Patriot's Pride

by Penelope Marzec

  “May I seat you?” The resonant voice on her right came from Doctor Fortune.

  She nodded. When he touched her elbow, her heart fluttered. Why the warmth of his hand affected her in such a manner mystified her. She blamed her reaction on frazzled nerves.

  The first mate, Mr. Spillane, led Mrs. Ulery to a chair next to the captain, while the doctor seated her at his right. Virgil and Winifred Rook, a married couple in their thirties, sat to Anthony’s left.

  Disturbed with Doctor Fortune beside her, Margaret sensed his every move. She hoped he did not notice her agitation.

  “The bitters you offered Miss Cavendish and Miss Boulton were a great comfort to them,” she told him.

  “I gave away so many bottles of that elixir last night, I doubt I there will be enough left if we run into any more heavy seas.” A frown marred the chiseled, lean planes of his features.

  “Let us hope everyone finds their sea legs before the next bout of wicked water.” The captain quirked up his eyebrows with amusement before folding his hands and offering his blessing for the food.

  As soon as he finished, Mrs. Ulery asked whether any whiskey was available.

  Captain Long did not appear at all upset with her request and promptly instructed the cabin boy to fetch it.

  “How is your arm today?” the doctor inquired.

  “Quite sore and swollen, especially with the thrashing it received last night due to the rocking of this ship. Goodness, I don’t believe I’ve ever experienced such a wild voyage,” Mrs. Ulery proclaimed.

  “Have you been abroad before this?” the captain asked.

  “I was born in Sudbury, in East Anglia, but after my husband and I were married, he decided we should travel to America,” she answered. “The colonies needed bookbinders, and once he set up his shop, he was busy until the day he died.”

  Everyone around the table offered sympathy for her loss.

  “A wonderful thing, bookbinding,” Mr. Rook proclaimed. “I’ve had many books bound. Nothing quite as delightful as sitting beside the fire on a cold evening and reading.”

  “Which is your favorite book?” the captain asked.

  “Why Robinson Crusoe,” Mr. Rook announced. “There is no better story. Of course, if I were shipwrecked, I would far prefer my dear Mrs. Rook for company.” He patted his wife’s hand and gave her a loving grin.

  “I would not be much help to you,” Mrs. Rook teased.

  The gentle camaraderie between the two touched a soft spot in Margaret’s heart, reminding her of the tenderness shared by her sister and her brother-in-law, or Aunt Sally and Uncle Fitz. Oh, how she missed them already. Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, but she lowered her head and held them back.

  “Are you tired?” the doctor asked in a whisper beside her.

  Her heart thudded for his lips lingered close to her ear. “A bit weary, for it was a rough night.”

  “An angel of mercy, she is,” declared Mrs. Ulery who had evidently watched them closely. “Hovered over me every moment, she did, while I’m supposed to be watching over her. Why, her aunt will be furious when she learns of this debacle.”

  “With the way the waves tossed the ship, we are fortunate more bones were not broken. Aunt Sally will be grateful to know you are well, despite your injury. After all, you’ve become her best friend since you moved to Leedsville,” Margaret reminded.

  “Indeed, you intended to entertain us with stories of that little town,” the captain encouraged.

  Margaret’s heart sank. If she talked of Leedsville she would grow more homesick, but Mrs. Ulery took over. She had finished off half a glass of whiskey and chose to discuss everything and everyone in Leedsville in great detail. Surprisingly, she became quite entertaining with the addition of hard spirits. Margaret never expected this sort of behavior from the widow. Of course, when Mrs. Ulery visited Aunt Sally, she drank tea.

  Derrick Fortune said little, and Margaret feared to glance at him. She wondered if he might be brooding over her remarks about bloodletting. He did not appreciate anyone questioning his methods.

  Still, the dinner was a pleasant one, for the Rooks chimed in often, as did Mr. Spillane, and the captain possessed such a jolly laugh the sound of it lightened Margaret’s spirits somewhat.

  Anthony appeared to be rather bored until Mrs. Ulery briefly mentioned the fashions in dear little Leedsville.

