by Jo Ann Wendt
She waited a long time. The knave did not come back. She clenched her jaw in disgust. Another lesson learned. Giving up on the ale, she was about to rejoin Mrs. Phipps and Black Bartimaeus when a horse-drawn coach came clattering down the steep street to the docks. Even before the horses halted, the door was flung open and someone sprang out. He was a well-dressed, brawny man, a fine-looking man in his prime. Hatless and in a hurry, he strode into the chaos of St. Katherine's Docks, his sandy brown hair full of sunlight.
John! Jericho felt her smile begin all the way down in her toes. She started forward, then stopped herself, unwilling to intrude. This was a mother-son reunion. She moved only close enough to enjoy it with her ears as well as her eyes.
Taking several swift, abortive steps in one direction, then in a second direction, John spotted his dozing mother. He stopped dead. He threaded his way through hogsheads of tobacco that were being unloaded, went to her, squatted, and gently touched her sleeve. "Mother?"
She awoke with a start, blinking. "John! Black Bartimaeus, look! It's John. It's my son John. John!"
"Mother." Jericho smiled with delight as John gathered his mother into his arms. They hugged, kissed, even wept a little.
"Seven years, son! It's been too long. Much too long."
"And who's fault is that, m'girl? Didn't I write you a hundred times to leave New York, didn't I? Come live with your son John in London, I says. Come let him treat you like a queen, I says. Didn't I, didn't I, eh?"
"And how could I leave?" she chided, her plump chin flattening happily. "With your two brothers giving me grand- babies to dandle on my knee every year? And such darling babies! If only you could see them—" She broke off, aghast. "Oh, son. I am so sorry about your wife. To marry and bury in the same year? It is too cruel to be borne. Arid to lose your firstborn in the childbirth, too. Oh, son!" She burst into tears. Jericho's heart surged protectively. She started forward, then stopped herself and let John do the comforting.
"There, there, Mother. There, there. 'Tis all in the past. 'Tis past and done. I'm fine now."
Jericho watched in silent sympathy, her eyes drinking John in. He was handsomer than she'd remembered. During the reunion, Black Bartimaeus had risen and stood shyly apart, watching in silent manner, but grinning from ear to ear. When John spotted him, he whooped.
"Black Bartimaeus! Great day, it's you. Man, it's good to see you!" Black Bartimaeus tried to offer a handshake, but John would have nothing so formal. He threw his arms around the elderly giant and hugged him. Positive that John was harming the people he loved, Pax lunged into a frenzy of barking. John swung the dog an idle glance, then blinked.
"My God. I would know that scruffy one-eyed pirate anywhere. Great heaven. I cannot b'lieve my eyes. It's—it's— what was his name? What did little Jericho call him?"
"Pax," Mrs. Phipps supplied happily, drying her tears.
"If that's Pax," John said, "then where—where's Jericho?"
It was her turn. Eager, and at the same time suddenly shy—Would he remember her? More to the point, would he still like her? He'd liked her in New Amsterdam.—she stepped forward.
"John?" she said uncertainly. "Hello, John."
He whirled and stood thunderstruck. His mouth went slack.
"Great heaven. Jericho?"
She nodded eagerly. "Hello, John."
"Jericho. You're beautiful. Good lord. Is it really you? You've gone and grown up on me. I cannot believe my eyes.''
He held out his arms and she went into them eagerly.
"It's you who's the beautiful sight, John. You look so prosperous and handsome." She'd hoped for a bear hug, like he'd given Black Bartimaeus. But he hugged her gingerly, diffidently, shyly.
"Me? Nay. I'm the same big, clumsy brute I always was. But you! Jericho, you take my breath away and that's a fact. Let me look at you. Let me feast my eyes." Though she protested, he made her turn around and around. His eyes swept her from head to toe. Polite, he didn't linger on her feminine parts. But he didn't miss them, either. She'd been looked at before. But this was different. This was John. She flushed in delight. A wild thought took wing and soared. Maybe Dove would think she was pretty, too. Instantly, she scolded herself. Did her every thought have to be of Dove?
When he'd finished looking, he swung Mrs. Phipps a teasing grin. "Why didn't you tell me, Mother? Keeping this a deep, dark secret, was you?"
