The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons

by Barbara Mariconda

  “Lucy,” said Addie, “lower yer voice, lass.” She pulled me in close and whispered into my hair. “This won’t get ye anywhere, I tell ye. Calm down now. Hush!”

  My heart was thundering, preventing me from breathing normally.

  “Perhaps, if I may, Mr. Simmons …,” Addie began. “Seems to me that Miss Lucy just wanted t’ look fer a letter from ’er auntie. That’s understandable, sir, after all.”

  Uncle Victor’s nostrils flared. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this, Miss Clancy. And furthermore, if you don’t start controlling your young charge here, I will see to it that that old coot of a lawyer has you dismissed and replaced by someone who can do the job expected of her! Imagine, a young lady, if I can go so far as to even refer to her as such, disobeying, running about indecently, and behaving like a hellion! That hardly reflects well on the job you’re doing here, now does it? If you don’t watch yourself, you’ll be out on your heel, I promise you!”

  “He’s got my letter,” I insisted. “I know he’s got the letter.”

  “I’ll hear none of it,” said Aunt Margaret in a trembling voice, dabbing at her eyes with her hankie. “Of course he doesn’t have any silly letter!”

  Uncle Victor slipped the envelopes into the inside pocket of his coat.

  “Now, take her inside, and get her cleaned up.”

  Addie nodded and took me by the arm, rather roughly, I might add. I suppose I couldn’t blame her, being that my behavior had gotten her into trouble as well. I’m sure she was as shocked as any of them by my words and actions. I was quite shocked myself.

  By the time we were halfway up the hill, my bravado had disappeared, and my anger had given way to despair. My defeat left me weak in the knees and sick to my stomach. I had ruined any chance of getting around Uncle Victor, had alienated Aunt Margaret, who, while not being especially kind to me, had always been at least somewhat sympathetic. I’d even put Addie, my sole supporter, in danger.

  Back in the house Addie, tight-lipped and silent, ran a bath for me, the crease between her brows deepening.

  Only Mr. Pugsley seemed his usual self, not at all put off by my dreadful appearance. He scurried around me, nudging me with his wet, flat nose; scouring me with rough kisses; wiggling his small curlicue tail.

  I closed my eyes and lay back on my bed, rubbing his wriggling little body. A moment later I heard Uncle Victor climbing the stairs. I sat bolt upright, my body suddenly electric. I could feel his anger prickle the air around me.

  He stood in my doorway, a large brown burlap sack in his hands.

  “The dog goes,” he said. “I warned you, and you didn’t pay me any heed.”

  “No!” I mumbled, tears choking off my words. I grabbed Mr. Pugsley and held him close. “No, you can’t take my dog, I won’t let you!”

  He stalked toward me, the sack open in his hands.

  “Put him in the bag,” he said, his eyes black, still, and flat as a starless sky.

  Trembling, I stood and stepped toward him, holding my small friend out in both hands.

  “That’s right,” said Uncle Victor, “you’d do best to obey me this time.”

  I held the dog at arm’s length, my bottom lip quivering, heart pounding. Uncle Victor thrust the bag toward me, holding it wide open, a gaping mouth ready to devour my little friend. I saw Addie out of the corner of my eye, standing on the stair, her hand covering her mouth, eyes shocked and shimmering.

  I stepped forward and moved Mr. Pugsley closer to the bag. “It must be done,” said Uncle Victor. “The sooner you learn I don’t make idle threats, the better!” He was warming to his hideous task, I could see. He chuckled and went on. “He won’t survive the sea this time, I tell you!”

  I threw myself forward and thrust Mr. Pugsley as far away from me as I could.

  “Run, Mr. Pugsley,” I screamed, “run!”

  My uncle struck me across the face with the back of his hand. Addie screamed as I fell against the bed, but I sprang immediately back to my feet. My cheek stung wickedly, but my heart was dancing, for what I saw was the curlicue tail of my dear Mr. Pugsley bobbing rapidly down the stairs. Uncle Victor bolted after him, but not quickly enough. I rushed to the landing, grasping the doorframe with white knuckles. “Help,” I whispered desperately, “please!”

