Sara turned to face him, waves dousing them as the ship climbed a swell. “Aye, it’s too wet for us to stand out here.” She batted her eyelashes.
“Iceberg ahead,” the lookout shouted and Sara turned the way he pointed.
“Ready about,” Brewerton’s first mate hollered. Men dashed up the rigging and onto the yards. Suddenly so close, frothy waters surged between the ship and the towering ice.
“Watch the helm, Mister Collins.” The ship veered larboard.
How could they have missed this grand mountain until they were nearly upon it? Sara reckoned it was taller than St Paul’s Cathedral in London. She strained her neck, astonished by its immensity. Colours of purple and dark blue tipped its edges and shined through in contrast with the dreary skies.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she breathed. Her lips barely moved in the cold.
Ice towered over the highest mast of the ship. It rode the troughs and swells with them.
Her breath caught in her throat. “It will crush us.”
“Haul the wind, Mister Collins,” first mate hollered.
The helmsman steadied the whipstaff, guiding the ship into the wind and away from the iceberg. Inexplicably, Sara’s heart sank for she would like to go much closer, touch it and taste it. “Is it salty or made of fresh water?” she asked.
“What?” David cried. “’Tis too loud. I cannot hear thee.”
She shook her head, afraid to say anything more. To tempt the devil with her desires could cause the ship to collide with the ice. They sailed onto a high swell that took them away from the towering island.
She snuggled in David’s arms. Long ago, one of David’s men had told her how exceedingly tall icebergs were, but until she saw one, she would never have believed it, would never have been prepared for its majestic sight. With the excitement diminished, she shivered in the cold.
“Now, now Twig.” He awkwardly patted her back. “’Tis all gone and away. You must get used to this. Islands of ice abound in these northern waters.”
She nodded against the sodden wool of his cloak.
The ship dropped into a trough, waves splashing the deck. He grabbed her shoulders and wheeled her around, toward the great chamber. “Let us get out of these heavy seas. We’re both wet through.”
As they entered the great chamber and Sara removed her cloak, she asked, “Will we see these mountains of ice all the way to Canada? How much longer?”
David chuckled. “You’ve asked that question yesterday and the day before.”
Sara bristled. “Do not treat me as a child. The wind’s got up since then and we seem to be moving faster.”
He regarded her as if knowing to annoy her, he’d not be able to tussle upon the counterpane. His thoughts were so transparent, Sara wanted to laugh.
David cleared his throat. “Favourable winds will make our journey shorter.” He raised an arm and motioned to the windows. “But as you can see, the winds are not favourable, today. We are sailing into them. Makes for a slow going.”
He visibly gulped when she glared at him and he quickly added, “But should I hazard a guess, based on the weather of late, I’d say a full voyage will take us six to eight weeks.”
“Hmmm.” Sara shook her cloak, water droplets spraying the tables, benches and planked floor. “Then, we best get on with it.” She walked to their chamber, set her hand on the latch and raised her brow. He stood like a stick, his cloak dripping, a puddle forming at his feet.
She opened the door. “Art thou coming?”
His face brightened. “Oh, aye. Right away.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Newfoundland, June 1632
The coast of Newfoundland and the Gulf of St. Lawrence were thick with fishermen. Merchantmen from all over Europe plied the waters, trading with colonies and fisheries that clustered along the coast.
He saw several French flags flying upon masts. Vexed to the gut, David wanted to yell across the water at those ships, “You go against our laws!”
He must vacate the French forts, but he’d be damned if the French territory extended into the gulf or onto Newfoundland. That was England’s soil.
With de Caen’s year of monopoly concluded, King Charles had given the Merchant Adventurers the patent of trade exclusivity, which meant an industrious fellow with the thought to do business in this part of the world must come to them for a licence. Once they let loose a few coins, fishermen could ply their trade in these waters.
As the Gervase sailed down the deep inlet to Tadoussac and eventually Québec, fishermen hailed them. They demanded to be told what their ship carried.
David hunched over the rail and scowled. “Art thou pirates to harass us so? Do you have a licence from the Merchant Adventurers to fish here?”
They reared back, astounded. “These waters are free. We fish and process cod where we will.”
Along with the ill-fated venture of 1629 and the king’s resulting dishonour, income from this, too, had been robbed of the Merchant Adventurers. Stark words rumbled in David’s throat. He gnashed his teeth. “I shall write another strongly worded letter to the Privy Council, demanding they immediately right this wrong.”
Sara came up to the rail and leaned into him. “Do soothe your boorish temper.”
“You know nothing of the business!” he roared. His angry words sliced up and down the inlet, bouncing off the tree canopy. Startled birds cried out and took to the air, their wings flapping.
“You will not holler,” she snapped. ‘Tis unseemly.”
David lowered his head, ashamed to have been so bold to Sara who did not deserve his ire. “Aye.”
She swept her arm to indicate the ships of sail. “Consider this an opportunity. You must no longer trust the king but forge your own path. Isn’t that what you said before we left London?” She nodded at the fishing boats. “Besides, the hold is overfull with goods we can sell to these here folks. Do you really want to annoy them?”
