In the middle of the night, Captain Jan and his crew had used the towline to get themselves aboard the Santa Teresa, and come morning, the ship was under Captain Jan’s control, with most of the Spanish sailors set adrift in boats.
“How set adrift?” Alex asked.
“Adrift,” Carlos said, “several days of hard rowing from the closest island.” The Spanish captain, two ladies travelling with the ship, and Carlos himself had been carried along to Curacao, where Captain Jan had deposited his three hostages, considered selling Carlos as a slave – “What?” Alex squeaked – but had thought better of it at David’s pleading and taken Carlos along.
“What for?” Alex asked.
Carlos shrugged. He had no idea, but so far he had been kept hard at work in the galley.
“And you?” he asked. “What other adventures have you lived through since we last met?”
Alex looked at him for a long time, not knowing quite where to begin. “Well, for a start, we’ve met your cousin, Ángel.”
“My cousin?” Carlos’ mouth fell wide open. “Is he here?”
“Not anymore,” Alex said, and settled down to tell him the full tale. “I’m sorry,” she ended, “that he’s dead.”
Carlos gave her a quick look. “I’m sorry too.”
“Oh.” She gnawed her lip. Twice, she had indirectly robbed the priest of his relatives, and from the expression on his face he was grief-stricken. “I…well, I didn’t have the impression you cared so much for him.”
“Cared for him?” Carlos just looked at her. “Oh no, Alex, I didn’t care for him at all. I’m just sorry that his passing should leave me so unperturbed.” He tugged at his dirty cassock and gave her a wavering smile. “It makes me less of a priest, I fear, that I’m actually glad to hear he’s dead.” With a little bow, he excused himself, muttering something about needing to pray – it was the least he could do for his cousin.
*
“Why?” Matthew asked Captain Jan. “Why not just leave him in Curacao?”
“I’m not quite sure.” Jan eyed the priest with obvious disfavour. “Your son begged me to take him along, and he might come in useful. If nothing else, I can use him as a distraction should I need it. I can always throw him in the water.”
“If you do, my wife will dive after him – she is right fond of the wee man.”
“Hmm,” Captain Jan said.
“And so am I, for all that he’s a papist and therefore eternally damned.”
Captain Jan laughed. “You truly think God cares?”
“It used to be I thought that aye, He did. Now…well now, I don’t know.” Matthew rubbed a finger over his healing thigh. “At times, I think God looks down on us and sighs at our infinite capacity to kill and harm each other – all in His name.”
“My mother’s people were wiped out because of God, forced to baptism and a life in a misión well to the south of Cumaná, the men dying in the fields, the women taken over by the Spanish invaders.” Captain Jan spat into the water, and gave Matthew a dark look. “A good God would not allow such things to happen. So I believe God is fickle and cruel, a despot who sets us out like pieces on a gigantic chessboard, and when He grows bored by the slowness of the game, He just upends it and watches as we drown or sink.”
Matthew stared at him. “Nay, He wouldn’t do that.”
Captain Jan snorted. “I thought you were a Presbyterian. Isn’t that in line with what you believe? That randomly God gives out grace to some and withholds it from the masses – and the few chosen for salvation are not in any way more deserving than the others, they were just in luck the day when God made up His mind.”
“It isn’t quite that simple,” Matthew said.
“Of course not,” Captain Jan agreed. “Nothing is ever simple about God.” He smiled crookedly and with a little bow left Matthew on his own.
*
Captain Jan heard Alex out, and then he simply smiled and told her it would be best if she didn’t meddle in matters not her concern, and he, as captain of this ship, would do as he pleased to earn his living.
“A pirate!” Alex said. “And you’ve made one of my son as well.”
Captain Jan shrugged and with a rather steely voice reminded her that neither she nor her husband, and even less their unfortunate nephew, would be on their way from Barbados if it hadn’t been for him.