  The front door groaned and creaked and yawned, and with something quite like a sneeze, blew open.

  The last thing I saw was Mr. Pugsley’s backside hightailing it down the porch steps and across the yard, Father’s ship’s bell sounding his triumphant escape. He was safe, for now anyway. I backed up to the window, my eyes scouring the landscape for some sign of him.

  I don’t know how long I held my breath, but when, in the distance, I saw the woman emerge from the bushes, I finally exhaled.

  I watched, with a curious mix of relief and regret, as she scooped Mr. Pugsley up in her arms and disappeared back into the place, wherever it was, that she had come from.

  11

  It was a miserable day—the rest of the morning and afternoon following the incident at the mailbox and Mr. Pugsley’s narrow escape—the worst day I’d had since the accident, without a doubt. It was true, I took some comfort in the hot bath Addie had drawn for me, the sudsy water providing some solace for my scraped knees and callused hands, the warmth of the water caressing my aching muscles. But even a soothing bath did little to ease my sorrow at losing Mr. Pugsley—the only consolation being that he was with the woman rather than drowned at the bottom of the sea in a mean burlap sack.

  And as if losing Mr. Pugsley wasn’t enough, there was Addie to contend with. After getting past her initial outrage and sympathy at my being struck by Uncle Victor, her mood slid into one of cool silence. I watched her anger and resentment coming my way via doors and drawers being shut a bit too powerfully, bed linens snapped and whipped into place with more gusto than required. When I spoke to her, her responses were clipped, and her eyes flashed darkly away from mine.

  This was more than I could bear, and I spent much of the morning and the remainder of the afternoon trailing her from room to room like a frightened puppy, asking pointless questions, offering unnecessary help.

  Finally she whirled about, facing me, and pointed a finger barely inches from my nose, an action so uncharacteristic that it stopped me there, dumbfounded.

  “Ye can just stop yer followin’ me room to room!” she sputtered. “It’s best t’ give me some time t’ cool off, it is! I don’t disagree that you’ve been unfairly and grievously treated. But when ye draw me into yer schemin’ without me knowledge, and ye use me trust and concern for ye t’ allow such wild carryin’ on such as I’ve never seen, well … ye can’t expect me t’ be pleased about it, now can ye?”

  She spun back around and stalked off down the hallway. Being taken off guard as I was, I opened my mouth and shut it several times, unable to find the words to respond. I skulked sheepishly after her, groping for something that might make her understand.

  “But Addie, listen to me, please,” I began. “It was the mail truck—the RFD—that I saw coming along the shore road. Don’t you see, the postman may have left a letter from Aunt Prudence! If Uncle Victor had gotten there first …”

  I swallowed back my tears at these words, for he had in fact gotten there, if not first, then certainly in time to spoil my plan.

  “Don’t you see, when I asked you to distract them, it was because I had to get to the box first!”

  Addie rested the laundry basket on her hip and turned to face me again. “Well, will ye look at what came of it? Foolishly trustin’ ye, I flung your mother’s fine china down the stairs, what with thinkin’ it was a matter o’ life and death—that’s how ye put it, if mem’ry serves me! And then, ye climb out a winda like some kind of a wild monkey and put up a chase in yer bloomers, fer heaven’s sake!”

  “But Addie,” I began, remembering how my bedroom door had refused to budge, how the magical mist and Father’s flute had led me to the window. How cou
ld I make her see that, at the time, it had seemed my only choice?

  “I would’ve gone down the stairs and out the front way,” I pleaded, “but the door to my room was stuck tight!”

  “Oh, I see,” said Addie, reaching out and opening my bedroom door with little more than the push of her finger. “So, this is the door ’twas stuck tight, was it?”

  “Addie, please!” I crumbled down to the floor, my tearstained face in my hands, knees drawn up to my chin. I heard her sigh, watched her rest the basket of linens on the floor beside her. She knelt down and ran her hand across my hair.