Mrs. Phipps beamed. "I did tell you. Don't you read my letters? I wrote you that our Jericho had grown up into a very pretty young woman. I wrote you that she was quite old enough to be married."
"But reading it ain't seeing it, now, is it."
"Married." What a peculiar thing for Mrs. Phipps to say. Flustered, Jericho promptly changed the subject and asked about the plague.
John sobered and grew grave. With a few quiet words, he informed them of the city's status. The plague was officially over. To show good faith in the city, King Charles and his court had returned to Whitehall Palace. But summer was a chancy time. Therefore he had decided not to let them spend the summer in the city. They would sup and sleep at his house tonight, but tomorrow they would go to Arleigh Castle, at Lady de Mont's invitation. Mrs. Phipps was pleased. Jericho wasn't. Her heart beat unevenly. She wasn't sure she was prepared to see Dove.
John's house on Seething Lane proved to be much like the man, staunch and sturdy, with a look of permanence to it. The handsome, four-story, plank and plaster dwelling stood shoulder-to-shoulder with its neighbors, side walls touching in what Jericho was beginning to recognize as London's mode of building. Set upon the high ground of Tower Hill, the house afforded a lovely view of the Thames River.
Later that evening, after the four of them had dined and talked to their heart's content, Jericho helped Mrs. Phipps to bed and saw to Black Bartimaeus's heart tonic, then came downstairs and rejoined John in his dining chamber.
The dishes had been cleared away. So had the linen table carpet. A decanter of wine and two pewter cups stood on the polished table. The candles in the wall sconces burned softly. Outside, crickets chirped and a breeze blew in the window. The air smelled totally different here. A moment passed before she could identify the difference. Then it came to her. America was a continent of pine forest and smelled of it. England was not and did not. A wave of homesickness washed over her.
But she took her seat opposite a smiling John and returned his smile. America was no longer her home. England was. She would have to get used to it. But suddenly she missed her loved ones almost more than she could bear. Maritje, Daisy, Samuels, Goody, Cook.
"A tad more wine, Jericho?"
"I oughtn't. I've had plenty. Supper was so merry."
"Feathers. What's a reunion for, if not to take joy in it?" He poured. She was already aglow with wine. It was dangerous. The more she glowed, the more her thoughts dwelt on Dove.
She sipped her wine and John sipped his, an easy companionship flowing between them. During supper, John had teased her gently, vowing he missed her stutter. He'd made her laugh. Conversation at supper had been merry. Even Black Bartimaeus had said a few words, and John had mentioned Dove several times during the meal, but in a general way. Loosened with wine, she ached to ask specifics. Did Dove remember her? Did he ever mention her, speak of her?
"That was a wonderful supper John."
"No more'n you deserve."
"I fear we ate like starved gluttons. Especially the salad greens and the strawberries."
He chuckled softly. 44 Tis a long voyage without greens, with only salted meat and hard biscuit." He leaned back in his chair, comfortably hooked an elbow over the chairback and gazed at her. 44I like the way you are with Mother, Jericho. You're as good to her as a daughter would be."
44I love her. She's been a mother to me."
44I can see that."
Jericho smiled at him. With a sudden surge of sympathy, she said, 4 4John? I have been wanting to tell you. I was very sorry to hear of your wife's death."
4'I'm obl
iged, Jericho. Thank you."
44A11 of us were. Daisy, Samuels, Goody, Cook. Black Bartimaeus, too. Mrs. Phipps cried when she got your letter. The very next day, she began making plans to return to England."
44Thank you, Jericho. That's most kind to say." He drew a breath and picked up his wine cup. He didn't drink. He merely swirled it. The pewter caught the candlelight and threw dots of light upon the polished table top. He stared at the dots, musing.
44Ay," he mused softly. 4'Emily was sixteen when I married her, seventeen when I buried her. Ay, Jericho. It gives a man pause to know that the seed he plants in a woman can kill 'er."
Jericho gently watched him. 44But she wanted the baby, didn't she? I would, if I were married."
"Oh, ay. She wanted it. We both did. We was silly as two children when we learned she'd quickened." He shook his head helplessly.
