A Leap of Faith (The Hands of Time: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  “There’s a respectable inn near the docks, the “Stag’s Head.” I’ll leave ye there and go inquire about a ship. I know the proprietress, Mistress Fairley, and she’ll do right by ye, don’t ye fret.” Mr. Dobbs didn’t really expect an answer, so Louisa just followed him to the inn, which was tucked away on a narrow side-street, a peeling sign of a stag’s severed head swaying and creaking in the gentle breeze. Louisa slid off the horse, nearly falling down as her knees buckled from the long hours in the saddle.

  Mrs. Fairley greeted Louisa with enthusiasm, and immediately escorted her to the ‘best room’ in the “Stag’s Head.” The room faced the back of the house, thus being quieter and more private. It contained a bed, a small table with a single chair, and a chamber pot; discreetly pushed under the bed. Louisa set down her valise and sat down on the bed. Her behind was sore from riding for several hours, and she leaned back, grateful not to be on horseback anymore. Now she had to wait. She wondered if her cheese sandwich was still good and pulled it out of the bag, sniffing at it cautiously. It seemed all right, so Louisa bit into it and chewed slowly, savoring the last taste of home. Mrs. Fairley said that supper would be served at seven. Louisa could partake of it in the main dining room with the other guests, or have a tray sent up to her room. Louisa thought that she might like to go to the dining room.

  She must have drifted off, since the knock on the door startled her awake. Mr. Dobbs entered the room, his hat in his hands and stood awkwardly in the center.

  “I’ve found ye a ship, Mistress. The Gloriana will be sailing to the New World at the end of the week, so ye only have a few days to wait, which is very good luck indeed. Might have been much longer had ye come after the Gloriana left. I cannot say when the next ship will be.

  As it happens, Mistress Fairley has a niece who is eager to go into service. Shall I tell her to come see ye?”

  Louisa just nodded, uncertain of how to answer. She supposed he meant that the niece wanted to apply for the position of her maid, and needed to be interviewed. Louisa had no idea what to ask her, but she could hardly hire the girl without even talking to her. She would think of something.

  “I will have Mistress Fairley send up a tray for ye,” John Dobbs informed her. “Rough crowd down there tonight. Best ye stay here, being a lady and all. I will be on my way back now. Just present yourself to Captain Fellowes on Friday. He’ll be expecting ye and the girl. God speed, Mistress Jamison.” With that, he bowed and left the room, leaving Louisa feeling strangely vulnerable. She was on her own now.

  Louisa splashed some water on her face and wondered about the time, just as there was a knock on the door. A young girl entered the room, carrying a tray laden with a bowl, a heel of bread, and a mug of ale.

  “Good evening, Mistress Jamison. My aunt sent up yer supper. Oyster stew tonight. I hope it is to yer liking.” The girl looked terribly nervous, so Louisa assured her that oyster stew would be wonderful, despite her own misgivings about eating seafood in a place like this. “I am the one looking to go into service, Miss,” the girl added, staring at her feet.

  “Oh. I see.” Louisa sat down on the one chair and faced the girl. “Tell me something about yourself then.”

  “I am called Agnes Crowley, Miss. Mrs. Fairley is my mam’s sister. I ‘ave lived here since my mam passed last winter. I can cook, clean, and mend clothes if it please ye, Miss.” Agnes snuck a peek at Louisa from under her dark lashes. Louisa suspected that the girl had more spirit than she was willing to show.

  “How old are you, Agnes?” By the looks of her she couldn’t be more than twelve.

  “I am fifteen, Miss.”

  “Why do you want to go to America, Agnes? You seem to have a fine place here with your aunt.”

  “I would like to see something o’ the world, Miss, and I would much prefer to be a maid to one lady to working as a chambermaid at the inn.” Agnes looked away again, her fingers pleating the fabric of her apron. “I’d like to be indentured to ye.”

  “Indentured?” Louisa hadn’t expected that.

