The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  She pushed through the kitchen door and called, “Anne?”

  “We’re in the front room.”

  Nicole set down her basket and pulled off her mud-caked boots. She then stepped into a pair of house slippers and proceeded to walk to the parlor. She was halted by the sight of an unfamiliar young man seated nervously at the edge of his chair.

  In response to Nicole’s questioning glance, Anne said, “Nicole, this is Harold Younger. Mr. Younger works for the bank Uncle Charles does business with.”

  He sprang to his feet and gave an awkward bow. “Your servant, ma’am.”

  Anne’s features formed a pinched cast. She had not been particularly well these past few days. Although she complained very little, one could see she was in considerable pain by the way she held herself. Even seated as she was, the baby looked huge on her slender frame, bulging mightily underneath the beaded housedress. It was incredible to think she had almost two months left to go.

  “Mr. Younger has come with very good news,” Anne said.

  “Indeed, Miss Harrow. I am happy to report that space has been found for you upon a vessel departing for England.”

  The news, though not unexpected, pushed Nicole down into the seat beside Anne. “When?”

  “Four days from now,” he said.

  She exchanged a glance with Anne. “So soon.”

  “Our parents are expected this evening, tomorrow at the latest,” Anne replied as she shifted slightly in her seat. Her face tightened and then relaxed. “Four days will be fine.”

  “Here, let me get you another cushion.” Nicole rose and plucked a cushion from Cyril’s rocker, helped Anne to lean forward, and slipped it down beside her. While she watched Anne lean back and nod that things were better, she said, “I should stay and help you through the final days.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Stay?” The man’s nervous hands fluttered his beaver-skin hat as he spoke. “If you will excuse me for saying, Miss Harrow, but this berth we’ve managed to obtain is a treasure. A veritable treasure, ma’am. It was only through our chairman’s direct intervention that we found you space at all, meeting as he did personally with the ship’s owners. I cannot say if another berth will be found.”

  “Later in the summer, perhaps,” Nicole pleaded.

  “Not this season, ma’am. And especially not a vessel where the captain’s own wife is on board. This was a remarkable turn of events. It means you will travel with a proper chaperone.”

  “It sounds like a miracle,” Anne agreed.

  The thought of Nicole declining had Mr. Younger twirling his hat like a top now. “Again, if you’ll excuse me for saying, ma’am, but if you refuse, I hate to think what the chairman might say. After all his trouble, I expect he might think I’ve mishandled my mission here and hand me my walking papers.”

  “There, you see?” Anne tried to be firm, but her voice lacked sufficient strength. Clearly something was disturbing her. “It’s all settled then.”

  “Nothing—” Nicole held back her objection at the sound of boots on the front steps. She waited as Cyril entered and greeted his wife and was introduced to Mr. Younger.

  After the news was passed on, Cyril said firmly, “You must go.”

  “But Anne needs me.” The thought of leaving so soon, while all the quandaries remained unsettled, left her in a panic. “I cannot just leave her—”

  “You must. If need be, we can ask Catherine to come and stay with us for the duration.” Cyril had adopted his doctor’s voice, stern and brooking no argument. “Listen to me, Nicole. The situation here is becoming more serious by the day.”

  Anne demanded anxiously, “You have news?”

  “Nothing worth discussing. But I hear things. Two of my patients are generals. The situation is not nearly what people here are surmising. It is worse. Both these generals are convinced that war is coming. They are not certain as to when. Perhaps this year or the next, but no later than that. But it is coming. The greatest question they are facing at this point is whether Nova Scotia will get caught up in the fighting.”

  “Surely there is hope,” Anne protested.

  Cyril glanced at his wife and started to speak, then turned back to Nicole and said, “My other concern is this grippe that continues to attack the people here. I lost another patient this very afternoon.”

  “Oh no,” Anne cried. “Who?”

  “Old man Townsend.”

