By the Wind's Will

by Nat Burns

  Giles broke in, chuckling. “What say you, Mary? ‘Tis the firs’ time she’s evuh agree’ t’ anyfing ‘at’s truly good fo’ ’er. At least goin’ to America would get her off ‘e streets an’ out into fresh, clean air.”

  Mary sighed deeply. “If I say ‘at I will fink about it and maybe, maybe min’ you, we’ll go, will ye adventuruhs le’ me get some sleep before ‘e night is totally gone?”

  The man and girl agreed profusely, very pleased with themselves. Foxy waited patiently, expecting to be sent back to her pallet which, by now, must surely be cold and uncomfortable. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised when her mother wrapped her slender arms about her waist and enfolded her in the curve of her body. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming surge of love for her parents and a sense of rightness about what they were planning for her future. She drifted off to sleep, safe, warm and hopeful.

  Chapter Two

  THE NEXT FEW weeks were filled with a bustling urgency as the Nelson family prepared for their new life. Giles traveled the short distance to the palace and with Charles’s help, was presented to the king after a wait of only two days.

  He returned home radiant with happiness because everything Charles had told him was true. The passage was free and, in his pocket, Giles had the king’s own draft. The paper entitled him to receive livestock, seed, tools, and other basic necessities from the colony warehouse in Savannah, Georgia. With this in hand, he felt confident that his decision was the right and proper one.

  The night of his return, as they sat about the kitchen table, Giles told Foxy and Mary the details of his trip. They laughed uproariously when he described his audience with the king.

  “I tell ye God’s own truth, ‘e man can’ understan’ a wor’ of English. It took me ‘e be’er part of an hour tryin’ to make ‘im understan’ what I was talkin’ of. When he finally realized ‘at I wanted, he called in dis jolly, fat li’l fellow who listen’ to me and den tol’ ‘is ’ighness, in German, everyfing I was sayin’. I don’ see how Charles can put up wif it day aft’ day. It must be ‘is sense of humor, for I happen’ to glance ‘is way, ‘e ‘as this tiny desk back in a cornuh of the ’all, and ‘e was laughin’ his fool ‘ead off! Me patience ‘ad worn a li’l thin by ‘at time, as ye can wew imagine, and aw I wante’ was to get me hands around Charles’s troat. ‘at’s ‘ow mad I was. Finally, aftuh ‘at seeme’ an eternity, King George sat back an’ says...”

  Giles sat back and puffed out his cheeks and lower lip in imitation of the sovereign. “’I hunnerstan’ vhat you vish an’ you haff my permission an’ blessing. Go in peace. You are dismissed.’”

  He laughed. “And then the little chap told me to see the clerk for the necessary papers and here I am.”

  “Oh, Da,” Foxy breathed, eyes wide. “How grand it must have been! To actually speak with the king himself.”

  “Well, really...” Giles frowned. “It wasn’t at aw what I expected. I thought it would be more stiff, more formal. It was a bit like a friendly meeting. Why, the only people in the audience chamber ‘ere the king, ‘e little chap, seems he was minister to the king, Charles and meself.”

  Mary broke in, interrupting him. “Did ‘e seem sad, Giles? ‘ey say he’s been miserable since Caroline died.”

  Giles chuckled. “I suppose ‘e is, love, ‘e ‘as nobody t’ rule ‘e country anymore. ‘at is enough to make anyone sad.”

  “Giles!” Mary exclaimed, as if horrified.

  “Well, ‘tis true, Mary. ‘e’d much rather spen’ ‘is time in that stinkin’ lil German town than rule England as she should be ruled.”

  Mary was trembling with fury. “Be quiet, ye fool!” she hissed. “Don’ ye realize ‘at wot ye speak is treason?”

  Giles laughed merrily and snatched his wife to his lap. “Wot care I, me love? Soon, we shoo be free o’ England an’ ‘er dissipated king! At last I will be a free man.”

  Mary struggled from his grasp and stood before him, shaking with outrage, two crimson spots high on her cheekbones. “You are mad! Wot has happened to you? The arm of His Majesty is long and reaches across the ocean. Don’t ever let me hear you speak like that again, especially in front of your daughter!”

  Before Giles could reply, Foxy quickly changed the subject. “What is this place we are going to called, Da?”

  Giles looked at his daughter and grinned widely. “Georgia, me gull, named for our beloved king.” He chuckled at the sharp glance Mary threw his way.

