Weightless

By Liz Peterson Crane

Discover the possibilities that await where magic, destiny, and the untamed forces of nature intertwine

Determined to secure a sensible future, Coralie Collins seizes her only opportunity, embarking on a journey across the sea. However, her ambitions quickly unravel when she attracts the unwanted attention of a wealthy man aboard her ship, leading to a disaster that casts her into the unforgiving Atlantic Ocean.

 

Alone and injured, Coralie washes ashore on an uncharted tropical island—an enchanted paradise both captivating and perilous. Here, amidst the lush greenery and enigmatic mysteries, she discovers something extraordinary: the ability to manipulate water.

 

As Coralie grapples with this curious power, she unearths yet another of the island's secrets. She is not alone, and confronts the most dangerous obstacle of all—love.

 

But the tides are shifting, revealing truths from both past and present that will test the depths of her courage and spirit.

 

In this captivating YA historical fantasy, join Coralie as she navigates treacherous waters, uncovers long-forgotten mysteries, and discovers a future beyond the bounds of imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Waltzing Woods Press
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781962683005

Book preview

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Contents

1.Water

2.Sunset

3.Proposition

4.Surrender

5.Alone

6.Jungle

7.Rhythm

8.Gift

9.Answers

10.Ceremony

11.Found

12.Convene

13.Uncharted

14.You

15.Fasgadh

16.Soiree

17.Wishes

18.Butterflies

19.Aflame

20.Melody

21.Demonstration

22.Secret

23.Closer

24.Admission

25.Tempest

26.Regrets

27.Boundary

28.Awareness

29.Unravel

30.Uphill

31.Monsters

32.Cavalier

33.Reliance

34.Might

35.Glowing

36.Embark

A Note From the Author

About the Author

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I should’ve been asleep. Breathing heavy and rhythmic like the girl on the bunk above me, but my body would not allow it. This is the exact situation I’d feared—being awake in the darkness. Alone. With no escape from my thoughts. And the thoughts came without mercy; a carousel of painful moments from my past, coupled with vivid worst-case scenarios of my grim future. I could hear the echo from the carnival ride’s festive music in my mind as the circle of despair continued: Finn wailing from hunger as our father snored with a glass bottle clamped tightly to his chest; the twice-yearly visits from Dr. Velmen, who’d hold my head underwater until I’d collapse; Headmistress scolding me with a switch for speaking in my native tongue instead of her proper English. Why did only the worst moments come to mind at this time of the night?

Clasping my right wrist, I brought it to my chest. Think about something good. My precious Finn was the only thing that’d brought me joy since Mama. Was he peacefully asleep right now? Was he awake and cold, crying for me? Shaking my head, I attempted to clear the intrusive thought. A tender soul of only eight years old, Finn would have to toughen up quickly without me around to care for him.

I remembered myself at eight years old—a scrawny mess of freckles and tangled brown hair. Running barefoot, chasing ladybugs through the garden. I'd give anything to have that life back. Stop that. Reminiscing about the life you lost long ago will not get you anywhere. It was true. Thinking practically would be best to get through these next three years without being slowly bludgeoned to death with worry for my brother.

Taking in a slow, deep breath through my nose, I winced as the air encircling me was thick with the musty odor of my mildewed blanket. Both nostrils flared involuntarily as I turned to my back. My head swayed with the waves, and although my neck was aching, the rhythm of the water felt comforting. Almost as if being rocked to sleep. It was no mystery why I’d remained in my bunk most of the past three days aboard The Light Brigade... the slow movement of the ocean, coupled with agonizing boredom, made sleep a truly superior activity. Especially after the restless, bumpy carriage ride over several days to Liverpool.

A cacophony of forceful coughing and gagging interrupted my thoughts. I opened my eyes. It was dark, of course, but the moon shone through the cracks between the floorboards on the ceiling, creating just enough light to view rough outlines in the night. Struggling onto my side against the sway of the vessel, I propped onto my elbow and forearm. The muscles in my back screamed in protest down to my tailbone.