  Sighing again, giving up her anger, she pulled me gently to my feet and led me to my room. We sat together on the edge of the bed. I couldn’t hope to explain everything to her, after all. How could I?

  “Listen, darlin’,” she said, her voice softer than before, “it’s not that I blame you fer what you’ve done. Your Addie knows your heart is in the right place. And, Lucy, if you ever let yourself get wrapped up in these kinds of shenanigans, ye know I’ll always take your side. But if it happens again, he’ll have me sent away, d’ye realize that?”

  “He can’t,” I said. “Father’s will said—”

  “Oh no, darlin’, he can. If he can prove that I’m not doing my job, then he can have the court reconsider and send me off. And then what will become of ye, will you tell me that?”

  She was right, of course. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about that.

  “But,” I ventured, “if we don’t find Aunt Prudence, we’ll be stuck with them forever!”

  Addie rubbed my back with her strong hands.

  “Oh, go on now,” she said softly. “Ye think yer old auntie would go off forever and never return? Of course not! We just have to wait, is all. We have to bide our time.”

  I let her comfort me, rocking back and forth beneath her touch, feeling the stonelike tension slowly drain away.

  “Addie,” I whispered, “do you believe in such a thing as a family curse?”

  She froze, and her hands on my back stiffened. A shadow crept across her face, and her eyes shifted nervously.

  “Where would ye get such a notion? Nonsense.” She shook her head, as if to convince herself or to frighten off the thought. “There’s no such thing as a curse, I say.” Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands firmly on my shoulders. “Let’s get back to the business at hand,” she said. “Next time ye have an idea, ye tell me first. Do ye realize that if you’d told me about the mail wagon, I could’ve slipped out the back door with the gatherin’ basket and been down to the box in a minute flat? We’d have had those letters tucked under the summer squash and the string beans, and yer uncle Victor would’ve been none the wiser. Do ye hear what I’m tellin’ ye?”

  I nodded slowly, realizing that my Addie was not as upset that I’d done the things I did as much as she was upset that I had jeopardized her place in my life. I threw my arms around her and let her hug me tight. Then she held me away at arm’s length and looked me over.

  “The captain would’ve been proud of yer spunk, miss,” she said. She nodded and stood. “I have work to do. I’ll try t’ sneak ye a dinner tray later on.”

  She was gone in an instant, and I felt the first hint of relief I’d felt all day.

  I was banished to my room, without so much as a book for entertainment, and the afternoon crawled. Day turned to evening, and Addie did manage to smuggle me a spot of tea and my favorite finger sandwiches of cold cheese and cucumbers. Later, I slept rather fitfully, this being the first night since the accident that my friend Mr. Pugsley hadn’t shared my bed. Where had the woman taken him, I wondered, and did he miss me as well?

  I passed the next several days in front of my window, searching the coast for any hint of Mr. Pugsley and the woman. I became more and more concerned, for there was nary a sign of them whatsoever, which caused me to think she’d disappeared with him for good.

  Finally I was allowed back downstairs for meals. We were seated, all of us quite stiff and silent, around the dining room table. Addie was serving a cool summer soup and a platter of cold sliced meats and potato salad when we were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. My heart began to thump, as I continually hoped that news would surface regarding my aunt. Uncle Victor, perhaps thinking the same thing, raised an eyebrow, a dark cloud passing across his face.

  “I’ll get the door, then,” said Addie, placing the platter on the table and turning on her heel. The food sat where it was as our eyes followed her to the entrance hall.

  It was a woman’s voice we heard, and Uncle Victor relaxed somewhat. Addie returned to the dining room, looking rather pale, it seemed to me.

  “There’s a lady here to see ye, sir,” she began. “A Miss Maude, I believe she said. Says she runs a boardin’ school for young ladies. Shall I send her away?”

  My uncle Victor’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes shining brightly, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “By all means not,” he said, rising from the table. “Take the lunch away for now, Addie. We’ll return to this later.” He stood, swiped at his mouth with his napkin, and smoothed his shirt. “Well, don’t leave our guest standing in the doorway like a common street vendor! Bring her into the parlor and then clear the table.” He snapped his fingers at Addie, who immediately turned back toward the door.

