Page 26 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
Sidney nodded grimly. “The men are sailors, not passengers. They need purpose, not just distraction. And with each hour that passes...” He gestured toward the horizon where no darker water promised wind, no clouds suggested weather change. “Time is our enemy as much as the still air.”
“Perhaps,” Docila suggested carefully, “we might expand on last night’s success? Not just music, but other activities that engage the men more actively?”
Sidney turned to study her face, struck by the thoughtfulness in her expression. “What did you have in mind?”
“Stories, for one thing. Competition always engages sailors. What if we made a contest of storytelling? And games of skill that test their seamanship knowledge without requiring actual sailing?” She paused, then added with a slight smile, “My father believed that men confined together needed three things to maintain harmony — purpose, entertainment, and the occasional surprise.”
The wisdom of it was undeniable, even as Sidney recognized the risks.
“The men might be receptive after last night’s success, but there’s still the matter of.
..” He lowered his voice. “Jenks and his supporters may see organized entertainment as frivolity. Waste of time when we should be finding ways to escape our predicament.”
“Then we make it practical as well as entertaining,” Docila replied.
“Knot-tying competitions that test skills they’ll need.
Navigation challenges using the stars. Memory games based on sailing knowledge.
” Her eyes lit up with inspiration. “Even the stories could serve a purpose — tales of how other sailors have survived difficult situations, overcome obstacles, found their way home.”
Sidney found himself intrigued despite his concerns. “You’ve given this considerable thought.”
“I’ve had time for little else,” she admitted. “And I remember how my father handled a similar situation. The balance he struck between maintaining discipline and acknowledging the frustration all felt.”
As the day progressed and the sun climbed higher in the cloudless sky, Sidney implemented Docila’s suggestions. But unlike the previous evening’s spontaneous musical gathering, the daytime activities felt more forced, more desperate. The men participated, but their hearts weren’t fully in it.
The storytelling competition began well enough, with several sailors sharing entertaining tales of their adventures in distant ports.
But as the morning wore on, Sidney noticed the way conversations stopped when he passed, the suspicious glances that followed Docila’s movements across the deck.
Jenks’s poison was beginning to spread again, despite the previous evening’s harmony.
By afternoon, the activities Docila had organized — the barrel navigation course, the knot-tying challenges — had devolved into half-hearted compliance rather than genuine engagement. The crew went through the motions, but the enthusiasm was forced, brittle.
The heat was becoming oppressive again, and with no breeze to provide relief, tempers began to fray. Sidney heard the first muttered complaints about “wasted time” and “foolish games” when they should be “finding real solutions.”
As evening approached and still no wind stirred the motionless air, Sidney realized that Docila’s efforts, well-intentioned as they were, could only postpone the inevitable. The crew’s patience was wearing thin, and tomorrow would bring even greater challenges.
The harmony was an illusion, and they all knew it. Tomorrow, if the wind didn’t return, the whispers would grow bolder, the glances more hostile. Tonight’s activities might well be the last they’d attempt before more serious problems arose.
It was as they were clearing away the remnants of the day’s entertainment that Docila felt it — the faintest stirring of air against her cheek, so slight she might have imagined it.
But the ripple in the tarp overhead confirmed her sensation.
A breath of wind, barely perceptible but undeniably real, had found them at last.
Her eyes immediately sought Sidney’s, finding him already alert to the change, his head tilted slightly as he too registered the subtle shift in their environment.
Their gazes locked across the deck, a moment of silent communication passing between them — relief, hope, the shared understanding of what this small change might herald.
The smile he offered her then was genuine, warm in a way she had never before witnessed from him.
It transformed his features, erasing years of care and revealing the handsome man beneath the captain’s stern mask.
Docila felt her breath catch, suddenly aware of a fluttering sensation in her chest that had nothing to do with the returning breeze.
As the ripple in the tarp strengthened, the first whisper of wind beginning to stir the lifeless sails, she returned his smile, a curious lightness spreading through her despite the challenges that still lay ahead.
The becalming had been a trial, certainly, but perhaps also a gift — forcing them to see each other more clearly, to recognize unexpected strengths in one another.
Whatever the future held — whether fair winds or further trials — something had changed between them during these still, sweltering days. Something subtle but significant, like the first breath of wind after a dead calm, promising movement where before there had been only stillness.