“But I was afraid when I married Rachel that… Nay, I know not whether I thought it or believed it, but I knew I argued with it in my soul. I felt God might be angry because I had married a woman who had not accepted Christ—even after she became a Christian, because I could not view it as being that easy. It is not a matter of professing it and saying the words. And then I worried that perhaps God would be angry because she was supposed to remain a Jew; and that there was a reason that Jews kept themselves separate. Perhaps they were not to have salvation by God’s hand.” He met my gaze and chided, “Do not think that I view the Jewish God as being different from the Christian God. You should even agree they are one and the same.”
“I know that, but I do not feel all Christians truly understand that,” I said with a smile.
“Well, I do,” he said. “I have always believed that God was angry with the Jews for not accepting his Son—for being stubborn. I thought I was saving Rachel from the sins of her people.”
“That is a bit of hubris,” I chided gently, “but I can see where you could think that.”
He frowned with shame. “I know. And now…”
“God gives you both a beautiful baby girl and then makes the next two children stillborn. Aye, why?”
“Aye,” he sighed.
“It could be a mixing of bloodlines,” Gaston said. “I would say that Jews are not different from Christians in any physical way, but perhaps there are differences that we cannot see because they have bred only with one another, and we have bred only with one another for many centuries. There are certain strains of animals that cannot be bred together and produce healthy offspring.
“If that is the case,” he continued, “it is not that God is punishing anyone or even has a hand in it other than a thing is occurring that is a natural development of all He has created. It is simply the way things are.”
“But why were we able to have a girl and no boys?” Theodore asked. “The boys died.”
I was disturbed that he knew the body I had brought forth was male.
Gaston shrugged, “Why are only female cats the color we call tortoiseshell?”
Theodore and I frowned.
“No one has seen a male cat with that coloring,” Gaston said, “and there are other examples in poultry and farm animals we know well. Males are different than females, and not only in their genitalia. We do not know why except that God made them that way.”
“But I knew a man in England who married a Jew and they had a boy,” Theodore protested.
Gaston shrugged helplessly. “I do not know, Theodore. I am only saying there might be a reason. Hannah and Muri have heard of many women who had one child and then could have no more; and the stillborn babies were often male if the living child was female. These people were among their nations and not Christian and Jew. I am only speculating.”
“He is saying it is not necessarily a thing unique to the two of you, or resulting from a thing you have consciously done in the eyes of God,” I said.
Theodore considered that and nodded solemnly. He gave a deep sigh. “So, she should be well now?”
I sighed. “I do not know. We will not know until we see what occurs.”
As if to mock my words, there was cry from the hospital. We ran to the door and found Hannah trying to calm Rachel. Elizabeth was crying at being clutched so tightly by her wailing mother as Rachel huddled in the corner.
“She was sleeping,” Hannah said quietly but urgently, “and then she woke very scared. She dreams bad things.”
“Aye,” Gaston said. “I think we will have to continue to give her small doses of the drug to help her sleep. We will see how she does when she is awake.”
“We need to wrest Elizabeth from her,” Theodore said.
I did not like his choice of words. “Nay, then someone will get hurt—probably the babe. And the child is her touchstone. Let us calm her instead. Go to her while Gaston prepares the drug. Hold her and tell her you love her and everything will be well.”
“That is what I did that night,” Theodore said.
I winced. He had a very good point there. “You are correct, do not.”
“I will never be able to touch her again,” he said with sudden sadness.
“Nay, nay,” I said. “We will… somehow, all will be well. You must give it time.”
“But she can never have children again.”
That again. I sighed. “Let it be for now. As I have said, there are other options.”
“I will not engage in sodomy with my wife!” he said stridently.
I was beginning to think we might need to keep him drugged for a time. “Will you touch her pussy?” I asked with forced calm. “Will you allow her to touch your cock?”
“That seems foul… somehow. And unclean.”
“It can be much cleaner if you bathe regularly,” I said.
“I do not think it will suffice. She truly enjoys lying together.”
I shook my head with wonder. “Theodore, then live platonically if it suits you. Please, you are… This is not the time. Let us worry about her heart healing first.”
He nodded. Gaston had returned with the drug and Hannah was helping him get Rachel to take it. Elizabeth was quieting. I led Theodore to a cot and told him to sleep. Then I escaped to the atrium.
Gaston emerged a minute later and embraced me. “I do not know if we have made things better or worse, but we have tried.”
“Oui, at the moment, I am tired,” I sighed. “This will be a long process.”
Another child wailed in the night—either Apollo or Jamaica, and they were now sleeping in the room next to ours with Agnes and not the nursery, since there was no one to sleep there with them. I looked about and saw the sky was graying before the dawn. I sighed and followed Gaston upstairs. We might get some sleep if the child quieted.
Agnes threw her door open as we walked by. She handed me a sleepy Jamaica. “She needs her bottom wiped. Then we need to start the meal.”
I regarded her blankly. She awarded me a withering look. “Who else is about to do it, Will? We all agreed to do what must be done now that we have no servants.”
