The Golden Cross

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  Aidan looked up at her master. “Gusta has always said that I would never make a lady.”

  Heer Van Dyck chuckled so irrepressibly that she couldn’t help laughing herself.

  This is how we shall accomplish it,” Van Dyck began, delighted by the surprise and pleasure in his protégée’s eyes. “No one shall know except Gusta. For your own sake, we shall have to tell someone of your whereabouts. Since we don’t know where we’ll go or when we’ll return, someone has to be able to account for us if we don’t return after an appropriate interval.”

  He studied Aidan’s face as she sank into the nearest chair. Her eyes were narrowed in speculation, her attention focused on him. “Why must Gusta be the one to know?” Her brow crinkled in thought. “Truth to tell, sir, I don’t think she has much regard for me. She might tell your children what we are doing before the ship sails, and they would lodge a complaint with the captain. They certainly would not support this plan.”

  “Gusta loves my children, but she is wholly devoted to me.” Schuyler lowered his voice and sank into the tufted chair by his desk. “She will keep our secret and carry it to her grave if I ask her to. We will continue here as if nothing is amiss, but on the night before we are to report to the ship, Aidan O’Connor shall pack her bag and leave my house. We’ll even arrange an audience—my children shall come to dinner, and they shall see you depart.”

  She quirked an eyebrow in a question. “Isn’t this a bit deceitful, sir? ’Tis not like you to deceive your children.”

  “They can’t handle the truth.” Schuyler lifted his chin. “And I’ll not tell them a lie. But if they make certain assumptions, are we to blame if they presume wrongly?”

  She tilted her brow, unconvinced.

  “I know you have no use for Scripture,” he went on, “but you may recall the story of the harlot Rahab, who deceived her kinsmen and saved the Israelite spies at Jericho.” He watched as a series of emotions played across her lovely face. “Do you think she had any qualms about hiding those godly men from the evil folk of her city? I think not, my dear. She did what seemed right, and she did it bravely. And so we shall accomplish this small diversion in order to keep my selfish children from thwarting our plans.”

  “I don’t suppose it matters if they know the truth once the ship has sailed,” she said, regarding him with somber curiosity. “But if they discover our plan beforehand, they will send word to the captain.”

  Schuyler frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I wish Henrick and Rozamond were more understanding and considerate, but after a certain time the twig will grow as it is bent, and there’s not much a gardener can do.”

  He smiled, realizing from the expression on her face that she didn’t understand. How could she? A young woman, barely twenty, could no more understand the pangs and regrets of parenthood than an ignorant native could fathom the wonders of civilization.

  “Anyway,” he said with a dismissive gesture, “you needn’t worry about my children. They will complain and groan and carry on because they resent your talent, but don’t let them concern you, my dear. They simply do not understand all the things I’ve been trying to teach you. Rozamond cares more for her place in society and her position upon guest lists than she does about art, and Henrick’s mind has been filled with nothing but ledgers and bills of lading since he assumed his position in the Oriental Spice Company.”

  “I know they don’t like me—because of what I am.” Aidan looked at him with a bland half-smile. “I don’t blame them. If I were from a fine family, I wouldn’t want someone like me in the house, either.”

  “Aidan O’Connor!” he interrupted vehemently. “You are speaking foolishness. Don’t you know what you are? You are a person created by God, the same as any of us were created, and loved just as much. And you, my dear, have such a special gift, a wondrous capacity for understanding the things of God.”

  Words hung in his throat as he gazed at her, wondering how in the world he could ever convince her that she was incredibly talented, immeasurably more intuitive and gifted than himself. “My dear girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping in volume, “the position of the artist is both a humbling and an ennobling one. We are called by God, gifted by the Holy Spirit, a partner in the creative process. We are blessed because we have been entrusted with this gift, and you must never think of yourself as less than anyone else. You only need to be disappointed if you neglect the gift God has given you, or deliberately do shoddy work, or cheat your fellowman. Work hard, be true to your calling, and God will direct your path.”

