by Kate Dolan
He laughed a little. “And now what work would a woman—an honest woman—do aboard a ship?”
What could she do? They would probably never let her do heavy “man’s work” again, but she knew the female servants at Hill Crest worked hours as long and hard as any of the men. What did they do?
“I can cook for you. I can do the sewing and mending.” This wasn’t strictly true; Caroline had never tried to actually cook at all but had frequently planned menus for the household. And the only sewing she knew consisted of decorating thin pieces of fabric with fanciful designs. Her other skills seemed even more useless on a ship: she tended one of the most elegant knot gardens in the colony, she could read Homer in Greek (very slowly) and she could play the flute, a little. So she contented herself with a more general assessment of her skills. “I know I can earn my keep. Have I not thus far?”
Hardey appeared to stifle a laugh. “A ship is no place for a woman, miss.”
“It has been a place for me these several days.”
“But, miss, the men didn’t know, of course. Everything has changed.” He colored a little. “You would not be safe here, or happy.”
“Very well, Mr. Hardey. I shall ask the captain myself.” Surely, if there was any trouble from the men, he could protect her.
No sign of him to larboard, but when Caroline turned the other way she saw him at once, scanning the shore with a glass.
She felt very fluttery, as though she couldn’t breathe right. Willing her heart to slow down, she took a deep breath and put on her best smile.
“Captain Talbot, sir?” She walked over to him at the rail with small, deliberate steps and kept her voice soft and gentle. “May I have a word with you, sir?”
“Ah, Miss Carter.” The sun sparkled in his dark eyes when he smiled.
Caroline grasped the rail to steady herself. She smiled at him through fluttering eyelashes then looked away toward the shore. “Oh, is this South Carolina? It looks a harsh place. Captain, I must admit I am a little frightened to be set down in such a place.”
“I believe, Miss Carter, that we are not too far from Port Royal. I’ve sent a party in the cutter to investigate those fires over there, see?” His arm brushed hers as he gestured toward the distant smoke.
She looked at him again before turning her gaze to follow his outstretched arm. “Are there Indians on these shores, Captain?” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and she added a shudder for good measure. Was that too much? The few Indians she had ever seen at home, old braves traveling from plantation to plantation to hire themselves out to hunt game, had been objects of ridicule. Were the local Indians more fearsome?
The captain’s eyes widened, suggesting she had raised a valid objection. Then he stared at the shore for a while in silence. “The party will make sure it’s safe,” he finally said.
Caroline answered with an exaggerated sigh. “It is so very far away from home.” A small tear crept to the corner of her eye, and she gave an almost imperceptible sniff before closing her eyes.
When the captain turned to face her again, worry lines creased his forehead. He was weakening in his resolve to put her ashore here. She had made him feel guilty. Caroline felt a little cheap and almost dishonest, but if it worked, well…
“Yes, Miss Carter, it is a long way from your home. I am truly very sorry.” He turned abruptly and walked away.
Could he just leave her here? He wouldn’t even think about it until the party returned from shore. Edward hurried down to his cabin but found nothing to do once he arrived. He walked two steps and turned, hands clasped behind his back. He needed to write to his father; he needed to find a carpenter for his crew. Two more steps, then another turn. He needed to secure a new letter of marque and find a way to make the venture profitable again.
She would be lucky to make her way safely to Charles Town, much less back up the Chesapeake. Could he leave a lady in this position? It seemed all wrong. Of course, it was all wrong to have a lady on a fighting ship. She would be in the way. She would not be safe, even when they weren’t fighting. Well, it was his ship, and he could keep her safe, if he chose.
She had a nice, neat figure and an intelligent, if not beautiful face.
Ah, no. She was Miss Carter, a lady, not a mistress. A wife would be safe with this crew, but, of course, he could not marry a colonial. Perhaps, if they all thought she was his wife…
Edward’s eyes focused on his writing desk. The report to his father, long overdue, hung heavily, almost palpably, over his head. Two quick steps to the desk and a sheaf of paper, a bottle of ink, a pen. He sat and admired the fine point on the pen.