  “You,” he whispered, pointing at me. “Tidy your hair! Gather yourself up! You are to wait here while I speak with Miss Maude. I’ll call you when we’re ready for you.” He paused, shook a finger at me, and went on, his voice lowered. “Let me remind you that you had better try and behave like a lady and make a good impression!” He nodded impatiently at Aunt Margaret, who rather reluctantly removed her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table.

  I followed them as they exited, as far as the dining room door, which my uncle slid closed behind him, just inches from my nose. I stood there, my ear pressed to the door, horrified. A boarding school? Was he going to send me away?

  I heard the rustle of the woman’s skirts brush the floor as Addie ushered her in, heard the sweet gush of my uncle’s voice greeting her, leading her into the parlor, which was situated on the opposite side of the entrance hall.

  I didn’t dare slide back the dining room door even a smidgen, for fear of detection—especially in light of my recent carryings-on. I could certainly not risk another infraction. Instead I placed one of Mother’s cut glass water tumblers against the door, the open end up against the wood as a kind of amplifier, the flat end against my ear. The result was a blurry kind of amplification that enabled me to at least follow snippets of their conversation.

  After greetings were exchanged, the woman—who was, as far as I could tell, the headmistress—offered a description of her school. I strained to collect each word, or at least enough to piece together her meaning.

  “… responding to your request for a governess … displayed on the town bulletin board....”

  I gasped—a governess? What about Addie?

  “… Miss Maude’s School of Etiquette … a finishing school for spirited young ladies … fine manners, homemaking skills … deportment and character refinement.”

  Uncle Victor immediately warmed to this line of thinking. His voice was louder, clearer than the rest.

  “I absolutely agree with you,” he boomed. “My niece underwent quite a distressing experience this past spring; perhaps you’ve heard?”

  The woman must have mumbled a negative response, for Uncle Victor launched into his version of the accident.

  “Out in a small skiff, the three of them—my brother, his wife, and Lucille. Now, I must tell you, in strictest confidence, of course, madam, that my brother was never one to exercise good judgment.”

  I was already seething, and the urge to burst through the door to correct him was almost more than I could bear. That, and the fact that he’d put out a summons for a governess! The only thing that held me back was the fact that an unruly outburst on my part would serve to val
idate my uncle’s lies. I clenched my teeth, took a deep breath, and continued to listen.

  “Rather than bring her in out of the storm, he capsized trying to rescue a local drunkard who had stranded himself out there on the water.”

  “Really?” the headmistress replied. “And I’m sure … a detrimental effect on the child.”

  “Well,” said my uncle, in a tone that suggested he was letting the woman in on a secret, “the reality of the matter is that the girl has had to face the fact that her own father sacrificed the family in order to try and prove himself a hero—and as all self-serving plans tend to do, this one failed miserably.”

  “And the girl, your niece,” said the schoolmistress. “How has she fared since the accident?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid,” said Uncle Victor, and then, as if his words might jeopardize his chances of shipping me off, he amended them. “Although, in an environment where there is more discipline, away from reminders of the past, where she could be in the company of other young women of her station, I believe she could turn things around rather nicely.”

  Perhaps the woman nodded, or murmured her agreement, and Uncle Victor strode toward the hallway, the sound of his approaching footsteps sending me back from the door, the glass hidden in the folds of my skirt.

  “Addie,” he called, in an unusually pleasant tone, “Addie, bring in the tea tray, would you? Miss Maude, have you had your lunch?”

  She must have nodded. “Tea and scones, then, Addie,” he called, and his steps took him back into the parlor.

  I resumed my eavesdropping.

  “A summer term, of course,” she was saying, “could start as soon as tomorrow.”

  The opposite door swung open, the one that connected the kitchen to the dining room. I jumped at the sound, the glass slipping from my hand. It was only Addie, and I managed to catch the glass by lifting my skirts as a safety net.