Curse of the Blue Tattoo

by L. A. Meyer

  "Shall I make that prissy little Clarissa smile?" I screw my lips up into a prune shape and cross my eyes.

  I can see she is warming to her task in spite of my clowning. "And your references to your personal things: It is not your petticoats, nor your shifts, definitely not your underpants, it is your linen. As in, 'I must have my linen cleaned,' not, as you would have it, 'Oi've got to scrub out me drawers!'"

  For this I give the sad-eyed, abashed look and say, "You must be very ashamed of me, Sister."

  "Not at all," she says. "I love you as my life. But you did ask..."

  "All right, all right. Go on." I sprawls on my back again. "Lay on, Amy, and get it all out."

  "Well. Then there's that right there. You should never lie or sit with your limbs apart like that."

  I snaps my legs together.

  "And they are your limbs, Jacky, and that is how you should refer to them, not as your legs or arms or anything else."

  "Even when it's just us girls?"

  "Even so." Amy's mouth is set in the same thin line as Mistress Pimm's.

  "Farewell, legs. Hello, limbs," I says. "What is this, then?" I point.

  "Your knee. Part of your limb. And, yes, your thigh, too, is part of your limb, and never discussed."

  "And me rump?" I asks, pointing to my bottom.

  "Your derriere. The less said, the better."

  "And these?"

  "Décolletage would be best. Or breast, but singular, never plural."

  "And this?"

  "That is your abdomen, dear, not your belly nor your stomach. Discussed only with your doctor." She knows that she is being played with, but she goes on. "And no more picking of the nose, should you get around to pointing to that part. And as to that, a lady does not point, either."

  I take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "Farewell, nose, friend of my idle hours. Farewell, too, my belly. Maybe as Miss Ab Domen you will not trouble me so much with your wants."

  I grin what I now know is my foxy grin and lift my hand and am about to point to the really good stuff when she drops her head and says, "Now you are going to shock me and it is not fair, for I am such an easy target."

  She looks down at her hands wringing in her lap and doesn't say anything more. I see from her expression that I was about to go too far with her.

  "I'm sorry, Amy." I rustle about and straighten myself out on the straw and say, "I don't want to be a lady like Clarissa, but I do want to be a lady like you, and I will listen to you and learn."

  In spite of all my foolery, she seems touched by what I say.

  I lift my hand to my brow and make a salute. "I, Jacky Faber, Maiden First Class, await your further instructions, Ma'am!"

  I thinks then about Jaimy and our hammock and then adds, "Better make that Maiden Second Class," and I wrap my arms about myself and rock back and forth, giggling.

  "I do not believe you are one at all," she blurts out. "There. I have said it." Her face is blushing furiously.

  "Are one what?" I asks, wondering what she's gettin' at.

  "A ... a maiden," she whispers in mortification.

  I drop the smile and give a low whistle. "What you must think of me, Miss," I say.

  "No, no ... I am sorry. Forgive me. It is just that ... that I worry about you, Jacky. Things you have said, things you have done ... I'm sorry," she says, and covers her face in shame. "Let us talk about something else, please, Sister. I am sorry."

  I gaze upon her and remember Mistress telling me to keep my mouth shut about my past, but that was before I was kicked out of the ranks of the ladies.

  I consider that and then I says, "Would you like to hear my little story, then?"

  "I would, yes, I suppose I would," she says in relief and in, I think, some dread.

  "Even the rough parts?"

  She gulps and then nods.

  "All right, then," I says, lying back. "And if afterward you want to put me out, I'm all right with that and won't hold it against you. I know I'm free and easy in my ways, and I know that might not sit right with someone like you who was brought up proper. My seabag is always packed and I can be gone in five minutes. Agreed?"

  "I would never put you out. Never."

  "Never say never, Amy. It has a way of coming back on you.

  I put my hands behind my head and look off into the high rafters of the barn, and back through the Caribbean and the Mediterranean and the Dolphin and Jaimy and the Brotherhood and Cheapside and Charley and the gang and back to that day, That Dark Day.

  At last I close my eyes and begins to speak.

