David approached. He swung his cloak around his shoulders as if avoiding Frances and her hullabaloo. He sauntered to Sara and chucked her under the chin. “What’s amiss, Twig?”
His presence gladdened her heart. These past months, working with him, bundling in the evenings, made her appreciate his wit and intelligence, even as his restless spirit gave her pause he’d do something rash out there, across the wild sea.
Frances returned to the comparative safety of the eave, her ledger dotted with raindrops. “Me dear sister’s afeard your ship won’t be full when you leave port.”
David rocked back on his heels. “Indeed.” He raised his gaze to the heavy clouds, then squinted at Sara. “I’ve just left the warehouse. Empty, it is. Several carts and horses are now racing about, my brothers and our fathers wagering on who will win the prize. With me ship so empty, my sweet Abigail will skip high on the swells. In a stiff wind, she’ll keel right over. We shall starve afore we leave the estuary.” He grinned.
“Do not play with me, sirrah. ‘Tis an important thing we are doing and I want to make a success of it.” She turned to Frances. “Did you find the missing cask?”
She nodded. “Aye, ‘tis still in the barrow, ready to be taken aboard. He’s afraid he’ll fall off the gangplank. He must hold the guide-rope with one hand to make his way onto the ship.” She gazed at David. “He’s taking one cask at a time to your quarters.” She sniffed. “It will take until you sail, sirrah, to get all your wine stowed.”
“Ah, then I shall enlist the aid of another fellow to push him along, if you will.” He winked.
Sara regarded him and hoped her face showed disdain.
Suddenly serious, he grasped her shoulders and kissed her brow. “Dear one, you’ve made a wondrous success of this refit. I couldn’t have done without you.” He waved his hand. “Look, even sheep are being hauled aboard. I wouldn’t have considered that.”
Sara’s heart thrummed joyfully. She smiled.
“You’ve even thought to add two tons of charcoal, saltpetre and sulphur to be made into gunpowder. That will be enough to fire on a hundred ships, lay siege of a hundred days or more.” He nodded, the feathers on his tall, beaver hat bobbing. “With so much tonnage of cannonballs and shot, we’ll be able to make Québec reel under an onslaught.”
Sara frowned, not liking her acquisition of powders would kill people. “You will not cause a slaughter.”
David threw his hands in the air. “I’m most impressed at the amount of ordnance you provided. Thirty-six brass cannon on my ship alone! Think of the whales we’ll kill, the icebergs we shall blow up.” He grasped his hands in prayer and sighed as if he would soon face great bliss.
“You will not blow up whales or icebergs, sirrah.”
He huffed a breath. “Shall I not?”
Frances laughed and Sara gently cuffed him on the arm. “Away with thee.”
“And the food you’ve supplied is wonderful,” he continued without pause. “Six tons of hard biscuits, barrels of beer so rich I can smell the hops and malt from here.” He rolled his eyes. “The men won’t mutiny because they’re hungry or thirsty. They won’t set me backside in a small boat somewhere in the cold Atlantic where I’d turn into a human iceberg.”
His eyes widened and his mouth formed a wide ‘o’. “You’ve pulled me from the maws of death, you have.” He gave her a jolly blow to the arm and her piece of graphite wrapped in string went flying into the muck of the lane.
“Now look what you’ve done.” She stared at the pencil sinking into something soft and horrid that stank to high heaven. She would not even put the toe of her shoe into it. “What will I write with, now?”
David grinned. “I’ll get Thomas to fetch it for you.” He stepped back as if he expected her to kick him in the shin.
Frances handed her pencil to Sara. “Here, I’ve another in me pocket.” She slipped her hand within her skirts.
Sara fell into the droops. Since that day in Father Kirke’s closet, Thomas had avoided her. When she walked into a chamber, he walked out of it. If he found himself at the same table as her or in the same room, and she asked him a question, he would turn to one of his brothers to answer. The man was ill-humoured, his gut filled with black bile.
His base carriage toward her burned like gall. When he acted thusly, it took every ounce of her willpower not to strike him.
