She left the deck, and he stood there staring after her. Throwing a glance at the form of the lieutenant, he muttered, “Well, you can’t be both; which are you—Paul Winslow, the villain, or Lieutenant Hawke, the hero?” He grinned ruefully, saying softly, “I guess you are like all the rest of us—a little of both!”
****
“I don’t think that’s the same sea, sweet! It’s so calm.”
Hawke and Blanche were standing at the stern rail, looking back over the glistening wake of the Lady. Diamond-like flakes of foam were spread out in a large V, catching the light of a moon round and bright as a silver sovereign.
“It’s the same sea—just in a different mood,” he murmured. They both thought of the rolling seas that had nearly sent the ship to the bottom ten days earlier, and the placid, mirror-like surface of the water beneath them was so peaceful it did seem impossible that such waves could have driven them miles off course.
“Listen—that’s Morgan’s fiddle!” she exclaimed, and the plaintive sounds of the music came drifting to them on the slight breeze. The crew were all gathered around the mainmast enjoying the steady progress of the ship and content with the delicious supper they had just indulged in.
“The crew did very well,” Hawke remarked. “Greene and his men saved us, of course.”
Blanche responded instantly, “You would have managed.”
“No. They knew the ship, what she could do. We’d all be feeding the sharks if it weren’t for them. It was a close call. I hope your father’s all right—but then the Neptune’s weathered worse storms.”
Blanche stroked his arm, thinking of the events of the past few days. “You’ve spent a lot of time with Greene and Charity since the storm,” she commented, an edge to her voice.
He looked at her in surprise, discerning a sharpness that he could not explain. “Why, of course. I want to know all I can about my people.”
“They didn’t know them that well.”
“Not my parents—but did you know that Dan and my cousin Nathan were in love with the same woman? She turned Dan down, but he and Nathan are great friends.”
“And now he’s lost another woman,” Blanche laughed. “He’s not lucky in love.”
“Oh, I think Charity will come around. She thought at first that Dan had refused to surrender, but one of her crew—a fellow named Conrad—saw the whole thing. It was actually her own father who gave the order. Conrad told her, and it’s made a difference.”
Blanche was unhappy, but could not explain it to herself or to him. Ever since the name Paul Winslow had jumped out at them, she had felt a vague uneasiness that continued to grow. It had bothered her to see the three of them talking so often—probably because she felt left out and wasn’t sure how he would handle the new identity. Now she broached the question. “What will you do? About your family, I mean? Will you go see them?”
“Not likely,” he admitted. “I’m a sailor of the King, and if I left my ship and went to Boston, I could be arrested for treason. That’s if I went in disguise and got caught. If I didn’t conceal who I was, I’d be arrested by the Yankees and thrown in a prison as an enemy of the Colonies.”
She shrugged, saying, “This stupid rebellion will be over soon. My father says it can’t last much longer.”
“Dan thinks it will. He says that if Washington ever cuts the British Army off from the support of the navy, it’ll be over.”
“But that’s exactly what won’t happen!” she argued. “You’re an Englishman, Hawke. You can’t even remember America—and your family is loyal to the King.”
“That’s true.”
His admission did nothing to change her feelings of unrest, and she announced petulantly, “I’m going to bed. It’s getting late.”
“Good night.” He made no attempt to kiss her, so she turned and left, her back rigid with disappointment.
For twenty minutes he remained there, enjoying the music that floated up to him. He was about to retire for the night when he saw Charity leave the small group gathered around Morgan and move toward the stern. She did not see him, and would have gone down the ladder had he not spoken. “Beautiful music, isn’t it?”
She glanced up, hesitated, then came to stand beside him at the rail. There was an uncertainty in her attitude, but her voice was decisive. “We’ve had several chances to talk—but never alone. I—I want to tell you that I’ll never forget what you did during the storm.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t have, I don’t think.” Her face was turned to him, and he was struck with the pale beauty of her features. Her eyes were light in the moonlight, and the curves of her cheeks were smooth and chaste. She had, he noted, a chin that was a trifle pronounced, a reflection of her character! But she was a beautiful young woman. She went on quietly. “You almost went over with me, trying to save me. Most men would have let go—but you didn’t, Paul, and I’ll never forget it.”
He stared at her, then said pensively, “Paul—it’s odd, but when you say that name it—I don’t know. It tugs at me somehow in a way I can’t understand. It seems—right somehow.”
“You remember it!”
“Oh, nothing like that. It’s just a vague thing—like some odor you know you’ve encountered—but when you smell it, you can’t remember just where.” After a pause he laughed, saying, “I’d ask you to tell me more about myself—but it’s all bad.”
She moved along the deck, and the two of them stared out over the wake. She was bothered by the man, and had been since he had saved her life. Before that night it was easy to hate him. But the following days found her being fretful, uncertain. Now standing by the rail, she spoke what was in her heart.
“I don’t know you, Paul. The man I hated and had nightmares over is dead. You’re not the same at all.”
For a long time they stood there, talking quietly, and finally he blurted out in a voice of bitter resignation, “I’m the nobody man, Charity. I can’t be Hawke—and I can’t be Winslow. I’m a dead man who won’t stay buried!”
