Whither Thou Goest

Chapter 3-2

He changed the angle just a bit and hit my sweet spot, and I felt a tidal wave of heat rush over my body. I made a low, desperate sound. His laugh was just as low, just as desperate. I tried to free my hands so I could stroke my c**k, but he tightened his grip.

Each time I came close to climaxing, he’d slow until the claws of need that tore at me would subside. Finally he placed my hands around my aching, oozing shaft, folded his hands around mine, and let me take control of the movements. I gasped out disjointed phrases, of want, and need, and…It didn’t take long after that. I was spilling my seed into our joined hands, and he was filling me with his heat.

I thought I heard him whisper something about—No, that was stupid. A man…like Church Chetwood…would never lo—I fell asleep, the thought unfinished.

* * * *

I was in the wheelhouse, trying unsuccessfully to plot out a route Captain Johansen had given me from the island of Tinian to Leyte. The skipper was at the wheel, one hand cupped around the bowl of his pipe, and Mr. Chetwood was leaning against the hatchway, smoking a cigarette he’d rolled himself.

I watched him hungrily. There was a brooding expression in his eyes as he regarded me, but then he turned his gaze to stare at the ocean rolling away behind us. He’d been cool to me, hadn’t touched me, since the night of our departure from Selamat datan more than a week before, and it was breaking my heart. I became tense whenever he was near me.

Something down on the weather deck drew his attention and he stiffened. “Uh-oh. What’s this?”

“What are you talking about, Chet?”

“Better come take a look, Skipper.”

I suddenly had a funny feeling in my gut. I joined them on the companionway. Below us was about half the crew, men who weren’t on duty.

“What’s going on, men?” the skipper called down.

“That’s what we’d like to know!” They separated, and left standing in the center of the deck was the little girl. She stood quietly, her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself. Her hair was braided down her back, and she wore a man’s shirt, belted at her waist with a length of rope.

“That’s Hildy Patterson, Skipper,” Mr. Chetwood said, his hands clenched on the rail. “The little girl from Selamat datan. How did she get on board?”

“Dames is bad luck at sea,” Whitey hollered, shaking his fist and glowering up at us. “I say we t’row her over the side,”

My hand went to the shiv in my pocket.

“Nonsense!” the skipper barked. “That’s simply superstition, and foolish superstition at that. Come up here, little girl.”

Hildy rushed up the stairs. Her eyes were huge, and her gaze settled on me with every sign of relief. “I’m sorry, Johnny. Eddie came down to the galley for something, and he found me before I could hide.”

I dropped to one knee, opening my arms to her, and she went into them. I could feel the tremors shaking her slight body and tightened my hold, trying to make it as comforting as possible. She slid an arm around me and buried her face against my shoulder.

“I brought her on board, Captain.” My mouth was dry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chetwood, I couldn’t leave her there. Puan Noor was one of the whores who was in the bar that night—that’s where I recognized her from. She was going to sell Hildy. She already had a plantation owner lined up. Seems he had a taste for little girls.” I couldn’t disguise the bitterness in my voice.

“Ah, hell. Why didn’t you tell me, kid?”

“You told me no. I disobeyed you.” I rose to my feet with Hildy in my arms.

“Is that why you’ve been so skittish? And here I was thinking—you’re a dope, you know that?” He tipped up my face and ran his knuckles under my chin. “We’ve got a partnership here, don’t you realize that yet?”

“We do?”

“We do. Next time, come talk to me. Don’t let me think… Never mind, you don’t want to know what screwy things I was thinking.” He looked Hildy over, and his gaze narrowed. “Say, that shirt looks familiar.” He rubbed the collar between thumb and forefinger.

“It’s—uh—it’s one of yours, Mr. Chetwood. I borrowed it. All Hildy’s clothes were destroyed in the fire.” I set her down beside me.

“Johnny…” He sounded exasperated, but he was smiling, and I was pretty sure everything was jake between us. He threaded his fingers through my hair and gave a slight tug. I rubbed my cheek against his hand.

“Where have you been keeping her, Mr. Smith?” the skipper asked.

“The first night I hid her in one of the lifeboats, Skipper, but it was too dicey—anyone could have found her, so I talked to Charley, and he let her stay with him.”

“So that’s why he’s suddenly developed a chronic headache.” The skipper chuckled.

“All the men know he sleeps with that meat cleaver under his pillow. I thought that was the safest place for her.”

“And were you ever going to tell us she was on board?”

I looked away.

“Never mind. How do you do, Miss Hildy?” Gallantly he took her hand and kissed the back of it.

“I do quite well, thank you, Captain Johansen. May I ask the same of you?” An adult’s response. Had she ever sounded like the little girl she was?

The skipper smiled at her, then turned to see the men still gathered around on the deck. “The girl stays. And if I hear any more bunk about bad luck, I’ll show you what bad luck is by leaving that man at the next port. Is that understood?”