  Aidan did not answer. She stared down at her hands, a betraying flush brightening her face. “I do not think of God very often,” she finally answered. At last she looked up at him, her eyes soft with pain. “I don’t know how, Heer Van Dyck. I’ve never felt God’s presence. I wouldn’t know how to begin.”

  Her misery was so overwhelming, so palpable, it was like a shadow upon her face, a dark, ominous presence. How could he hope to break through that darkness?

  “My dear young lady!” A pain squeezed Schuyler’s heart as he thought of the sorrows in her past. “The Scriptures say that in order for God to draw near to us, we have only to draw near to him.” He paused, searching for words to frame his thoughts. “It is like when you begin a painting. At the beginning, when you have chosen your subject, the painting is somewhat outside you. But as you begin to work and immerse yourself in the colors, the subject, and the idea, you find that you have moved inside the painting.”

  “Yes.” She gave him a brief, distracted glance and tried to smile. “I think I know what you mean. And I shall try … to find God, if that will help me paint.”

  “You will learn.” He cleared his throat, anxious to get to work. “Well, we are to report to the ship in one week, so we have much to do and not much time. But before we begin, I must know—are you truly committed to this endeavor? This is a masquerade you cannot desert when and if you grow tired of the disguise. Captain Tasman is not known for toleration or leniency, and he has strictly informed me that he will not allow women aboard either of his ships. We are risking a great deal, both you and I.”

  She looked down and pressed her lips together, and for a moment he thought he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. But then she lifted her eyes to his and spoke with quiet, desperate firmness. “Heer Van Dyck, I want to be a respectable artist. And if I could only accomplish this goal in a native disguise, I would wear a grass skirt and pierce my nose.”

  Schuyler’s mouth twitched with amusement as he read the determination in her eyes. By heaven above, this girl just might make his name great. His map would set a high standard for posterity, but without a doubt his greatest gift to humanity would be the discovery of Aidan O’Connor.

  “It is settled then,” he said, clapping with satisfaction. “Let us call Gusta and explain our plan. The masquerade will be accomplished much more easily with her help.”

  Gusta hesitated, blinking with bafflement, as her master explained that Aidan O’Connor would sail with him upon the sea voyage as a boy.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she whispered, her mind spinning with bewilderment, “but did you say this person would travel with you?” She pressed her hand to her throat. “Dressed as a young man?”

  “Exactly! Precisely!” Heer Van Dyck slapped his leg in approval. “I knew we could count on you, Gusta. We will need your help, of course. We will need two sets of boys clothes, a bag of the type that a young man might take to sea, and whatever naval supplies a young man would need—a length of rope, a kerchief, a hat, a knife, that sort of thing. Of course I will pack all the parchments, paints, and canvases, but I can’t send Aidan out to shop for breeches and a doublet.”

  “A boy?” Gusta asked again. She looked up at her master, completely confused. “Why, sir, would you want to do such a thing? ’Tis impossible.” She lifted her hand and pointed to the interloper. “With one look anyone could see that this woman is no boy. Her features are fair, her hair long, and what
about—” She paused delicately and lifted her brow. “How do you intend to conceal her womanly endowments?”

  “I’ll be a chubby boy.” Aidan grinned in that cocksure and common way of hers. “I’ll wear baggy trousers and blousy shirts. With my hair in a braid, what’s to notice? Besides, I know sailors. I know how they walk and talk and joke, and most of them have hair as long as mine, they just wear it tied back in pigtails or braids. Why couldn’t you give me a wee trim and plait it for me? I could wrap the braids up in my cap when I’m out and about.”

  Gusta felt her heart pounding heavily. The mistress must be throwing a tantrum in heaven! No wonder the children were furious with this copper-haired hussy.

  “Gusta,” her master spoke now in an oddly gentle tone, “I don’t like resorting to deception, but in this case, it has become necessary to keep the truth from all others. We have exhausted all other options.”