  “What is it like? Is it very beautiful?” Foxy asked eagerly.

  Giles thoughtfully toyed with his trencher. “Woo, I suppose ‘tis. I can’t be sure because, of course, I’ve never seen it. From wot I’ve heard tow, it seem t’ be anover Garden o’ Eden, with many trees, green, fertile fiel’s and rich, black dirt ’at will grow most anyfing you coul’ wan’. I also heard ‘at winters are very short an’ mild but ‘at ‘e summer months are troublesome because of ‘e heat and ‘e mosquitos.”

  “Mosquitos?” Foxy frowned in puzzlement. “How can those little flies be a trouble? ”

  “Ah, this is London, Foxy, love, we only see ‘em on occasion. You ha’e to realize ‘at ‘is new land is very different from ’ere. Most o’ ‘e land around ‘e colony, well, some o’ it, is swamp like. ‘at is wot the little devils enjoy, so they are a bit o’ a problem. Especially when one is tryin’ t’work ‘e land.”

  “What is swamp like, Da?”

  “Good question, me darlin’” Suddenly, he gave a great shout of laughter and slapped his knees. “You’re certainly learnin’ a lot in one day to be so small a gull, aren’you? Now, le’ me see if I can remembuh aw that Charles tol’ me of ‘e swamp. He said ‘at not a great deal is known about the swampland ‘cept it’s fuw of dead water and odd-shape trees. Ye first man to really see it was taken by an Indian, a friendly one, I s’pose, and he came back to tell of ’uge, ferocious animals with teeth like razors an’ ‘ere are hidden monsters under ‘e sand that pull a man down an’ bury him alive. The swamp is t’ought to be a horribly dangerous place. Wot, with the warlike Indians and the unknown monsters, few men who enter in come out again.”

  Foxy, who had been watching her father with wide, wonder tilled eyes, shivered. Giles, seeing this, chuckled and mussed the girl’s hair.

  “Don’ look so frightened, lass, even now ‘e settlers, with help o’ Indian guides, are cuttin’ trails t’rough the swamp. ‘ere are many animals to be found there, animals whose hides are valued by trappers. Man will conquer ‘e dreaded swamp ‘e same way ‘e ‘as conquered America.”

  Giles stood and yawned loudly. “Wew, family, in free days, we start a whole new life in a diff’rent lan’. I ‘ave dreamed of ‘is day for a long, long time. I want to show you somefing—a little secret—that will prove our hopes an’ dreams ‘ave become reality.”

  With a determined stride, he crossed to the large fireplace and, from the upper right side, extracted a smooth stone. Reaching into the hollowed-out chamber, he brought forth a small soiled sack, tied with twine. He dropped it to the hearth where it landed with an unmistakable clink and then reached back to withdraw another, similar sack. Gathering up the two pouches, he approached the table and dropped one in front of his daughter and one in front of his wife. Folding his hands, he smiled warmly and urged them along. “Go on, open ’em.”

  Foxy stared at the small bag for a moment as if she feared its contents, then, gingerly, she untied the twine and upended the bag.

  She gasped as a small pile of shiny gold sovereigns poured out onto the rough wooden table. One coin rolled, unnoticed, to the edge of the table and onto the floor.

  Lying on top of the pile, haphazardly on its side, was a heavy golden ring. Foxy eagerly swooped it up for closer inspection. It was of solid gold with a large emerald set into it. The gold carving around the stone was intricate and embossed in the center of the gem was a tiny golden “N.”

  Foxy lifted questioning eyes to Giles. “Da, this is a fortune! Wherever did you get it
?”

  Giles, instead of answering right away, went to his wife’s side and emptied the contents of her pouch. Hers too, was full of gold sovereigns. He slowly let a handful of the coins pour from his fingertips and grinned at Foxy.

  “Yes, lovey, we are rich. My da left a portion of this money t’ me and I, during ‘e years, ‘ave gone without, scrimping and saving. I done dis for you, Foxy, for I knew dis day would come.”

  He indicated Foxy’s pouch and her pile of gold. “‘At one is yours, f'ye t’ keep, t’save. Yere ma and I'll keep the other.”

  Foxy sat numb. To have such a fortune shoved at one was stupefying. She glanced up and caught a sudden look of bitterness marring her mother’s features. She was confused. Did her Ma feel slighted?