  “Yes, Miss. I would feel safer that way.” Louisa studied the girl. She supposed it would be all right if that’s what she wanted. The idea of actually owning the girl for several years was distasteful, but from Agnes’s point of view, it probably guaranteed her a form of security. Louisa would be responsible for her well-being, and that would make Agnes feel less apprehensive about traveling across the Atlantic. If only Louisa could feel less apprehensive herself.

  “All right, then, Agnes. The ship sails on Friday, so you have a few days to prepare.”

  “Aye, Miss. Thank ye ever so kindly, Miss. I will bring up the contract when I come back to collect the tray. I can read and write,” she added proudly as she left the room.

  Louisa lifted the lid off the bowl and studied the oyster stew. She had to admit that it smelled very appetizing. She picked up the wooden spoon and took an experimental bite. The stew was actually very good, and Louisa finished it all and washed it down with the bitter ale that Mrs. Fairley had sent up. She had no idea what to do between supper and bedtime, and sat back down on the bed wondering how people passed their time in the evening. Tomorrow she would have breakfast and go explore Plymouth. She had four days until the ship sailed, and she meant to put them to good use.

  Chapter 8

  Louisa feared the night. That’s when the panic came. It began gradually as a tightening in her belly and the accelerated beating of her heart; and progressed to a full-blown anxiety attack, as the shadows of the early evening finally deepened into the impenetrable darkness of night. Louisa would have given anything for the oblivion of sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Instead, her mind buzzed with countless frightening thoughts, brought on by her forays into Plymouth. What would become of her if she didn’t find Valerie?

  Mr. Taylor had been absolutely right to question her sanity. No amount of books or movies could have prepared Louisa for the reality of life in the seventeenth century. She had spent the past few days exploring the town, and she grew more scared every day. She expected the poverty of the lower classes and the unsanitary conditions, but what she didn’t expect was her own lack of a future. Louisa spent most of her time observing the women as she went into the heart of Plymouth and walked the streets, wanting to know what life was really like for them.

  As a woman born in the twentieth century, Louisa was used to the idea that she could do anything; be anything. The sky was the limit to what she could achieve, or the amount of money she could earn. She didn’t need a man to take care of her. She wanted a partner to love and eventually build a family with. This world was vastly different. As a single woman, with no husband or male relative to protect her, Louisa was like a piece of driftwood afloat in an ocean of humanity. She didn’t belong to anyone, and no one belonged to her, and sooner or later that would destroy her. If she didn’t find her sister, eventually her money would run out, and she would have to make a place for herself in this cruel world.

  As far as she could see, there were very few choices for women. A woman could get married, which was the most desirable path for most females, or she could work at some low-paying job just to make ends meet. The women who went into service worked long days, in dismal conditions, and eventually died of disease or despair. Even if Louisa wanted to go into service, she didn’t have the necessary skills. Nothing she knew could be considered useful. She was a good painter, but who would allow a woman to paint professionally? She could sew on a button or make a stew, but that would hardly qualify as job skills. She supposed she could pour a mug of ale or work as a serving wench in a tavern, but she strongly suspected that most barmaids supplemented their income with other, less savory, activities. Louisa didn’t even bother to dwell on the last option, since she would sooner die than become a whore.

  As frightening as these options were, her choices would be even more limited in Virginia. What would she do in a struggling colony? There weren’t too many women there at this time, and very few of them c
ame on their own. They were wives, daughters or servants. They weren’t single women with no one to look after them, and now she had Agnes to think of as well. Louisa flipped over onto her stomach, and pulled the blanket over her head, trying to stifle her thoughts.

  What had she done? What would happen to her? She had never been so scared in her life, and she wondered if that’s why Valerie married Finlay Whitfield so quickly. She must have been scared and alone, desperate for a man to offer her protection and security. But who would marry Louisa? She had been with Doug for years, and even he hadn’t proposed. She chuckled to herself ruefully and turned back onto her back. What was she even thinking about? Marriage to one of these men would be more like a form of slavery, rather than a relationship based on love and respect. If she failed to find Valerie, her prospects were very dismal. All the plans for survival she made back in the twenty-first century now seemed ridiculous and far-fetched.

