The Brideship Wife

by Leslie Howard

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The tearoom was crowded, but we found a lovely table for two by the front window where we welcomed the cooling breeze. We were now sailing off the southern coast of North Carolina and the day was sunny and hot. I had dug deep into my trunk for a summer dress and had had to air it out. It was one of my favourites, a full-skirted cotton in yellow-and-white gingham with white lace around the neck and three-quarter sleeves. I had completed what I thought was a rather jaunty look with white lace gloves and a straw hat with matching ribbon.

  I had debated whether or not to tell Hari I was having tea with Reverend Crossman but decided against it. What was there to discuss, really? We had simply agreed to get to know each other a little better, nothing more. Perhaps I was taking the easy way out. Hari might have angrily objected, but since I left her wrapped in a blanket, snoozing on a deck chair, I doubted she would ever know and there would be no harm done. So why was I thrilled at the closeness of him next to me now?

  “Shall I pour, Reverend Crossman?” I asked when tea and a plate of cakes arrived.

  “Yes, thank you, and call me John, please. May I call you Charlotte?”

  “By all means.” I managed to pour the tea without spilling a drop. “Cream and sugar, John?”

  His mouth twitched up into a smile at the sound of his first name, and I had to admit that it was surprisingly comfortable to address him so informally.

  “Yes, please,” he answered, then held out the plate of cakes. Never one to turn down an offering of sweets, I chose a lovely ginger cake and took a bite.

  “From what little I know of you, it’s my guess that you ran a bit wild on your farm as a little girl. Am I right?” he said, struggling to grip the dainty handle of the teacup in his large hand.

  I nodded. “Everyone called me a tomboy. Riding ponies, playing with the farm animals, that was my sort of pastime. My poor mother despaired, rather like your mother did, I gather. Hari was really my only playmate. We had a grand time inventing games and playing practical jokes on our parents and Wiggles, our governess.”

  “You had a governess named Wiggles? How very lucky for you.”

  I told John how I came to christen Miss Wiggins as Wiggles and he let out a booming laugh that I was starting to associate with him. I’d never been good at making ready small talk, but I found it easy to talk to John. He was a good listener, which encouraged me to open up about my life.

  “Wiggles actually advised me to come on this journey,” I said, and explained about the necklace. “I wasn’t seriously considering coming, but of course, other events transpired…” I stopped, realizing what I was saying. Despite John’s genuineness, I didn’t know him well enough to share my scandal.

  “The important thing is that now you’re here, Charlotte,” he said.

  I was grateful he didn’t pry. Best to stick to other topics, I thought. “Tell me, how did you become interested in smallpox? Why travel to British Columbia?”

  His smile faltered and I worried that I had taken the conversation in a direction he did not want to go. “When I was little, I loved to read real-life adventure stories. For my twelfth birthday, my uncle gave me a copy of Captain George Vancouver’s journals written in 1792, when he sailed and mapped much of the northwest coast of North America. I savoured every bit of the story. Both the good and the bad.”

  “The good and the bad?” I echoed, taking a sip of tea.

  John stared off into the dazzling expanse of ocean for a moment. “There were descriptions of a beautiful land covered in massive forests that came right up to the shoreline, sandy coves replete with salmon, halibut, and shellfish. There were pods of whales and vast colonies of sea lions. On shore, there were huge numbers of game. It was a northern Garden of Eden, but with no people. It made no sense.”

  “How so?”

  “There were small communities up and down the coast, but not what he would have expected. The land could have supported so many more. Vancouver couldn’t figure it out until he started to find large abandoned town sites. There were canoes piled along the shores and evidence of once-thriving commerce. He sent a crew ashore to investigate. They found deserted villages full of skulls and bleached bones everywhere. People had simply died where they lay and there was no one to left to bury them. A large population had been wiped out by smallpox.”

  “That’s awful. Rather like the black plague in Europe?”

  “Considerably worse, I think. They started to rebuild their communities, but last March, a gold seeker from San Francisco arrived infected with smallpox. It quickly spread to the shipyard workers who are largely Natives. The colonial government’s method of dealing with it was to put all the sick into canoes and tow them back to their people up the coast. You can guess the result.”

  The cake I had been eating turned to dust in my mouth, and I swallowed the dry lump. I drew a rather shaky sip of tea, too shocked by the story to respond.

  “Mining has already put poisonous chemicals into salmon-spawning streams and rivers, and fish are dying. Those Natives who survive smallpox are forced to take low-paying jobs in harsh conditions like the coal mines. Disease has spread like wildfire, and the women have no choice other than to sell themselves to white men. That’s why I’m here,” John said finally. “The epidemic will be well established by the time I get to the colony, but there’ll still be lots to do, what with trying to improve working conditions and stopping the worst of the exploitation, and who knows when the next wave of infection will hit.”

  I couldn’t imagine the horror of watching all your loved ones, and every person you ever knew, become sick and die over the course of a few days and knowing you would die soon as well. And the few who did survive faced new horrors. The empire had already bought misery to the most vulnerable. It was all so shocking. My own problems seemed so trivial in comparison.

