The Unbinding of Mary Reade

by Miriam McNamara

  Mary stood and pushed through the sailcloth. The rain had let up and the sun, just above the horizon, was coloring the clouds shades of pink and coral. Nat followed Robbie and James up the path. She wanted to call after him, but the side of her head where Robbie had hit her felt hot and tender, and she stayed silent until he was out of sight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  ROTTERDAM—1717

  ROBBIE SHOVED HIS HAND BETWEEN MARY’S LEGS AGAIN. SHE WRITHED, but he held her fast as his palm ground rough fabric into her crotch. She watched his shocked expression turn to fascination, then to something else entirely.

  She reared back and spat. His head jerked, then his grip slowly released. He sat back on his knees, wiping spittle from his face. Mary put her hands between her legs and rolled away from Nat, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at him.

  “Well, this puts a twist on things, don’t it,” said Robbie.

  “He really a girl?” Kit asked.

  “Yeah, he—uh, she most certainly is. You want a feel?” Robbie moved close again, his bulk casting a shadow across her body.

  “What the bloody hell,” said Nat, his voice hoarse.

  Mary opened her eyes.

  All the lies she’d told. How she’d lain on his pallet with him. Talked about girls. Watched him dress and undress and sleep and make water. How she’d seen all the little moments of his life, and listened to all his thoughts and dreams and fantasies, all disguised as someone she was not.

  She couldn’t guess at what might be crossing his mind.

  “You been holding out on us, mate?” Kit asked.

  “Yeah, is this your girl?” Robbie’s fingers touched the waist of her britches, rubbing slightly against the bare skin of her hip. “Blimey, that’s quite a show the two of you’ve been putting on.”

  Mary rolled over and squinted past Robbie’s shoulder at Nat. He stared down at her. Please, she thought. Just say yes. I’m in trouble if you don’t say yes …

  Nat didn’t respond, just looked up. She could imagine him trying to put things together in his mind, trying to understand at what point during his entire life his best mate had been taken from him and an impostor put in his place.

  “I can see it now,” said Robbie. “Strange. I just thought you was a pretty boy.” He tugged on her britches, almost playfully.

  She slapped his hand away and struggled to sit up. “Nat, please,” she said. “It’s me, I’m Mark. It’s always been me. I just—”

  What could she say?

  “I was going to tell you,” she whispered.

  He kept staring upward, as if he couldn’t hear her. She slowly got to her feet, wiping the blood from her face.

  “Not so fast,” Robbie said, stepping in front of her again. “Seems that Nat’s as amazed as the rest of us, and don’t that change things a bit.” He looked her up and down, in a way that no boy had ever looked at her before. Mary’s throat tightened as she pulled her shirt across her exposed skin. “If this boy ain’t going to claim you,” he said, “then I believe you’re up for grabs.”

  “You really didn’t know, mate?” Kit asked Nat, shaking his head almost gleefully.

  Mary gauged the distance to the ladder up to the deck. If she moved fast, she could probably make her escape from the hold before the boys could catch her.

  Nat’s head jerked down at that. “Wait,” he said, and walked slowly over.

  He took her arm and her shirt fell open again. Her breath caught, skin pimpling under his gaze. He looked at her bare, thin chest as if examining her skin for some seam that showed this new skin was the actual disguise, that Mark was still hiding inside her.

  He finally saw her, really saw her. Mary held her breath.

  His eyes flicked over her face. But he looked at her blankly, as if she were a stranger. He stepped away. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, his head beginning to shake. “Mark? What … I’ve known Mark since we was babies.”

  “You know me, Nat,” she pleaded. “Please, I need a chance to explain.”

  “Aha!” said Kit. “I believe she’s on her own in this one, after all. What do you say, Robbie?”

  Robbie pulled Mary close and grabbed her chin. A smile spread across his lips as he studied her. “A girl parading about as a boy. There’s something off about that, don’t you think? Some-thing queer.”

  “Now wait—” Nat put a hand out.

  “You had your chance to claim her,” said Robbie, his thumb softly stroking the line of her jaw. “It’s my turn now.”

  Mary kicked out with all her might, and made contact with Robbie’s middle. He released her with an “Oof!” and doubled over. It was only a moment—he lunged for her again—but she’d already turned and was dashing through the hold, her torn shirt flapping like flimsy wings. She could hear yelling behind her, and the sound of stumbling and crashing over crates and into beams.

  Someone was coming down the hold’s ladder—Abe and Johnny, their arms full of ammunition. Mary charged past them as their voices raised. She dipped into the head, yanking the little door closed behind her. But it didn’t shut fast or lock, and she couldn’t hold it forever. There was nowhere on this ship she could hide anymore.

  She could hear the growl of Abe’s voice in the hold outside.

  Then Robbie’s, friendly and bright. Footsteps coming closer.

  A sob escaped as her hand went to her mouth to block the smell. No seawater churned up through the head while it was docked. The waste that had built up throughout the week would be flushed out once they took to sea, but for now it stank of shit.

  Mary lifted the wooden grate. Beneath there lay a soiled, sloping bit of wood, and beyond that, the water. Sparkling, dark, and calm.

