Miss Whittier Makes a List

by Carla Kelly

  Later, when the clothes were put away lovingly in the dressing room by the maid, and Spark had returned to the ministrations of the surgeon, Hannah went in search of Adam. He sat in the library wearing some of Spark’s civilian clothes and looking over the guidebook the captain had loaned him.

  “Adam, what am I to do?” she asked, sitting down beside him.

  He looked up from the guidebook, his expression somewhat distant. “I have tried to give thee advice before, and it is never what thee wishes to hear,” he told her, biting off his words. “So I think I shall not waste my breath. Thee knows what to do.”

  Of course she knew what to do, she thought two days later as she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling again. It was becoming an old friend to her, considering how often she woke up at night now to stare at it. Only last night she had been so proud to have Captain Spark, resplendent in his uniform and even more dashing with his arm in a sling, usher her around the great room at the Admiralty House at a reception for some minor European royalty lately escaped from the clutches of Napoleon Bonaparte. She knew she looked fine in her low-cut dress of primrose-watered silk, her hair piled high on her head and twinkling here and there with diamonds from the Spark vault.

  Burdened as he was with a sling, Daniel had required her help to dress for the affair. “Lady Amber, if you could just tie this for me, I could have ample leisure to stare down into your rather fine cleavage,”span> he said with a grin as he stood in the hallway outside her open door, neckcloth in hand.

  “I wish thee would not talk so,” she said with a grimace as she stood on tiptoe to arrange the stock about his neck. “And I should not have allowed the maid to toss my hair with your diamonds.”

  “Why not?” he asked as she stepped back finally to survey her efforts. “Better on you than unnoticed in some dark vault.” He came closer and touched her shoulder. His voice was gentle, caressing even. “Have you heard that my friends are saying that Captain Spark, commerce raider and scourge of the French Caribbean, has finally struck his colors for the American Quaker?”

  Eyes wide, she shook her head. “Thee does not encourage such rumors, does thee?” she demanded.

  He winked at her. “I just smile mysteriously and change the subject. It drives people crazy.”

  He was standing so close to her that she could smell his shaving soap. If she had felt so inclined, it would have been so easy to put her hand on his neck and pull him down to kiss her. She knew he would succumb without a struggle, and the knowledge made her uneasy, because it was more power than she knew what to do with.

  “Thee knows I am not ready for such rumors,” she murmured and stepped back into her room.

  “I think you are,” he said, and leaned against the door frame. “I seem to remember some fervent kisses in front of the altar in All Saints, and don’t try to tell me I was delirious and imagining things.”

  She blushed again and put her hands to her cheeks. “I wish thee would not speak so.”

  Before she could stop him, he encircled her with his good arm and kissed her. It took more strength than she possessed to resist him as she eagerly raised her face for another kiss, and then another. I wish we did not fit so well together, she thought in exquisite misery as his lips traced her jawe and came to rest against her ear.

  ‘Talk’s cheap, Hannah Whittier,” he murmured into her ear. “Maybe you had better decide just what it is you want from me. You can’t protest and then kiss me like that.”

  He let her go, then suddenly reached forward and took her around the waist again. “I am thinking of an American expression, Hannah,” he said, his voice breathless. “Either fish or cut line.”

  He left her then, and went back to his room, whistling. She watched him go, torn between vexation at her own body’s perfidy, and amusement to see that he still walked as though he expected the deck to rise up to meet him. He was in perfect harmony with the ocean, even on land, and it gave his walk a certain swagger that she remembered when her own brother returned from a whaling voyage. I could watch thee all day, she thought, as she closed the door softly, and leaned against it, wishing that she didn’t want to follow him down the hall and into his room. That he would never object multiplied her own discomfort.

  She stared down at her chest, red now where she had been pressed so tight against his uniform buttons and medals. What does thee want, Hannah Whittier? She forced herself to think about it in the baldest terms possible, hoping to disgust herself. With this man’s wonderful body come all sorts of entanglements, she thought, her lips pressed tightly together. He would make love to thee until thee no longer felt so restless, but it would be in an English bed, in an English house, with an English view out the window. And then when thee knew his and his mind better than thy own, he would leave thee for the sea, and thee would be alone among the enemy.

  “Why am I doing this to myself?” she asked her reflection in the mirror. The unhappy face that stared back at her had no answers. She felt the acutest longing for her mother, wanting more than anything to see that face that looked so much like her own. She was desperate to crawl into her mother’s lap like a child, sob out her misery, and ask for advice. She understood now why had paced the house, waiting for her father to return from month-long trips to Boston and New York to buy for the store. It was not so much concern for his safety, as it was a longing for the comfort her husband brought her.

  Thee wants that same comfort, she told herself, but does thee want it from this man? He has not one quality that thee felt was so important in a husband that thee would add it to a list, beyond a curious patience with thee so out of reckoning with his usual style. And he is kind, so kind, and brave beyond what is reasonable. And when I am with him, I am these things, too.