  Chapter 9

  Louisa tried to hide her smile as Agnes gave some poor sailor a tongue-lashing he would never forget. The man had the misfortune of slipping on some filth and dropping a crate in front of them, prompting her maid’s ire. Agnes had assumed her duties as Louisa’s maid as soon as the contract was signed. She was like no fifteen-year-old Louisa had ever seen. There was no laziness or sense of entitlement often present in the teenagers of Louisa’s day. Although small for her age, the girl appeared to be the model of efficiency. There was nothing she couldn’t do, and Louisa was amazed by her hard work and common sense. The girl displayed a quiet maturity, and seemed to miss very little of what went on around her. After knowing her for a few days, Louisa could easily believe that Agnes had made the decision to cross the Atlantic all by herself. She obviously knew what she wanted.

  The smell of the docks made Louisa’s eyes water. It was a combination of dead fish, seaweed, muck and stale sweat, occasionally punctuated by whiffs of tobacco. Not even the fresh breeze off the sea could mask the foul smells that seemed to be wafting from every available space. Louisa lifted her skirt a little higher, in order to avoid soiling it on the assortment of garbage littering the stone walkway, and trod carefully behind Agnes, trying not to slip. Agnes was walking ahead of her, reading the names of the ships out loud, craning her neck in search of the one they needed. The ship would be leaving with the tide this evening, making it imperative for the women to find it soon.

  “There ‘tis, Miss,” exclaimed Agnes, pointing to a large merchant ship some distance from them. Louisa could see the gold lettering on the side and the carved figurehead of a young woman, her hair flowing behind her, her arms crossed to cover her breasts.

  “Are we to assume that’s Gloriana herself?” asked Louisa as she followed Agnes.

  “I am sure I don’t know, Miss,” answered the girl in all seriousness. Louisa hoped she would loosen up a bit. After all, they would be spending a lot of time together, and a sense of humor could sometimes be the only thing standing between her and despair. The ship seemed to grow larger as they approached, casting a slanted shadow onto the dock. It was bobbing gently on the waves lapping against the dock, her crew buzzing with activity. Crates and barrels were still being loaded, and a reluctant goat was being led up the ramp onto the deck. Mr. Dobbs said the ship was a three-masted square-rigged merchant vessel. There would be several passengers, but the majority of the hold would be filled with goods and supplies for the crew, which according to him was a very good thing. Some vessels were crammed with passengers bound for the New World, which made the conditions unsanitary at best; horrific at worst.

  Louisa looked up at the massive ship, suddenly noticing the gun ports cut into the hull. There were six on the side facing her and she quickly did the math, realizing there were twelve altogether. Why did a merchant ship need so many guns?

  “Do you require assistance, ladies?” Louisa turned around to find a tall, thin man standing behind her. His garb proclaimed him to be a clergyman, his silvered temples and deep-set eyes giving him an air of authority. “Allow me to introduce myself. Reverend Blackley at your service.” The reverend bowed to Louisa, obviously expecting her to respond.

  “I am Louisa Jamison and this is my maid, Agnes Crawley.” Louisa suddenly felt a pang of unease. The Reverend Blackley was obviously Protestant, and might expect to conduct services aboard the ship during the crossing. Although Louisa hadn’t been to church since her parents’ funeral, she’d been raised a Catholic, and knew very little about the Protestant religion. Despite the fact that King James was a Catholic, there was still a lot of prejudice against Catholics, so Louisa had no desire to advertise her faith. She hoped Reverend Blackley wasn’t a zealot, as she followed him up the ramp to the ship. She’d read enough about the religious beliefs of the time, to know that she would be required to participate in whatever services took place aboard the ship; keeping a low profile and guarding her tongue against saying anything that might be construed as blasphemy, heresy or witchery.

  The deck was a beehive of activity, with sailors rolling barrels toward the narrow stairs and lowering them into the cargo hold, the captain shouting orders at what Louisa assumed to be the ship’s cook, supervising the storage of food supplies. She heard the goat bleat somewhere down below, shortly followed by the clucking of a hen coming from a cage to her left. How many animals did they have on board? Louisa jumped out of the way as a barrel rolled toward her, nearly knocking her off her feet. A boy of about twelve muttered his apologies, as he tried to stop it and re-direct it toward the stairs.

