Decker to build additional pens for animals.”
    Bairn’s grip tightened on his hat, fingers crushing the brim, but he worked to keep his face impassive to mask the acute disappointment he felt. He had been sorely looking forward to time ashore in Plymouth. He wanted to make sure the provisions would be adequate for the journey, and if there was a little extra time, he might look up a sweet, well-endowed maid he had met in a pub a few months back—Rosie, or was it Sally? He couldn’t remember—but he thought he might pay a call on her.
    Instead of the comforts of a woman, he would be stuck on the ship, minding twenty hapless sailors, not to mention hundreds of Peculiars down below.
    “No seaman is to leave the ship unless you have sent him to pick up provisions.” The captain snapped his fingers. “There and back.”
    Now that piece of information Bairn had expected. Jobbing seamen looking for better wages did not hang around. The captain couldn’t afford