  Quickly, without thinking, she scooped the coins and ring back into the pouch and shoved it back to her father. At Giles’s surprised look, she tried to explain herself. “No, you keep it. You may need it. For all of us.”

  Giles, perceptive man that he was, seemed to sense his daughter’s true reason and smiled ruefully. “Aw ‘ight, Foxy, love. I’ll keep yours for ye until ye’re a bit older. I won’t spend it t’ough, no matte’ ‘ow great a need. I promise t’ protect it fo’ ye.” He directed a pointed glance at his wife, who dropped her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

  Later that night, Foxy slept a troubled sleep. Her dreams were filled with tragedy and disappointments. Someone was trying to take something from her, but she couldn’t tell who it was. Clasped tightly in her hand was the shiny gold coin that had rolled from the table.

  Chapter Three

  FOXY RAN BAREFOOT across the rough planking of the deck. Crouching behind a coil of rope, she stuffed the hunk of bread she had just stolen into her mouth. She sat back, chewing mightily, and stretched out her legs. She wondered if old Sammo would raise a fuss. It wasn’t likely. Sammo had taken a fancy to Foxy and often looked the other way when the girl snatched food from the bins. Foxy giggled at her guile, almost choking on the stale, dry bread.

  The Nelson family had been at sea for four weeks now. Four of the most enjoyable weeks Foxy had ever spent. She loved the sea, the smell of the deck baking under the hot sun of the day, the chill in the air at night, the creak of the timbers as the big ship knifed the gleaming water. Yes, she was content. Her mother was a different matter altogether. The first week out she had been violently seasick, and, to make matters worse, during the second week Mother Adams had succumbed to a fatal apoplexy.

  Foxy, as long as she lived, would never forget how her mother in her grief, had pointed an accusing finger at her husband and her daughter, blaming them for her mother’s death. The ship’s physician had tried to reason with her, bringing up the obvious fact that her mother was well more than seventy years of age, but it had not helped and to this day she angrily ignored her family almost completely. The physician had been forced to sedate her many times in the past week, especially on the day of the funeral. She had reacted hysterically to Mother Adams burial at sea, rushing, fists clenched, upon Giles and Foxy screaming that now because of them her mother couldn’t be buried on good English soil. It was a horrible memory and one Foxy tried not to think about.

  “Hey, chil’, is dem bread crumbs I see ‘round yore mouth dere?”

  Foxy, startled, looked up to see the wrinkled, black face of Sammo peering down at her. There was a broad grin on the lined face and a merry twinkle in the bleary, brown eyes.

  The girl quickly wiped a hand across her mouth and smiled.

  “Ho, ol’ man, you don’t see no crumbs on me. You better look again. I, myself, believe you’ve been sampling the cookin’ rum again.”

  The old Negro cackled loudly and, with a satisfied grunt sat down next to Foxy. They sat silent a moment, staring out over the roiling, yet peaceful sea. Sammo, clearing his throat, broke the silence. “How’s your mother?”

  Foxy glanced up and dropped her head again. “Don’t know, I haven’t seen her.

  “You know, I done made this trip crossin’ more dan a hunnerd time an’ each time it seem bran’ new. ‘Tain’t nothin’ like de sea fo’ thinkin’ an’ rememberin’. That’s one of the things I like about you.” He smiled at Foxy. “You think a lot. Yore deep an’ thass a good way to be. A person who uses his haid is less likely to be cruel an’ heartless. I gwine predict de future in sayin’ dat you gonna be a woman of some power an ‘thority. Mark my words, young’un.”

  Foxy raised her head, surprised. “Why do you say that, Sammo? I...I’m just a girl.”

  The older man ran a hand across his white, tightly curled hair. “Don’t matter none, sure as hell! Oh, ‘scuse me. But I can see it in you, it’s plain as dat sun up dere in de sky. You got spunk an’ yore smart as a tack an’ dems tings dat helps a person get ahead. Don’t matter girl or boy.”

  He hung his head sheepishly. “Besides, nobody on dis ship think too much of old Sammo. Dey think I ain’t good fo’ nothin’ ‘cept bein’ what I is, de ol’ Negro cook. Now, I want you to know, I ain’t complainin’ none, it’s jist dat when you come along talkin’ to me like I was anybody else. See, you don’ care what way a person earns they livin’ or how rough dey is, you jist accept dem as de same. I’m hopin’ dat, it ain’t jist bein’ young dat make you dat way. I’m hopin’ it’ll stick to you all your life ‘cause if’n it do, you be a mighty fine woman, you grows up.”

