1919
It was time. Sarah’s favorite time of day— the time when she was alone with her father and no one disrupted them. She climbs onto the glossy teak railing, studded with brass closures, and grabs the sextant from its small drawer near the top of the captain’s quarters ceiling. With the balance of an acrobat, she jumps down and unfurls the navigation chart onto the large mahogany desk before her. Taking a hairpin from the front pocket of her skirt, she pins her long, dark brown hair back into a loose bun for an unobstructed view of the map. She traces their course with her finger. Her father, John Whitaker, looking kind yet authoritative in his captain’s uniform throws open the door and rubs his hands together. “Are you ready?” he asks.
“Yes, Father, I’m ready!” she replies.
“We will make you the best celestial navigator the world has seen yet.”
Sarah’s eyes widen. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so.”
Sarah appreciates her father’s expertise, but her mother was the one to first teach her navigation. Sarah had loved those times so much; she had loved her mother so much. “My teacher says that our ancestors shape who we become. Do you think Mom is looking down at me from those stars?”
Without hesitation, her father responds, “I think she is doing more than just looking.”
Captain Whitaker pauses and looks proudly at his daughter, who is engrossed in examining the chart. Time has flown by so quickly since his wife’s death that he hardly realizes how beautifully mature she has become over the last few years; she will soon leave him to start her own family. “You are very much like her, especially those beautiful hazel eyes of yours.” Gently, he takes the sextant from her hand obtaining her undivided attention. “What’s important is that you choose a life partner who supports you in all your endeavors.”
Sarah laughs. “Oh, Father, don’t worry. I’m never going to leave the ship.”
Her enthusiasm reminds him that she is still just a child with dreams of conquering the world. He hands her back the sextant.
“Okay, are you ready for the first test?”
“Yes!” Sarah exclaims as she sits on one knee to better see over the large drawing table.
“Show me the route we are traveling now.”
She quickly traces the route on the chart with her index finger.
Her father asks, “Now, what happens if this route is no longer possible because of pirates, a squall, or a large rock?”
“A large rock?” She laughs.
“A VERY large rock,” her father teases. “Which way would you go then?”
Sarah thinks for a moment and then traces her finger in theopposite direction hooking around to the left at the very end. Her father raises a bushy eyebrow, his sea-blue eyes questioning her decision. She takes his cue and continues studying the chart.
“Remember what I told you about the wind, the stars, and the currents,” he gently reminds her. She tries again, this time circumventing the previous course and ending up farther north, but with a straight downwind approach to their ultimate destination.
“Yes!” her father shouts just as his first mate, Richard, barges through the door. Undistracted, her father keeps his attention on her. “See, justas I said—the best celestial navigator I’ve seen yet.”
Richard shudders at that statement but quickly recomposes himself. “Sir, a squall—it’s about to hit.”
The captain immediately stands and rushes out of the room. Before Richard leaves, he turns his six-foot frame toward Sarah. “Stay here. We don’t need a girl doing anything that might cause someone to fall overboard.” His jaw tightens and he pauses, glaring. “A woman’s place is not navigating hrough the open seas with a bunch of seafaring men. It would completely disrupt the order of things.” Richard leaves and slams the door behind him.
Sarah forcefully exhales and smacks her hand down on the desk. She tries to look out the small portholes of the ship but sees nothing but blue sky. She puts the chart and sextant away and heads up to the deck of the boat. Ahead, the sky is black—blacker than she has ever seen before. Whitecaps begin forming all around them. The wind snatches the sails, and the halyards bang against the masts. It’s too late; the storm is moving too fast—they cannot turn around. Her father barks, “Drop the sails!”
Three men frantically pull down, furl, and lash the sails to the mast to prevent them from ripping in the storm. Flashes of lightning reflect off the clouds ahead, and then the most heinous sound of thunder vibrates through the ship. Sarah has never seen a storm this bad, ever. She stays low, crouching behind one of the trunks to avoid getting in the way. She knows she is not strong enough to help the men, and they can work much faster without her maneuvering among them.
Instantly, a large wave crashes over the deck, covering it with water. Two of the men slip, sliding straight across the bow—one grabs hold of the rope, the other clutches the railing. With all their strength, they fight to stay in place. Her father, trying to prevent capsizing, strains his muscles at the helm as he turns the ship directly into the next oncoming wave. A flash of lightning splits the top of the mast, followed by the sound of deafening thunder. Richard startles and slips just as the leather lashing holding one of the trunks tears. The massive trunk crashes onto Richard’s leg, pinning him in place. His screams echo the sound of the wind; Sarah has never seen a grown man in so much pain. Her father races toward Richard to lift the trunk. The boat sways sideways and is struck by a wave on the windward side. Still holding the trunk, her father loses his balance and slides across the deck. Unable to grab the railing in time, he falls over the side of the boat.
Sarah jumps up from her hiding place. “Father! No!” she cries. She runs to the railing just as one of the other deckhands grabs the helm and rights the ship. She throws the rope overboard. Clinging to the rail, she strains to see her father through the heavy strands of sea-drenched hair plastered across her face. She screams for him, saltwater streaming from her nose and eyes, but it is no use—she can barely make out the waves in front of her. Richard stares with pity, but he says nothing.
“Turn the boat!” Sarah yells as she runs from the helm to the bow and then up the rungs of the mast ladder to the crow’s nest. Two of the deck hands scour for anything that may resemble a human form and repeatedly throw a life buoy into the white capping waves in front of them. The men unfurl the sails, but it is no use. The distance between Sarah and where she last saw her father continues to increase. Then, just as quickly as the storm arrived, the sea quiets. Blue skies emerge, juxtaposed against lingering black clouds. Richard realizes that the rescue efforts are hopeless and eventually commands the men to navigate toward shore. Devastated, Sarah climbs down and leans her head against the rail, allowing her legs to dangle over the side of the boat. Tears warm her cheeks as they fall into the blue water streaming below.