  So she had gone to the reception, and glittered and simpered and smiled at Captain Spark’s officer-brothers, and listened to Mr. Futtrell, his face flushed with too much champagne, tell of her exploits in the lookout and below deck during the fight with the Bergeron. She tried to remember to say “you” instead of “thee,” because she did not wish to be thought quaint, but it was as though she stood outside her body and watched someone else sparkle and shine. All she truly wanted to do was make love to Daniel Spark, but she could only laugh and bloom, and hope her longings for him did not show.

  He proposed on the ride home, sitting carefully across from her in the carriage, not touching her, but looking steadily into her eyes. “I do not suppose there is ever a good time to do this, Hannah,” he began. “I’ve never proposed before, so I cannot claim any skill.”

  She reached out and placed her fingers on his lips. “Don’t do it, Daniel,” she whispered.

  He shook his head and took hold of her hand. “I am compelled toit by your face, your body, the way you think, the feelings you have, your courage, your silliness, your impish tongue. This is not something I can resist.” He smiled at her confusion. “I suppose I should go down on one knee, but with my arm in a sling, I fear I would overbalance myself. Hannah, marry me, please. I know all your good qualities and all your faults and I am content to live with both of them forever.”

  “Or until you go to sea?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  He did not blink. “Yes, until I go to sea. We’re at war, Hannah—I need scarcely remind you—and I am not deserting my country, not even for you.”

  He moved over to sit next to her. “But I love you powerfully, and I will always return every year or so from the blockade, or the Caribbean. I wish I could promise more now, but I cannot.”

  She was silent, appreciating his plain speaking, even as it twisted her insides like a knife. “I need to think about this, Daniel, because right now my answer is no.”

  He considered her words. “And you do not wish it to be no?”

  She shook her head, unable to think of words to express herself. There is so much we Quakers leave unsaid, she thought as she looked at Daniel, and thee would never understand such silence.

  “I truly would l
ike to know how you feel about me, Hannah,” he asked at last. “You kiss me as though you want me, but you have never said so. Tell me in words, my dear.”

  “I could lie to you,” she temporized.

  “I do not think you are capable of it,” he replied, putting his arm about her shoulder and pulling her closer. “Oh, tonight I watched you tease and flirt with the best of them, but—”

  “And I should do none of that,” she interrupted. “I was not raised to be so dissimulating.”

  He leaned back and smiled into the dark. “I suppose it would be hard to resist at your age, especially with so many of my friends admiring you. Come on, Hannah, you’re just avoiding my original request. Do you love me? Am I essential to your happiness?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, the word wrenched out of her, “but it’s very uncomfortable, Daniel. I do not see much happiness ahead for me, no matter how much I love thee. And that is why I say no.”

  He was quiet a long moment. He took his arm from around her shoulder and leaned forward, isolating himself. “I suppose you are right,” he agreed finally. “I have told you that I will be at sea, and you will be in a foreign land.”

  She nodded. “Do people in your country ever compromise?”

  “Some do, I suppose. I do not. If you love me and wish to marry me, you will be an Englishwoman, living on my estate in Dorset, and I will be at sea as long as Napoleon requires it. That could be years.” He spoke quietly, but with great intensity. “And better than most wives, you will know how dangerous that is.”

  “Thee would not give up the sea for me, but remain in England?”

  “Never.”

  “You would not give up your country, and go to sea in my land?”

  “No.”

  <" align="justify">“Then I would be the one giving up everything,” she said, her voice low. “Yes, as things stand now.” He reached for her hand again, and his eyes were pleading with her. “I would like to think that my love for you would be sufficient compensation for your losses.”

  She was silent again. He kissed her fingers. “At least consider my offer, Lady A.”

  “I will consider it,” she agreed.

  Three days later, she stood with Captain Spark’s arm about her as Adam Winslow sailed for Boston on the Elizabeth Young. He was only going home ahead of her, she told herself, but when she finally had to say goodbye and watch him cross the gangplank to the ship, her heart failed her. She started for the gangplank, but the heavy pressure of Spark’s arm on her waist kept her where she was.

  “Just give me a chance, Hannah,” Spark said as she strained against his arm. “You promised.”

  So she remained where she was, crying and waving goodbye to Adam, who blew her a kiss and held up the letter she had given to him for her parents. She had written the letter over and over, sitting in the bookroom with Daniel, trying to find the words to say that she had decided to remain a while longer in England, and that perhaps when she saw them next, she would be a married woman.

  “There’s no easy way to write it, my love,” Spark had told her the night before when the clock struck eleven and he rose to stretch. “Just put it in an envelope.”p>

She had chosen the best letter of the fifteen she had written and done as he said, leaving it outside Adam’s door for him to find in the morning. And now he waved it back at her like a condemnation, and she wished she had made no promises to Captain Spark, as much as she loved him.

  She missed Adam Winslow more than she cared to admit to herself, even as she smiled and made herself pleasant to the many female callers who brought their cards and their company to the house on Half Moon Street during the next week. They were mostly dowagers and matrons of Lady Spark’s age, but some brought their own daughters in tow to meet the American heroine. They spoke of everything and nothing as they talked for hours over ratafia and tea cakes in the drawing room, admired each others’ clothes, and stared Hannah up and down when they thought she wasn’t looking.