  The old man paused, then shook his head from side to side and grunted. “I do go on, don’ I? It’s best I be gettin’ back to the food. Wouldn’t want nobody snitchin’ any.” He rose, chuckling at Foxy’s flushed face, and went down the ladder to the hold.

  Foxy, after the old cook left, sat thinking a moment about what he’d said. Shaking her head and laughing at Sammo’s foolishness, she stood and glanced from side to side. Seeing only a few sea-worn sailors off to the front of the ship, she decided to relieve herself off the side. Lifting her skirts securely out of the way, she pressed her backside to the railing and released her bladder. Suddenly, she heard a stifled giggle off to one side. With high dignity, although a crimson face, she took her time finishing, made sure the wind had speed dried her bottom, then lowered her skirts and turned slowly to confront the source of the feminine giggle.

  Standing there, behind an upright rope cleat, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, was Maggie Scott. She was the eldest Scott daughter and, to Foxy, utterly beautiful. She had first met her when the two families were boarding the huge ship and, even at her young age, Foxy had appreciated the golden curls, dimples and flashing green eyes that crafted this adorable child. She hid her appreciation, of course, treating her as the bane to her existence. Now, nose in the air, she spoke condescendingly to her. “And what is it you want, little girl?”

  Laughing, Maggie tossed her curls and replied archly. “Oh, Fidelia, you are so crude, actually relieving yourself off the side of the ship. I always thought you had better manners than to do such a thing.”

  Foxy, angered at being the source of her amusement and scorn, defended herself sharply. “I’ve seen plenty of the sailors doing it. Besides, it’s a grand sight better than using that stinking slop bucket in the hold.”

  Margaret grinned, displaying her dimples. “You’re forgetting something. The buckets were dumped and rinsed this morning. They couldn’t be but so bad. Why don’t you admit it? You’re just a nasty, filthy little girl.”

  Foxy clenched her fists and scowled blackly. “Well, you’re nothin’ but a little sneak, coming upon me the way you did.”

  “And, if you had any decency, you wouldn’t be peeing off the side. You’re filthy, filthy, filthy!”

  Foxy reached out in fury to throttle the girl, but before she could touch her, Maggie had whirled and scampered off. Foxy gave chase and was almost upon her when she turned. Seeing the seething ball of furiously flying red hair and skirts descending upon her, Maggie let out a frightened shriek and resumed her flight, running bodily into the arms of her mother.

  “Why, Maggie! Whate
ver are you doing? Must you be such a hoyden?”

  Mistress Margaret Scott restrained her eldest daughter with one arm as she precariously balanced her infant son in the other.

  “Margaret! Do be still!” she commanded. “You are going to make me drop Daniel. What is the matter?”

  Maggie stilled and pointed a damning finger at Foxy. “’Tis her, Mother. She is chasing me to harm me. Make her go away!” She stuck out her lower lip and lifted a tearful face to her mother.

  Mistress Scott raised an amused eyebrow and spoke teasingly to her offspring. “Well, Maggie, would you be kind enough to tell me what you did to provoke Fidelia’s anger. She’s a good lassie and ‘tis unlikely she would chase you for no reason.”

  Foxy couldn’t help the triumphant sneer that curled her lip.

  Maggie seeing this, stomped her foot and replied angrily. “Nothing! She was the one who caused it all. I actually saw her hoisting her shirts and relieving herself off the side, and when I tried to reprimand her, she got angry and chased me. Ask her if ‘tis true!”

  Mistress Scott looked questioningly to Foxy, who blushed a mighty scarlet and sheepishly hung her head.

  “Yes, ‘tis true, but not what you think. I looked carefully and seeing no one about thought it agreeable. Maggie here, unfairly I think, snuck up on me and proceeded to taunt me. Forgive me, I meant no harm,

  Mistress Scott’s lips curved in a small, secret smile as she mulled the matter. At last with a great sigh, she spoke quietly. “Well, my pets, there seems to be some slight difference in the ethics of the two tales. Of course, someone is trying to control the actions of another, but ‘tis not my place to judge. The good Lord sees into each person’s heart and keeps a record of the sins there.”

  She paused and glanced down at her daughter, who had paled considerably. Suddenly, with a loud sob, Maggie buried her face in her mother’s skirts and wailed. “Mother, ‘twas my fault. I did tease her and I’m dreadfully sorry.”