  “Ha! What do those country bumpkins know of fashion?” he sneered.

  A flare of annoyance sparked in Margaret. “The good people of Leedsville are hard-working and think not of what is fashionable but what is practical. If a farmer dressed in silk, his fine and expensive clothing would quickly be ruined.”

  “Are any amusements available?” Anthony asked.

  “We do not require grand balls in palaces to have fun. We enjoy simple country-style dances—most often in the fall when the harvest is in and everyone has a wonderful time, especially if the harvest has been plentiful.” A small pain stabbed her, for she had once cherished the hope of dancing with Frances at their wedding.

  “I profess I could not abide such a dreary existence,” Anthony scorned. “With nothing but toil from sun up to sun down, what is the point in living?”

  Margaret’s temper rose. “The Lord gave us work to do, and we do it for Him. Joy is found in labor.”

  “Really, and what do you find so delightful in your endless drudgery?” Anthony continued.

  Margaret narrowed her eyes and glared at him, but she managed to keep her voice level. “I am a baker,” she responded.

  “Her sweet buns have won prizes at several fairs,” Mrs. Ulery pointed out.

  Anthony opened his mouth to make a comment when an earsplitting scream rattled them all. Everyone stood as a second hideous cry burst forth. It came from beyond the partition separating the women’s cabin from the captain’s quarters.

  Margaret swallowed the fear in her throat. She left Louisa and Cecelia peacefully napping in their bunks. Had someone barged into the room and hurt them?

  She rushed to them, but Derrick, with his long strides, reached the small door first and threw it open. Though his large form blocked her view, she heard Cecelia entreating Louisa to calm herself.

  “I would never poison you. You cannot say such a thing.” Cecelia’s voice wavered with emotion.

  “You gave me venom from spiders and snakes!” Louisa shouted.

  “Where is this venom?” Derrick commanded.

  “There,” Louisa exclaimed in a fearful whisper.

  Derrick stepped into the room. Margaret slid in behind him. The light was dim, as usual, but Mr. Spillane had had the presence of mind to bring a lantern and held it high. Cecelia wept with her head in her hands as she sat atop Margaret’s trunk. Louisa, crouched into a corner of the lowest bunk, wore only her chemise. Deep in the shadows, with her hair matted and askew, she appeared like a wild animal.

  A chill of fear curled up Margaret’s spine. Was Louisa mad?

  Derrick bent to pick up the brown bottle of bitters, which lay on the floor.

  Margaret sat beside Cecelia and put an arm around her. “What happened?”

  Cecelia sobbed. “She won’t eat or drink anything. She cannot live without food.”

  “Poison. From snakes and spiders,” Louisa mumbled. “It will kill you, they said.”

  “How long has she been like this?” Derrick asked Cecelia.

  “She doesn’t do it all the time,” Cecelia defended her cousin. “She started behaving in an odd manner about a year ago, but Dr. Mesmer will cure her. He’ll heal me, too.”

  “He’s a quack,” Derrick stated.

  “No! You don’t understand.” Cecelia sobbed.

  “I have witnessed this type of behavior. Miss Boulton has a mania. I can give her laudanum or bleed her. Either method can calm her and settle her mind. In addition, Dr. Benjamin Rush is noted for several other approaches he uses with beneficial results.”

  “My aunt and uncle took her to Dr.
Rush,” Cecelia said. “None of his treatments alleviated her suffering.”

  “She cannot be cured, but she can be made more tranquil,” Derrick stated.

  A tight knot of fear squeezed at Margaret’s heart. If Louisa refused to eat or drink anything, she would never take the laudanum. The doctor would bleed her. If he bled her enough, she would die.

  Derrick held up the bottle of bitters. In the glow of the lantern, Margaret saw the top of the brown glass had broken off, leaving a jagged edge.

  “Where is the rest of the bottle?” he asked.

  A hideous laugh came from Louisa.

  “She has it,” Cecelia sobbed once more. “She won’t give it back. She—she is going to cut herself.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Margaret stood.

  “No,” Derrick ordered. “Take Miss Cavendish to the captain’s cabin.”

  “But—”

  “Do it.” His forceful words brooked no argument.