Instantly she was filled with a great pity for him. Never before had she known what it was like to be locked in time with no past, and it made her want to reach out to comfort this man she’d hurt so deeply. Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm, and when he turned in surprise to face her, she whispered, “Paul—don’t be bitter! Please don’t!”
Her face was only inches away from his, and he could see that she was weeping. Tears glittered like diamonds on her lashes, and the sudden rush of sympathy shook him as never before. He had no notion of doing such a thing, but impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her. She moved against him, and the salt of her tears was on his lips.
Charity was swept with emotion, and his lips on hers made her shake like the wind that had battered the Lady! She seemed to lose all her strength, and she clung to him as she had the night when only his arm kept her from being pulled to a watery grave.
They were both shocked when a voice spoke mockingly, “Well, I see that you two are having another ‘talk’!”
Charity pulled back, confused, and saw Blanche, who had come out of the hatchway and was regarding them with a twisted smile on her lips. She did not say another word, but turned and dashed down the ladder into the darkness.
And before she could answer, he whirled and left her alone on the deck, confused and swept with a painful feeling that she’d not be able to forget the moment—not ever!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TELL HIM WE LOVE HIM!
The blazing sun of August faded into a pale specter as September brought winds with a taste of fall and a hint of winter. The Gallant Lady forged steadily through the gray sea, making for New York with all speed.
Since the night that Paul Winslow had kissed her, Charity had found herself living in a state of restless confusion. Although she had tried her best to apologize to Blanche the following day, there was a strain between the two women. She wanted
to talk to Dan—but even after she had asked his forgiveness for unjustly blaming him for her father’s death, she could sense a definite wall when she saw him. She felt isolated, cut off, and the future looked empty, dull, without any hope of pleasure or satisfaction. The Lady had been her life, and now that both her father and the ship were gone, her heart was heavy when she tried to plan the next steps in her life.
Thad was the beneficiary of this time of her confusion, for she spent much time nursing him back to health. She tried as best she could to lay to rest his youthful love for her, but she had only partial success.
While she was changing Thad’s bandages one afternoon, she had her first encounter with Paul Winslow since that fateful night. Charity had just pulled the old bandages free and was carefully sponging the wound when a shadow fell over Thad, and she looked up with a start to see Paul looking down at her.
“How’s the patient doing?” he asked.
“Oh—he’s doing well—no sign of gangrene.”
“From all reports, you’ve done a fine job with these men,” he remarked. When she didn’t comment, he continued. “I’d like to have a word with you when you’re finished here.”
She glanced at him sharply, wanting to refuse, but heard herself saying, “I’ll be finished soon.”
“Captain?” Thad spoke urgently as the officer turned. “What’s going to happen to us—the crew, I mean?”
Winslow looked down at the boy, regret in his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll be sent to Dartmoor. It’s a naval prison for captured enemies of England.”
“We been hearin’ it’s nothin’ but a grave, Captain. Word we’ve had is that nine men out of ten just die there.”
Winslow shook his head. “I wish I could tell you more—but I know little about the place. It does have a bad reputation—but I guess all prisons do.”
The boy’s eyes gleamed with anger, and he spat out fiercely, “Well, they ain’t goin’ to do me in, I tell you flat! I’m bustin’ out of there!”
“Don’t do that, boy!” Winslow shook his head sternly. “It’s a bad place with lots of sickness, and men die—but from what I’ve heard the escape rate is nonexistent. Every man who’s tried to escape has been caught—and most of them killed by the guards. Try to be patient. This war can’t last long.”
“Easy for you to say!”
“I’ll see you on deck,” Winslow nodded at Charity, and left the cabin.
After she finished the bandaging, Charity promised, “I’ll bring you something to eat later, Thad. Try to sleep.”
She left the hold and went up on deck, where she saw Winslow standing on the poop deck looking out over the bow. When she climbed the steps he turned, saying, “I’m sorry about your crew. It’s one of the most terrible aspects of war—prisons. There are no good ones, I believe.”
“What did you want to see me about?”
He seemed uncertain, and took off his bicorn, twisting the hat around nervously, staring at the object as if it held a particular interest. The brisk wind ruffled his crisp black hair, causing a rebellious lock to fall across his forehead. Finally he lifted his gaze and said quietly, “I want to apologize for my behavior. It was unpardonable.”
His frank approach and the directness of his gaze pleased her, but at the thought of his kiss, she felt her cheeks flush. Quickly she ducked her head and turned to look out across the sea to compose herself. “It was not altogether your fault, Paul,” she murmured.
“I must risk contradicting a lady—for I know that in this case you are mistaken. Am I forgiven?”
“Well ...” She shifted her eyes to meet his, and the beginning of a smile touched her full lips. “You are forgiven as far as I am concerned, but—”
He grinned ruefully, and came to lean on the rail beside her. “Blanche? You needn’t mention that! I’ve already discovered that a woman scorned is a fearful sight!”
“She’ll forgive you. She loves you very much.”