“In fact,” he said, “you might have been dead.” Alex took a step back, and something in her face made the captain relent. “I’m very glad that isn’t the case, but what I do with my ship is not for you to voice an opinion on.” He moved off, and Alex decided to vent her anger on her son instead, cornering him by the bow.
“Mama,” David tried, exaggerating a yawn, “I’m right tired.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“I didn’t have a choice. The captain told me what to do, and you told me I was to obey him.”
Alex was unimpressed. “You helped him steal a ship, and on top of that, God knows how many men died!”
“We didn’t kill any,” he protested. “Well, not that I saw.”
“You left them to row across an empty sea!”
“I didn’t. The captain did. And I did save the wee priest.”
“Huh,” Alex said, and decided it was time to check on Charlie again. “Come and meet your cousin.”
David shone up, saying he had so many questions he wanted to ask this unknown relative about his adventures.
“No, you won’t. I don’t think he wants to talk about it.” She studied Charlie, sitting by the mast, long legs crossed, eyes fixed vacantly on the horizon. When they got closer, she saw his ankles were oozing, a mixture of pus and blood and clear liquids that left runnels down his skin, and Alex bent down with a frown. “You’ve been tearing the scabs off again.”
Charlie hitched a shoulder. “I don’t do it consciously. I just pick at them.” He studied the ring of irritated skin around his right ankle. “I’ll always have the marks on me.”
“They’ll fade,” Alex said – just as the marks around Matthew’s wrists were now almost invisible unless you knew where to look.
“But they’ll always be there,” Charlie ran his thumb over the scabs. She could almost see how he shook himself free of these thoughts before smiling up at her son. “David, right?” he said, and patted the deck beside him.
David beamed and slid down beside him, and in no time at all, he was talking about this new exciting life of his aboard the Althea. Alex tousled his dark hair, and decided to go off in search of something to eat. A crisp apple, she thought, or a nice slice of cheese. Her stomach happily agreed, assuring her it would do its best to keep whatever she gave it down.
*
Carlos was alone in the galley when Alex came in search of food. Sadly, there were no apples, but he did find her some cheese and a heel of bread. After ensuring the cook was nowhere in sight, Carlos followed her up on deck.
“How is Sarah?” Carlos asked. Just saying the name out loud filled him with ringing joy, bringing forth an image in his head of Sarah in the maple woods surrounding Graham’s Garden, drifting leaves clinging to her skirts as she walked by his side, her fair head leaning towards him.
“Better. We left her staying with Ruth.”
Carlos nodded. That would seem a wise thing to do, and no doubt Minister Allerton would take the opportunity to strengthen Sarah’s faith.
“Probably,” Alex said unenthusiastically. “At least she’ll be well supervised, and maybe it will do her good to socialise with girls her own age, for all that it will only be over Bible discussions.”
“And the child?”
“Little Duncan? Oh, he thrives!” Alex smiled, brushing crumbs off her skirts.
“Duncan?” Carlos frowned. “His name is Jerome.”
“Not anymore. Now it’s Duncan, and he’s been baptised into the Presbyterian Church.”
Carlos smiled to himself. The sacrament of baptism was indelible, and little Jerome was therefor
e forever a Catholic. He wondered if Sarah still carried the rosary beads with her, but this was not something he could ask her mother. Sarah, he whispered mutely, and in his head she turned towards him. No, don’t think of her, do not wish for her, and never, never imagine her undressed before you. He would burn in everlasting hell unless he truly repented, and he swallowed at the thought. I’m a priest, I have pledged myself, body and soul, to the Holy Church, and the Holy Church will never let me go. That much his confessor had made very clear: to break his vows would be to become an apostate, eternally damned to hellfire.
“And you? Have you decided what to do next?” Alex asked.
“I don’t decide, but I was on my way to the mainland when this accursed pirate fell upon us.” He glared at Captain Jan who was standing on the opposite side of the ship. “I’m meant for Caracas,” he said with a deep sigh. “A backwater, a city struck by earthquakes and pirate attacks.”
“So maybe this is an opportunity, maybe you can find a ship going back to Spain instead, and once there, well, they won’t send you back, will they?”