  Cecelia rose. “Sometimes it helps if I leave her alone for a time. Please guide me. Take my hand.”

  Margaret did not like leaving Louisa. To prevent Louisa from harming herself, the men would grab her and restrain her by force. If she resisted, they would be rough.

  Mr. Spillane removed his jacket and handed the lantern to Mr. Rook.

  “Be gentle,” Margaret urged.

  Derrick lifted one brow and glared at her. “We will do what we must for her safety and our own.”

  His stern attitude cautioned her, though her mind swirled with doubt. She led Cecelia to the captain’s quarters. The captain was gone.

  “Captain Long apologized but he had some important matter to attend to,” said Mrs. Ulery. “Something about spotting another ship.”

  Mrs. Rook poured a glass of wine for Cecelia.

  “There, there now. It’ll all turn out right.” Mrs. Ulery patted Cecelia’s hand. “Those big waves yesterday rattled every one of us. Calm yourself and drink some of the captain’s wine.” She guided Cecelia’s fingers to the glass.

  On the other side of the partition came a scream and sounds of a struggle.

  “Got her!” Derrick called out.

  “You’re bleeding like a pig!” Mr. Spillane shouted.

  “Let’s get her to the infirmary,” Derrick directed.

  Louisa’s screams muffled as the men ran off.

  “Don’t let them hurt her,” Cecelia moaned.

  “I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Margaret vowed. She left the cabin and hurried to the infirmary.

  Breathless from running all the way, she found Mr. Spillane tying Louisa to a chair. The young woman was completely limp.

  Margaret tapped the first mate on the shoulder. “She’s fainted.”

  “It might be a trick,” he said.

  “Put her on the surgical table.” Derrick winced as he opened cabinets and set out bandages.

  “All right.” The first mate lifted the young woman and placed her on the table.

  “Watch her,” Derrick instructed. “Let me know if she makes any movement.”

  Margaret gasped when she saw the blood-soaked cloth on the doctor’s hand.

  “Get Oliver,” he ordered.

  Margaret sat on the chair as all the blood in her head pooled in her feet. “Are you going to cut it off?” she asked.

  “No, but this is my right hand,” him explained. “I can’t sew proper stitches with my left. The cloth did not staunch the flow of blood as I hoped.”

  Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. She stood and watched as he peeled back the cloth to reveal the jagged slice of flesh cut away from the edge of his palm.

  “I can do the stitching,” Margaret offered.

  “You are a woman.” He scowled.

  “Yes, and my stitching is quite accomplished. I’ve practiced on my twin cousins who are quite daring.” She had asked her cousins to promise to be careful while she was away.

  “I daresay I’d rather have a woman using a needle on me than a carpenter,” Mr. Spillane commented.

  “I must cover Miss Boulton before I stitch the hand.” Margaret touched Derrick’s shoulder. “No one should view her in only her chemise.”

  “Blankets—stacked in the chest.” The doctor’s voice softened. His head hung down and, while he pressed against the wound, he looked more haggard than ever.

  “We should put that one in the brig,” Mr. Spillane growled as he pointed at Louisa.

  “Such a measure is unnecessarily cruel,” Margaret protested. She pulled a woolen blanket from the stack in the chest.

  “Aye, but what she did to the doctor’s hand is a punishable offense,” the first mate reminded.

  “She thought she was being attacked.” Margaret laid the covering gently about the sleeping woman. “She was sick to her stomach and has had no food or drink. Her hysteria does not surprise me under the circumstances. Poor dear.”

  Still, Margaret admitted to herself that Louisa was odd. Many of her mumbled conversations were unintelligible. She shied away from everyone and spent much of her time sleeping. Perhaps she had been having a nightmare when she screamed.

  “If you’re sure she’s in a deep stupor, I’ll take my leave.” The first mate nodded to the doctor.

  “Yes, yes. All hands were called.” Derrick scowled.

  “Why did they call all hands?” Margaret glanced at poor Louisa. The disturbed woman’s chest rose and fell, but in a shallow manner. During the journey, Louisa had spent most of the day in her bunk.

