The Golden Cross

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  A scullery maid thrust her head through the door. “Beggin’ your pardon, Gusta, but the master wants to see the young lady in his study.”

  “But we’re not finished!” Gusta snapped.

  Aidan stood and cast the older woman a triumphant grin. “Yes, we are,” she said, pushing back her chair with far more noise than grace. “Thank you, Gusta, for your instruction. But as I shall never make a lady, I don’t see how it will benefit me.”

  Leaving the housekeeper speechless, Aidan turned in a whirl of skirts and flounced down the hall.

  Heer Van Dyck stood at the window, his back straight, his hands folded behind him as if he were lost in contemplation. Aidan slipped quietly into the room, recognizing that he was deep in thought, perhaps even experiencing a bit of the creative fog she had lately begun to enjoy. What a relief it was to discover that she was not a complete eccentric.

  As she moved quietly toward a chair, she noticed that his work-in-progress, a beautiful illustration of Java and the surrounding Indonesian islands, lay spread on the worktable. She thought she made no sound, but he knew she was there, for after a moment he spoke without turning around. “Do you see the map on the desk, Aidan?”

  Startled by his use of her familiar name, she stammered in reply. “Y-yes.”

  He nodded slightly, his gaze intently focused on the garden and the ripple of blue sea in the distance. “As you know, Captain Abel Tasman will leave very soon on a voyage during which I intend to complete that map. As you can plainly see, there is a void at the right margin. Governor Anthony Van Diemen has commissioned me to travel upon the flagship as the official cartographer.”

  Aidan caught her breath. He was trying to tell her that the time of her departure had come, and far sooner than she expected. He would soon leave, and Gusta would send Aidan back to the tavern, back to waiting tables and hauling ale and rifling through drunks’ pockets to find money enough for food.

  “You are leaving soon?” Her voice sounded weak and strangled to her own ears.

  “Ja.” He turned slightly, his strong profile barely visible above that glorious beard. “Perhaps I should have mentioned this sooner, but I wanted you to fall in love with the work. I wanted to be certain you were passionate about the art. Because what I am about to ask is very difficult indeed.”

  He turned slowly, and Aidan saw that the customary expression of good humor was absent from the curve of his mouth, the depths of his eyes.

  “It is a time of confession, I suppose,” he said, sinking into his chair and gesturing that she be seated across from him. “Of course you knew my departure was fast approaching. When I invited you here, I obeyed the impulse of God without completely thinking through the consequences. I didn’t consider what I should do with you once the time came for my sailing.”

  “Please, sir.” She lowered her eyes, dreading the dismissal to come. “Speak plainly. If you want me to go, say so. I’ll go at once.”

  “All right, I’ll speak plainly.” He rubbed his hand lightly over his knee, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Aidan O’Connor, when I watched you draw in the tavern I knew I needed you—as an artist. Your gift for depicting nature, for instilling life into drawings of insects and birds and flowers, is like nothing I have ever seen here or in Europe. Together you and I could create a great work, the most beautiful chart humanity has ever seen.”

  She stared at him in total incredulity. “But how? I know nothing about maps or charts or sailing—”

  “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to understand cartography. That is my area of expertise.” His face creased into a sudden smile. “Haven’t you noticed how my maps are adorned with pictures? I drew a sultan’s camels upon the African desert, ships upon the sea, natives upon the islands. Art is what sets one chart apart from another, Aidan, the beauty of the art!”

  He leaned forward, expecting something of her, but Aidan lowered her gaze in confusion. “The art?” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”

  He smiled benignly, as if dealing with a slightly thickheaded child. “Abel Tasman has been charged with discovering new lands, Aidan. Therefore we shall doubtless encounter new flowers, new wildlife, and new creatures—living things no European has ever seen before! The map we create on this voyage will be unlike any other in existence!”

  “We?” She drew back, puzzled and more than a little frightened of the change in his demeanor.

  “Our map shall feature complete and careful renderings of those new flora and fauna, and there will be nothing like it in the world! But I can only create it … if you sail with me.”