She went back to Apollo, who was wailing quite loudly. I cursed and heard it echoed from Gaston beside me.
At midmorning I was still awake. My cooking skills had been deemed unreliable and I had been relegated to watching the children. I was sitting with the three of them in a pen I had made of the atrium benches when Father Pierre arrived to speak with Liam.
A disgruntled but resigned-appearing Liam approached a short while later. “The cow wants a fortune of three hundred pounds. She wants to return to her people in Manchester.”
I nodded. I was surprised she had not asked for more, but perhaps she had not realized she could gain it. “Let me speak to Gaston and Agnes and we shall fetch it.”
Liam nodded but he was frowning. “It is a right large sum for ’er, but I do not want to bargain over my own son.”
I smiled. “And you shall not. I think,” I sighed. “I have not seen how much we have remaining, but surely we can spare that much. If not… well, it will change my opinion of the future.”
I left Liam with the children and found Gaston and Agnes. We dumped the chest of gold and silver on her bed and attempted to make some counting of it. We quickly surmised that though we could afford paying off Henrietta many times over, it would be best if we did not make a habit of it if this money was all we would ever have.
“It would be best if we did engage in some gainful employment once we are settled after matters are resolved,” Gaston said.
“At the very least we should have land we can grow food on,” Agnes said.
I did not want to admit to them how alarming I found the concept of having to work. Perhaps I could find a way to gainfully frolic.
We gave Liam the money and he returned with little Henry. I had not paid the tow-headed, plump babe much attention before, but I was sure I would shortly become well acquainted with
his little arse. Liam joined me in the pen and we sat eying the babes with mutual dismay.
“When ya were little, what di’ ya think ya would do when ya grew up?” Liam asked after a time. “Be a lord, sure, but what did ya think that might entail?”
“Not this,” I said. “The Gods have granted me a life full of surprises.”
Ninety-Eight
Wherein We Receive Long-Awaited Answers
I did become quite familiar with our babies’ bottoms, and their eating and sleeping habits. After a month I even began to enjoy my time with them. I also learned a great deal more about cooking. I even took to going to bed earlier in order to rise before the dawn with less complaint. And yet, I still frolicked, and every afternoon I spent time on the land we had taken to calling Gaston’s Gift, and worked on either our retreat hut or Diana’s temple. Sometimes I was there alone, and other times Gaston, Striker and Pete, or just Pete joined me. Once the hut was finished, Gaston and I played there once a week—often spending the night alone. Cayonne seemed to be an ordinary sort of paradise, one with chores and responsibilities, but no troubles. Our concerns with the unborn babe and the Church seemed to fade away; though we did prepare for inevitable leave-taking they would cause.
While caring for babes or assisting with the cooking and laundry, I often engaged in lengthy conversations with Hannah about her people and juju; and I spent evenings reading Roman tomes about the old Gods. None of it changed my beliefs per se, but it all added to my knowledge of the world and how people perceived the Divine. For instance, I learned Hannah’s people practiced magic as a matter of course: they believed in charms and hexes; whereas the Romans had believed magic to be the providence of numinous entities and sorcerers in myths. It was considered hubris to practice magic and think one could affect the universe with one’s will. I knew I sided with the Romans, but I understood Hannah’s talk of manipulation of juju to be akin to prayer and imploring the various spirits and entities of a home and the land to provide aid.
As for the Temple, I knew I could complete nothing of suitable grandeur before we would leave. I endeavored instead to create a sacred space of stones and carved columns. I reasoned that Diana was a Goddess of the forest, and there was nothing any man could do to compete with the wonder of nature. And, it was surely the thought that counted. I had set aside the land and I dutifully worked on dedicating it to Her.
I felt that was all that was required until I came across mention of temples being of import because they brought others to worship the God in question. This gave me cause for concern, until I realized Gaston and Pete were helping in the endeavor and took the Temple quite seriously. Then I thought that condition had been met as well. Pete was actually quite the apt pupil on the subject.
Pete also steadfastly assumed he would travel to England with Gaston and me. I did not argue with him. I did not ask how he had resolved this with Striker. I told myself we had enough time to discuss it.
The Magdalene returned the first week of May—laden with cargo to sell at a handsome profit. We had not been able to locate another suitable craft and we were all relieved to see them; for their sake as well as our own. Our trading cabal was concerned but otherwise amused to hear our tales of woe with the Church and soup-pissing cooks. Cudro and the Bard were for retreating to a Dutch colony until the matter with England was resolved. As the remaining days of May dwindled away without word from the Marquis, I was inclined to agree with them. Still, we waited: the French captains had not returned with their ships capable of sailing across the ocean to England, and Sarah had not yet given birth.
For most of us, the waiting was without complaint. Agnes and Yvette continued to get on well; though, thankfully from my perspective, they did argue on occasion: thus proving they were actually talking to one another and that they were not so madly in love they no longer possessed minds of their own—a problem I have often seen with new lovers.