She frowned. “Please don’t speak so. He hates me, now, and I shall be forever saddened by it.”
David caressed her cheek with his gloved finger. “Dear one, he has always been a misery. Maman, who loves him more than the rest of us, said he is much like our late grand-père. Thomas has the same visage, hair colouring, too.” He looked away. “They were so alike, Maman did believe the soul of me dead grand-père returned into the body of Thomas when he was born.” He slid a glance at Sara as if awaiting her reaction to this.
She did not know what to think but his mother was French, and those folk believed strange things. She regarded him with a small smile. “Let us hope nothing like that happens to us. Having a son such as Thomas would put me into a great discontent.”
He laughed. “Aye.” He rubbed his gloved hands as a load of blankets and hammock netting were hoisted up and swung aboard. “’Tis frigid cold out here and I’m soundly wet from this rain. Let us find a tavern for a hot meal.”
“I shall not leave until every item is on board and accounted for,” Sara insisted. “A fine supper is being prepared for both our families this eve.”
“Oh?” David stepped closer.
Her belly fluttered whenever he came near and she liked the way he smelled, the way his kisses tasted. “Aye, ‘tis to be a feast to celebrate your new voyage. We will eat and drink to your successful return.”
“Where will this be? I don’t want to be late.”
“At your house, sirrah. Your sister, Elizabeth, is supervising the servants.”
David’s eyes goggled. “Is she, now? How did you manage that? Usually, our Elizabeth is an impertinent gel who won’t do anything we ask.”
“Mary is helping her.” Sara nearly laughed at David’s astonishment. “They only wished to be needed.”
“But they’re so young, Lizzy only twelve and Mary ten.”
David’s sisters were without guile, and when coaxed the girls had a rich sense of humour. Sara suddenly frowned. Elizabeth had become quite haughty over the matter and shooed her out of the kitchen whenever Sara ventured there. “Aye, and enjoying their new responsibilities.”
He crossed his arms in front of him. “You’ve taken over our house. You shall make a good wife.” His face opened as if he’d reached a great decision. “I shall call you Goody.”
Sara laughed. “’Tis better than Twig.”
“Oh, I shall always call you Twig, or Spindle, a stick with some splendid rounded places.”
Frances gasped.
Sara was finished with David’s foolery. “Away with thee.”
Over his shoulder, cables snapped taut as the cow was hoisted off the quay. The creature bellowed in fear as her legs flailed in the air. With heartrending lows, she tossed her head; twisted her neck. The cable sheath that held her started to slip.
Halfway up, the crane shuddered and ropes squealed in protest. David ducked under the eave as men aboard ship shouted to clear the deck. Others stood on the quay and stared overhead at the struggling beast.
The ropes shifted.
“She’s going to fall,” Frances hollered.
Men scattered. Cries rent the air as the cow slipped through the ropes and plummeted to the ground. She shrieked when her legs hit the dock, her heavy body cracking the stone. The concussion of her legs breaking reverberated along the pilings and under the eave where Sara stood in terror. She dropped her ledger and screamed.
David pulled her into a tight embrace. As she sobbed against his woollen cloak, she did not see the brutal display of death, but she heard it, the beast’s struggling grunts and weakening wails.
“Someone, shoot the poor wretch,” David shouted. “Put her out of her misery.”
A pistol shot pierced the air, the sharp smell of gunpowder clouding the men who stood around the now dead creature.
David patted Sara’s back. “There, there, now, let me take you home and to your bed. It has been a long, sad day.”
Sara swallowed her tears and pulled away. “Nay, I shall not. We must finish loading the ship.” She pulled her handkercher from her sleeve and blew her nose, wiped her tears.
“But you’ve had a horrid shock. No one will expect you to continue.”
She retrieved her ledger and stood as tall as she could. “But I shall.” She waved at one of the dockworkers she’d come to know and appreciate as an honourable man.
“Aye?” he said.
“Joe, please inform the men to continue loading the vessel and have someone fetch a butcher.”