  She sat motionless as the shock hit her full force. He didn’t want to cast her off! He wanted to take her on a voyage into the unknown!

  “Sail with you?” The muscles of her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. “But I hate the sea! I could never board a ship!”

  “Yes, you could. Sea travel is as safe as it can be, given the dangerous times in which we live. The Dutch East India Company regularly sends ships to Europe and back; sailing is not nearly as risky as it was years ago.” His eyes squinted with excited amusement. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about the ocean, but—”

  “I didn’t have to hear—I have traveled the sea myself!” Aidan’s heart began to thump painfully in her chest. Memories of her voyage from London came crowding back, noisy and obnoxious, like unwelcome guests. With a shiver of vivid recollection, she saw again her father’s pale face, heard his dying gasps and the horrifying sound of his body splashing into the sea. Memories of that sea voyage, her first and last, made her shudder like the touch of a ghost.

  “My parents and I sailed from London together six years ago,” she said, her voice shakier than she would have liked. “My father died on that voyage. And they—the seamen—threw him overboard, into the sea.”

  “I didn’t know,” Van Dyck answered softly. “Forgive me, but you never speak of your parents.”

  “I am a grown woman; you need not concern yourself with my past,” Aidan answered, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I don’t mean to pry.” Van Dyck coughed softly into his clenched fist, then a thoughtful smile curved his mouth. “Think of the art, dear girl. Of the kairos time. You and I will be painting things no civilized person has ever seen before. You will be the first woman to dip your brush into the colors of an unknown bird, to depict the rush of a strange insect’s wing.” His left eyebrow, snowy white, rose a fraction as he watched his words take hold. “You can learn nothing, child, without moving from the known to the unknown. If you want to broaden your horizons, take this step. Life will shrink or expand in direct proportion to the measure of your courage.”

  I want to succeed. She dredged the admission from a place beyond logic and reason. She wanted to be respectable, but could she risk her life on the sea in order to achieve her dreams?

  “After our masterpiece is done, your sketches and that marvelous memory of yours will serve you well,” Van Dyck went on. “You could publish a book of engravings, and thousands of cultured, appreciative people throughout Europe and the civilized world will marvel at your talent. Though they are miles away, they will see with your eyes and many of them will understand.”

  Aidan tilted her head, listening. As always, Heer Van Dyck had managed to put his finger upon the heart of the matter. Though something in her resisted the thought of disappearing again into the dark bowels of a seagoing vessel, the end result might be worth the fear and trepidation.

  If she did as he suggested, she might finally find respectability. Lili would be proud. Perhaps Aidan could actually earn enough to provide a decent place for all the girls at the wharf, a safe place where Orabel, Stella, Sofie, and the others could live and sleep in peace.

  “I’ll consider it.” She gripped the arm of her chair. “If I may be excused, I’d like to go into the garden and think about it.”

  “There is one more thing.” Van Dyck paused for a moment, then rose with fluid grace and stood strai
ght and tall before her. “Joffer O’Connor, I would never have voluntarily considered the action I am about to suggest, but necessity compels it.” He took a deep breath, swelling the front of his doublet. “You are an artist. You will want to go on this voyage—you should go on this voyage. Unfortunately, Captain Tasman will not allow any woman aboard ship unless she is married to one of the officers.”

  He lifted a white brow and waited as the significance of his words struck her. “But if I cannot go—” she began.

  He held up a hand and cut her off. “Joffer O’Connor—Aidan—because I truly believe God would have you travel with me, I do most humbly ask for your hand in order that we may be wed. Working together, we shall produce the most glorious sea chart the world has ever seen.”

  She had thought he could not surprise her further, but as his words fell upon her ears, ripples of shock began to spread from a point somewhere at her center, moving through her stomach and flowing outward to her fingertips.

  “It will be a marriage in name only, of course,” he went on rapidly, anxiously. “I would not dream of attaching my advanced age to your youth and beauty. But it is the only way, you see.” Gracefully, he folded his hands and glanced down at his feet. “When my time on earth is done, I can promise that you will be well-compensated for your sacrifice. I am an old man, and considerably wealthy. As my wife, you will share in all I possess. After my death, if the idea pleases you, you will be free to marry for love.”