  “It is nothing of concern to you,” Mr. Spillane called over his shoulder as he walked out. “If I were you, I’d tie her down while you still can.”

  Margaret clamped her teeth together. If the Captain called all the sailors to duty, she did not doubt trouble brewed. Visions of sea monsters and pirates raced through her head, but she forced her imaginings to the back of her mind.

  Keeping her and all the women in the dark about impending disaster would not help matters. She didn’t like the way men refused to tell the fairer sex whenever misfortune lay on the horizon. They thought their silence averted panic by covering up the truth. However, the women became more nervous. Margaret found herself employing considerable restraint to keep her opinion on the matter to herself.

  She got a basin, vinegar, thread, a fine needle, and bandages. “If Miss Boulton wakes, I’ll make her a soothing tea of chamomile. I brought some of the dried flowers with me.”

  “She has a mania,” Derrick murmured.

  “What did Dr. Rush do to her?” she asked. She sat on a stool beside him and cleaned his wound.

  “Aggressive bloodletting and purging are the usual procedures. In addition, Dr. Rush has developed a tranquilizer chair and a gyrator. He believes the cause of madness is an inflammation of the brain and has been most definite in seeking more humane treatment for patients suffering from manias. He encourages them to exercise and to care for a garden.”

  Margaret shivered. “Bleeding does not sound compassionate to me.”

  “He has been the first to suggest that victims afflicted with madness should not be locked in chains in an asylum.”

  Her heart grew heavy as she thought of what her father endured, locked up in a prison ship in New York harbor. He died, in deplorable conditions, far from home and those who loved him. Why did men treat others with such cruelty?

  “Though it is admirable for Dr. Rush to encourage kindness for such as Miss Boulton, bleeding them weakens their bodies to the point where they cannot exercise or tend to a garden.” She threaded the needle.

  “Careful studies must be conducted if a cure is ever to be found.” He did not flinch as she carefully stitched the raw edges of the wound together. His hand held steady as she worked.

  “Why did you call Dr. Mesmer a quack?” she asked.

  “Because I doubt his methods, as do others. He attempted to cure a blind musician and the resulting scandal forced him to leave Vienna, which is how he came to France.”

  “Why would Miss Cavend
ish travel to him if he did not heal the blind musician?”

  “He has adherents who believe in his theory.”

  He paused for several moments and she stopped her stitching to look at him. He wore a pained expression. Yet his mien was not one of physical pain. She recognized a deep edge of melancholy lingering in the etched lines of his face.

  “Some people cannot see reality, for they are convinced miracles happen every day,” he added.

  “Yes, that is true,” she admitted. “But we have One who we may rely upon. He guides us to the truth if we ask for it.”

  “Science is the only truth I believe in.” A muscle flicked in his jaw.

  His attitude disturbed her, though she knew people’s convictions concerning religion varied widely.

  “Faith has been my mainstay,” she spoke softly. “It has buoyed me up in times of sorrow.”

  She finished the stitching, knotted the thread, and cut it. Next, she carefully bandaged the wound.

  “Your stitches are neat.” His voice softened, but his gaze seemed focused on the toe of his shoe.

  “I daresay I’ve spent more time stitching than you, doctor.” She smiled at him.

  “When we are alone, may we dispense with the formalities?” he asked. “Please use my given name, Derrick.”

  “I do not know you and, as you pointed out, we come from far different stations in life.”

  “We will be on this ship for a month or more. I am grateful you bestowed me with a kindness I did not expect.” His soulful eyes searched her face. “Perhaps…we can be friends.”

  Such an unlikely proposal seemed almost absurd, but sensing something vulnerable about him, she cast her misgivings aside.

  “All right, when we are alone, I shall call you Derrick.” She smiled, but she promised herself to avoid him as much as possible. “Now let’s see what we can do for Miss Boulton. Do you have smelling salts handy?”

  “Leaving her insensible is for the best.”

  She bristled with annoyance. Friends. Ha! He would never change. “She needs food and water.”

  “She thinks we are giving her poison.” His hard, inflexible tone returned.

  “I’m sure we can convince her all is safe.”