Scanning the room to adjust to the night, I spotted movement in the corner near the door. An outline appeared in the darkness. It was the light-haired girl about my age, Esther Mizée, I believe. I recalled her name as she did not believe I was Irish on account of my very English accent. Headmistress would be most proud.

My bunk companions and I had done little conversing in the days since our voyage began. Well, most of us. Two ladies in my quarters were to become brides for men they had never met. Australian ranchers... or something of the like. They paraded themselves as if absolutely giddy, like they were becoming the crowned princesses of some rich and exotic land. They talked loudly together about what their betrothed would be like, fantasizing about their perfect future lives. The rest of us were melancholy at best, as none of us possessed any enthusiasm to be on this clipper ship or to reach our destination. However, marriage would be a worse fate than ours.

More coughing willed me to my feet.

Someone should help her.

With my arms slightly out for balance, I walked to the heaving body in the corner, careful not to fall on the poor girl. Are you unwell? I asked.

If she were Finn, I’d have rubbed her back. Instead, I stood there, feeling uncertain and uncomfortable while waiting for her response. I was glad she couldn't see my face, which I’m certain was turning red. I half-expected her to shout something hurtful or sarcastic. Then again, I knew nothing about her except that, like me, she was headed to Australia as a laborer.

The girl turned her head uneasily to face me. There was a gap in the ceiling above her, and I could see a portion of her face. She opened her watery eyes about halfway. I will be alright.

We both said nothing for a few moments, the constant ebb and flow of the shushing water moving the ship along its path, filling the silence between us.

I’m uncertain I will be able to adju– She closed her eyes again tightly and grimaced, likely wishing to finish her sentence but afraid of spewing again. She dropped her head to rest between her folded elbows, her face pointing toward the bucket I could scarcely see below her on the floor.

There was nothing I could offer. I am sure you will, I said. Give it another day… I am going to fetch you some water.

Thank you, Miss..?

Collins. Coralie Collins.

Carefully inching my way through the narrow corridor, I stabilized myself between the walls. The floor was slick with seawater and the treacherous waves outside lapped higher, the rocking becoming more violent with each passing step. Gripping the frame, I opened the door to the small dining compartment nearest our quarters.

The long wooden table took up most of the room. The worn chairs were piled to the side, creating a path to the kitchen through the door on the far left.

I barely walked past the threshold when a stout man bounded in from the kitchen door.

I recognized the cook and gave a slight bow of my head, instantly relieved I had the sense to put my cloak on before leaving Esther. My cheeks flushed warmly at the thought of being caught in my dressing gown.

The cook glanced at me before continuing about his business: moving the chairs to prepare the cramped space for breakfast. Ye early, miss, he said without looking toward me again. Ye be wanten breakfast?

No, thank you, sir. My friend is unwell. Could I beg a cup of water?

Course, miss. Help yerself.

As I opened the door to the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee heating on the stove hit me immediately. Just the nutty, warm aroma made me focused on the task at hand. A lamp burned in the corner, hanging from the hook next to the window. Below it, I spotted the wooden mugs and moved one to the barrel.

Filling the cup, I heard muffled voices–-someone else had entered the dining room. I hesitated for a moment, holding the ladle of water suspended in the air. I surely did not wish to encounter anyone else this early in the morning.

I looked toward the door, straining to make sense of the indistinct words. Instead, the wood creaked as a man in an expensive black suit thrust it open. Gray, intense eyes met my surprised ones, and an almost amused grin broke across his thin lips. His sandy hair slicked over the side at his part, and he appeared cleanly shaven, revealing a strong jawline and cleft chin above the silver sash tied loosely around his neck. The man’s features were frankly quite handsome. And even though he was old enough to be my father, I would consider him attractive if his mannerisms matched his striking face.