  “Marry … you, sir?” The words, a full moment too late, broke from her lips. She clung to the armrests of her chair as a tide of confused emotions crashed over her—bewilderment, compassion, affection, gratitude, horror, fear. Part of her, touched by his tender compassion, wanted to weep; another part wanted to recoil from the inappropriateness of his suggestion. She was a ragamuffin, the daughter of a procuress, and he was an esteemed Dutch gentleman, the father of two respectable grown children.

  “Sir—” She tried to keep the stunned disbelief out of her voice, but failed miserably. “This suggestion is not well made! If I cannot go to sea unwed, then I shall not go! The idea is sheer folly!”

  Heer Van Dyck held up a restraining hand. “Please consider the idea overnight.” His eyes kept moving away, as though afraid to rest very long on her countenance. “And I will seek the will of our Heavenly Father. Perhaps there is another way. Perhaps I was wrong to suggest such an idea to you. I assure you, my dear, that while I have grown quite fond of your nature and am in awe of your talent, I have no wish to force my affections upon you.”

  “Sir, I—” Aidan stopped, not knowing what to say. She could not imagine marrying a man older than her father, but neither could she insult or hurt him. Schuyler Van Dyck had been the personification of kindness and honor from the very moment she met him.

  “Good night, sir,” she murmured, feeling heat flood her face as she stood and moved toward the door. “I will consider your offer.”

  Her master did not answer. His artistic hands, motionless as empty gloves, rested on the desk as she left him alone in the library.

  Heer Van Dyck was not in the library when Aidan ventured downstairs the next morning, nor did he appear in the dining room at lunch. She suspected he was avoiding her out of embarrassment or even shame, and her heart contracted in compassion as she thought of his generosity. He certainly did not love her as a husband ought to love a wife, yet Aidan did not doubt that he would treat her with gentleness, kindness, and understanding.

  Her own feelings for him were terribly confused. In the past few days she had come to esteem his wisdom, talent, and gentle nature. Certainly his name was renowned, and she would achieve respectability in one moment if she married him. Lili would faint from sheer joy to know that her daughter had married a landed and wealthy gentleman.

  But though he was handsome, honorable, and gallant, she found it difficult to think of Schuyler Van Dyck as anything other than a benevolent father figure. The thought of his lips pressing to hers sent prickles of cold dread crawling along her back, and the notion of spending a sea voyage crowded with him into a small, confined ship’s berth—the doors of her imagination slammed shut. She refused to consider it. Yet as his wife, that is where she’d have to be, consistently at his side amid a crowd of raucous sailors who’d leer and elbow each other and make jokes about the old man and his girl bride.

  After lunch she returned to her easel, breathing deeply of the humid, hot air in the garden. She was just about to make a bold stroke with her paintbrush when Gusta’s hoarse shout shattered the garden’s quiet. “The children are coming to dinner,” the housekeeper called to the scullery maid, her voice booming through the open windows like a clap of thunder. “Make haste!”

  Aidan felt her stomach lurch with the first stroke of the brush. The children were invited for dinner? Surely Heer Van Dyck did not plan to use the occasion for some sort of announcement! She was quite confident that Schuyler’s children would not approve of their father taking a barmaid to wife.

  She had scarcely formed the thought when her master himself appeared, a strange and livid hue overspreading his face. “Joffer O’Connor,” he said, nervously fussing with a kerchief at his neck, “I am glad you are here. I have decided to withdraw my offer of marriage. Apparently we were both discomfited by the idea, and I fear the suggestion was made in haste.” A faint glint of humor lit his eyes when he finally met her gaze. “I trust you will believe that the withdrawal is strictly due to my own weakness?” he asked, smiling gently.

  “Completely, sir,” she murmured, wiping her paint-splashed fingertips upon her apron. “It was a generous gesture, but one which would not bring you honor. I am sure you would not want someone like me for a wife.”

