The Wilde Flower Saga: A Contrary Wind (Historical Adventure Series)

by Schulz, Marilyn M

  Perhaps that’s why I feel so comfortable here, he thought.

  Lewis Senlis was rubbing his neck, suddenly looking a bit weary. Then he snickered, and said, "Sir Edward, is it? And Katie will be Lady Katherine. Lady Kate."

  "Yes."

  "She will not like that," Senlis said. “She takes great pride in being one of the masses. Makes her feel like she’s like everyone else.”

  "She will get used to it."

  "She probably already has,” Lewis Senlis said, then emptied his glass and went for another.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 42 - The Wedding

  The next morning, they were married on the Narragansett. The O'Malley’s were there and Fiya as well. But the four Senlis ships boasted too many members of Kate’s family. Thirteen, Sir Edward had counted, and then stopped counting as they kept coming to meet him. There was no room in the captain’s cabin for the entire brood when it came time for the vows.

  Neither Kate nor Sir Edward wanted the fuss to be more than it was, so there was very little else said about it. If he wondered about her family, and what they all thought, Sir Edward figured he would not have long to wait to find out.

  They used her mother’s wedding ring for the bride. When the words were all over, Lewis Senlis kissed Kate. Fiya embraced her with a kiss to each cheek

  Mr. O'Malley held her at arms length and said, “My little Katie, all grown up and married.” He hugged her and kissed her and then turned away with suspiciously red eyes.

  Mrs. O'Malley was something quite different.

  Sir Edward had expected a motherly woman who was round, soft, and crying from the emotion of the moment. Just the opposite was true. She was motherly enough toward Kate, but a lovelier woman he had seen only once, and he had just married that one.

  Rosalee O'Malley was getting on in her years, but her red hair was still true, and her blue eyes sparkled like the clear early morning over the Emerald Isle itself. So when Mrs. Rosalee O'Malley squeezed his hand and patted him on the back, he wasn’t sure what he should do. She pulled his hand closer and he had to lean down. She kissed his cheek, then whispered, “You be good to my darlin’ girl, or I will find you myself, and a more sorry man there never will be.”

  This should have surprised him, he decided, but it did not. It was Mr. O'Malley who first threatened tears and more followed, all family, most men. The wedding party broke up soon after that.

  The crew of the Stalwart got double rations of spirits, but nothing else was done or said. This was not true on the American vessels. The crow’s nest of each ship had been festooned with bright colored streamers cut from bolts of cloth they had stored in the hold.

  “So much for profit on that bit of yard goods,” Kate said, but she was obviously pleased all the same.

  Then the crews of the American ships started drinking and singing. Their on-deck feasting could be heard and smelled from the Stalwart. The British crew started to wager: The Yanks were roasting a pig, and maybe some chickens, and that must be a whole cow. There was ale and apple beer, rum and wine, and probably all that a man could drink by the sounds of the singing.

  But other than the betting, the British soldiers held grim in their duty.

  “This is not an example of discipline, I see,” Sir Edward murmured as they were rowed back to the frigate.

  They climbed aboard with no other words.

  “I must see to my duties, Madam,” Sir Edward said and left her.

  Kate went into the captain’s great cabin. Of course he would be nervous, she thought, I’m nervous too. She took a drink and frowned. She did not care much for brandy and cursed herself, not for first stealing the Scotch, but drinking it all recently.

  She tried to read. She tried to sew. Then she tried to do nothing at all. Kate walked on the deck, but she saw nothing of Sir Edward. She did see some boats rowing between the American vessels, her family’s ships and the red corsair, which was no longer a corsair—a pirate ship—but was now just a sleek, if odd-colored, corvette, new to her family’s fleet.

  Then she saw a rowboat come towards the Stalwart. It held only four men to row, and one to steer. All other space was taken up with pails of roasted meat, casks of liquor, and bags of celebration goods that she assumed were fresh stores from the islands in and around Madeira.

