Dragon Tamer Read online

  The Dragon Tamer

  Jane Bonander

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2001 by Jane Bonander

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition December 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-500-1

  More from Jane Bonander

  Dancing on Snowflakes

  Fires of Innocence

  Forbidden Moon

  Heat of a Savage Moon

  Secrets of a Midnight Moon

  Warrior Heart

  Wild Heart

  Winter Heart

  Prologue

  This is the journal of Eleanor Rayburn, nee Simmons, aboard the whaler St. Louis, 1859 expedition to the Sandwich Islands from New Bedford, Massachusetts.

  Eleanor stopped writing, briefly lifting her gaze to the porthole. So many emotions twisted inside her. She hoped she could separate them long enough to write a coherent sentence.

  NOVEMBER 18, 1859

  Six years ago today Mama died. I still miss her so! In my heart I know I always will. I think of her daily, but on the anniversary of her death, I am especially mindful of her capacity for love and her great endurance and unflagging sense of humor through the trials in her life. Oddly enough, I rarely think of Papa. I was so young when he died, I don’t remember him at all. But thoughts of Mama will keep me strong in the months ahead.

  Today I leave New Bedford to embark on a new portion of my life with my husband, Captain Amos Rayburn. I packed some books, and am hoping I won’t get through them all, but I fear that normal conversation will not be an option, as Amos and I rarely discuss anything, and he has already informed me that I will not mingle with the crew!

  As I begin this journey. I dare not look back at the land, for I fear I might throw myself into the drink and swim ashore. But it was I who strong-armed Amos into letting me accompany him on this voyage. After four years as a whaling widow. I had decided I needed to know this complex man I married. He stands in the bow, his back to me. I have never been sure of this marriage, but now I shall learn what it is all about. And I dare not complain, for I told him in no uncertain terms that I would stay alone no longer!

  I am not at all sure I made the right choice, however. My stomach churns and my head throbs, and we have barely left the shore. A fine sailor I shall make. But I must believe that my condition has something to do with it, and I also know that Amos is eager to keep an eye on his heir. Naturally he hopes for a son. I shall just be happy to have a healthy child.

  An easterly wind takes us out of the bay into the wide ocean, which will be my home for many months to come.

  NOVEMBER 20

  The Sabbath. I think about home, about the churches and their stark white steeples that jut into the sky, and the neighbors who wend their way to its welcome doors and I feel a bit homesick for New Bedford.

  Although I am a free thinker and believe each has his own way of practicing his faith (not a popular point of view, I must admit), church steeples have always drawn me, no matter to what faith they belong.

  I’ve been abed since we sailed, sick with the vile stomach heaves that plague “landlubbers” such as myself, although I chalk much of it up to my condition.

  NOVEMBER 22

  Finally feel more fit and have taken tea on deck. This is the first time I have witnessed Amos and how he handles the crew, especially the young cabin boys. I am not pleased with how severe he is, but he insists he must be if discipline is to be maintained. If they do not obey and respect him and the officers, there would be mayhem. I understand this.

  Weather is pleasant; good eastward wind.

  NOVEMBER 23

  Today I witnessed a side to Amos that I wish I had not. I will not go into detail, but will “condense the scenario” as Mama always asked of me when I would regale her with a story that appeared to have no end.

  Amos is a hard taskmaster, but not usually a cruel one. But today he whipped the steerage boy for what seemed no reason at all. I was so shocked at his behavior, that I ran on deck screaming, “Amos! What are you doing?!” He stood over the boy, a pillar of darkness, pierced me with a hard look and told me to return to the cabin.

  Later, when we were alone, he admitted that he drives the boys hard, for otherwise they will not survive the voyage.

  He told me of an incident many years before, when he’d repeatedly whipped a boy who would not work, a boy whose older brother had fallen from the vessel and drowned. He acknowledged that disciplining too hard has always been a problem for him.

  Would wish for just a bit of rain to keep my plants alive, my geranium is especially needy. I shall miss my garden and the sweet singing birds that live there.

  NOVEMBER 24

  Thanksgiving day of peace. We all pray that the problems between the northern and southern states are resolved without bloodshed. Unfortunately, there is no one aboard with whom I can discuss the subject, and although I truly believe in abolition of slavery, I do not believe that war, pitting Americans against each other, is the answer. But I don’t know what the answer is, so I guess the country is fortunate not to have me at the helm!

  Cook outdid himself at dinner. We had roast chicken, a stuffed pumpkin (the seeds removed through a round hole at the top, then stuffed with seasoned bread stuffing and cooked with the pumpkin cap in place), turnips, stewed cranberries and plum pudding. I lost my appetite when I learned the rest of the crew got salt junk and hardtack. I don’t understand this separation from the crew. It seems that those who physically work the hardest have the least to eat.

  DECEMBER 1

  Had thought to dry my freshly washed hair on deck as there was a warm breeze, but Amos forbade it, explaining it was not good for the crew to see me in such a casual state. Clearly, since our marriage nearly five years ago, I have dressed more like a matron than a young woman, mainly because other whaling widows dressed that way.