  “Hrumph.” Abruptly he folded his hands behind him and cleared his throat. “You are too harsh in your own judgment, Miss O’Connor. But we shall not speak of this again. There is, however, one thing I must know—are you still willing to consider the voyage? If I can find a way to get you aboard the Heemskerk, will you agree to go?”

  Aidan turned and studied the smeared painting on her easel. All morning her inner eye had dwelt upon possibilities of the voyage; her brush had transposed the blue, green, and aqua hues of the sea’s heaving surface to the canvas. Her uncertainty was represented there, as well as her fear and her dark memories. But the sapphire sky was lit by a single beam of radiant sunlight, the hope that would call her out of the past and into a new life.

  Heer Van Dyck came up behind her and studied the painting with a keenly appraising eye.

  “Well.” Thick emotion clotted his voice. “You have caught it very well, my dear. The deep, unknowable mystery of the sea.”

  “Would that we could know it,” she murmured, dipping her brush into one of the jars of water on her easel. “Yes, Heer Van Dyck. If you can find a way, I want to go. I want to work with you.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I might even pray for the opportunity to work with you.”

  “Very well.” He turned aside, but not before she caught the glimmer of wetness upon his lashes. Which had affected him, her work or her answer?

  “Please join us at dinner,” he said simply, moving toward the doorway. “I must tell the children of my plans.”

  Schuyler took his place at the head of the table and noted with approval that Aidan had never looked more lovely. While he doubted that Gusta’s lessons had done anything to smooth the girl’s sprightly and unconventional temperament, at least a veneer of grace covered over her rough edges. She wore a new gown the dressmaker had just provided, a cream-colored concoction of brocade woven with red roses and trimmed at the bodice and cuffs with lace. For the first time in their acquaintance she had taken the time to arrange her boisterous curls into tiny ringlets to frame the sides of her face, and her glowing hair served to emphasize the creamy expanse of her throat and neck.

  Even the children noticed the transformation. When Aidan entered the dining room, Rozamond gazed at the girl with outright h
orror, doubtless born of jealousy, and Dempsey regarded her with a sort of fascination. Henrick, whom Schuyler watched with particular attention, seemed struck speechless by the girl’s metamorphosis into a presentable young lady.

  The evening began with little fanfare. After pronouncing a blessing upon their gathering and the meal, Schuyler waited until his silent children served themselves and began to eat. “I have asked you here today,” he said in English, for Aidan’s benefit, “to discuss something that concerns us all.”

  “Speak whatever is on your heart, Father,” Dempsey said. As always, the word Father sounded unnatural and forced on his tongue. “You know we are always pleased to visit you.”

  “I intend to speak freely,” Schuyler went on, ignoring his son-in-law. “I have no time to play games. You should know that Captain Tasman plans to sail within a few days—before the end of August, if the winds are favorable.”

  “Father, that’s wonderful!” Henrick dropped his knife and grinned. “That is sooner than you expected, is it not?”

  “How lovely, Papa.” Rozamond couldn’t help sneaking a victorious glance toward Aidan. “I suppose you will want to close up the house while you are gone. Henrick and the servants can come to stay with us, of course, unless you’d rather Dempsey and I moved in here to keep an eye on things.”

  “Henrick is a grown man; he can manage the house.” Schuyler sliced into the plump chicken breast on his plate. “I am not worried about what I leave behind. I am more concerned about what I must take with me. I have a difficult situation to solve and am counting on you to help me resolve it.”

  “Anything, Father Van Dyck.” Dempsey cupped his glass in his hand and gave Schuyler a broad smile. “Name your service, and we shall be pleased to perform it.”

  “Very well.” Schuyler lowered his utensils and folded his hands above his plate. Intensely aware of Aidan’s presence at the end of the table, he swiveled his gaze toward each child in turn. “My problem is this: I wish to take Joffer O’Connor with me on the voyage, but Tasman will not allow an unattached woman on the ship. All women must be family members.”