  “How so?” She heard the chill in her own voice, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Well, for one, Captain Tasman has decreed that no unattached women are allowed on the journey. So unless you would have me marry this girl—”

  “Goejehelp!” Her eyes flew open as she took a wincing breath. “No sir, I wouldn’t want you to even consider such a thing.”

  Grief, black and cold, welled up in Gusta’s heart. For months she had been dreading the thought that her beloved master was about to undertake a journey that would part them for months, but now he had set this sprite between them, this brazen barmaid with more beauty than was decent and more talent than was just.

  Now he wanted to marry the girl! No. Far better to let them travel as master and student than husband and wife. Gusta would not be able to sincerely pray for his safety on the voyage if she thought for one moment that her master loved this wanton woman.

  “The truth, Gusta—” Heer Van Dyck’s voice came as if from far away. “—is that I need this girl. If my map is to be all I hope it can be, it needs Aidan’s artistic touch. No one can draw flowers the way she can; have you noticed how nature comes to life under her hand? Surely you’ve recognized her gift.”

  Slowly, Gusta nodded. She’d noticed many things, but it wasn’t her place to set the master straight.

  Taking a sharp breath, she offered an option that might not have occurred to him: “The woman could remain here and draw the flowers after you return.”

  “No.” A note of patient tolerance filled his voice. “She has to see them for herself. How could I describe a flower no man has ever seen? Or a unique butterfly? Or any of God’s creatures we have not yet met? No, Gusta, I need her eyes with me. And so we must deceive Captain Tasman, and we must conceal the truth from Henrick and Rozamond. I would not want them to make trouble before we sail.”

  At the mention of the children, Gusta lifted her chin again. “They won’t like this. Is it fair, sir, to deceive your own family? I cannot think that God would smile on this endeavor.”

  “My children do not understand, nor are they fond of Aidan.” A muscle clenched along her master’s jaw. “No, for their own good, they must not know. This deception will not hurt them, so my plan is really none of their concern. And you, Gusta, must keep this confidence until I return.”

  Gusta envisioned Rozamond’s dark eyes. “I cannot lie to the children,” she whispered. Even as wee ones, Rozamond and Henrick had always been able to wheedle her into anything, so great was her love for them.

  “You will not have to lie to them,” Heer Van Dyck answered. “You will simply remain silent. I plan to invite the children for dinner the night before my departure, and we will all bid farewell to Aidan publicly. After that, you need not say anything until I return.”

  Gusta closed her eyes as the heavy burden of secrecy descended upon her. “Ja, master,” she whispered, clenching her fist. “Though it pains me greatly, I will keep my word.”

  They passed the next morning in the garden. Heer Van Dyck showed Aidan the neat trick of using day-old bread as an eraser and he taught her how to take advantage of the whiteness of her parchment.

  “The brightness of watercolors comes from the reflection of light back through the paint,” he said, studying the rosebuds she had been painting for the past hour. “Think of the paper as an extra color on your palette, my dear. You do not have to cover every inch of the page, nor do you have to make the paint work so hard. Remember—the paper has given you a dose of white, or ivory, perchance, and you can let it work for you.”

  “Thank you, Heer Van Dyck.” For days Aidan had been struggling with the bright light on rose blossoms. Rather than attempting to paint white spots, she should have just left the page blank—to let the inner white shine through.

  “You have taught me so much,” she murmured. Sinking onto her stool, she rested her hand under her chin and studied the painting on the easel. It was so much better than anything she had ever dreamed she could create. She owed everything to the gentleman beside her. Perhaps he was right. In time, she might become the great artist he dreamed of and the great lady she wanted to be.

  But though Heer Van Dyck had taught her many things, she knew she still had much to learn. Always, he smiled at her work and complimented her by saying that she held “great promise,” but what did he mean? What sort of promise did he see in her? The promise of greatness? Of excellence?

