“Captain St. Clare thought you might be here. I met him a short time ago near Popple Creek.”
“So all these years you have been near me, alive and living so close,” Lauren murmured in disbelief. “Did St. Clare know this?”
Eugenie shook her head. “The first time we met was at Popple Creek a few weeks ago. The moment he realized our connection, he sent me to you.”
Just as Lauren was about to say something, Eugenie’s husband stepped forward and spoke in his native tongue. Eugenie nodded and turned to Lauren explaining, “They are going back to the river where we are staying tonight. You and I only have tonight. It is dangerous here for us. There are few places in this part of the world where we are welcome.”
Lauren nodded, “I understand. I too am an outcast.”
Eugenie was just like every other member of The Pride of the King, an outcast, a Chickasaw in Iroquois country sheltered and hidden by an organization of pariahs.
Walking to the stable door, Lauren stole a look at the tavern and whispered, “The innkeeper will be watching for me. I must return to the tavern for a short time until she retires. Then I will come to you.”
Slipping out of the stable, Lauren took the salve to Mrs. Quill, helped the woman to bed then stole back to see Eugenie. They talked until the sun rose, holding hands, sharing their journeys, exchanging memories, and trying to in vain to fill the years of separation.
“As much as I hated the Aberjons, my life was familiar to me in Kaskaskia,” Eugenie explained. “And I was afraid to leave the Illinois Country. I did not want to be a part of this world. The English terrified me. It was not until I met my husband that I could find peace at last. In him I have found contentment and one who I will gladly follow the rest of my life. I have also come back to my Chickasaw roots as well. I am a free woman now, and I have taken back the name my father gave me. It is Isi.”
“Isi” Lauren repeated nodding slowly. “It is not the name of a slave.”
Lauren saw that Isi was no longer a shy, withdrawn girl. She had grown into a confident young woman who had found her place in the world. The dress of her people suited her perfectly, not the shoddy French peasant clothing she was given as a slave in Kaskaskia. Lauren was glad also to see that her fine mind and heart were appreciated by those around her.
“And tell me Lauren. Who is special for you?”
Lauren smiled wistfully and shook her head. “There is no one.”
“Do you still think of Rene?”
Lauren smiled. “Once in a while with fondness.”
“You are restless still,” Isi said. “I can feel it.”
“I am,” Lauren admitted. “I am older now and learning that I may never find that special place. Perhaps drifting is what I do best.”
“You are like a leaf on the river, carried forever on the current,” Isi said. Suddenly she grew serious. “Lauren, it is time for me to go.”
A sob escaped Lauren. She quickly covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. She nodded her head as Isi turned toward the door.
The young woman stopped and said, “I will be in the north. There are those with the organization who know where to find me. We will never be apart again, Lauren. I promise you.”
They held each other for a moment then Isi was gone. Lauren watched her slip noiselessly into the woods disappearing into the darkness. The sky was beginning to lighten as Lauren filled her arms with firewood. It was time to feed the animals and start breakfast. It was another day alone in the Hudson River Valley.
Chapter 45
At the end of April, Martin Willem the cooper’s apprentice in Hampsted, approached Mrs. Quill to host his upcoming marriage to Maggie Sutton. It was to be the first week of May, and Mrs. Quill was delighted. Business had been bad all spring and a wedding would bring revenue and a welcome diversion from the fear and anxiety of war.
“Life must go on. In spite of everything,” she said joyfully to Lauren that afternoon. “I expect everyone will turn out for this. I will be making a menu shortly, and I expect you to cook your best--”
“No, no,” Lauren interrupted, shaking her head. “The new barmaids have started, and they are quite capable of helping you. I have told you countless times that I am leaving the first week of May. In fact, the water traffic is frequent enough for me to have left last week. I only stay because your wound needs attention for a few more days.”
“You ungrateful girl!” barked Mrs. Quill straightening up in her chair. “How dare you forget that I took you in last autumn when you had no home. I even indulged you in your Papist practices. This is how you thank me!”