Chapter Ten
Lady Day, March 25, 1629
David stood awkwardly on the wharf at Gravesend. His tongue seemingly broken, he gazed into Sara’s startling green eyes. He marked in his memory her smile, her sweet lips curling up at one end. His belly fluttered when she cocked her head to one side as if wondering how she’d manage him after their marriage.
Without preamble or a tear in her eye, she handed him an oak box, its lid intricately designed.
Surprised, he took it. “What’s this?”
“This will keep thee wholesome. ‘Tis filled with the holy herb, tobacco. Smoke or chew this often. Don’t know what sort of deadly scythes lurk in those wild lands. The French might have brought something vile, too.”
He was touched by her thoughtful gesture. “I shall treasure it.”
She smiled, her eyes luminous. “I shall expect you to safely return to me.”
He took her gloved hand within his. “Oh, I shall. We’ll be back afore winter with prizes and hostages. Their ransoms will fill our moneyboxes.” He stroked her fingers. “Then we’ll be married.”
Men shouted from above for him to hurry aboard. The tide was turning.
He did not heed them but wished he could kiss her nose, right here in front of everyone. She smiled as men began to remove the gangplank from the gangway.
Sara’s brows furrowed. “Best go or you’ll be left behind.”
“Hold it.” David jumped onto the bridge and dashed onto the Abigail.
Dockworkers released ropes from the mooring cleats. Cables rattled and water splashed as men brought up the anchor. Leaning against the rail, he was cheered when he waved to Sara, and with a small smile, she waved back.
“Anchor’s aweigh,” Dawson shouted and the ship drifted from the dock.
David’s gaze traversed the deck, the men at work, some of the sails unfurling and reckoned all was in order. He turned to the wharf again but Sara was walking to the barge that would take her almost nine leagues back to London, a trip that would go against the tide that now ran toward the sea.
As he watched her slim form diminish in the distance, he suddenly felt bereft. The moment held a finality he did not want to explore. He turned away as his ship gathered speed downriver.
The winds were brisk as David’s fleet sailed with the tide out of the Thames Estuary and into the Channel. He stood at the rail and watched his homeland sweep by. Gulls screamed above the rigging and winged along shore. The air was clean as his ships ploughed through heavy swells with water splashing against the hull.
Great joy filled his soul. Lady Fate danced with him on this successful venture to the new lands.
He turned to Dawson. “Steady as she goes. I’ll be in me chamber.”
Dawson nodded.
David leaned against the door and breathed deeply of sweat, leather and wood, of old books and parchment maps, rolled and stowed. He regarded the prettily carved box on his table and smiled. He’d never expected this from Sara and was mightily pleased.
He sank onto his chair and opened the box. The smell of fresh tobacco drifted about his nose. Tucked alongside the pouch was a finely carved pipe.
Twig had thought of everything. She’d even made certain all his shirts and stockings had been washed, his coats and breeches brushed. She’d even sprinkled lavender within the folds before setting them into his trunk.
David raised his gaze to the gallery windows, their leaded lights pulling in what sunlight remained of day. Dust motes swirled in the sun’s rays.
Wood creaked and the sails snapped taut as winds took them toward the Celtic Sea and the North Atlantic. More than six hundred leagues to the island of Newfoundland, and bar any unforeseen troubles, it would take them five weeks to get there.
He stood and wandered to the windows. The skies were darkening with heavy clouds. Soon, they touched the duskier grey waters and the dots of land that would get smaller the further they sailed.
David was very proud of his modern ship, its tall and sleek design that could cross a large portion of the world in so short a time. This vast ocean made him feel small and insignificant.
It troubled him greatly how much he missed Sara.
* * *
It was the first of May as the fleet sailed almost due west toward Newfoundland through a sea of broken ice. David feared for the fleet. His men leaned against the rails or stood aloft and hollered which way the steersman should cast his whipstaff. Yesterday was especially harrowing as men’s warning cries overlapped and despite their careful manoeuvring, ice hidden beneath the water had continually scraped against the keel or hull.