Ah. Good morning, Miss Collins.

Ugh. He knows my name.

I had observed him once with other ladies, concluding it would be beneficial if he paid me no mind. He did not do or say anything inappropriate… he was far too well-bred for that. It was more his gaze–he looked at the women as if they were toys to be played with, quickly discarded once they no longer provided entertainment.

Good morning, sir, I said as I curtsied low, the mug and ladle still in my hands. He was not the captain of this ship, but I’d heard he’d retire to the captain’s quarters as if it were his personal office. Perhaps he was connected to royalty. Or at the least, very rich and important.

He took a step toward me and closed the door behind him. A lump grew in the center of my throat as the room suddenly became excruciatingly small. Taking a step closer, he poured himself some coffee and reached into his front pocket, pulling out a small flask. I couldn’t help but think of how he reminded me of my father in that instant. After Mama died, he couldn’t start the day without his new companion—whiskey-–close at hand. He poured a jigger’s worth into his coffee and moved the flask toward me in an offering.

I gave a quick shake of my head to decline.

He raised an eyebrow, looking even more amused as he capped the flask, placing it back in his pocket. He brought his cup to his face for a moment, but then set it down near the stove, turning his attention back toward me.

Forgive me, he said. I do not believe someone has properly introduced us. Please allow me the pleasure. He straightened himself taller. "I am Raymond Croft. And you are Coralie Adira Collins." He smiled slyly as my full name fell from his lips.

My brows furrowed. How did he know me?

I was about to ask, but he stopped me, rattling on at a rapid pace: Born 1851 to Johanna Yancy Collins and Mr. Eamon Collins, deceased. One living sibling, Finnigan Alexander Collins, born 1859 and currently housed at Saint Madrone Home for Orphaned Children, where you resided from age eleven to age fifteen. You have a birthday approaching, do you not? He raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting an answer.

I could not help my lip from falling open. I... ye-yes, sir.

Well, then we... must... celebrate! His voice grew louder with every word. He lifted his beverage and took several large gulps, a few drips escaping the cup and making their way down the side of his cheek to wet his silver scarf. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve before dramatically pounding the cup onto the small table beside the stove.

His head rolled slightly to the side as he leaned against the counter. Are you certain you don't want some?

I wondered if he had been to bed at all, or perhaps he was often this bizarre? Shaking my head in refusal again, I looked down at the water ladle still in my hand. I must return to my friend. I hoped he would oblige and not keep me any longer, knowing that someone was awake and waiting for me.

His expression changed to an almost bored indifference, then his eyes narrowed. He straightened himself against the stove and took another step toward me, standing so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath. My chest tightened, and I wasn’t entirely sure if the roar in my ears was my racing heart or that of the ocean closing in around me. He said nothing for a few moments, his breathing turning raspy as he inhaled close to my hair, the tingle of his hot breath moving the loose strands of my braid. My breathing ceased: a clear internal warning alarm I should run.

Go then, he said, the words vibrating through my ear. Yet he did not step aside, as if challenging me.

I returned the ladle to the barrel and cautiously shifted to pass on his right, praying the waves remained steady.

He stood tall as my shoulder ran the length of his firm chest until our hands were nearly touching. As I ventured past him, he tugged lightly on my cloak, but thankfully released me without struggle.

Oh, Miss Collins? he asked as I pulled open the door.

I turned around to meet his eyes, now a safe distance away.

Pleasure meeting you. He pursed his lips, his forehead lowering, and an eyebrow raised high.

My stomach churned, feeling his stare on the back of my head as I exited the area as quickly as I could appropriately manage.

I was back in my quarters in no time at all, barely aware of how I had arrived. The water procured for Esther was scarcely half full, but would need to suffice. I found her exactly where I had left her and offered the prize.

She looked better now, her eyes brighter. Thank you, Coralie. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.

You have no idea.

I smiled warmly. Not at all.