He heaved a breath of air so fresh, he could sing a very high tenor note to the Lord. He slapped the rail. “Oiy then. We shall do it.”
“Besides,” she continued as if she must have the last word, “you can always raise the price to include the exclusivity you’ve lost.” She smiled. “It would be considered a special tax of sorts. You’ll add a percentage to each item.”
He regarded her with astonishment. Would she never cease to amaze him? He slowly nodded as he envisioned all the supplies in the hold. “Ten percent?”
She clicked her tongue. “Greed will not do. Eight point five would be better but we’ll need the abacus.” She gazed at him. “Did you bring it with you?”
How could she doubt him? “Always.”
She grinned and her whole being lit up. Her cheeks had pinked in the cool air and her green eyes were bright.
After the birth of their son eighteen months ago, her body had filled out. She was a woman, no longer a twig. He wanted to pull her in his arms and give her a full kiss on the lips, suck her soul into his. He flexed his fingers, ready to do just that when Brewerton ambled by and gave him a jolly blow to the arm. “We’re coming up to Tadoussac, where we’ll anchor for a few days.”
David rubbed his hands together and winked at Sara. “Excellent. Let us find a place to set up shop. We will sell our wares to the inhabitants.”
* * *
The colonists and fishermen balked at the high tax. They pointed daggers and muskets at David and with a resolved shrug of his shoulders, he settled on five percent. Three weeks later, with the holds of their vessels less crowded of goods, the Gervase and the George sailed up the St. Lawrence toward the fort of Québec.
Sara could never have imagined a place such as this. Her eyes were always a’ goggle, her throat constricted with awe. Every moment she saw wondrous sights, things and peoples she’d never expected, which she remarked upon in her journal. The land was wild, the Aboriginals and settlers equally untamed.
Enterprising and creative, they m
ade useful items from what walked on the land or grew in the ground. Here, man’s ingenuity was almost spiritual. She’d love for her son, George, to see this. She wished he had not remained in London but David would have none of it.
“He’s too small and will get lost or fall overboard,” he had said, or, “He’s too young and innocent. He does not know how to protect himself. You’ll see. There are bloodthirsty insects that will surely drain our young son dry should he go with us.”
Sara tucked the edges of a hood under the neckline of her woollen cloak and tried to mask her face with the heavy cloth. Big, black flies swarmed her poor person, nearly driving her mad. They were a misery and far worse beasties than she had experienced in London.
David waved at a cloud of fat, buzzing flies. “These will go away in a week or two.” He sliced a glance her way. “Then you’ll feel the brunt of the mosquitoes.”
She was very glad baby George had not come with them.
They sailed toward Île d’Orléans, manoeuvring around shallow islands. They entered a narrow passage of water toward the fort that David informed her stood on a high cliff. She wrapped her cloak around her and leaned against the rail.
Despite the discomfort of biting insects, she immersed her senses in the lushness of the area, its beautiful stretches of forestry. Large birds called eagles watched them from high perches. Her breath caught in her throat when a brown bear crouched on a half-submerged log and swiped at a fish that had leaped out of the water.
David stared at the prow. “It will be good to see Lewis again.”
Sara nodded. She did enjoy Lewis’ company. The difference between the brothers still surprised her, yet they had their father’s nose, his chin. She regarded David, glad to be married to him rather than one of the others.
He pointed. “The land is rising. Soon, we will be there.”
That afternoon, they rounded a bend to see several ships anchored below the fort of Québec, their sails furled. Sara’s gaze travelled up the rough face of a tall escarpment to what looked like men patrolling the cliff line. “There is no wall.”
David scoffed. “Of course not. No one can climb that cliff.”
“How will we get up there, then?”
“There’s a path that goes alongside then up the back.”
Brewerton swept near them and snorted. “Isn’t that Emery de Caen’s ship of sail?” He pointed at a vessel that carried the Bourbon standard, a flag with the fleur-de-lis in trinity pattern; then Brewerton sauntered away.
Sara watched darkness settle over her husband. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Aye.”
“Do not do anything rash,” Sara ordered. “We lost this one but we shall gain another.”
His glare softened. “Indeed, Twig, but what will we gain? I should like to know what witchery forms within thy brain.”
She hissed. “Never say that word, sirrah. ‘Tis too dangerous.” She looked around to see if anyone on the crowded deck may have overheard. Noise and clamour of the busy crew filled the air. No one stared or spoke of her behind their hand.
Sara regarded David with a frown. She wondered if indeed he considered her a witch. After all, not many merchants’ wives worked alongside their husbands in a business. Usually, they must wait until their husbands died.
As if David finally realized what he had said, his eyes filled with alarm. He grabbed her arms. “I meant no harm. Please forgive me.”
Sara could not remain angry with him, even as he blustered through life, sometimes not comprehending the consequences of his actions, his words. Her shoulders relaxed. “I accept your apology.” Her lips wavered in a tentative smile.
He regarded her with a frown. “Methinks you are still vexed with my evil liver but I shall force thee to forget, tonight.” He waggled his brows.
She doubted he would be filled with rowdy play after returning Québec and the other holdings to the French. She started to say this but the activity aboard ship escalated and became overloud.