  “Oh, his poor family. I must go—”

  “You will go nowhere, my dear.” His tone grew sterner still. “Widow Townsend and their eldest son both show every sign of coming down with the same wet chest. This illness is a terror, and there is little I can do besides apply my poultices and pray.”

  “But they need me,” Anne said.

  “Your baby needs you more,” Nicole answered.

  “She is right, my dear. You must harbor your strength and keep yourself from danger.” Cyril looked back to Nicole. “As should you.”

  The day was a gift. Nicole had heard the words three times on her walk to the quayside. A gift. And perhaps for others it was so, with the sudden summertime warmth, the kind breeze, the clear sky, and the chirping birds. Even the gulls sounded welcoming as their little group approached the harbor. Sailors’ voices carried across the water, chanting their songs of the sea as they flitted up rope ladders and scrambled along the crossties. Rope halyards beat gentle time against the masts, metal clanged, and bare feet drummed staccato melodies on the main deck. Even the officers’ orders carried a note of excitement and adventure.

  As they passed the sentries now permanently stationed at the harbor entrance, a signal gun boomed, and then all heads turned to watch a magnificent ship unfurl its square white wings and slowly, gracefully take flight across the blue water. A soldier jostled by them, saying to his shipmate, “Bound for Boston and the battles.”

  “Give my right arm to be sailing with her, I would,” he replied.

  One of the sentries pointed with his musket to where Nicole and her family stood. “Here, you lot. Get a move on. There’s important business afoot.”

  The order spurred Andrew forward. “Come, we are blocking the entrance.”

  The four of them hurried toward the ship moored at the quayside. Andrew carried Nicole’s chest, which contained all of her things except for what she had packed in her cloth trundle bag. Cyril had on his shoulder a second chest that had arrived just two days earlier from England. It was marked for Nicole. Because of her rush to get ready, she had done nothing more than quickly glance over the different items in the trunk. She found that they consisted mostly of extravagant dresses and mantles and shoes—things she would never dream of wearing.

  Anne had been unable to join them, as the sudden change of weather caused her to become extremely fatigued. And so Cyril bore the distracted look of one whose mind was elsewhere.

  Nicole’s farewell with Anne had been tinged by a slight jealousy over how grand the couple seemed together, despite their worries and the long hard winter. As they left the house that morning, Nicole found herself wondering if she would ever find such contentment. And in the jarring honesty that goes with leaving behind family and a place that had become home, she felt confused again about whether she in fact wanted this for herself. Nicole felt more torn than ever between staying and building lifelong ties, bonds to people and place that meant no more farewells like this one, and a life full of adventure and new beginnings.

  Nicole and Catherine approached the ship hand in hand. The one blessing of this day of good-byes had been the early-morning talk she’d had with her mother. It still felt strange using the word mother to refer to anyone but Louise. Yet on this day it came more comfortably than ever before. Their conversation had begun with talking about Andrew, Anne and Cyril, the baby coming, the winter just past, and the Acadian school where Catherine had agreed to help teach.

  Then as they heard the first sounds that announced the house was coming to life, Catherine, who knew th
ey would be joined by everyone soon, suddenly said, “Nicole, I want to thank you.”

  “There is no need.”

  “There is every need. For making the journey to Georgetown. For answering my prayers so wonderfully. For growing into the beautiful woman that you are. In spite of all the nightmares and the yearnings and the regrets, God has faithfully helped me to see that what we did was right. Thank you also for giving me this wonderful winter and…” Catherine’s voice became shaky, so she stopped and used the edge of her housecoat to dab the corners of her eyes. “No tears. I promised Andrew and myself before we left Georgetown that there would be no tears.”

  “Oh, Mama.” It was then that Nicole had felt the impressions come together into a kind of revelation. No matter what the natural course might be or how it was for the rest of the world, she did not have one mother but two. This was not mere feeling, for when she reached over and took hold of Catherine’s hands, she knew it to be truth. “I love you so much.”