  Lady Spark was in her element, accepting their visits with high pleasure. “My dear, once you are safely riveted to my son, and the season begins in the spring, you will be the toast of the town!” she declared over luncheon after the morning’s tumult of guests had giggled and admired their last and been shown to the door, with protestations to return soon.

  “I do not see how that can be, seeing that I have not accepted his proposal,” she murmured in reply, closing the door on their guests.

  “My dear, you will, I am sure!” Lady Spark said. She laughed and gathered Hannah close to her. “I am not biased in any way, I assure you, but Daniel is a fine-looking man.” Her face clouded suddenly. “If only his nose had not been broken in the Azores. The French have such dreadful manners.” She brightened again. “But he is worth so much, too, my dear, what with all those prize ships taken in the Caribbean. Yes, you will be the jewel in next season’s crown, depend upon it.”

  “And if I am married, why, surely Daniel will be on the blockade by spring, and I will have no right to flirt through a season in London,” Hannah said.

  Lady Spark would have none of it. “There is no harm in gentlemen companions to while away the hours here until Daniel returns.”

  “I could never,” Hannah said, shocked.

  Lady Spark laughed, a tinkling sound artificial and so obviously practiced that Hannah felt a chill down her spine. “You may sing a different song when your bed is cold.”

  She could scarcely believe her ears. “Madam, he is your son!” she protested. “How can you speak so?”

  Lady Spark only raised her high arched eyebrows higher and tittered again. “My dear, this is our society. I can see that I have my work cut out to make you fit into it. Daniel was wise to bring you here.”

  She left the room then, murmuring something about Madame LeTournier arriving after luncheon for another ballgown fitting. Nauseated to her soul, Hannah went to the salon, wishing herself on board the Elizabeth Young, arguing with Adam and pulling farther and farther from England. She drew her legs up to her chin and thought of Mama, who would no more flirt with another man than smoke a pipe or spit tobacco. And neither would I. What am I doing here? she thought to herself.

  She wanted to ask Spark that question when he returned from his daily visit to the Admiralty House. He came into the salon, letters in hand from the basket by the front door, and sat down beside her. He kissed her cheek and then set the letters aside when he took a good look.

  “I see mutiny on that lovely face,” he said, his voice mild. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away from him. “Dear, dear, I fear that since I left the house this morning, the wind has quite blown my sails in chains.”

  She said nothing, too shy to speak of what his mother had so artlessly exclaimed, because she had never been raised to talk so casually of infidelity. He moved closer and took her hand.

  “Hannah, has my mother been speaking out of turn?”

  She turned wide eyes upon him and the words rumbled out of her, even as her face reddened. “Daniel, she is already encouraging me to take a lover when we are married and thee is at sea!”

  “My God,” he exclaimed softly. “I would prefer that you did not, of course.”

  “How can thee joke about such things!” she shouted, leaping from the davenport and crossing to the window, where she hugged herself and stared at the driving rain. “And it does nothing but pour in London! I am weary of small talk and ratafia makes me gag!”

  He was at her side in a moment, pulling her into his amts, letting her sob out her misery against the cold comfort of his medals and buttons. She pulled away and he removed his coat, tossing it onto the floor, then drew her close again to rest against the softness of his linen shirt.

  Her arms went around him finally. “I think I like thee better this way,” she said and then stood back in his arms to look at his face so close to her own. “Suddenly there are too many medals and buttons, and ideas and modes of doing t
hings. It’s all getting in the way of what I feel.”

  He tugged her close to him again, his hand on her hair and then his forefinger running idly inside her ear. “My mother is from a generation that raised infidelity to a fine art.”

  She wanted him to continue his careless examination of her ear and then her face, but he was too distracting. She freed herself from his embrace. “It is more than that, Daniel,” she said, wishing that she did not feel so breathless when he touched her. <“The younger ladies are so ... so vapid! I do not suppose one of them has ever cooked a meal, or washed a dog.”

  He laughed out loud, opening his arms for her again. “I am sure you are right, Hannah! Oh, come here! That’s better. And they’ve never dressed grisly wounds, or even made coffee for a grumpy sea captain.”

  She let him kiss her then, and even raised her arms to encircle his neck as he picked her up off her feet. “I would wish at times that you were taller,” he murmured and then kissed her again. “Perhaps you will grow yet,” he said, his voice unsteady as he set her down.

  She was at the window again, staring out at the everlasting drizzle. He came up behind her and circled her in his arms. She leaned against him, secure in his arms, but still gnawed by a vague unease.

  “See here, sir,” she began and stepped away.

  He kissed the back of her neck as she retreated. “I am coming to dread those pronouncements that begin, ‘See here, sir,’ ” he murmured.

  She turned around and then pushed him off at arm’s length. “I must tell thee, Daniel, that when I am in your arms, everything is fine.”

  “Better and better. I like that, too,” he said and smiled.

  She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I also do not doubt that if you wanted my body this minute, I would give my virginity to you right here in your mother’s salon and not care a snap what anyone thought.”