4'It's a risk women take, John."
44Ay. But should they? I dunno."
Jericho's heart beat softly for him. He swirled the wine in his cup, still not drinking. "Oh, ay. We was fond, Jericho. 'Twas a love match. Emily, she made things . . . cozy for me. You know?"
Her eyes threatened to fill. "Cozy." The word painted a picture of John's loving marriage. She could almost see it— the young wife bustling about her house, making everything ready for her husband. The young husband heading home from work, an eager spring in his step as he neared his front door.
She reached out and put a comforting hand on John's. "You'll marry again some day, John. You will. The day will come when you will want to."
Instantly, his warm hand covered hers. "I believe I will, Jericho. For a long time, I thought not. But now . . ." He gazed at her. "Now I'm believin' I will want to."
She wasn't used to having her hand held. It bothered her. She wanted to pull away. But she couldn't. This was John. Besides, he seemed unaware of holding her hand as he sat musing, lost in thought, staring at the candlelight. In an absent-minded way, he rubbed his thumb over the crocheted wristband she wore to hide her birthmark. She stiffened and abruptly jerked her hand away.
John looked up, startled. He looked at her wristband. "I'm sorry, Jericho. I'm a thoughtless fool. I didn't think. It must remind you of that horrid night you was abducted."
A bit shaken, she managed a smile. "It's nothing." But she tucked her hands in her lap.
John leaned forward, concerned. "You don't still have them nightmares? About foxes?"
She shook her head. "I outgrew them. The same way I outgrew the stutter. But ..."
"But what? Surely you never had no more trouble like that? Surely nobody bothered you?"
She hesitated, then decided to confide in John. "No. No one bothered me. But as I grew up, Mrs. Phipps used to receive a -letter from London every year, asking to buy me, to buy my indenture."
"Who from, for heaven's sake?"
"We don't know. The letters came from an agent who did not name the person he represented. Mrs. Phipps just tore the letters up and tossed them into the fire. But the letters worried me, John."
John frowned deeply. Then the frown faded, replaced by a teasing smile. "Of course, someone wanted to buy you. Likely some man who'd visited New Amsterdam and had seen you. You're a beautiful girl, Jericho. What man wouldn't try to buy you?"
She didn't believe that was it. It was more. A sensitive man, John saw her distress and promptly changed the subject. Topping her wine cup, he leaned forward in a sprightly, vigorous manner and launched conversation in a happier direction.
"So Jericho. Tell me about your life!"
She smiled. There wasn't much to tell, but she told him what there was. After dame school, she'd attended Latin grammar school at the fort. After that, she'd taught dame school herself. She loved children, she loved teaching. She intended to have her own dame school someday.
"Now, I am impressed," John said when she finished, his warm brown eyes smiling. It was pleasant being praised by John, and she flushed. He toyed with his wine cup. "What about suitors? Surely there were suitors in New Amsterdam."
She laughed. "I'm a bondslave. Bondslaves cannot marry."
"But suitors did try?"-
"Mrs. Phipps sent them packing."
"Did you mind?"
"No." She took a sip of wine and felt the glow of it. Suitors. After knowing Dove, what suitor could measure up? He would be the standard she measured against for the rest of her life.
"Then there's no one you're sweet on? Back there?"
"No. Not really. No one."
"I'm glad to hear it!" he said with enthusiasm.
She looked up in surprise, but he immediately took the conversation in a different direction. For the next hour they talked happily. She told John all about New Amsterdam. New Amsterdam was New York now, but she couldn't get used to calling it that. Nor could he. At one point in their talk, John's eyes lit with a spark of interest. She'd mentioned Lizzie, his old sweetheart at Ten Boom's tap house.
But as the candles burned lower and the evening slipped away, she knew her chance to ask about Dove was fast vanishing. Aglow with wine, she boldly seized the moment.
"John, Tell me about Dove."
"Tell you what about Dove?"
She turned her pewter cup round and round in her hand, careful not to spill the wine, careful not to spill what was
in her heart. Outside, in the balmy darkness, the crickets chirped loudly, and in the quiet of the night she could hear sounds drifting up from the river. The tide was in. Ships' winches cranked, cranking up anchor chains as ships prepared to sail.