Lauren turned away clutching her belly. She hadn’t the energy to fight anymore. The clutching pain in her stomach had increased, plaguing her day and night. She stepped into the larder and took a deep breath to try to calm herself. Ever since Isi had left, Lauren had slept little and eaten even less. She was confused and disgusted at her reaction. She told herself that she should be overjoyed at the girls return, but instead she felt lonely and full of despair. She hated herself for her weakness and jealousy. Isi seemed so satisfied and at peace. Her happiness seemed to magnify Lauren’s emptiness. Isi had overcome so many obstacles and found her way, why couldn’t she complete her own journey.
At night, she paced in her room, terrified about her future and uncertain about her direction. In the past, the thought of an adventure exhilarated her, but now it only frightened her. She avoided the river completely. It only reminded her of her lack of direction and of her recurring dream of white sails on the waterway.
She never allowed thoughts of James to enter her mind anymore. She felt only the mildest gratitude to him for sending Isi to her. She believed firmly all of his actions were merely to benefit The Pride of the King and nothing more; true human emotion was unknown to him. Heloise had warned her many years ago about this failing, and Lauren had to admit she was right and wished she had listened to the woman.
She threw herself into running the inn and training the new help while Mrs. Quill recuperated. She told herself she would stay at the Boar’s Head only a few more days, but now the wedding gave her another excuse to avoid departure. She knew what she was doing and berated herself for being cowardly, delaying her return to New France.
“How many times have I told you Polly to heap the ashes evenly on the lid or the pudding will cook too fast on one side!” barked Lauren at the new girl.
“I am sorry, Miss, but I was distracted chasing Ogden. He hides every time I begin to fuss with the treadmill.”
“I told you, give him fat and cracklings. He’ll not perform without them.” Lauren picked up a knife and chopped vegetables impatiently. After a few moments, she began to feel guilty. She had been short with the new girls lately and, she hated herself for it. The nuns had been so kind at the convent teaching kitchen duties to her years ago. Why couldn’t she offer the same gift to these girls? Lauren reached up and with her sleeve rubbed the perspiration from her brow. She couldn’t help but smile watching Polly get Ogden onto the treadmill.
Polly Quackenboss was a stocky flaxen-haired girl of Dutch ancestry with plump rosy cheeks and eyes that disappeared into slits whenever she grinned. Lauren admired her good nature and knew with a bit of training she would serve Mrs. Quill well.
Lauren asked, “I haven’t seen that young man of yours lately, Polly. Where has he been?”
“Oh, never far, Miss. My Pim has been busy helping Martin get the cottage ready for Margaret once they wed.”
“Yes, we are all getting ready,” Lauren agreed. “Tomorrow is the big day, and I must say it will be a miracle if we get it all done. I still have two more cakes to make, we must shell some more nuts, and there is chowder to finish. When will Lizzie be back with more molasses?”
“Anytime now, I would think, Miss.” Polly replied. “I must go and check on Mrs. Quill before she walks and aggravates her foot again.”
Lauren finished late that night rising the next morning at four to make
final preparations for the festivities. Like all weddings, the ceremony was first thing in the morning at the church. Amid much celebration and merry making, the bride and groom would climb onto their flower-covered wagon and make their way to the Boar’s Head Tavern for feasting and drinking afterward. Everything had to be in order well before midday, and Lauren was aware that many things could not be done until the last minute.
“I told you it would all get done,” observed Mrs. Quill as she entered the common room hobbling unsteadily with a cane. Lauren was standing on a chair draping a garland as Lizzie passed more greens and flowers to her. They continued working, talking to each other, commenting on the appearance of the decorations.
“What I mean to say is,” the matron continued in a louder voice. “Thank you.”
Lauren turned toward Mrs. Quill. They looked at each other for a moment with unspoken affection.
“I think it will go well, Mrs. Quill,” Lauren replied and went back to work.