  I do wonder if I will ever take pride in my appearance again, wear bright colors, fine hats, for I have a chest full of lovely clothing stored at my brother Calvin’s that I may never again be able to wear. I have been a bride for less than five years and am barely one and twenty, and I’m already tired of scraping my hair back into a tight bun or braid and hiding it beneath a dismal cap that all but covers my face. I am tempted to try something more flattering, but do not wish to annoy Amos.

  All of this leads to thoughts of Calvin and his wife, Willa. What’s done is done, and was done years ago, but I often wonder what changes my life would have taken had they agreed to take me in on a more permanent basis, rather than marry me off after Mama’s death. In time, I could have found a way to support myself, for I am not without the ability to do so.

  DECEMBER 3

  Warm, sunny day. Stayed on deck and tried to be as invisible as possible as I watched the cook’s assistant feed the lively pigs and chickens that will eventually become food for our table. I have named the pigs Honey and Vinegar. They are adorable and smart. I don’t wish to eat them. Ever. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm over the pigs, I made the mistake of removing my bonnet and waving it in their direction, and Amos inevitably chased me back to my cabin. I do try to obey him, but sometimes I am filled with such exuberanc
e that I want to race along the deck and shout at the wind. I cannot hold back a smile when I imagine Amos’s reaction to such antics. But he has a full plate as captain of this vessel, and as much as I sometimes feel the urge to expel energy, I would only be adding to his burden.

  DECEMBER 7

  Even though I am not allowed to go where I wish or speak with the crew, I am not bored. I have decided I love the sea! No other emotion makes sense, for after all, I am here, I insisted that I be here, and here is where I shall stay until the voyage is over. Not even Amos can make me sulk, although he often treats me like a bothersome child, especially when I ask what he thinks are foolish, unimportant questions.

  For instance, when I discovered that they greased the masts with leftover cooking grease. I asked him why. He acted as though it was the most foolish question ever posed. I still do not know the answer, although I suspect it has something to do with treating the wood, keeping it supple so that it won’t break quite so easily in foul wind and weather.

  DECEMBER 10

  Have yet to see a whale. Crept to the galley where Cook eyed me with suspicion. I promised I was there only to watch, that I would not interfere. (I secretly think he imbibes in wine before lunch, because he has a great red nose and bloodshot eyes, and his breath has all the sweetness of fish rotting on deck.)

  I have often heard Amos tell Cook to keep his galley as neat and clean as a farmer’s kitchen, and that he should clean his boilers daily and to wash out the entire galley every day but Sunday. I must admit that I am surprised at the cleanliness and order I find there.

  I asked if I could help in any way, and he shoved a pan of potatoes and a knife at me, requesting that I not be stingy with the peelings. I later discovered the peelings went into the crew’s stew, while we, the officers and the boatsteerers, dined on the potatoes. This separation of officers and crew makes me very uncomfortable but I rather doubt I could go about changing things all by myself, and to try would only incur Amos’s wrath.

  DECEMBER 14

  Am feeling poorly, and I am quite certain the movement aboard the ship has something to do with it. Now and then the wind and the waves remind me of my delicate condition. I will deliver in April or May. We will be in Lahaina in April. I hope to stay until after the birth. I speak of having this child so casually, when inside, I’m so excited! What a gift it shall be!

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  The weather is more like July than December. A fine meal, including porpoise, which I demurely declined. Although Slater, the first mate, informed me it is much like beef once they boil out the oil in the skin. (Ugh!) I kept a tight jaw, as the thought of it pressed my stomach up into my throat.

  Went on deck while Amos was below and looked at the foreign shore, for we are near Cape St. Roque, South America. The cape juts out into the water, so I watched them “beat”—or tack—back and forth in a southerly direction to gain distance against the wind that wanted to pull us toward shore.

  Amos arrived and to my surprise didn’t hustle me off to my cabin. I was allowed to stand near the wheel with Second Mate Galvin. Hardly dared express my pleasure for fear that I would be hurried below, but I so thoroughly enjoyed myself, that I will attempt to be near the wheel as often as possible from now on.

  Mr. Galvin, a crusty gent of perhaps fifty years of age, is a fine teacher. He has allowed me to take the wheel when Amos is not in sight. I have learned much from him regarding the sails, and I store each piece of information neatly away into my memory. As a storyteller, he is quite entertaining.

  He informed me that the reason most seamen wear one tiny gold earring is that years ago, probably in the last century or before, they had to have enough gold on them to bury them should they meet their demise at sea or anywhere else, for that matter. The story sounded like something a Portuguese pirate might tell after a night of too much rum, but I said nothing, for it was amusing. Afterward, I did, however, catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, and I could swear he was fighting the urge to smile at my apparent gullibility.

