As the ship began to sway again, a loud creaking accompanied it. The vessel acted like a huge rocking chair rolling back and forth, her old timbers protesting every move, her groan rising above the shouts of sailors and the constant crashing of the waves.

With the water receding again, Mercy allowed the ship’s momentum to carry her to the door. She’d waited long enough. She needed to fetch the doctor to help Sarah.

“I do pray you will see me as your servant and nothing more.” Dr. Colville’s statement from several days ago had hovered in her mind. She didn’t understand exactly what he’d meant by it, but his kindness was clear enough. She was confident he’d treat Sarah again if she but made him aware of the need.

As she struggled to close the door after stepping outside, the wind clutched at her, ripping at her hair and garments as if to tear them from her body. She fought against the invisible foe as she’d done before when going to check on the other women.

Most had taken to their beds. Yet there were a few like her whom God had spared from the misery of the sickness, and they were all doing their best to ease the discomfort of the others.

Mrs. Robb had been one such sturdy soul. The last time Mercy had ventured from her cabin, Mrs. Robb was emptying basins and pitchers, having spent the night tending to one sick woman after another.

Clutching the doorframes, Mercy made her way from one stateroom to the next. She wanted to rush to the doctor’s cabin without delay, but after the fuss Mrs. Robb had made over the previous visit, Mercy didn’t dare go beyond the rope without permission.

“Mrs. Robb!” she called as she knocked on the last door of the third-class cabins.

“She’s bumped ’er head,” someone replied from inside, “and she’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

Mercy pushed open the door to find Mrs. Robb hunched on the edge of her bunk, her eyes closed, a towel pressed against her forehead. Streaks of blood ran down her thin face, dribbling off her chin.

“Mrs. Robb.” Mercy crouched next to her. “Are you cut bad, ma’am?”

The woman’s face was unusually pale. When she didn’t respond, Mercy reached out and gently shook her arm.

“I think I should fetch the doctor for you, ma’am.”

Either the movement or hearing the word doctor was enough to stir Mrs. Robb. Her eyes fluttered open. She glanced around as though dazed before settling her gaze upon Mercy.

“Yes, the doctor,” Mrs. Robb said breathlessly. “The gash is deep and needs suturing.”