  “My darling Nicole. I think I knew the instant you arrived that you would be leaving. And hard as this morning is, I also think knowing this time would come has made the days we have shared all the more precious.”

  Nicole leaned back in her seat and confessed what she had difficulty speaking of, even to herself. “I feel as if I am being pulled apart inside.”

  “I understand.”

  “How is that possible, when I hardly comprehend it myself?”

  “Because I see you with a mother’s love.” Catherine’s smile was sweetened by a sorrow beyond tears, beyond time. “I don’t know if you were born with a restless spirit or if perhaps you breathed this in with the shipboard air during your first voyage. But I saw the way you would sit at Anne’s favorite spot and stare out over the Bay of Fundy. With Anne, it was a place to reflect on things and see God’s answers written in the clouds and sky. With you, it was a place to yearn.”

  Having someone understand her so well and hearing the words spoken with such undemanding love left Nicole feeling as though her heart had been branded. She could only nod in response.

  “You must follow the direction God has placed within you.” Catherine seemed unaware of the tear that had escaped and trickled its way down her cheek. “I hope and pray that you shall keep your eyes fastened not on the splendor and the mystery but rather upon the divine.”

  The harbor market’s bustle swept them up and deposited them in a relatively calm space between the ship’s two gangplanks. A steady stream of cargo handlers and bleating animals pushed up the two platforms and into the vessel. They stood encircled by the clamor and excitement of a seaborne voyage. Nicole took a deep breath and tasted the flavors of sea and far-flung lands and found herself suddenly elated by what was about to begin. She felt impatient to get on board, yet heartsick over having to say farewell to those she loved.

  Cyril dropped his case, extended his arms, and offered her a quick kiss on both cheeks. “Anne made me promise I would give you those at shipside.”

  “I will pray every day for her and the baby’s safety,” Nicole said.

  “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” He then allowed his worry to show through a little. “I can hardly wait for all this to be behind us. The one positive note to this whole affair is that Catherine has agreed to stay and help Anne through the coming weeks.”

  “I could not do otherwise,” Catherine responded. “Shame on you for not letting me know earlier how she was doing.”

  “Anne would not permit me,” Cyril said.

  “I cannot see much positive in this day,” Andrew sighed. “For I am losing not one lady of my life but two now.”

  “Only for a time, my husband,” Catherine said. She held her smile tightly, and her eyes shined. But no tears.

  Nicole found it easier to turn to Andrew than to draw her newfound mother into an embrace. “Good-bye, Papa. I will pray and I will write.”

  “Give my love to Charles,” he said, loud enough for all to hear. He wrapped her into a fierce hug and moaned, “O Lord…give me strength.”

  There was nothing left for Nicole to do now but face Catherine. The moment seemed to pierce her, and in the brilliant sunlight, Nicole saw more clearly than ever before the lined features and the silver gray strands threading through her mother’s hair. The hard-earned wisdom that shone in her eyes spoke to her of time’s passage, of harder farewells still to come. “Oh, Mama…”

  “Shah, my child.” Catherine’s grip was as strong as her husband’s and longer lasting. Nicole clung to her as well, so tightly there was no room for either woman to draw a breath. They finally released each other, permitting enough space for their eyes to meet once again. “You carry my love with you. You always have; you always will.”

  Nicole bit her lip and nodded. No tears.

  “Andrew, will you bind us with prayer?”

  “Let us join together.” The four of them laced their arms around one another, and they drew so close that their foreheads touched. They stood this way for a while, waiting for Andrew to pray. Finally he confessed softly, “My heart is so full. I fear the words will not come.”

  “Then I shall speak for us all,” Catherine said. “Dear Father in heaven, be where we cannot be. Sail with our darling daughter across the great sea. Let her hear your blessed voice where she cannot hear our own. Embrace her when our own arms cannot hold her. Fill her with your love, and ours. And when she kneels at night and speaks with you, let her hear our response with your own. In the miracles that are yours and yours alone to bestow, let her know that we are with her still.”