"What is he like these days? Is he the same?"
John leaned on his elbows and smiled. "He's the same. A wild man, an arrogant jackass. And the best and truest friend a man ever had."
"Then he's the same."
"He's the same."
"Oh," she breathed in relief. "I don't know why that pleases me so. But it does. I didn't want him to be changed."
John gave her a puzzled smile.
"John?" Her wine cup shook a little. She set it down. "Does-does he e-ever—w-well—talk about me? Mention me? Talk to you about me?"
His puzzled face went blank. He stared at her. Then, in a voice that was suddenly too hearty, he said, "Why of course he does! Great heaven. He mentions you all the time. Why, the last time I was at Arleigh Castle, he said t' me, 'John, I wonder how our Jericho is doing? I wonder how she is?' "
She had her answer.
Dove never spoke of her at all. He never even gave her a thought. She wasn't even a jot or tittle in his busy lordly life. The pain and anger were blinding. He'd promised a little girl he would keep her! But he'd gone off and forgotten her as if she'd been no more than a mildly annoying gnat that had buzzed round his head. True, he'd sent money for her upkeep. But that didn't count. The little girl who'd grown up waiting year after year for her master to send for her, hadn't wanted money. She'd wanted Dove.
She managed to hold her head high and smile at John. "He's well and happy, then."
"Dove's more'n well and happy, Jericho," John said, warming to his subject. "He's on top o' the world. Nay, he's the happiest fellow in the world. I'll tell you a secret. Dove is going to be married."
Why did that hurt so? He was nothing to her and she was nothing to him! Yet, several moments passed before she could speak.
"Well," she said. "That's wonderful, John."
"I'm truly glad you think so. It's more'n wonderful. You'll rejoice for Dove when you hear. Can you guess who Dove's going to marry?"
She shook her head. She didn't want to know, either.
"Remember the lady whose letters you was always swiping and hiding when you was a little girl and head-over-heels for Dove? Her. Lady Marguerite."
Jericho was dismayed. "But she's married, isn't she?"
He took a swallow of wine. "Was. Was married. Marguerite's husband passed away in France last winter. She will sail from France any day now. She and Dove will be married this summer. At Arleigh Castle."
Her heart absorbed it. Took the full assault of it.
"Well," she said shakily, "I'm glad Dove is getting what he wants." Then, unable to bear more, she rose unsteadily. "John, I drank too much wine. I want to go to bed."
"Of course!" His chair scraped and he was around the table in a bound. Taking a candlestick, he lighted it at the wall sconce, then took her by the hand and led her upstairs to the room she was sharing with Mrs. Phipps. At the door, he gave her the candle and smiled gently.
"Dove was right."
"What?"
"Years ago. In New Amsterdam. What he used to call you. He was right. You do have pansy eyes."
He leaned forward to salute her. Expecting a salute on the cheek, she was startled to get one on the lips. It was a real kiss, and definitely not a mistake. Bidding her good night, he swung off down the hall.
She watched him go. Dear life! Was John courting her?
Chapter Ten
" 'Od's blood!"
It wasn't like John to curse, but he cursed now as the coach lurched into a spine-jarring pothole and emerged listing, leaning to one side, causing all of them to slide a little on the leather cushions. Immediately, the driver shouted "Whoa" and pulled up the horses. When they got out on the country road, the driver was standing there in the settling dust, hat in hand.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see the pothole until I were on top o' 'er. The axle, sir. I fear she's cracked."
John sighed. "No use cryin' over spilt milk. We'll rig it as best we can. When we get to Arleigh Castle, you can fix it proper. Let's get to work."
The men peeled off their coats and rolled their sleeves. Jericho led Mrs. Phipps and Pax to shade. They watched the men work. It was laborious toil. The coach had to be unloaded, the trunks unstrapped and lifted down. Among the trunks was one that made Jericho squirm. A trunk of John's wife's gowns. John had insisted she have them. She'd tried to refuse. They represented too intimate a gift. But Mrs. Phipps had sided with John. She'd given Jericho's cheek a fond pinch. "Take them, silly goose!"