  "My name is Jacky Faber and in London I was born, but, no, I wasn't born with that name. Well, the Faber part, yes, the Jacky part, no, but they call me Jacky now and it's fine with me. They also call me Jack-o and Jock and the Jackeroe, too, and, aye, it's true I've been called Bloody Jack a few times, but that wasn't all my fault. Mostly, though, they just call me Jacky.

  "That wasn't my name, though, back on That Dark Day when my poor dad died of the pestilence and the men dragged him out of our rooms and down the stairs, his poor head hanging between his shoulders and his poor feet bouncin on the stairs, and me all sobbin and blubberin and Mum no help, she bein sick, too, and my little sister, as well.

  "Back then my name was Mary."

  It was much harder to tell than I thought it would be and much, much later when I am finished and I lie shuddering and sobbing in her arms, Amy says, "How silly we must all seem to you."

  And then, as I quiet down and subside, she says, "Never, ever again think that you are less than any lady."

  Chapter 22

  J. Faber

  General Delivery

  U.S. Post Office

  Boston, Massachusetts, USA

  October 18, 1803

  Dear Jaimy,

  We're back at the school, Amy and me, and I'm mooning out the window, watching the clouds roll by like great big puffy sailing ships and putting together in my mind the stuff I'm gonna tell you about in this letter. All about Amy's farm, Dovecote, and how beautiful it is and what a great time I had there. And about how on Sunday, after church—can you believe it, Jaimy, the place is so big it has its own little chapel—after church, they put a saddle on the Sheik, he's this big Thoroughbred, and were walking him around the paddock just to give him a little exercise, and after a little begging, they let me get up on him and you wouldn't believe how big he is and how strong. He'd a little jockey-type saddle on him, the kind where the stirrups are real high so that your knees are right up by your chin when you're sitting, but you don't sit, you stand in the stirrups and put your bottom in the air and your face over the horses neck. Or rather, your limbs and derriere and visage. I'm trying, Jaimy, I am trying to become a lady, even though I ain't in the lady school anymore.

  Anyway, we're walking around and around and I'm thinking of kicking him up to a trot, what could it hurt after all, when a breeze comes up and the paddock gate swings open he-cause it wasn't latched proper. Now, I swear it wasn't me that took the horse out that gate, that it was the horse his own willful self, but nobody believes me, but one thing for sure, we are out and gone. The Sheik gathered himself and leaped straight into a full gallop and we were off across the yard and down the road, my face bein' whipped by his flyin' mane, my lower limbs clutchin his back, and we fly. How we did fly!

  We were pounding down the road and I saw the main racecourse up ahead and I managed to steer him toward it 'cause I thought it'd be better to run him there 'cause I didn't want him stepping in a hedgehog hole out in the fields and breaking one of his precious legs, and we got on the track and I knew this is a place he knew real well 'cause he got right up against the rail and he flew, Jaimy, he flew! The white fence posts flickered by in the corner of my eye as he roared along, hooves pounding and throwing up great clots of turf and the foam from his mouth and the snot from his nose blowing in my face but I didn't care for wasn't I having the ride of my very life!

  Once around, twice, and still
he showed no signs of wanting to stop but I thought it might be best that he don't burst his noble heart just now and I started pulling back on the reins and at first he resisted, but then he gave in and started to slow and I saw the stable hands running toward us with ropes and I pulls him back harder and he reared up on his hind legs and I yelled in his ear, "Scream, Sheiky, Scream!" And he did. He screamed out all his defiance and his rage and his joy and everything that's wild and wonderful in him. Glory!

  Then I slid off his back and took the reins and led him over to George, who gave me a murderous look and took the reins and led the Sheik back to his stall, but not before the Sheik of Araby looked back at me as if to say, "See, little human? See?"

  So now you can put Horse Stealer next to my name along with liar, murderer, mutineer, beggar, thief, and, I suppose, lewd and lascivious dancer, but I swear I didn't take the horse out. But then, I don't want to swear on anything too sacred, either.