Lauren was truly fond of her, and she knew it would be hard to leave the crusty old innkeeper. In spite of their constant bickering, there was an understanding between the women which sprang from their mutual loneliness and isolation on the boundaries of the frontier.
Lauren heard music outside. The fiddlers had struck up a tune signaling the approach of the bride and groom in their wagon. She heard cheers too and in no time, the common room was flooded with guests, laughter and music.
The time flew after that. Lauren was busy cooking and serving food, running in and out of the common room, flirting and exchanging cheerful banter with the men as they grew more and more intoxicated and amorous. Dancing moved from the green into the common room after dark, continuing late into the night.
Around midnight Lauren finished washing the last dish, wiped her hands and took off her apron. Putting her hands on her back she stretched for a moment then walked out to the common room to watch the merriment. Mrs. Quill sat near the fire, her foot elevated, laughing and heckling the dancers. Polly and Lizzie whirled and hopped past, dancing with their beaux. In spite of the late hour, the inn was full and the stable still crowded with horses. Lauren danced two contra dances and a jig but had to decline her fourth invitation.
“Your legs are giving out on you, aren’t they?” Mrs. Quill teased.
Lauren laughed and nodded as Polly came up to join them. “I hope my wedding is every bit as merry as this!” the girl gushed breathlessly. “Pim wants to have it here, Mrs. Quill.”
“We’ll see,” the matron grumbled, not relishing the work of another large celebration so soon.
“I never asked you, Polly,” shouted Lauren over the music. “How did you meet Pim?”
Polly thought a moment then said, “Why Miss as long as I can remember he has been in my life. He kept popping up over the years. He just wouldn’t give up. At first, I found it annoying and told him to leave me alone. Nevertheless, I got used to seeing his face, and I guess I just couldn’t live without him. Not really romantic or anything, but he is the boy for me.”
Polly started when she looked at Lauren. “Miss Lauren? Are you alright?”
Lauren did not respond.
“Are you feeling sick?”
Lauren shook her head and turned away. The room seemed to be pulling away from her, and she clutched the chair to steady herself. She had to get outside for air. Pulling the door open, she stumbled out into the darkness. She needed to think. What was it Polly had said that had so disturbed her? Fresh air filled her lungs, and Lauren squeezed her eyes shut for a moment trying to remember. It was something about her sweetheart. Then she remembered. Polly had said he had always been there, her whole life.
Lauren declined the offers of help from guests standing outside. Going directly to her room, she fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Barely aware of the horses snorting and the wagons grinding into the distance as guests went home, Lauren continued to stare into the darkness, until the sun rose.
For the first time in days, the house was quiet at dawn. Since sleep would not come, Lauren decided to rise and do some tilling in the vegetable plot near the river bluff. She put on her mob cap then her straw sun hat and stepped out into the warm spring day. Squinting in the sunshine, she walked to the vegetable garden, rolled up her sleeves and began to hoe. When her arms tired, she would pause and look at squirrels scurrying in the trees or shade her eyes and watch eagles circling the river.
She continued to work the soil late into the morning, cutting long straight rows for seed. The routine and monotony of the labor were soothing, and it gave her a chance to reflect on Polly’s words. Over and over, they repeated in her head, “As long as I can remember he has been in my life.”
Lauren would drag the hoe across the soil, pick it up and drag it back again repeating, “As long as I can remember he has been in my life.” Soon it was not Polly’s voice she was listening to but her own. As long as I can remember he has been in my life.
Suddenly, she realized what she had been repeating over and over. For almost as long as she could remember, James had been in her life, James St. Clare, her constant companion, not always visible but ever enduring. He had always been there, waiting for her, watching over her. It had been him all along. James, the one constant in her lonely world holding the keys to the only home she had ever sought, The Pride of the King.