  “You are a good man, John. At least you are trying to do something.” I reached my hand out to touch his arm, then remembered myself, and withdrew it, masking my gesture by taking another cake. “Your work is admirable. It’ll save many.”

  “As is your work. I think what you’re doing with Dr. Carson is admirable as well.”

  I caught my breath. “What I’m doing with Dr. Carson?” I asked.

  “The emigrant ladies told me you are ‘better than Florence Nightingale herself.’ They said the crew are very thankful for your nursing and that you saved little Jacob’s life.”

  “You’re being kind, John, but I have a selfish motive. I’m only trying to help my sister.”

  “I guessed she had a problem. I’ve seen it before, the look of laudanum—some of the women in my mother’s circle had it.” I must have looked upset as he quickly added, “Don’t worry, I won’t mention it to anyone.”

  I felt somewhat reassured, but at the same time I was painfully aware that I didn’t know him well enough to be sure I could trust him. I hadn’t even told Sarah about Hari. The ship took on a slight roll and I moved the teapot to the middle of the table so it wouldn’t tumble off.

  “I’ll be thankful when I’m on dry land again. I much prefer a horse to a ship,” John said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I can usually get them to halt when I’ve been tossed around enough.”

  “You ride a lot in the colonies?” I asked, happy to be chatting about something else.

  “My main mode of transport. It’s how I hide from my enemies as well.”

  “You have enemies? What sort?”

  “There are many who take a dim view of the work I do with the Natives. Mainly land-hungry miners and farmers, and big companies. It’s easier to take land and not pay compensation when the rightful owners have died off or have been worked to death in overcrowded work camps.”

  I realized now what he was getting at during his conversation with Sir Richard at dinner. “That’s terrible. Truly,” I replied. “How does riding horses help you hide from these people?”

  “Cattle drovers, or cowboys as the colonials call them, m
ove cattle all over the open ranges, and no one bothers them. That’s just part of life there. I simply join them and blend in. I can travel the whole territory, and no one is the wiser. I stop at all the remote villages along the routes and do my work. I show the people how to inoculate their own and explain where they can get supplies when they have used what I leave them.”

  We fell into an easy silence as we sipped our tea. I was pouring a second cup for John when I saw a quick movement on my right side. It was Mrs. Burk disappearing behind a pillar. She had been watching us. How much had she heard? In my agitation I sloshed tea over the side of the cup into the saucer.

  “I’m sorry, Reverend Crossman. It’s been lovely getting acquainted, but I should be checking on my sister.”

  “Charlotte, what’s the matter?” he asked, but I was already standing, hurrying off, leaving him crestfallen behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  That night I lay awake, plagued with guilt, and the prickly humidity didn’t help. I kicked off my bedspread and lay on my back, my damp cotton nightdress sticking to my clammy body like the fuzzy skin of an overripe peach. I didn’t even bother to wipe the endless sweat from my forehead.

  I should have told Hari what I was up to, but it all seemed so innocent at the time. I hadn’t expected to be quite so taken with John, to find him so commendable and, at the same time, charming and fun-loving. I was at a loss as to what to do, so I got up, lit a lamp, and wrote to Wiggles. It was a long, newsy letter full of my escapades to date. I knew she would cherish every word as she lived my adventures vicariously, but I ended it with a note about John, confiding my fledgling feelings for him. I planned to include the letter in the packet to be sent back to England. I returned to my bed, slightly relieved at having gotten my thoughts out on paper.

  The next day, the ship was buzzing with excitement as Bermuda was clearly visible in the distance. Tomorrow, we would anchor in the Royal Naval Dockyard and, though no one was allowed ashore, the ship would be bringing fresh food and water on board along with the mail and some broadsheets from London. The promise of news from home had everyone in high spirits, and we received an invitation from Sir Richard and Lady Persephone to attend a dinner party to mark the occasion.

  Anxious not to squander her opportunities with Lady Persephone, Hari was determined to go. She had just finished her last quarter dose of laudanum, and her health had blossomed. The dry, tight skin around her mouth and eyes had regained its plump, youthful suppleness. The lank, brittle hair she had struggled recently to tame lay coiled in a smooth, shiny knot atop her head. I was heartened to see her yellowing, cracked nails had become milky white once more. Her moods were more stable and predictable as well, and I did my part to not let anything upset her.

  As we finished dressing, I took Wiggles’s necklace from my jewellery box. It made the perfect accessory to my evening gown, and it felt right to mark this occasion by wearing it.

  I was admiring it in the mirror when Hari came to my side. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Char. You’ve helped me regain my health and my sanity.” She put her arm around me. “Not to mention my hope. I have faith in the future once again, no easy task after what’s happened, but we got through it together.”

  “You did the hard part, Harriet.”

  “Is Dr. Carson happy with the compensation? Was it enough money?”

  I dropped my eyes to my jewellery box and fished around for some earrings. “He’s fine. No need of more money.” I didn’t like lying to her, but it had been the only way to get her to agree to stop taking the laudanum. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t lied for my protection in the past. Of course, I now realized with some regret that my work with Dr. Carson was at an end. I had enjoyed ministering to the crew and I would miss many of them. I had grown rather attached to seeing their faces each day.