He didn’t answer directly, but traced an intricate design in the encrusted salt coating the rail. When he looked up, he asked hesitantly, “Would you do something for me?”
“Why—I’m not sure,” she answered.
“Let me ask—afterward you can feel free to refuse—and no hard feelings.” He brushed the salt off his hands, and as he began to speak, she saw that he was tense. “I’m in a difficult position, you see. I’m an officer in His Majesty’s Navy—and if I am apprehended by the authorities—the American authorities, that is—I’ll be arrested. But I would like very much to contact my family.”
“How can I help, Paul?”
“You could go see them, Charity,” he responded instantly. “Tell them about me. They think I’m dead, so it’ll be a shock. However, the truth may be even a worse shock, don’t you see?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, I’ve thought about it a lot, and it seems to me that when my family hears I’m alive, they’ll all rejoice—at least I would hope so! But they need to be told that they’re not getting their son back again—because I’m not the same man. It’s going to be terrible for them, Charity!”
She stared at him, nodding her head slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You agree—to go, I mean?” He spoke faster, seeing that she was not convinced. “I know you have to bury your father, of course, but after that, if you could go to Boston and speak with them, I would be so grateful! You know what I’m like—as contrasted with what I evidently was before, and they need to be aware that the Paul Winslow they knew really is dead.”
A small column of smoke was rising from the galley, and she smelled the acrid scent of coal burning. It got in her eyes and she blinked to clear them before she answered. “I’ll go to Boston, Paul.”
“You will?” He involuntarily took her hands, then dropped them instantly, saying, “I suppose that won’t do! But it’s like you, Charity. You seem born to take care of helpless creatures like Thad and me.”
“It’s no trouble,” she assured him, and bit her lip. A sadness touched her green eyes, and she stated evenly, “I don’t have anything else to do.”
“That’s my fault, too, isn’t it?”
“No. We knew there was a risk of losing the ship,” she answered. “Don’t blame yourself. Now, what do you want me to say to your family?”
“Tell them what I am,” he began slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. “And tell them that I think it best that we don’t meet at all. I have another life now, and it will never be possible for me to be what I was.”
“I’ll try.”
He nodded, a look of relief etching his face. “I’ll do the best I can for the crew—but it’s out of my hands. There may be a way to help make life there easier. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Dartmoor is a hell, they say.” Charity’s lips trembled, a sadness touching her eyes at the fate of her crew. “Most of them will die there.” She turned hastily, and left him standing on the deck.
For the next two days she kept to herself, but she noticed that Blanche was almost always at Paul’s side. She’ll fight for him! she thought; and try as she could, she could see no happiness for the family of Charles Winslow.
****
Twelve days after The Gallant Lady dropped anchor in New York harbor, Charity found herself for the fourth time in her life standing at the door of Charles Winslow’s house feeling totally unsure of herself. The first time, she’d come seeking help for Nathan and his wife; the second time she’d come with Dan to apologize; the third time she’d been with Dan and the Winslows; but this time she was even more apprehensive.
She knocked on the door, and while she waited, she thought of the events of the days since the docking of the ship. She had left the Lady with tears, for she’d said her goodbyes to the crew. Dan and the rest would be placed on an English warship and taken to Dartmoor the following day, and they all knew it was the last time they’d ever meet—at least for most of them.
She’d fallen into Dan’s
arms, grief and shame engulfing her. She knew she did not love him—at least not in the way a woman must love the man she marries—but he looked so alone standing there! “Dan—I’m so sorry!”
“Thee mustn’t weep,” he had encouraged steadily. “Let me see a smile. It’ll have to do me for a time—that’s better! Now, I’m believing the good Lord that somehow I’ll see this country again—and thee must pray with me.”
“My prayers aren’t worth a farthing!” she had sobbed. “I don’t know God! I’m not even sure I believe in Him!”
“Well, He believes in thee—and that’s enough.” Then it was time to leave, and he had smiled, saying, “Thee has my love, Charity.”
The parting had been hard, and just as difficult had been her coming home to Boston to an empty house. She had not realized how much her father had filled the home, had made it happy and full of life. But now it was a burden on her to stay there, and she knew she could not live in the place alone for long.
She thought of the funeral, when the members of the church had gathered around the stark grave, and Pastor Johnson had spoken the old words about resurrection. She had stood there, her mind locked, frozen; when the black casket was lowered into the red clay, she had fainted for the first time in her life.
That had been two days ago, and during all that time she had tried to steel herself to keep her promise to Paul. As the door began to swing open, she had the absurd inclination to whirl and flee—but it was too late. Cory, the same house slave that had told her where to find Paul the first time she’d come, asked, “Yas’um? What can I do fo’ you?” And when she recognized Charity, her obsidianal eyes filled with hatred.
“I would like to see Mr. Winslow.”
“Mistuh Winslow—he not well.”
“Mrs. Winslow? I must see one of them!”
“I go see—you wants to come in?”
Charity entered and stood there waiting. The morning sun fell in gold bars through the heavy glass in the door, but it was unable to dispel the depressing silence in the house. Cory came back after what seemed like a long time and said, “You kin come dis way.”
The Saintly Buccaneer Page 24