She reached up, wiped tears from her eyes and walked under an oak tree, dropping down underneath it. As the tears drained the poison out of her, the pain in her belly disappeared. Lauren began to shake her head and laugh. How could I have been so stupid? At last, I have my direction. Suddenly, there was no more fear and anxiety. For the first time in her life, she knew where to find her home, and she could chart her course.
Lauren sat under the tree for what seemed like hours, lost in thought, reveling in her epiphany until she heard Mrs. Quill calling for her. Picking up her skirts, she ran back to the inn feeling as light and as happy as she had ever felt. After seeing off the last of the overnight guests, she returned to the garden to till once again until the sun set.
She was pulling the hoe back and forth rhythmically lost in the work, when suddenly she remembered the river. It had been months since she had gazed on the waterway, and the sunset promised to be beautiful that evening, yet it was growing late. Dismissing the idea, she went back to her work, this time stopping for only a moment to push back her tangled hair and adjust her hat.
After a short time, she looked again at the trees and shrubbery that concealed the Hudson. The river seemed to beckon to her. She resumed her hoeing until she heard dogs barking in the distance. She wondered what roused them. The river pulled at her once more, and she tossed her hoe to the ground walking over to the bluff.
Deer had trampled a path down the embankment and Lauren stepped in, pushing back branches and thorny vines. The thick brush pulled at her skirt and tore at her hair, but she fought back determined to see the river. Flooded with anticipation, her heart began to pound, and she walked faster and faster. Soon she began to run, stumbling on roots, madly pushing back branches and foliage. She could see a break in the trees and burst out of the woods. There was the river valley opening at her feet. She could breathe at last, and the fresh river air filled her lungs. The sunlight was blinding and the blue of the water stunning as she stood on the bluff panting, absorbing the beauty of the expanse. She reached up to shade her eyes looking upriver and spied something glimmering on the water. Her stomach jumped. It was the full, white sails of a vessel, its rigging straining in the breeze. Impatiently Lauren pushed the hair from her eyes to get a better look. Her heart lurched. It was The Pride of the King.
“Oh!” she cried. “Oh! Up here!” she called, waving madly.
She began to slide and stumble down the path along the bluff, calling and gesturing. The ground was uneven and several times, she tumbled and slid onto her backside, springing up again waving wildly with delight. “Hello! Look up here!”
The fluyt glided on
in silence until one of the crew on the masthead spotted Lauren’s frenzied display and shouted, “Ahoy there!”
St. Clare looked up from the stern toward the riverbank. In a flash, he ran to the bow. Grasping a line in one hand, he thrust the other hand high into the air calling, “Hello!” In his joy and elation, he called to her again without realizing his words. “Lauren! Lauren St. Clare!”
The crew burst into action, a flurry of excitement guiding the vessel toward shore. Lauren continued to scurry and slide down the embankment until she reached the shoreline, where she danced about waving and laughing.
Before the fluyt had even reached the Boar’s Head landing, St. Clare was overboard wading waist deep in the water to Lauren. She too, ran into the river where they met and embraced with such fervor it almost toppled them over. James kissed Lauren and swung her around, overcome with joy. Scooping her up, he waded to shore where he put her on her feet and embraced her, pushing the hair from her face, running his lips greedily over her forehead, cheeks and neck. Lauren was breathless with happiness. Her search was over. At last, she was where she belonged. She had found her home.
Chapter 46
That night James whispered words to Lauren in the darkness, words spoken softly as he brushed near her ear. He told her that he loved her. These words did not come easily for James but were born of true devotion and tenderness. When she returned words of love to him, he experienced at last the most supremely joyful and fulfilling of human experiences.
With her love, Lauren found contentment. She could rest knowing that she was at last home. After searching for years, sleeping in windmills, churchyards, bordellos and townhouses, Lauren found her home. In the end it was a vessel, a home without roots, with one person that never settled anywhere. The fluyt and the man who piloted her never stopped moving. They were eternal gypsies like her, changing course and forever seeking new horizons. The home and the man suited her completely.
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