  “Be careful, boy!” shouted the reverend, as he escorted Louisa and Agnes toward the tubby man with bushy whiskers, shouting orders to the sailors. “Captain Fellowes, I presume.” The tubby man stopped his shouting and turned around to take stock of the new arrivals. “I am the Reverend Blackley, and this is Mistress Jamison and her maid.”

  “Delighted,” spit out the Captain, looking anything but. “I’ll have the quartermaster show you to your cabins. Mr. Sheridan!” he hollered over the din of activity on the deck. A tall man dressed in a blue doublet, and fawn-colored trousers appeared out of nowhere and gave them a stiff bow, sweeping off his hat.

  “Reverend. Mistress Jamison. I am Mr. Sheridan, the first mate or quartermaster, if you prefer. If you would follow me, please.” Louisa couldn’t help noticing that the man was very attractive, but he seemed annoyed by their presence, and didn’t bother with the niceties as he led them to their cabins.

  Louisa sat down on the narrow berth, taking stock. This would be her home for the next two months, give or take a week. The cabin was tiny, with two berths bolted to the wall on opposite sides, and a small porthole above a wooden table. There were two nails high in the wall for hanging clothes, and a bucket with a lid beneath one of the berths. Luxury accommodations of the seventeenth century.

  “’Tis quite nice, ain’t it?” asked Agnes as she surveyed the small space, sitting stiffly on the edge of the berth.

  “I couldn’t have asked for more,” answered Louisa with a smile. If this was the worst of her hardships, she would gladly deal with it to get to Valerie. “I wonder who the other passengers are.”

  “I heard there was an older couple with their daughter, us and the reverend. There ain’t that many cabins for passengers here -- only four. The rest are for the officers. The sailors sleep down below in hammocks. What did ye make of that Mr. Sheridan, Miss?”

  “I haven’t had enough time to form an opinion.”

  “’e is very handsome, I thought,” babbled Agnes as she put away their few possessions.

  “I suppose he is.” In truth, Louisa barely noticed the man’s face. She was too nervous to pay attention. She felt the ship shudder beneath her feet, as it began to move out of the harbor toward the open sea. She was truly on her way now. Oh, Val, just stay put long enough for me to get there, she thought.

  Chapter 10

  Valerie threw on her dressing gown and crept from the room. Alec was still asleep, his face peaceful in the milky light of da
wn. These were the only times when he didn’t look worried, and Valerie felt a terrible guilt for the stress she caused him. She wished the horrible dreams would just go away. Alec was right, of course, she’d never had what people in these times called the Sight. If she had, she wouldn’t have allowed Finlay to get involved with the murder plot that led to his death. Valerie suspected that Alec still carried the scars of that night. Only three people knew the truth of what happened in that cell, and one of them was dead. It took Alec all his considerable will to suffocate his brother. It had been the only way to save him from more torture, and an execution that would probably involve drawing and quartering –- the most horrible punishment; reserved for High Treason.

  It had been a mercy killing, but Alec had never been quite the same. Valerie could see the pain in Alec’s eyes when he looked at young Finlay, the spitting image of his father. And now he was worrying about this pregnancy. True, Louisa’s birth had almost killed them both, but every time she looked at her beautiful girl, she felt it had all been worth it. This baby would be worth it too. What were the chances of two breech births? Of course, she was now forty, and that was risky even in modern times, but Valerie tried not to dwell on the negative. Everything would be all right.

  How easy all this would have been in the twenty-first century. She would simply go to a hospital, and have a C-section performed by an actual doctor, in an operating room full of state-of-the-art equipment. But then she wouldn’t have Alec. Valerie had almost forgotten what modern life was like. For the first few years, she still missed the conveniences of life in the future, but eventually the memories began to fade. She had always been the type of person to adjust to her surroundings and try to make the best of the situation, and she made a conscious decision not to harp on the past –- or in this case, the future.