  As we made our way to the dining room, I felt a flutter of nerves in my stomach at seeing John now that Harriet was with me. How could I pretend there was nothing between us? Would he mention our tea? Would Mrs. Burk?

  A section of the main dining room had been roped off for the exclusive use of the private gathering and everyone was honouring the celebration in their best formal attire. We entered and joined our usual group, who all congratulated Hari on her return to good health.

  After complimenting Hari, John lingered by me. “Lovely to see you again, Charlotte. That’s a beautiful necklace. Is that the one Wiggles gave you?”

  Hari raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  My hand went to the pendent, and I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Yes, yes, it is. Thank you.”

  Harriet pulled me towards the table. “Since when did he start calling you Charlotte? A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” she whispered as we took our seats.

  I shrugged, and then Captain Hellyer sat between us, putting an end on our conversation.

  After Reverend Burk’s signature long-winded grace, the conversation flowed freely with speculation over the political happenings in England since we’d left. Near the end of the soup course, Mrs. Burk began to speak loudly and soon dominated the discussion with her complaints about the second-class passengers’ poor attendance at their regular Bible study sessions. Then, she suddenly turned to John.

  “My husband tells me that you marry the gold miners to the Native women. I thought he was making a joke. Is it true?”

  “Surely everyone has the right to a church marriage if they choose?” John said.

  “The women are heathens, and the men are only with them for convenience,” Reverend Burk said. “Heathens can’t be married in the High Church. Maybe you are better off in England, Reverend Crossman, where these ideas are popular with some of the bleeding hearts. Ideas like yours cause trouble in the colonies.”

  “I disagree,” John said seriously. “It should be a decision left up to the individual, not the Church. Some of Victoria’s most distinguished couples have chosen not to be married in a Christian ceremony. They are the Hudson’s Bay fur traders and their Native wives, married ‘after the custom of the country,’ as they say, and are in long, loving relationships.” John looked pointedly at Mrs. Burk and continued. “Governor and Mrs. Douglas are prime examples. Amelia is the Métis daughter of an Irish trader and a Cree woman whose own father was a chief. James served as a clerk to Amelia’s father, who married them in a country ceremony. They chose to reaffirm their vows nine years later in a Christian service only because of public pressure.”

  Mrs. Burk scoffed, but John’s argument intrigued me. I had never met anyone so open to new ways of seeing the world, but my hands grew clammy at the tension now building in the room. If my conversation with Dr. Carson had taught me anything, it was that many would see John’s views as blasphemous, even dangerous.

  Lady Persephone coughed, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. More than anything I guessed she was concerned with maintaining social decorum. Hari took her cue to move the discussion to a less controversial topic, the beautiful weather we were now enjoying, but Mrs. Burk was not one to back down.

  “Tell me, Miss Harding, what is your opinion? You and Reverend Crossman both seem to have soft hearts. I see you working with Dr. Carson helping the sick crew, and I hear you assisted him with the birth. What do you think?” A slow smile spread across her face.

  I felt the muscles in my chest tighten, and I glanced at John. I could tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t said anything. Hari’s eyes were boring into my skull, but I couldn’t meet her gaze. I scanned the faces around the table. Dr. Carson was studying the bottom of his soup bowl and Lady Persephone had set down her cutlery, her attention focused on me expectantly.

  “Administering to the crew?” Sir Richard said. “Helping with a birth? Dear heavens! Whatever made you want to do that?”

  I searched my imagination for a plausible argument in my favour. “I’ve been so inspired by the work of the great Florence Nightingale, a—a beacon of hope for our poor soldiers
and a woman above reproach, don’t you agree, Sir Richard?”

  “I suppose so,” he replied, a bit subdued.

  In the silence that followed, I snuck a peek at Hari’s face. Her expression had evolved from shock to anger, and I dreaded the end of dinner and the return to our cabin. I began to rub the emerald between my thumb and forefinger as if the simple touch could conjure comfort and affection from Wiggles.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “What the devil has been going on?” Harriet cried. “You were working with Dr. Carson as a nurse? I thought we talked about that. You promised you would be on your very best behaviour.”

  We had only just stepped back into our cabin after dinner, and she was demanding answers.

  “I know, but he needed my help, and he didn’t want our money. You were so ill, and I had to find a way to get you the laudanum. No one knew what I was doing until Mrs. Burk started putting her nose into it. It was harmless.”

  “Well, that’s all over with now. You need to tell Dr. Carson tomorrow. Promise me.”

  “I promise. I will return the key to the surgery first thing and tell him I am quitting. I was going to anyway.” I sat on Hari’s bed and unlaced my dress shoes. They had been pinching my feet all evening. Hari went over to her small dressing table and began unpinning her hair.

  “Fine, but what is going on between you and John Crossman? Don’t think I didn’t pick up on that.”

  “Hari, we’ve only had one tea together. He’s not courting me. But if he were to declare his intensions,” I paused, mustering up the courage to be honest, “I would be interested. I find him quite charming. We have much in common.”

  “We know nothing of his family, where they come from, and what sort of position they hold in society.”