It was lighter now, the sun teasing the horizon. I was grateful, as there was no chance my mind would rest. My head spun with questions. Was Mr. Croft acquainted with my parents? Doubtful. Connected to the orphanage? Also doubtful. The family I would work for? Perhaps that was it. He must’ve been connected to the estate that had contracted my service as a kitchen maid. The reason I had to leave Finn–to earn a bit of coin and experience, so I may return and support us.

If I had planned correctly, as long as I spent nothing beyond the most basic of necessities, I hoped to have enough funds to cover my voyage home plus a small sum to support us while I secured a new position in just over three years.

I also hoped, with all my heart, that the eccentric and alarming Mr. Croft did not live anywhere near my assigned property.

The next several days passed with little consequence, and I lost track of the date completely as we moved closer to our destination. It wasn’t until the weight of the air changed that I noticed the sea had developed a much lighter green hue, signaling we had passed into the tropics.

I’d had no further encounters with Mr. Croft. Although, I might have endured it all over again to gain the favor of Esther—or Essie—as she bid me to call her.

Essie and I quickly became close friends, and though we were not anything alike, besides our situations, I very much enjoyed her company. She was more than just a distraction to keep me from my glum existence. Essie was a spirited dreamer, and joy radiated from her petite frame. Although I found her romantic notions to be silly, her enthusiasm for life was contagious.

You are playing me false! said Essie, her light brown eyebrows raised and her open-mouthed smile displayed brightly. "You cannot expect me to truly believe you desired to bring a dictionary abroad."

I looked up from my cards, a pink hint in my cheeks. Indeed, no.

We had been speaking about the items we wished we could’ve brought with us to Australia. I had explained I’d asked my headmistress if I may bring her copy of Webster’s Dictionary, as I was the only pupil to read it, but was denied. Although now I’d said it aloud, I saw it was rather comical. Especially to Essie, who fancied Dickens and Eliot, among other nonsensical reading.

"It is your turn," I said, a feeble attempt to stop her teasing.

Well, if you are telling the truth, she said and looked at her cards, fingering the top of one and then another, then I’ve no doubt you will be most enthusiastic to learn that I... witnessed a boy... on this very ship… reading… an Encyclopedia Britannica! Her cards fell to her lap as she burst out laughing, tears pooling at the far corners of her crystal blue eyes.

I couldn’t help but roll mine. Honestly, Essie. It was all but certain she’d planned my and this boy’s wedding and named each of our seven children in the past moments since she’d learned of our similar tastes in reading.

She regained her composure. However, he was a bit…

Intellectual? Cultured? Not at all interested in making an offer of marriage?

She leaned in, hushing the words as if she were saying something naughty in a parish. Exotic.

I raised my eyebrows. Ah. Well, that settles it. There are no gentlemen on this ship whom I could marry.

We shall see, she said with a smirk and placed her card—the queen of hearts—on top of mine. Ha! I won. And since I am the champion, I propose we proceed to the deck to search for the boy.

Must we? My eyes filled with genuine dread, already knowing her answer.

We must.

As we passed through the corridors, I cheered a bit, realizing if we did indeed find the boy, Essie could likely persuade him to borrow his book for a day or two. Although I’d never surrender mine. My mother’s most prized possession, her grandmother’s Bible, was worth its weight in gold.

As we arrived on deck, I was instantly indebted to Essie and her cleverness as a brilliant pink panorama engulfed us. I had seen plenty of sunsets before, but this was different. It was as if God himself had used the clouds as sponges and bathed the atmosphere in luminous gold and magenta.

Essie inspected the ends of her braid. My hair is the color of tea roses! And your face... it’s positively glowing. She grabbed my hand, pulling me to an open bench on the port side where we could admire the view.