She was so small and fragile. He had taken her so far from her home. He should take her back to her family. A gentleman could do no less.
Edward settled down to his report, highlighting his earlier successes, giving poignant descriptions of the tragedy of the illness and expenses suffered by the crew and describing the letter of marque he had obtained to hunt pirates in the colonial waters. Certainly, he would have such a letter from one of the governors by the time his father received the report.
When he had finished, his hand was cramped. He felt tense and hunched, as if the act of writing had somehow shortened him into a stump. He stood and stretched, sideways so he wouldn’t slam his arms into the low deck above. The letter would have to be posted from Charles Town. So, when the scouting party returned, they would weigh anchor and head toward the more sizable settlement.
Surely, from Charles Town, Miss Carter could obtain passage back to her home. He could feel at ease leaving Miss Carter in Charles Town.
And while there, he could seek a letter of marque from the governor. He thought back to his interview with the governor of North Carolina—the squalid, smoky room, and the mean, unfinished buildings of the ramshackle town. Charles Town would be different. Edward remembered pleasant buildings, substantial houses and real shops with imported goods. Nothing elegant, but certainly the closest he had come to civilization in the colonies.
He smiled at the prospect of spending a little time in civilized company. In his vision of the Charles Town streets, he suddenly pictured Miss Carter emerging from a shop arrayed in a gown of some light, silky material.
Was he crazy? No. Any fool could see she was attracted to him. Perhaps, before he left, there might be time for a little fun.
Chapter Fourteen
"Cheer up, sir, we should sight Charles Town in another day, maybe two.” Captain Spittel took a few thoughtful puffs on his pipe, then squinted at the sky. “If this wind don’t turn on us.”
A brisk wind had propelled the Sea Lily quickly, if roughly, down the coast of North Carolina. From his usual position at the railing amidships, Josiah halfheartedly listened to the captain’s banter as he waited for the inevitable.
There would be periods, sometimes hours, of smooth sailing when he could hold his head high and walk steadily with the even roll of the ship. But much of the time he clung to the rail, waiting to vomit the meager quantity of biscuit and salt pork eaten at the previous meal. The actual sickness wasn’t too hard to bear. It was the waiting, as waves of nausea cascaded through his body, that was so difficult, and, when he had the energy to think of it, embarrassing.
So, they might reach Charles Town tomorrow. And then what? Josiah had hoped they might make some intermediate stops on their journey to see if anyone had sighted the pirate ship, but Spittel had fairly laughed off that suggestion (once they’d paid him).
“No decent people to ask, between Norfolk and Charles Town,” he’d explained. “And no decent people between Charles Town and Jamaica,” he’d added, casting an amused glance at Charles on the other side of the deck. “Visiting plantations on Nassau, ha-umm. Maybe Jack Bye’s tart sister, not your sir’s.”
Then a sudden wave of nausea had drawn Josiah’s attention away from his discussion of their voyage, and so the matter stood—they were bound for Charles Town only.
Once in Charles Town, they co
uld…make inquiries, Josiah supposed. And sleep in a real bed, walk on floors that didn’t move, and, for that matter, eat food that didn’t move. Although the provisions were supposed to be fresh from Norfolk, Josiah had already spotted a few weevils in his breakfast biscuit and did not even want to try any more pork. He could hang on for one more day.
“Jack, the bosun’s mate, says it’s coming on hurricane season,” Charles remarked cheerfully as he joined Josiah at the railing. “Can you imagine how the seas must look in such a storm? All lightning and wind, with roaring waves? Jack said he’d seen the decks near to vertical, swept clean like a dustpan. Imagine, seeing God’s hand in action in such a fantastic manner.”