  “Permission to come aboard,” the man who was steering called up.

  The bosun of the Stalwart called down, “What is your business?”

  The man scratched his ear. “Don’t have any business, come to think on it. The cap’n said to leave you with this.” He waved a hand over the goodies. “Take it or sink it, makes no difference to me. I’ve had my fill and will sleep well enough this night with your king’s frigate to watch over us.”

  The bosun glanced over to Kate with a look of confusion.

  She said, “Perhaps you should go explain to your captain, and ask if his crew would share a repast with the crews of our vessels, in common celebration of the day.”

  The bosun chewed on his lip for a moment, then disappeared for a few moments more. He was smiling wide on his return. When the goods came aboard, the crew of the frigate all cheered.

  Kate went back to the cabin.

  When Sir Edward returned, she was sewing in the late afternoon sun. Her early stitches were crooked, as she had taken a bit of brandy by then. It was medicinal, she told herself. Now she was making better progress, though nothing to show with pride.

  He stood there watching her for a moment before she looked up. She knew he was wondering what to do. Kate didn’t know how to go about these things either, but she knew what she wanted well enough.

  “Will you read to me?” she said.

  He blinked at her for a moment. "Yes, of course.”

  He sat across from her and cleared his throat before he began the tale. He spoke the words, but the story was not so clear to Kate, for her mind was elsewhere. Besides, she’d heard it all before: mermaids, shipwrecks, and a seaman’s common tale. She didn’t really care to pay close attention anyway.

  He glanced up on occasion, losing his place each time he looked back. She closed her eyes and let his voice flow over her like warm honey in all the best places. She felt herself smile, just a little.

  Eventually, he stopped. Kate slowly opened her eyes. He didn’t look nervous now. He looked like he could use a stiff drink. She set her sewing aside and eased up onto the table.

  His eyes opened wider, but he didn’t say a word.

  She crawled her way across the table, lazy like a cat in a long stretch. The sea was gently rolling in cooperation to her plan; still it was no easy feat. But Kate was determined. They met, her mouth on his. Kate pushed the book away and melted onto his lap. He brought her close into his arms and she did not soon leave them again.

  * * * * *

  Later, in the darkening evening, they spoke.

  “Your uncle told me of your mother, about the French. I am sorry for it, Kate. Sorry for your loss, and sorry for your sorrow. If you—“

  “It was not the French, they were there, but when they left, my mother was still alive. It was Ambrose Standish.” She sat up abruptly and the covers fell away. “I’ve been dreaming about it for months, and now I remember in the daylight. I forgot to tell my uncle.”

  She made to leave the bunk.

  “Now?” he said.

  “No, perhaps you’re right. I have better things to do right now.”

  She leaned on her elbow and studied him a moment, then slowly pulled the covers from his body.

  “First you steal my liquor, then you take over my cabin and my bed, Madam. Will you steal my covers as well?”

  ”If you’re going to refuse me every little thing, our married life will be hell,” she said in a lazy colonial drawl.

  He opened his mouth, but he was speechless.

  She added in Boston-proper: “Complain all you like, for all the good it will do. I’m thinking there are few who would feel sorry for you now.”


  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 43 - Calling the Wind

  The next morning, Kate was walking the deck. She couldn’t stop smiling, and found sailors were smiling back at her too, those that hazard to glance at their captain’s new wife. To her surprise, a boat was waiting with Mr. M’bani at the helm. Fiya was already inside with a basket and a few other things.

  “Where are you going? A picnic?” Kate called down.

  Fiya motioned for Kate to come too.

  Kate glanced back. Sir Edward was busy making his crew busy too, since idle hands were even worse when a ship was becalmed. She called to ask permission, and he waved her away. Kate commended herself on being a good little wife, then tied up her skirts and scampered over the side. They rowed over to the corvette, to the Fiya.

  It seemed that matrimony was catching. As master of the ship, Kate married Mr. M’bani and Fiya. It was her idea, but they took the notion with very little coaxing.