  Chapter 6

  Nicole stood at the landward railing and waved and waved. Long after the three figures had been blocked by the ships lying at anchor, still she stood. At every tack, as the ship threaded its way carefully among the merchant vessels and the men-of-war, she raced to the opposite rail. There she craned and searched, desperate for one more glimpse of the family she had found and was now leaving behind.

  Only after they had cleared the harbor mouth and the rocky promontory blocked her view entirely did Nicole release her hold on the railing. Even then she did not turn away, for she now found herself caught up in a surging wave of regret and sorrow. She watched as each rise and fall of the ship, each slapping wave and mark of the bosun’s whistle drew her ever farther from the place she loved. Now that it was too late, now that she had given in to what she thought she wanted, she felt desperate to return again to her Acadian home.

  “Begging your pardon, Miss Harrow.”

  “Yes?” She used the excuse of wind-flung hair to sweep away the gathering tears. Only then did she turn around.

  “Andrew Potter at your service, ma’am.” The midshipman was fair-haired and freckled and appeared younger than she. Her inspection caused him to blush a little. “The captain’s compliments. Perhaps you’d like me to show you your quarters.”

  “Thank you. My things…”

  “They’ve already been stowed, miss. This way, if you please.”

  Nicole followed him across the deck, now rising and falling with greater intensity as they headed out into the deep-ocean swells. “My father’s name is Andrew, also.”

  A deeper crimson traveled up his cleanly shaven face now, starting from his neck. He adjusted his stiff uniform and said, “Everyone on board calls me Andy, ma’am. That is, save the captain.”

  She felt as much as saw the eyes upon her, directed from every station on the ship. “And what name does the captain use?”

  “Lad, when he’s pleased, Potter, when I am slow. I am his nephew; my mum’s his baby sister.” He hesitated at the stairway leading into the aft hold, turned back, and gave her an impish grin. “But when I’ve mussed my navigation and put the ship somewhere off Madagascar, he has some right names for me. I dare not tell you what I am called then.”

  A voice from the quarterdeck blasted out, “Look lively, you lot! This is not some ladies’ Sunday tea! Bosun, take the names of every sailor on the mizzen there. And yo
u, Potter, what are you hanging about for?”

  The grin vanished in a flash, and young Potter clattered down the staircase. Nicole risked a glance up and found her gaze met by a scowling older gentleman. His weathered face was framed by white muttonchop sideburns, so bushy they protruded almost a hand’s width from his face. His sharp gray eyes swept over Nicole as though taking in every aspect, seen and unseen, and finding little that met with his approval. Nicole shifted her eyes toward the deck planking and then she sped down the stairs after Potter.

  She found him waiting for her at the end of a long, narrow passageway. Slightly out of breath now, she whispered, “Your captain is…remarkable.”

  “Remarkable is the word, ma’am. You best step lively about him and mind your p’s and q’s.”

  Nicole liked the young man with his playful, mischievous look. “Should I salute, do you think?”

  “Oh, ma’am, I beg you…” Then Potter realized she was jesting and rewarded her with another of his animated smiles. “If you do, pray allow me to be around to watch the fireworks.”

  He rapped on the door, and at the sound of a woman’s voice from within, he opened it and announced, “Miss Harrow, if you please, ma’am.”

  “Very good, Andy. Show her in.”

  The woman who rose to greet Nicole was gray haired, very slender, and held herself rigidly erect. Though she wore a dress of violet rather than black, Nicole had the immediate impression of standing in the presence of someone recently bereaved. Her eyes were red rimmed, and her lips were pressed so tightly together that the skin wrinkled around her mouth. Her right hand clutched a crumpled handkerchief. “Good day to you, Miss Harrow. I am Emily Madden. Captain Madden is my husband.”