Charles demonstrated with his hands, and Josiah turned and stared up at him in disbelief. The man actually hoped he’d get to see a horrific storm at sea. Did he not think he might get “swept clean” off the ship?
“Good Lord, Mr. Carter, you can’t be serious?”
“Serious?” Charles asked.
“About wanting to see the hand of God brush us off the deck in a storm.”
“Ha, well, I suppose you’re right. After all, no one can see the face of God and live, so I’m not sure we’re meant to see his hands, either. Hmm, I wonder if that is why a fantastic storm can take so many lives. We cannot live after seeing the hand of God in action?”
Josiah turned back to watching the waves.
“Still,” Charles continued, “you must admit it’s an intriguing prospect—waves able to dash to pieces the strongest work mankind has to offer, the hand of God destroying the works of the hands of man…do you think we’ll get to see it?”
Josiah tried to ignore him.
“Aren’t you just the least bit curious, Mr. Throckmorton? To see such a storm?” Charles seemed to inch closer with each word, and Josiah finally decided he’d had enough.
“No, Mr. Carter, I am not curious, not in the least. I do not want to see a hurricane. I do not even want to hear about a hurricane. I want to see the hand of God keep the deck of this ship steady long enough for me to be to be able to walk across it without falling into something.” He looked around darkly at the casks, crates and other items that had left bruises after their sudden meeting with his arms, legs and torso.
And, he added to himself, I’d like the hand of God to settle my stomach, just for once. It was impossible to think straight, let alone speak civilly, when he felt so churned up inside.
“Ask and it shall be given you, Mr. Throckmorton,” Charles murmured softly as he drifted to the stern to watch the men heave the log.
And is God your personal servant, Mr. Carter? Josiah thought as he heard Charles glide away. You can order him about, and guarantee his compliance? You’re always so certain, so confident in your God. Just for once, I’d like to see your God desert you. If I ask for that, will it be given me? You need to see what life feels like for the rest of us.
A particularly strong wave set the ship askance, forcing him to lean over the side once more.
Several minutes passed before Josiah realized why the view from his berth appeared different this evening. The candle burned straight. Almost proud in appearance, it bore a thick, steady flame without the usual drips of wax clumped on all sides.
The cabin felt secure and peaceful. And Josiah’s head felt clear, his stomach calm. They had reached smooth seas at last. Did this change mean they neared the coast of South Carolina? He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, enjoying the unusual sensation of comfort.
For the first time in days, he thought of the life he had left back in Maryland. It would be time to harvest soon; he hoped his overseer was keeping a close watch. The house was certain to be a mess, but then, it didn’t much matter—no one would see it. Most of his servants would probably continue to work for a while. Later, after he and Charles had been absent some time, the servants and slaves might be tempted to escape. Or perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps they would make their move right in the beginning. In any case, he could do little here to stop them.
Josiah glanced at his companion, who read his nightly devotions in silence. He had expected to have his new sense of peace buoyed by the usually sanguine countenance of Charles Carter. Instead, Charles wore a worried and distraught expression as he stared down at the print-filled pages. So, Mr. Carter was not as confident as he always seemed!
He knew he should not have wished harm on the younger man simply because he always seemed so sure of himself. Obviously, his devotions tonight did not fill him with confidence. The unusual calm and the quiet candle mesmerized Josiah into speaking where he would normally remain silent.
“Do you miss them, Mr. Carter?”
Charles looked up in alarm, as if wakened from a bad dream, then gave a sad smile. “I do, Mr. Throckmorton. I do, indeed. And, of course, I share your grave concern for Caroline. We shall soon find her, I have a sense, but in what condition I cannot guess. Our situation can never be as it was before.”
Did this mean her family would not expect him to marry her once she returned? Relief and guilt washed over him like a warm ocean wave, soothing yet leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He would not have to marry her. But would this leave her in a difficult position?