  “It would not be acceptable to my family, but it is acceptable to me,” Fiya said. “I have no past anymore. I have only now, this moment, and it shall be as I want.”

  Mr. M’bani gestured to his bride and then to himself. “We are outcasts now, we live by our own rules. I could not go back to my life as before. I have no wish to kill lions. I have grown too fond of books, and even less fond of ocean storms and squalid seaports than I used to be.”

  “Then what will you do?” Kate said.

  “This is my ship now, so you have said,” Fiya said.

  “True, the ship belongs to you,” Kate agreed.

  “Then I wish to go,” Fiya said.

  “How can you go?” Kate said. “There is no wind and no crew.”

  Mr. M’bani smiled. “Arrangements have been made. We wait only for the wind.”

  It occurred to Kate that more than just revels and food could have passed between the ships yesterday: plans, schemes, even hopes. They must have been hopeful. Just now, she wanted everyone to feel happy. Still, this is no time or place for dallying, she thought. It was time for a minor miracle or maybe a bit of magic.

  “Then we must call up the wind,” she said.

  “Yes,” Mr. M’bani said, but it was clear that he thought she was joking.

  She was not. Kate turned to Fiya. “We must believe.”

  “Insha’Allah,” Fiya said. She turned to Mr. M’bani and added, “Ten days ago, you did not know me. Only three days ago, you had no plans of freedom. Yesterday, you had no wife.”

  He was nodding as she spoke. The more she said, the wider grew his smile.

  “I agree that we are at the mercy of Allah, or Grandmother Ma Chua, or King Neptune,” Kate said. “But whoever is responsible for the wind, let’s get His attention when we ask him—or Her attention. Perhaps we should have just brought cocoa, it worked well enough with Fiya.”

  “Ma Chua?” Mr. M’bani said.

  “A Chinese deity, I believe,” Kate said. “The ocean goddess who is a special friend to sailors. And in the Taoist religion, Ho Hsien-ku tends the seafarers in the Pacific. She is one of the eight Immortals, and it is said that she invented boats.”

  “A friend to the sailors, unlike Deva Lokka,” Fiya said. “She is the goddess of death.”

  “How do you now that?” Kate said.

  “The women of India prayed,” Fiya replied.

  Kate said, “I will have to write that in my book. A Hindu goddess then?”

  Fiya nodded and asked Mr. M’bani, “What will the British sailors do?”

  There were several of the crew still aboard from the British frigate, but less than a skeleton crew and only doing minor repairs. The red corvette was seaworthy; this was more busywork to keep the sailors from contemplation of their long wait on the too-calm waters.

  Mr. M’bani said, “Perhaps they will come too or stay here. That too will be God’s will.”

  That would make them deserters. Kate already knew how angry Sir Edward would be. How angry her husband would be, which was even worse than when he was just the captain.

  “And only just married too,” she whispered. “Will he divorce me or make me walk the plank, I wonder?”

  * * * * *

  The calling-the-wind ceremony was the kind of strange-sort-of-something that grows into legends, but not for the mystical, magical quality, more for the curious, mysterious racket. Some might say the same of mermaids, giant squids, and sea monsters. But some might say it was like nothing they had seen or heard in all their years at sea.

  There was no describing the sound; Kate was no Abenaki shaman. She was barely a tolerable tenor on a good day, and this was not one of those. But the rhythm was even and strong, like the beating of a heart. And she was sincere, if not symphonic. But the noise was nothing you would ever hear from a church choir, even when Mr. M’bani tried to help along the way.

  It did not last long, praise Allah. Ten minutes, at best. Kate figured it was enough to get anyone’s attention, even the spirits of the wind or at the bottom of the sea or Fiya’s Almighty God.

  Then Kate kissed both her friends before she left them on the Fiya. She rowed back to the Stalwart on her own. No one seemed to notice that Fiya and Mr. M’bani stayed aboard the red corvette.