“Large iceberg ho to starboard,” a man cried from atop a yard.
“Large is not the correct word,” David murmured as he stared at the ice that dwarfed his fleet. Their ships drifted closer to the glacial mass, its immensity leaving David speechless. It was taller than a church steeple, taller than Saint Paul’s Cathedral, mayhap as tall as the Cliffs of Dover.
“Don’t get too near, Mister Dawson,” he cautioned his first mate. “Don’t know what’s below it.”
Dawson waved his arm. “Two points to port, Mister Stone.”
The steersman tipped his whipstaff and the ship hit a large chunk of ice. The screech of it against wood pierced the air.
“Jeffries, why didn’t you warn us?” Dawson cried. “’Tis your duty to do so.”
“Couldn’t hear your order to the steersman, sir.”
Dawson growled. “Someone go below and see if she’s ripped a seam.” He looked up and shouted. “Aboard main tack.”
Men scrambled to move the mainsail down to the chess-tree. David ran to starboard and leaned over the rail as the large piece of ice trailed in the ship’s wake and was caught in a swell.
Men returned from below and went to Dawson.
“What have you to say?”
One fellow with a curling red beard replied, “No damage that we could immediately see, sir, but George and Stover are walking the decks, looking for breaches.”
Dawson nodded and David sighed, relieved if there were damage, it was small. “Dawson, have the carpenter walk the decks.”
“Aye, sir.” Dawson sent a man to the aft where the carpenter watched for ice.
That night, under the star-studded sky with the North Star high above, David ordered his ships to furl their sails and drag their anchors. He expected the vessels would face directly into the wind, putting them at a full stop.
As the Watch in London cried throughout the night that all was well, David ordered the men to holler across the bows to the other ships. Even as the stars sparkled, there was no moon. He could barely see the outline of Lewis’ vessel.
Under these troublesome conditions, men feared unnatural beasts would rise from the depths and sweep the ships apart, their fleet forever lost to the icy maws of the sea. David did not argue. Inwardly, he believed anything could happen.
Suddenly, the wind sharpened. A bank of dark clouds appeared over the southwest horizon. Sea ice began to move north. David would rather plough into the teeth of a storm than fight i
ce that snagged at their hulls with underwater tentacles.
He motioned to his first mate. “Take us closer to the clouds, Dawson.”
“Steer west southwest, Mister Stone,” Dawson ordered and the ship turned into the wind.
They’d watched the clouds all the following day but they remained south of them. As they sailed, sea ice drifted north and away from the fleet. The men’s fear of a ripped helm lessened the further they went and the air was not as frosty.
As dusk settled, the sky filled with brilliant colours of red and green. Fear that had diminished spiked up again.
“What now?” David growled as frightened voices rose.
“Look at the sky, the lights. What does it mean? Is the world coming to an end?”
“You will not act the arse, sirrah,” David derided, “and give everyone on board a terrible affright. ‘Tis normal, these lights. Take it as something wondrous.” For indeed, as David watched the colourful lights move in the firmament, profound awe struck his soul.
The man grumbled. Others spoke softly amongst themselves but went about their business. One fellow crossed himself and David did wonder how they’d found themselves with a papist on board, which vexed him. He headed for his main chamber, a dish of wine and a bowl of tobacco.
* * *
Mid-May, and headed north again, a lookout cried, “Land ho.”
A dark smudge lay on the water under heavy clouds. As the sails filled and their ship gained speed, the spot grew larger, more pronounced. Icebergs floated north of them. A whale careened out of the water, its fins like arms straight out, then hit the surface with a mighty splash. David laughed. Great things awaited him on this land.
Small, outer islands protected the mainland. Heavy mist clung to the cliffs, swallowed coves and inlets that lined the shore. Last year they’d provisioned at a fishing camp higher up the coast called St. John’s but as they sailed along, David noticed a better established colony. The barren, desolate land with few trees reminded him of the highlands in Scotland, which was a cold, unforgiving place.
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