The Deepest Waters, A Novel by Dan Walsh Page A

high profits.
    His father had never even spoken of it. Perhaps he didn’t know of its potential. Joel looked up, hearing the familiar sound of the family carriage coming down South Street from the north. Hardly a moment’s delay. It pulled off in a loading area across the street. The driver climbed down as Joel crossed the street and opened the door facing the sidewalk.
    “Where to next, Mr. Foster?”
    Joel climbed in. He looked at his pocket watch. Just twenty minutes until his father’s luncheon and those delicious lobsters. Should be plenty of time. “Back to the office. Have you been there yet?”
    “No, sir.”
    “The Empire Building, at Broadway and Rector. Ever been down Wall Street before?”
    “No, Mr. Foster.”
    “Right, well head down South Street and turn right at Wall. It’s very busy, so keep sharp. You’ll see Trinity Church at the end, can’t miss it. That’s Broadway. A quick left on Broadway and there it is, the Empire Building.”
    “Thank you, sir. I’m sure I’ll find it.”
    “I’m sure you will. Say, I’ve forgotten your name.”
    “It’s Eli, sir.”
    “Eli . . . right. Off you go then.”
    The driver climbed back up and took hold of the reins. Joel picked up his newspaper. He suspected this driver could read this newspaper he held in his hands. He had the unmistakable bearing of an educated man.

18
     
    To John, this felt like everything he’d ever imagined the wrath of God to be.
    The wind had died completely. The waves had stilled. It was a cloudless sky. The late afternoon sun, high overhead, burned incessantly. The thirst had become unbearable. His stomach growled and ached. There was no relief and no relief to come. And all day, no one had seen a single sail on the horizon.
    “Here, John, it’s your turn.” Robert handed John the raincoat. The three men had decided they could derive at least some benefit from the coat, using it for shade. They rotated through shifts, approximately every thirty minutes.
    John draped it over his head and shoulders. It actually seemed to yield some comfort. His eyes, now shielded from the sun’s glare, could distinguish the horizon. He noticed, as he had many times aboard the Vandervere , how the horizon curved ever so gently from one end to the other. You could only catch this effect when you had a full view of it like this, when you could see a clear line between the ocean and sky.
    “Isn’t it absurd, John? That there was ever a time when men believed the world was flat?”
    John heard Laura’s voice in his head, almost audibly. He closed his eyes, wanting to see her face, to remember the moment when she’d blurted this out. It came back to him quickly. The sounds of the sea filled his ears then, as well. They were riding along in his carriage near the cliffs by Seal Rocks beach, west of San Francisco. They’d stopped to take in the Pacific view and give Shasta a rest. The carriage roof shielded their eyes from the midday sun, much the way the raincoat did for him just now.
    “You can see the earth curving plain as day,” Laura said, pointing to the horizon.
    John looked to where she pointed then back to the look on her face, smiling.
    “How could men who sailed out in the open sea for hundreds of years not notice that?”
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    “Have you ever seen those old drawings about what they thought would happen if they sailed out too far?”
    John nodded. “Like the edge of a cliff, with the ocean dropping off like a waterfall.”
    “Yes, and they drew all these absurd-looking sea monsters swimming about.” She sounded almost disgusted. “You men,” she said, looking at him now. “You’re always saying we’re the irrational ones.”
    “I’ve never said that.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Do you hear that?” he said.
    She stopped talking and listened. “Is that the seals?”
    “That’s the seals.”
    “Can we get out and see?”
    “We have to get out to see.” He stepped out of the