As I inhaled my surroundings, I allowed myself to remember my mother and the last of my birthdays we had celebrated together. She had dried wild berries from the season expressly in anticipation of the day I would become nine years old, which was long after summer had concluded. She’d allowed me to help grind the round, purple berries into a fine powder, which she lovingly folded into her mixture of honey, eggs, butter, and flour. The result had been the most delectable lavender cake she had veiled with fresh cream, flowers, and mint leaves. To this day, I had enjoyed nothing remotely comparable. The sails high above my head were now the same lovely hue of my treasured dessert.

I placed my fingertips over the top of the pearl on Mama’s necklace. A cherished gift from my father on their wedding day. She had only worn it on very special occasions, such as the ninth anniversary of my birth.

The bottom lids of my eyes burned as tears threatened. I blinked quickly several times and looked about the deck, safely tucking the memory back where it belonged.

There were clusters of admirers scattered about the vast, open space. It struck me as odd the sailors were going about their tasks as usual–seemingly unaffected by the heavens opening to embrace the Earth.

It was then I spotted one man, alone, on the opposite side of the deck toward the bow, leaning his elbows on the rails. His broad back gave way to a set of dark suspenders and his hair was a rich wine, though mine appeared the same hue in the enchanting light. He stood there, still, as if moved by a work of art immortalizing this wonder of nature.

I had to look away or risk Essie catching me staring at the man. I should never hear the end of her scheming. Essie had her eyes softly closed, as wisps of her strawberry-soaked hair danced over her face in the warm breeze.

It’s safe to venture another glance. I turned my head opposite of where Essie sat, and continued to watch him, trying to understand why I couldn’t look away as the sky faded to violet, then to navy as the sun receded to rest below the ocean.

Have you ever witnessed anything so magical? Essie asked, startling me from my hypnosis.

Never. It was truly grand.

We stood to return to our quarters and ready ourselves for bed. I glanced back in the man’s direction and, to my surprise, he had turned and was staring directly at me. My breath caught as I viewed his features in the fleeting light. Dark eyebrows above kind eyes and full lips that were turned upward in a warm, closed-mouth smile. He gave a slight bow of his head to greet me from across the deck.

My cheeks flushed and tingling, I quickly did the same before Essie led me away.

Thrilled she had not witnessed the interaction, I was even more exhilarated by the tightening around my heart and the quivering at the tips of my fingers from the secret encounter with the man in the sunset.

As I lay in my bed later that evening, my excitement quickly gave way to disgrace. I chastised my weak heart for allowing me to feel the pull of attraction. And to a perfect stranger, no less. Rules are crucial. No more staring shall be rule number one. I cannot allow myself to admire a gentleman if it will cause me to have feelings I do not–cannot–fancy.

I turned onto my side, seeking a more comfortable position on the hard wooden bunk, but sleep did not come. Inside was a deep craving: a primal hunger for the sensation that had made my head drunk with desire. This will endure no further. Tomorrow is a new day and I won't think of this person when I wake. This shall be the end.

The next morning assuredly brought little relief. The only way to deny these new and inconvenient feelings would be to distract myself completely. Before midday, I read a full chapter of my great-grandmother’s Bible, practiced new hair braiding techniques with Essie, and played countless rounds of cards. By the evening, I was much less captivated by the stranger. And much more disgruntled for my lack of sense. I even declined Essie’s request to return to the deck to see an encore of yesterday’s impressive display. Though I really would love to watch the magical colors once more, I simply could not risk it. And I was proud of my resolve.

I woke late the following morning and ventured onto the deck to get some fresh air.

Coralie, there you are, Essie said as I walked toward her. She motioned to the young woman beside her. This is Miss Maureen Keller.

How do you do, Miss Keller?

We both bowed our heads toward each other in proper form.

I sat beside Essie and listened as they went on with their conversation. Miss Keller looked older than Essie and me, perhaps twenty, and had curly blonde hair pinned up to frame her perfectly clean, round face. I assumed she was voyaging as a fiancée, given her prime marriage age and very lovely appearance.

"Oh, here comes that handsome man,