If so, she had no one to blame but herself. How could he possibly marry a girl who would sneak out of the house in men’s clothing at night? She would not be a suitable wife for a planter of any station whatsoever. She had been touched by such a low element…
And touched in what ways? he wondered grimly. Her lively, intelligent face and diminutive posture might prove most attractive to coarse men of the sea. Rather unlike what they would be used to seeing, certainly.
Josiah had not really considered before the dangerous, unhappy situation Miss Carter endured. She must have been terrified. Even now, what horrors did she suffer at the hands of the rascals? She could be in fear for her very life. And she must certainly fear she would never be able to make her way back home.
A soft whump interrupted his contemplation as Charles closed his book and sighed. “May I?” he gestured to the candle.
“Please. Goodnight, Mr. Carter.”
Charles extinguished the candle, and the ensuing darkness made him suddenly seem very far away.
“We may raise Charles Town tomorrow, Mr. Throckmorton.” The voice in the darkness brought back a sense of closeness.
“Do you, Mr. Carter, think she knows we are coming?”
“I don’t know.” Charles paused a great while before continuing. “I believe she has great faith, but only in me—and you, too, of course, sir. What I mean is, her faith is misplaced. Faith in God would serve her better in these dire straits.”
“But faith in you, faith in us, will give her hope. We are coming, and we will find her.” Josiah surprised himself with his conviction as the unexpected words came out in the darkness.
“What comfort can there be in the works of fallible man? ‘And in that day thou shalt say, O Lord, I will praise thee: thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortedest me. Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid: for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.’ But I fear she knows not the words or the faith. If I could will to her those words…” Charles paused again, and then said softly, “Caroline, oh, think back on your lessons, and they will serve you well. ‘The Lord is my strength, the Lord is my strength…’”
Josiah felt there was nothing more he could say—Charles no longer spoke to him, but to a sister some unknown miles away. The sound of those soft, prayerful entreaties quietly lulled him to sleep.
Caroline braced for the worst as the shop matron brought out a large mirror. She had scrubbed from head to toe earlier in a private room at an inn not far from the waterfront but had refused the offer of a looking glass and even avoided seeking her reflection in the pewter breakfast plate. Now, though, she could put off the moment no longer. The task of dressing was complete, and everyone awaited her approval.
At Captain Talbot’s request for “something suitable to outfit the lady,” the shop’s proprietor had produced a gown ordered last season for a client who “forgot” to pay. Though the dress was far from a perfect fit, a few quick snips and tucks made it passable. The fabric felt wonderful and fresh on Caroline’s skin, but the most enjoyable sensation came from the “new gown” smell—a scent she had never appreciated before. Perhaps she had never worn a gown made of such fresh and heavily sized material. She reveled in every crackle and crunch.
Sleeves made of a light, gauzy fabric covered her sunburned arms, and a thick salve that had been sent up to her at the inn with other mysteriously procured toiletries had already done wonders to smooth her overworked hands. A girl in the shop had taken pains to twist Caroline’s hair in a new fashion that reduced the need for curling irons. Finally, the shop matron had passed along a secret for toning down the red of skin exposed to too much sun—a white paste blended carefully around the face and neck.
Caroline knew the shop matron and the girls really only wanted her cursory approval of the dress; but when she looked in the mirror, she would be viewing not only her person and apparel, but also her face and, indeed, her new self, and she feared to find a frightening spectacle in the glass.
She was quite surprised, therefore, to find a rather familiar face looking back at her. Her complexion looked blotchy, but the eyes were hers, not the wild eyes of a whorish adventurer. In fact, the new hairstyle looked rather becoming; it made her face seem more refined and almost elegant.
Or was it the gown? The dress not only felt different but looked different than anything she had ever worn. Caroline stood a trifle more erect as she looked in the glass and noticed she seemed to move more slowly, as if trying to impart regal grace to every gesture.
“It looks well on you, Miss Carter. Does it not, Joan?” The shop matron turned to the petite girl who had fussed so nimbly with Caroline’s hair.