There were grumbles, but no one seemed willing to challenge him.

“All right, then. This was a working vessel, the last time I looked. You men get back to work.”

“Yeah, well, what about him?”

This time Thorvald Lillegard was shoved forward.

“What the hell are you doing on this ship, Lillegard?” my lover demanded.

The Norwegian gave a sickly grin but addressed his words to the skipper. “I had to leave Selamat datan, Johansen, but I couldn’t get a ship. I was going batty—the heat, the bugs, the liquor that tasted like donkey piss—”

“Watch your mouth in front of the little girl,” Mr. Chetwood snapped.

Lillegard scowled at him but continued. “And—er—uh—they was blaming me for that fire.” He licked his lips nervously, and his gaze darted to the little girl. “Didja ever hear such a load of hooey?”

Hildy clutched my hand, her grip strong for a child. “Johnny, he killed my daddy,” she said in a clear voice, her eyes glittering with anger. She had vowed to me she was done shedding tears a couple of days after we’d sailed from Selamat datan.

Every eye in the wheelhouse turned on Lillegard. “Is that true?” the skipper asked.

“No! The girl’s talking crazy, I tell ya. She don’t know what she’s saying.” He scowled at Hildy as if trying to will her mouth shut. “Why would I want to hurt her old man? I didn’t hardly know him. And besides, I wasn’t even there.”

Her hand tightened. “He brought Daddy booze. Every night after a performance.” She tugged me down to her level again, and her breath was warm against my ear. “It scared me, the way he would look at me, and Daddy said I should never go with him, no matter what.”

“Ain’t a man innocent till proved guilty?” Lillegard’s tone was sulky.

The skipper glowered at him, working the stem of his pipe between his teeth. “You’re here on my ship, Lillegard, and I can’t very well toss you overboard. But I’ve heard of you—you’re bad news, and I don’t need your sort of trouble. I intend to put you off at our next port of call. In the meantime, you’d better watch your step. If I see you starting anything with my men, I’ll have Charley chop you up for fish bait! Have I made myself clear?”

“Sure, Skipper. Sure.” Lillegard curved his lips in a conciliatory smile, but his gaze was filled with resentment.

* * * *

During the next couple of weeks, we seemed to run into a streak of bad luck. Captain Johansen came down with some sort of stomach ailment and was laid up in his cabin. While he was recovering, most of the day-to-day running of the August Moon was left to Dutch.

We lost a man or two each time the August Moon sailed into port, usually through run-ins with the local law, although a couple decided they preferred the easy-going way of life on the Spice Islands to the taut way the skipper ran his ship.

Of course, none of the men left behind was Lillegard. The Norwegian was never anywhere to be found when we berthed. He didn’t turn up until after the August Moon had sailed again and was safely out of sight of land.

Captain Johansen had recovered by that time. He didn’t push it because we’d become short-handed.

And besides, it appeared as if Lillegard was pulling his own weight.

* * * *

Something jolted me out of a restive sleep in the quiet hours after midnight.

Mr. Chetwood had taken to sleeping curled around me, his chin resting on my hair as it fanned out on the pillow. I savored the sense of belonging that embrace gave me, and I lay like that, trying to determine what had disturbed me. Finally I came to the conclusion it must have just been the urge to relieve myself. I eased out from under my lover’s arm and quietly pulled on a pair of trousers, making sure my shiv was in my pocket, then tucked my nightshirt into my pants and worked my feet into my shoes. I might have to piss, but I’d never leave the cabin in nothing more than my nightshirt.

Mr. Chetwood had kicked off the covers and his nightshirt was rucked up around his waist. His c**k was flaccid now, but it hadn’t been earlier, and I smiled, remembering how he’d made love to me.

But right now, gooseflesh pimpled his arms and legs. I drew the blanket over him, rubbing my cheek against his and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before I left the cabin.

I made my way to the head, a little surprised the passageway was empty.

Afterward, too edgy to go back to sleep, I decided to go up on deck and contemplate the constellations in the southern sky.

I hadn’t gotten very far, though, when I heard footsteps pounding on the deck. It sounded like thunder, it was coming this way, and I got that funny feeling in my gut again. If they caught me alone at this time of night…I shuddered, not wanting to think what they’d do to me, and I slipped into a narrow stowage locker where mops and buckets were stored. I kept the door cracked so I could see and hear what was happening. If it was nothing, boy would I feel like a dope.

It wasn’t nothing. About half a dozen men came storming down the passageway, and they burst into our cabin.

“What the—” Mr. Chetwood demanded, groggy from being awakened from a sound sleep.

“Grab him, boys!”

“What’s going on? What do you think you’re doing?” He’d come to full alertness, which didn’t surprise me: he was Church Chetwood, after all.

“We’s taking over this ship. Get him up on deck with the Old Man.” I recognized Whitey’s voice. “Where’s your boy?”

“Do you see him here?” How could Mr. Chetwood sound so nonchalant?