Carlos laughed hollowly. “The Holy Church can be most persistent at times.” But to be back in Spain… He could retreat into a monastery and live a tranquil life surrounded by books and the reassuring rituals of prayer and monastic rule. A most pleasing little daydream, however impossible. “I’d best get back to my tasks.” Captain Jan was eyeing him with mild irritation, and Carlos didn’t doubt for a second that the captain would overrule both Matthew and Alex and punish him should he be sufficiently provoked.
“Turnips?” Alex asked.
Carlos grimaced. No, today it was yams and plantains, and salted fish that had to be rinsed repeatedly before the cook could fry it.
“Sounds nice,” Alex said.
Carlos huffed and moved away, his eyes on the deck to ensure his wooden peg did not catch on something and send him sprawling. He hated yams, but he suspected his opinion would not count at all.
Chapter 36
Julian listened in astounded silence to Ruth’s whispered confession, his wife admitting to having seen Sarah sneak off on several occasions, and just the other day, Emily Farrell had remarked that she’d seen Sarah with a strange man, and…Under his eyes, Ruth wilted, apologising for not having told him sooner, but she hadn’t truly known, and it was only when Charlotte Wells had told Ruth that Sarah was often to be seen with a man just off the graveyard, that Ruth had realised she had to tell him. Well, his wife he would chastise later, but his sister-in-law needed to be firmly dealt with immediately.
“You will not – I repeat, you will not – act in a way that risks your reputation.” Julian stood tall and straight by his desk.
“I haven’t done anything improper!” Sarah said. “And you have no right to order my life.”
“I have every right! I’m your brother-in-law and your minister! And you’ll do as I say, understood?”
Sarah shook her head, jaw setting stubbornly.
“I’m entrusted with your spiritual welfare!” Julian yelled. “You won’t see that man again, and you’ll tell me his name.”
“What man?” Sarah said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She swivelled and left the room, pushing her sister rudely against the doorframe, and made for the front door, reaching it only seconds before Julian.
His hand clamped down around her arm. “You go outside with your sister or not at all,” Julian said and dragged her back inside. In an act of inspiration, he pushed her to the floor and forced shoes and stockings off her, handing them to Ruth. “She may only leave the house in your company.” After one last sinister glare at his sister-in-law, he left for his meeting with the other ministers.
*
“Don’t touch me!” Sarah spat when Ruth bent down to help her up.
“Sarah,” Ruth said, “you know it’s out of concern for you.”
“Nay, it isn’t! It’s out of concern for the gossiping ladies of Providence – you set higher store on them than on me.”
“That isn’t true! But I won’t have you acting the hoyden.”
“Hoyden? When have I acted the hoyden?” Sarah was on her feet, and, with a swift movement, reclaimed her shoes.
“You sit and talk with a man, alone! Don’t you see how it reflects on Julian, that you act so indecently while under his roof and care?”
“I don’t care how it reflects on Julian!” Sarah wrenched the door open and left. She was already late for her meeting with Michael, and she flew up the back alleys, ignoring displeased looks and comments as she hastened up towards the meetinghouse and the graveyard beyond.
He wasn’t there, and all of Sarah shrivelled together, a silent crumpling to the ground. She withdrew into the deeper shade of a large pine, and settled herself to wait. He would come, he always came, she assured herself, and her hand slid into her petticoat pocket to close around the comfort of her rosary. A gust of laughter escaped her. If Julian was truly concerned about her spiritual welfare, the prayer beads were by far a greater issue than Michael.
She caressed the first bead and whispered the Lord’s Prayer, closing her eyes to stop herself from staring in the direction he would come from. She said one Hail Mary, she said two, three, four – a whole decade, and still he didn’t come.
Sarah sat in the shade, and told another and another decade, and slowly she was submerged in the meditative peace of prayer. In the pit of her, a little flower bloomed, a whispered assurance ringing in her head that things would be alright. Sarah opened her eyes and there, crouched before her, sat Michael, his chestnut hair aflame with the sun that backlit him. Like an angel he was, and without further conscious thought, she leaned forward and kissed him.