  And how would she know when she had fulfilled his expectations?

  “Alas, there is something else I must teach you,” he answered, shifting his cane from one hand to the other. His bearded cheeks fell in worried folds over his collar. “Come with me to the barn. If you’re to sail with me as a young man, you must know what every young man should know.”

  Curiosity reared its head as she stood and followed her mentor. “What every young man should know?”

  “Ja.” A wide grin split Van Dyck’s face as he opened the garden gate and waited for her to precede him. “’Twill be my pleasure to teach you.”

  The wide doors of the barn yawned open, and Aidan was pleased to see that the stable boy and groom were nowhere in sight. Van Dyck’s horses, a quartet of handsome sorrel geldings, stood in their stalls, munching contentedly on their oats. With his distinctive lumbering gait, Van Dyck moved to the center of the barn where a thick layer of hay lay upon the floor.

  “If you are to be a boy—a young man, really,” he said, propping both hands on his cane, “there are some things you should know.” His lids came swiftly down over his eyes. “Men are not like girls, Joffer O’Connor.”

  “I hate to disappoint you,” Aidan answered dryly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the open barn door, “but I’ve noticed.”

  The color in Van Dyck’s cheeks deepened, and he gave her a quick smile before looking down at his hands again. “No, there are subtle differences. And though I have not spent too much time aboard ship, I did notice a few things on my voyage to Batavia.” He rubbed a hand over his face as if to assist his thoughts. “For one thing, men are quick—women take far more time. You must be quick if you are to pass as a boy.”

  “Quick—about what?” Aidan frowned, not understanding.

  “In the head,” he answered, blushing furiously. “When you go to relieve yourself. On a ship filled with men only, many will doubtless relieve themselves standing up, perhaps off the bow itself, so you may occasionally have to resort to a bit of pantomime. But when you do find it necessary to visit the head, make sure you are quick about it.”

  Aidan bit her tongue in an effort to keep from laughing aloud. Without doubt, if women took longer than men in that very private function, it had more to do with the voluminous skirts they wore than any biological difference. But if Heer Van Dyck wanted to believe that dawdling over a chamber pot was a particular feminine quality, then so be it.

  “Thank you, sir, I will remember,” she said simply, lifting her face to look at him. “What other advice have you?”

  “Women,” he said, moving to a low stool just inside the doorway, “are always touching one
another. Gusta is quick to embrace Rozamond, and even as a child, Rozamond was always patting Henrick, much like a beloved pet.” He looked toward the horizon for a moment, and his eyes softened. “My wife was fond of patting my arm or my shoulder. In any case, I’ve noticed that women are more tactile—and so you must be careful not to pat a man, or pull a friend into your embrace. Such a move might reveal more than you want others to know.”

  Aida nodded, mentally filing this recommendation away. It was an astute observation, and something she’d not thought of. And he was right—the women down at the Broad Street Tavern were a very tactile bunch, and if she wasn’t careful she might find herself tugging on some sailor’s arm just from the force of habit.

  “Another thing,” Schuyler added, apparently gaining courage with each suggestion. “Women always want to know how someone feels. Men don’t care about feelings, they care much more about another man’s actions. Men want to do exploits, not feel emotions. If something happens aboard ship, remember—no one will want to talk about his feelings. Men don’t like to talk as much as women, in any case. They would rather take action than discuss a matter.”

  That revelation was certainly no surprise. “I’ll remember,” Aidan promised.

  “One more thing,” Schuyler said.

  Aidan sighed. Thus far she had promised not to touch, talk, or take too long in the privy—what else could he possibly have in mind? “Yes sir?”

  “A man must know how to defend himself. There is a sort of pecking order aboard ship—and since you’ve not sailed before, you’ll be at the bottom, though I will ask Captain Tasman that you be allowed to serve me. As I said, young men do not debate matters of dispute, they usually take action. And as part of establishing that pecking order, I’m afraid some of the others may want to take a punch at you—”