A Ship Through Time by Bess McBride

Author:Bess McBride [McBride, Bess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bess McBride
Published: 2017-04-02T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Even before I opened my eyes, I recognized a familiar smell of generic bleached cloth, felt the smooth feel of cotton near my cheek.

I inhaled deeply and forced open my eyelids to see sunlight peeping in through a crack in the curtains leading to the balcony. The balcony?

With a gasp, I pushed myself upright. The Century Star! I had traveled through time again!

I jumped off the bed, staggering as searing pain ripped through my feet. Grabbing on to a chair, I leaned against it as the pain receded, then lifted up on my toes and limped across the cabin toward the curtains. Pulling them aside, I saw not a small island but a sparkling blue sea.

I turned and surveyed the cabin. Everything was in place. My luggage rested in a corner, a bottle of water sat on the nightstand by the bed, a sheet of paper—no doubt the ship’s daily activities—lay on the floor by the door, as if it had been slipped in.

I pulled open the balcony door and stepped out, dropping onto one of the two deck chairs.

I was back! I had fallen asleep on the French ship and traveled back in time. I doubted that my wishing, hoping and praying had been the catalyst. It seemed likely that I traveled through time while on board a ship—a French ship, the Century Star or the Vigilance. But the Vigilance was gone. I had no way to get back to Daniel.

My throat closed over, and a dull ache seized my chest. Daniel’s face swam before me as I fought against tears. I fought to put his image from my mind for the moment. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to do something.

My stomach rumbled distressfully, and I realized it had been hours since I’d eaten. I had no idea how long I had slept—time seemed like such a surreal concept at the moment.

I pushed myself out of the chair, clung to the door and worked my way into the bathroom by hanging on to the furniture. I stripped off my soiled and tattered dress and pulled the bandages from my feet, and after turning on the water and gathering my soaps, I lowered myself to the shower floor and sat there sobbing while I washed the sea salt and sweat from my body.

Following an extended shower, I dried off, applied antibiotic ointment to my feet and did my best to cover the cuts and scrapes with the small adhesive strips I’d brought with me. Hardly adequate coverings. I briefly thought about a visit to the ship’s doctor but decided against it. I wasn’t sure if the ship had stopped at a port while I’d been gone—or even sure how long I had been gone—and I didn’t want to incite any curiosity about cuts from coral. A check of my wounds showed no spreading redness, and I thought I was probably safe from infection.

I contemplated the long painful trip to the nearest restaurant and opted to call room service.

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