*
Michael almost overbalanced, but righted himself at the last moment, his lips still touching hers. A very chaste little kiss, he thought when she sat back, her face a warm shade of pink. Her cap had come askew, long tendrils of blond hair escaping her braid to float around her face in a most enticing manner, and her mouth was soft and moist, the tip of her tongue visible between her lips.
He had no idea what he wanted with her anymore. Ever since he’d first seen her, that day in March, she’d been like a constant, chafing itch, a need to further explore, to touch, to bed. But what had begun as an interesting little challenge was becoming something entirely different, filling him with feelings he had difficulties putting words to. He still at times considered whether to throw her on her back, shove the skirts out of the way, and take her. There were days when all of him throbbed with want, with sheer lust, but he shied away at the thought of forcing her, because how would he bear the look in her eyes if he did such to her?
Once again, he recalled how unconsciously Matthew Graham and his wife had adjusted rhythm and stride as they walked down that dusty street in Jamestown and with sudden insight he understood that was what he wanted as well. He wanted Sarah to mould herself to him the way her mother fitted into her father, hands wound tight around each other. He fell to his knees, cradled her face, and kissed her back. Not at all chaste this kiss, but a careful exploring of her, a gentle prodding until she opened her mouth to him, and he realised with a satisfied start that he was the first man she had ever kissed.
*
“I have to go!” Sarah was on her feet, discomfited and hot, strangely moist in places she had never been quite as aware of before. She gave him a hesitant smile, swallowed her thundering heart back into place, and left him sitting alone in the shade. She licked her lips as she walked, trying to recapture all those strange sensations his mouth and tongue had woken in her. Bubbles of exuberance surged through her, small pinpricks of joy that made her want to sing or laugh – an exuberance that was wiped away when she entered through the back door to be met by an angry Julian and an equally upset Ruth.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Julian was livid, eyes black with anger. Swiftly, he lunged, and in a matter of seconds, he was dragging her up the stairs to the little room she shared wi
th Patience.
“I’ll not have you shaming me and mine in this way,” he said, panting with exertion.
“Let go of me!” She tugged at her hand. “Ruth! Tell him!” Sarah threw a look at her sister, who refused to meet her eyes.
She struggled wildly when Julian shoved her in the direction of the bed. Panic was shrinking her windpipe, because he was hurting her, and the last time a man had manhandled her like this…She gulped down air, and hit him squarely across the face with her free hand.
“Leave me be!” she screeched, and yet again threw a pleading look at her sister. “Ruth! Help me!”
Julian’s lip burst open, and with an exclamation he slapped Sarah. She yanked at her hand. Frantically, she attempted to wrest herself free, but with a grunt Julian threw her across the bed.
“Hold her,” he said to Ruth, struggling with his belt.
“Julian…” Ruth’s face appeared hovering at the side of the bed, and Sarah tried to smile at her, because her sister would help her, wouldn’t she?
“I said hold her. I’ll not have my authority flaunted in my own home, nor will I allow a girl to raise her hand to me!” He pulled at Sarah’s skirts.
Sarah screamed, because there was no bed below her. No, she was back to that awful afternoon in the woods when two men had shoved her skirts out of the way, and laughed as they hurt her and ravaged her.
“Julian, no!” she heard Ruth say. The belt came down with a stinging thwack across the back of her thighs, and Sarah pushed and heaved, gripped the bedpost to try and drag herself free.
“Hold her still!” Julian yelled. Ruth’s hands came down on Sarah’s arms, pinning her flat to the bed.
“You’ll do as I say in the future,” Julian said once he was done.
Sarah didn’t hear him. She had scurried away to hide in the inner reaches of her soul.
*
“But surely, Julian,” Ruth was close to tears, “you don’t need to lock her in!”
Whither Thou Goest (The Graham Saga Book 7) Page 30