  DECEMBER 30

  “There she blows!” The boats were lowered and we took two whales, although they were not very big. The captured whales were towed to the ship and fastened to the vessel by chains. Soon after, the cutting began, then peeling away the thick blankets of blubber. With Amos so engrossed, I was rather free to watch, which I did without much stomach distress.

  DECEMBER 31

  Boiling has begun, the try pots filled, the stench often overwhelming.

  JANUARY 1

  Portions of the animal have begun to decay, and the men track what looks like black tar all over the ship, and the decks are oily and splattered with gobs of black blood. Unfortunately, in my condition, I had to retire to my cabin and press a damp cloth over my nose and mouth to keep from retching. Needless to say, I had no dinner tonight, nor was I even tempted to set foot in the dining quarters.

  As I watched the men raise their harpoons against the beasts, I thought of how grossly unmatched they were. Should I ever see a larger whale, I shall wonder at it, for even now I can believe that the whale is truly the brute of all beasts.

  We have sixty barrels of oil from the two whales, which is a fairly good beginning. Mr. Slater informed me that a large right or sperm whale’s head contains fifteen hundred pounds of bone, and its tongue alone can yield ten barrels of oil.

  JANUARY 1

  Have rounded the Cape (Horn) and weather is not pleasant. The waves are beastly. I, in turn, feel beastly as well!

  JANUARY 4

  Saw whales, but they were gone before the men could lower the boats.

  JANUARY 8

  Caught porpoise today, which they tell me is necessary for the oil, for we have so little at this point. When the men hurried forward to strike, they startled one of the hens, who flew overboard. As soon as she touched the water, the flying birds swooped down on her. I felt sad, for I had acquired a fondness for her “plucky” disposition.

  JANUARY 10

  Crew caught pilot fish for dinner—reminiscent of trout. Very tasty. Will have some fried for breakfast, too, I am told.

  JANUARY 15

  Many of us became ill after eating the day old pilot fish. My sickness resulted in a miscarriage, which has left me depressed and forlorn. I had been carrying a boy. I turned to Amos for succor and hoped he could say a prayer for the lost soul, but he was in no condition to soothe me, for his own despair was almost greater than mine. I know I saw dampness in his eyes as we blest the child, wrapped it in sealskin, and lowered it into its watery grave.

  JANUARY 25

  Even now tears well up when I think of the helpless child that will never be. And I silently weep for myself as well, for I had so longed for something to love. I hope we can try again. I simply don’t believe that I shall live a long life without children of my own to care for and love.

  FEBRUARY 1

  Weather is rough, no whales in sight. We have not seen another ship in days.

  FEBRUARY 4

  A whale sighting. The waters are rough, the whaleboats toss and turn like kindling upon the waves, especially when compared to the size of the whale. Amos has gone into the second boat—I don’t understand why, as he never has before. I hardly dare watch, for the sea is churning like a bubbling cauldron. Will write more after they have brought the whale to the ship…

  One

  JUNE 1860, BOSTON

  He was a carnal man. Sleek. Polished. Every movement, every word, every look was drenched with an animal heat that made a woman weak. The way he looked at her, his eyelids heavy and sensual as he slowly moved his gaze over her, resting at places no decent man would. The way he walked toward her, all loose limbed and dangerous. Then he stood before her, the unasked question in the lift of one raven-wing eyebrow. His voice was the final seduction, for when he was in the mood, the words oozed out like warm honey, making a woman’s blood thicken and her skin come alive. He was both wild and tame, and no woman on earth could refuse him.


  He was a magician of sorts. He could walk into a ballroom and turn the head of every woman there, any age, any social standing. And when the last song had played, every lady went home to dream of him.

  It was his indifference that drew both men and women to him, for each wanted to believe they would be the first to charm him. Coax him to put money into a failing business. Lure him into an affair. Few realized that Dante could not be bought or enticed. Fewer yet knew that he had little respect for most men, finding them braggarts and bores. And to him, women were a nuisance. A hazard to be avoided. Only useful in satisfying his animal needs.

  The woman, his current mistress, studied him as he read the newspaper, his rich black hair falling forward to cover part of his face. His arms were thick, the muscles sculpted beneath his bronzed skin, the veins standing out like rivers of granite. He had beautiful hands, large with square palms. His fingers were long and strong, yet the power in his touch could be gentle and seductive when he wanted it to be.

  She looked at the strange tattoos that covered his body. Only those who knew him as intimately as she did would ever know they were there.

  She had hated them at first—the coiled snake, the soaring hawk, the masterful ship with the skull and crossbones banner on the mast.

  The largest one was a green and yellow dragon with nostrils that licked flames up Dante’s neck. It covered his chest and stomach. Once she had seen that enormous, fierce-looking dragon, the other tattoos were nothing. Beneath it was a mass of whip-like scars that looked like part of the dragon’s corded skin. She had traced those scars many times with her fingers and her tongue. When she had asked how he had gotten them, she had been met with a taciturn, icy stare. She had never asked again.