  I met Amy's brother Randall, too, when I was at Dovecote. He's quite a dashing young man, a lieutenant in the Yankee militia and about the same age as you, dear, but not nearly as handsome. Actually, if you two ever were to meet, I think you'd be at sword's point in no time, as he is a bit of an arrogant rotter. But not without some charm, I think. On the second day I was there he was a bit more civil to me and even called me by my name, even though I am merely a serving girl now. I told him howl got demoted and he seemed to feel for me in my distress over the incident. He even showed me around a bit.

  Amy and I left Dovecote to go back to school on Monday and we did it the same way we came down—with me in full fig as Midshipman Jack Faber—and all went well on our return ride.

  When we got back to the Lawson Peabody Amy wanted to sneak in quietly but I would have none of it. A delicious situation like this and we should waste it? "Oh no, my Sister, we must launch you into legend and song," I said, and I led us clattering into the street behind the school, where the dormitory windows look down but Mistress's windows do not, and I wheeled us about in grand fashion, with the horses' whinnies and their hooves making a great loud show of it, till I spotted a few faces in the windows and then I bounded down and gave up my hand and helped Amy off of Hildy. I escorted her to the top of the back stairs and bent over in an elegant bow and kissed her hand, saying, "Your reputation is made, my dear, just keep up your end of it—if anyone asks about that young man, just smile all mysterious and shake your head, as if you could not possibly tell."

  Waving farewell, I leaped back on Gretchie and galloped off, hallooing like any love-struck lad. You should have seen it, Jaimy. It was grand.

  Here I put up my pen for a bit to recall how, after I'd dropped Amy off, I went back to the stables to drop the horses off, but then I figured I had to talk to Ezra about how things stood so why not ride Gretchie down into town and save me the walk? Besides, I didn't want to go back into the school till I knew how things stood with the Preacher—didn't want to just walk on in and find I was already delivered into his hands.

  So I rode down into town and, of course, as soon as I turned off State Street, whom did I encounter but Constable Wiggins, swingin' his stick and peerin' up at me. He nodded and brought his stick to his brow by way of salute, but I put on my best young aristocrat damn-your-eyes, couldn't-be-less-mterested-in-a-lowly-constable look and ignored him. As I passed on, I knew that he was standing back there scratching his head and wondering just where he'd seen me before.

  I pulled up to Ezra's door and tied the good Gretchen's reins to the hitching post and got inside quick.

  "So, Mr. Pickering," I said when I spotted him at his desk, behind a pile of papers, peering over his spectacles at me, "it looks like you increase and prosper. Perhaps I have brought you luck." I flopped down in a chair and crossed my limbs. "What news have you for me, then?"

  Ezra gazed at me for a long while. Then he said, "You no longer amaze me, Jacky, as you beggar the imagination. You are completely incorrigible and I suppose I must accept that fact in my dealings with you. I will do so. Starting as of now, I will no longer give you advice as regards to your personal conduct. I will only give you legal advice. Agreed?"

  "Yes, Ezra," I said, all meek, 'cause that's the way he seems to want it.

  He harrumphed a few times and then said, "The Court on Friday accepted Reverend Mather's petition for review. I entered a counterproposal stating that if you had to be assigned guardianship, you preferred it be the Boston Asylum for Women. It is a refuge for females in distress and also takes in orphans. It has a fine reputation, and if you had to go there, I believe you would agree with my assessment. At any rate, this move delays action on his petition by many weeks."

  "Good. You worry the Preacher from your end and I'll work on him from mine," I said.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  It means I got a plan, Ezra, that's what it means, I thought to myself, but I didn't say nothin', I just shook my head and looked off.

  Ezra looked hard at me and told me not to do anything stupid, and I said that I won't and I put on my innocent look and that seemed to satisfy him.

  He shuffled some papers and held one up. "I took the liberty of drawing up incorporation papers so that, should we reclaim your money, you would have a place to put it where it could not be easily taken from you because of your minority and femaleness. Essentially, your corporation is a separate legal entity in which you would own all the shares. It is a layer of protection." Ezra looked at me to see if I understood. I did.

  "Ain't you some smart, Ezra," said I, beaming in appreciation. "I could not have a better lawyer or a better friend."