With my misgivings, we continued to provide Agnes with my seed every few days. I was gleefully sure I would be spared the trouble of having another child by using this method; and as Gaston still insured I enjoyed the collecting of the jism, I did not complain.
Rachel’s heart did not heal as fast as anyone hoped. She did not again mistake me for an angel or the like, or blame herself, or refer to her misfortune as God’s punishment; but the events of that night, the sensations and sights, had scarred her deeply. Without the laudanum she displayed an anxious and erratic disposition. She insisted, and Theodore along with her, that she could not face a day or night without the drug.
Gaston was not pleased. He doubted her claims of phantom pains and night frights and told me privately she was suffering from an addiction to the laudanum now more than anything else. Yet he allowed it to continue while we all suffered on occasion from the tensions of not knowing where we would go next and when we would need to leave. Thus we became accustomed to Rachel wandering about smiling and nodding with nary a practical thought in her head. She was quite pleasant this way, but next to useless when it came to chores.
I had long wished we could waste the laudanum on Doucette day in and out. He seemed to have far more need of it: he was always wandering about fuming and muttering. I ignored him and abandoned my threats to kill him, as that would make us need to depart that much sooner.
Striker remained relatively sober. He had stopped drinking rum, but he was still often inebriated on wine to the point of laughing too loud and smiling stupidly. Thankfully, he spent far more time with Sarah despite this.
Sarah at last gave birth to her second son on the First of June. Gaston and Hannah attended her, and all agreed with great relief that this child arrived quickly and easily. He was a big, healthy infant, and Sarah and Striker named him James and agreed he would be called Jim.
As May had waned, ships had begun to arrive with regularity, but we had still been left wishing for word from the Marquis and the return of the French Brethren. By the first week of June we all agreed we would leave if we received either. If it was word from the Marquis we would plan our destination accordingly and arrange to leave Gaston and me—and Pete—at some other port where we could find passage to England under assumed identities. If the French arrived first, we would send our people to France to inquire of the Marquis while the war party—as it were—commissioned a trusted ship to take us to our destiny. Beyond that, we all agreed we would leave by the end of June if we received neither word from the Marquis or news of the French captains.
I was alone working on the Temple on June thirteenth. There was a low, blackened smudge of a storm approaching from the east. It looked to be a good, strong one, though nothing like the terrifying monsters that would come thundering in from the ocean later in the season. The winds had begun to whip across Gaston’s Gift, and I was thinking I would make an early day of it.
When I paused to stretch while sanding a column, I spied a ship racing before the storm. The next time I stopped to rest, she was in the passage and rapidly approaching Cayonne. I watched, at first simply trying to spy her colors, and then after I saw she bore the French flag, out of interest. She was a large three-masted craft capable of crossing the ocean. I doubted she had come from another colony. We had only seen two others like her in the past weeks. She trimmed sail and slipped into the harbor, and was immediately beset by a swirl of small boats like ants on a carcass. Foreboding clutched at my soul.
I mounted Pomme and hurried home.
I arrived at the house in time to see a harbor steward and a ship’s officer—with a satchel over his shoulder—approaching the front door. Once in the yard, I handed Pomme’s reins to a surprised Samuel and sprinted to the atrium to find Theodore thanking the officer and offering him tea. The man graciously refused, indicating his satchel and speaking of other deliveries. Theodore tossed me a bundle of missives as he led the man to the door.
I retreated into the infirmary and found Gaston in the surgery studying a book. He regarded my arrival with surprise until I dropped the
bundle on the table: then he regarded that with trepidation.
There was a letter from the Marquis. I tore it open. It was dated March thirtieth: which was after the time we thought he would have received our letter regarding the marriage to Christine and the deception we chose to play.
I read no farther. I looked to Gaston and nodded. He sighed heavily and closed the book before adjusting his seat upon the stool and entwining his hands before him as if in prayer.
“Aloud?” I asked.
He sighed again and nodded.
I read the letter. The Marquis opened with an explanation that this was his fifth attempt at a communiqué since receiving our letter. He had destroyed the others, and now—that days had passed and his anger had abated—he felt this one might actually be finished and sent.
My gut roiled as I read the large, untidy, and obviously still angry script. My matelot had his face buried in his hands. I was reluctant to see more myself, but I soldiered on.
The next paragraph surprised me. The Marquis admitted the anger had many causes; obviously, that he had been made to look the fool; yet, one of the greater ones was actually that we could not have relayed such a devious and cunning plan to him sooner. He cursed that we were a world away, and that we had been so badly hurt as to have to hide for as long as we did, and thus slow the conveyance of the necessary information even more. He was angry at the world: as God had made it and men sullied it. As for us and the plan, he loved us and thought the plan brilliant. He was very pleased the child would be safe. He was delighted we had out-maneuvered Verlain so handily—even if it was at his own expense.
Gaston met my gaze and his relief and pleasure mirrored my own; and then something caught his attention beyond my shoulder and he froze with horror and surprise tightening his features. Dread gripped me, and I turned slowly to see the cause of it.
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