Brewerton cried, “Oiy, the Frenchies are releasing their boats. We shall go, also.” He raised his arm and a seaman released the small boat from the davits.
“Come,” David said. “We shall see Lewis.”
* * *
Being idle aboard ship for several weeks had made Sara feeble. By the time they reached the top of the cliff and stood before Québec’s western wall, reinforced with stripped tree trunks and a moat running alongside, her lungs felt they were about to burst.
David wrapped his arm around her middle and dragged her up the drawbridge.
“Who comes?” a guard called from inside. “Art thou a bloody Frenchman?”
Sara searched for him through the chinks of wood and suddenly saw the long barrel of a musket pointing at them. She let out a small squeal of fear.
David awkwardly patted her on the back. “Now, now, Twig, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” His stance took on a threatening aspect. “I am Captain David Kirke, Governor Kirke’s brother. Let us in.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying? You sound Frenchie.”
“I do not,” David yelled.
Sara reflected his voice did have somewhat of a French lilt, but his time in London had softened it. She no longer heard it until moments like this.
Another voice spoke to the guard, his words unintelligible.
“My captain recognizes your voice,” the guard said. “We will admit you, now.”
The rifle barrel withdrew from between the pales. After clunks and scrapes, the gate opened. Sara craned her neck to see inside the palisade. A three-storied structure with several galleries dominated the area.
“’Tis a garrison, home, and trading post,” David explained as they walked into the fort.
A man’s shout greeted them. Dressed in buckskin with a fur hat sitting rakishly on his head, Lewis approached them, his arms wide.
Sara grinned, for it was good to see him again, although she hardly recognized him. He seemed taller, thinner. His Vandyke had frothed into a full beard that almost covered his face.
David laughed. “You old cur! ‘Tis good to see thee.”
Laughter filled the air as they embraced and banged on each other’s back.
“Took you long enough to get here. De Caen wants entry. Once he’s in, we’ll have only eight days to vacate.”
“Aye and our trading along with it.” David frowned.
Lewis stared at David. “That is bad news. I haven’t been idle whilst here, brother, and have made trade contacts in this whole area. Our leaving will put that effort to dirt.”
David sighed. “Can’t be helped. ‘Tis part of the latest treaty between England and France.”
“Well, come in. Come in. We have berry wine. Once you adjust to the taste, it is good.”
Brewerton and Thomas walked up to them; behind were two seamen lugging barrels of wine. With a big grin, Lewis shook Brewerton’s hand. Thomas did not extend his hand. He and Lewis exchanged nods.
David laughed. “I think not, brother. We shall drown our sorrows in proper wine, a good Canary from Spain.”
“What? No more French wine?” Lewis grinned. He led the way on a planked wood walkway to the building.
“Not since this troublesome business,” David irritably answered.
They entered a large chamber dominated by a stone hearth blackened with soot, a long table nearby flanked by stools and benches. At the end of the chamber was another room that seemed more an office.
Sara separated from the men to look around, her gaze on the heavy rafters, timbered walls and ceiling, the waxed cloth that covered the windows. Almost everything was made of wood. Why wouldn’t they use wattle and daub when there were so many trees, so many sticks they could weave into walls? Somehow, this primitive house that smelled of sweat and wet ash dismayed her. There was no warmth, not a scrap of a woman’s touch.
She stepped back and bumped into one of the men.
Thomas hissed. “Do not touch me.”
S
ara looked into dark grey eyes that reminded her of Father Kirke, but Thomas’ eyes were cruel when he gazed upon her. They sharpened, began to blaze. She quickly stepped back, afraid he would strike her.
“If you dare touch her,” David growled, “I will kill you.”
Her husband’s face grim with resolve, Sara believed him. Thomas must have, too, for he jerked away and stepped to the smouldering hearth.
“Why do you hate my wife?” David demanded. “She has done nothing to you.”
“You are blind,” Thomas cried. “She has a cunning heart to conceal her evil. She will usurp our household, take over the wine business.”
Sara stared at the man whose face contorted with madness. He must have hated her since she took away his part of the business, demanded his papers, the ledger. She squinted, thinking back to then and realized Thomas had shown her dislike from the moment they’d been introduced.
“Maman pleads with me to take your wife away,” Thomas said.
“What?” Sara could not fathom where this came from. Madame had been kind and welcomed her into the family.
He took a step toward them. “She’s already taken the business from Maman’s homeland. Now, we trade with Spain and Portugal. Their wine is inferior. ‘Tis like drinking offal.” He spat, the spittle hitting the floor near Sara’s skirts.
With a gasp, she jumped back.
“It was Maman who made that decision,” David informed him. “Last year alone, she ordered several tuns of wine from Portugal.”
Lewis crossed his arms over his buckskinned chest. “Brother, your passion verges on the insane. How can you hate another without just cause?”
Thomas hunched forward, his hands rolled into tight fists. “She is a canker of corruption! A Delilah to our family. She makes men weak, unmans them. Look what she’d done to me, took away my ledgers?” He glared at his brothers.
Sara frowned. “Delilah?”
“Father did that,” David retorted.
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