  And all through the day, one by one, for this reason or that, the British crew got off the red ship to attend to their regular duties or meals. And each time, some misplaced man from the American ships took their place.

  Kate watched the progress from her roost on the forecastle and wondered if perhaps a bribe had passed hands for those British crewmen to look the other way. She had stood there for hours: watching, thinking, and sniffing while trying to hold back her tears. She wondered if anyone noticed that of the people left on the corvette now, most had a reason to want to leave.

  Not from forced servitude, her family ships did not have to do that. But this was something separate, different. Some place they could call their own.

  She had no idea where they would go, perhaps nowhere for a while, only drift with the wind on the high seas. But sometime, in some land, she hoped they would find some kind of peace. Find some kind of freedom.

  Occasionally, she wiped at a tear that got by. But Kate knew this was how it must be.

  In the late afternoon, the weather had suddenly turned much cooler, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. She could feel him behind her. She smelled the warm wool of his cloak. It left her with the pungent tang of the cedar that lined his sea chest. It made her think of the forest, which made her think of the little make-do Garden of Eden they had found there on Gibraltar.

  He said, “What was that infernal racket, Madam?”

  She did not turn his way as she said, “We were calling the wind. Fiya wants to leave by the morning, if not sooner.”

  “What nonsense. It sounded like some pagan sacrifice. You had half my crew worried for their hides, and the other half worried for their privates.”

  That did make her turn with her hands to her hips. “It was a holy ceremony, steeped in the traditions of ages gone by. They should have wept for the beauty of the miracle to come.”

  He didn’t look angry. Not really, to her relief. But then he didn’t know the whole story. The problem with the absolute truth is that often, no one believed it.

  “It sounded like tomcats fighting,” he added, crossing his arms on his chest.

  “All right, I forgot some of the words, but the philosophy is much the same. I’m sure the wind understood well enough. Besides, it’s not like you can clearly explain something like that in a journal. I had to recall things I had seen and heard when I was not even ten years old. I sometimes have trouble remembering things for ten hours.”

  He shook his head. “You’re talking gibberish.”

  Her brow furrowed as she thought for a moment. “I believe it was more like some form of Algonquin, though it’s been a long time for me since I actually heard the tongue. Still, I was impressed for the inflection, it sounded like someone I knew, so it must ha
ve been true. It sounded like, now who was that . . .”

  “What are you on about now, Madam?” This time he growled.

  This made her smile. “Listen to you, sir. Only married a day and already you criticize.“

  Someone called from above, ”Captain, we have a wind, sir!”

  The sails were starting to fill with healthy gusts. Only just a bit, but the forming clouds on the horizon promised more. I hope I didn’t call up a hurricane, she thought.

  Kate curtsied to her captain, turned out to sea, and held her arms out wide to embrace the new breeze.

  “Coincidence, Madam, pure bloody coincidence,” he said.

  Down below on the deck, the crew was beginning to laugh at their change in fortune.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 44 - Fiya’s Escape

  In the morning, the red corvette was gone.

  The ships remaining quickly signaled back and forth, then again for confirmation, as if they could not believe what had happened. Now Lewis Senlis was standing on the deck of the Stalwart.

  “I am missing four, as well. Did you know of this?” Sir Edward demanded.

  Lewis Senlis shook his head slowly as he said, “Mr. M’bani is gone, three others from my command. We are missing eighteen men from the other ships.”

  They both turned to Kate.

  “I told you, Fiya wanted to leave,” she said. “We summoned the wind and now she’s gone. I can’t see how it could have been any clearer.”

  Sir Edward turned to Lewis Senlis with choice words in mind.

  But the man was looking out to sea and said as if to himself, “A good man that, I wish him well. But still, I’m out a good steward. I suppose the other hands will have to make do for the loss of the others.”

  Then Lewis Senlis turned to Kate, as her words had finally penetrated. “Just what is it that you did, Kate?”