  "What do you want to name this corporation?"

  "Faber Shipping, Worldwide."

  "No sense aiming low, is there?" said Ezra, taking up his quill and dipping it in his inkwell and scratching away. "There. Faber Shipping, Worldwide. One hundred shares, all held by J. Faber, President. So recorded by E. R. Pickering, Esquire, Clerk of the Corporation. I shall file this copy with the Court Registry, and you shall have this other copy. If you ever make changes, such as sell shares or appoint officers, you must tell me. Do you understand?"

  "I do, Ezra, and I thank you." I stood and took the paper and slid it inside my jacket and prepared to leave.

  "Your friend Amy. Is she well?"

  "Yes. She is back at the school. Resting, I suppose. Knowing me has proved a bit of a trial to her, I think."

  "I can well imagine," he said, his small smile back in place. He got up and escorted me outside. I gathered Gretchen's reins and stuck my left foot in the stirrup. Ezra sighed and averted his eyes as I swung my right leg across. I looked down on him as Gretchie started to caper a bit. I knew she wanted to get home to her little stall. Knowing me is rough on her, too.

  "I know you don't approve of me or my ways, Ezra, but I got to make my way in this world the best I can. I got to work with what talents I got 'cause ain't nobody gonna look out for me but me. I will play my music, I will sing my songs, I will dance my dances. And sometimes, as I have found in my life, it's easier being a boy. That's the way of it. Till later, Ezra."

  I turned Gretchen's head and off we trotted. She wasted no time getting back to her stable, her stall, and her oats.

  I shake those thoughts from my head and go back to my letter.

  You know, Jaimy, you might hear things about me from sailors crossing back and forth across the great ocean—about me singing and dancing and playing music in taverns and sometimes getting in trouble with the law and such, but Vve been a good girl for you, Jaimy I really have, so don't put no stock in it at all. I've been learning lots of things from Peg, the head housekeeper, and the downstairs girls are sweet and I've been keeping up with my higher studies, and all the teachers ('cept Mistress) have been ever so kind in helping me on the sly and so I've been keeping up. Amy helps me, too, and I love her for that and for being my friend.

  I believe I see HMS Excalibur being brought to the dock. I must hurry and get this all down on paper an
d get it ready to send.

  Please write to me. I'm afraid you have forgotten me, Jaimy. I'm afraid of that, I am.

  Yours,

  Jacky

  Chapter 23

  It being Wednesday, we're deep into the washing, the water hot and sudsy and steaming and all of us sweating with our paddles going, swirling the sheets and pillowcases and net bags of small clothes around about in the big tubs. Later, the bedclothing will be wrung out by hand and hung to dry outside. The ladies' linen will be taken out of the bags and scrubbed out against the washboard and done singly so as not to mix them up. I try not to notice whose linen I'm doing when I do that job.

  Betsey is working next to me and I tell her about Amy and me meeting with Ephraim and she listens with keen interest, nodding sharply at each recollection of his words and his suspicions.

  "Betsey, tell me what Janey looked like," I says. I run my forearm across my forehead to take off the sweat. "Her hair and how big she was and all."

  "Here, take the other end," she says, and I reach in and grab the other end of the sheet she is beginning to twist, and I haul it out and start twisting my end in the opposite way so as to wring the water out. Then she says, "She was small, not much bigger than you, and she was tight like you, too, wiry and strong and not afraid of work. In fact, you remind me a lot of her, in her cheerfulness and happy nature and all..." She pauses and I know this is hard for her. She takes a breath and then goes on. "'Cept for the hair, though ... Her hair was almost white blond and she wore it in the Dutch fashion, you know, the bangs cut straight across over the eyes and the rest hanging straight."

  "Did she dress as we do?"

  "Yes. The same."

  We fall silent, and then there is a jangle as Mistress's bell rings over our heads. It is a bell on a cord that goes through a hole in the ceiling, up through the floor, and into Mistress's office where it runs through a pulley system and ends in a black (of course) tassel hanging by her desk. The rule is, one of us has to answer the call before she takes her hand off the cord, or watch out.