  She put her hands on either side of the hole, then stepped in so that her feet rested on the shit-stained wood, holding her weight up with her arms. She would fit. It would be tight, and she’d take most of the waste out with her when she went, but she’d slide through. And then …

  She’d seen people swim before. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

  She’d seen people drowned before as well, their bloated bodies washed up on the mud flats around the Thames at low tide.

  She swallowed.

  The head door thumped open.

  Mary let go.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1720

  WHEN MARY DUCKED BACK INTO THE HUT, ANNE’S RUINED DRESS WAS crumpled on the floor, but she was gone, and Mary was disoriented by the glow of the sunset coming through the window and the darkness of the hut. Then she heard a sound—a stifled sob—coming from a dark corner cot.

  Mary crept over quietly. Anne’s body curled in on itself like an insect trying to protect its soft bits, only Anne had no hard parts to hide inside. Mary leaned over and touched her. Anne’s back shook beneath her hand, curved in so that her spine stood out beneath Mary’s fingers in little knobs. Anne pulled away from her touch and Mary heard her body shifting on the palm fronds that lined the bed frame. Then Anne’s hand caught hers.

  Mary stood awkwardly, at war with herself. She was afraid to offer comfort, afraid of giving in to Anne’s tears in the dark, afraid of what that could lead to. Afraid of what she wanted it to lead to.

  She was ashamed that she’d consider her own fear above Anne’s sadness.

  Anne’s sniffles quieted and the air became very still.

  Mary settled quietly on the bed—just a hip. Her eyes adjusted to the diffused light. Everything was warm and shadowy. Anne’s mussed hair, her dark eyes, her bare feet. Mary had never seen anything more beautiful. “If Nat’s back,” Mary whispered, “that means Jack’s back, too.”

  “I know,” Anne said, sitting up slowly. “I’ve been trying to tell meself … that all I have to do is go to him, and get him to find James for me …” She leaned forward and her lips touched Mary’s cheek, just beside her mouth.

  Mary turned her face and their lips met, soft at first and then fiercely, and Mary taste
d salt and couldn’t tell if it was Anne’s tears or her own that were slipping down her cheeks.

  This had to stop. If anyone knew that this was happening—Mary pulled away, fingers clenching into fists. “We can’t,” she gasped. “This is madness.”

  Anne gazed at her, steady and dark, her breath audible and irregular. She leaned forward, chemise slipping from her shoulder, and caught Mary’s hand.

  Mary had to turn away.

  She almost succeeded.

  A sound came out of her, frustration and sadness and longing all mixed together, as she gave into Anne’s pull. Anne met her lips warmly, put her hands on her waist, and drew her in. James had hit Anne and held her down, and Mary hadn’t been able to stop him. Anne’s whole body was pressed against hers, their legs tangling. Robbie had pressed her up against the wall. Anne moved against her but Mary couldn’t focus, her mind too full of everything. Nat had walked away without looking back. Anne’s hand slid down her thigh, and Mary pushed it away.

  Anne stopped moving. Her breathing quieted as she stared at Mary.

  Mary ran a finger over Anne’s perfect collarbones, unable to meet her eyes. “This—whatever this is, we can’t do it anymore.”

  “I know you think the worst of me.” Anne’s voice quavered. “But there has to be a way—”

  “There’s not. Don’t you remember what just happened? James will be back, and I can’t protect you.”

  “We can get another pistol!”

  Mary squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. “I need you to convince Jack to pay off James, Anne. That way I’ll know you’re taken care of.” Her voice almost broke. “I can’t be the girl I want to be when I’m with you.”

  “That girl—she doesn’t even compare to who you really are, you know that?” Anne touched her face.

  “I—I want to be with Nat.” She looked away. “And this, whatever it is—it has to end.”

  Fresh tears slipped down Anne’s cheeks. “Aye. Nat will make a proper woman out of you, won’t he.”

  Hopelessness overwhelmed Mary. She shifted her body and pulled Anne’s head against her shoulder. “Shh, please, don’t cry. Everything is going to work out fine for us,” she whispered into Anne’s hair. “Tomorrow I’ll go find Nat, and you’ll go find Jack, and it’ll be what’s best for both of us.”

  Anne pushed away and looked at her, gaze searching.

  Mary prayed Anne saw how dry her eyes were, and believed her words were true.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1720

  MARY SLIPPED INTO THE BACK OF THE SMALL, WHITEWASHED CHURCH. She was late, but thankfully a hymn blocked out the sound of the opening door and no one noticed her enter. She’d only just realized that it was Sunday when she woke. She’d shaken Anne awake and tried to convince her to come, but Anne had curled toward the wall and refused.

  She was desperate to find Nat and thank him, but when she spotted him sitting off to one side, bloody Robbie was next to him. It was galling that he’d still sit with Robbie after how he’d threatened her, but she should have expected as much. The back pew was empty, and Mary sat down where she had a good view of Nat.

  On the other side of Robbie sat a girl with just his shade of hair. When the girl turned her head to smile at Robbie, the line of her jaw mirrored the one that turned toward her. Then she leaned past Robbie and smiled at Nat, and Nat smiled back at her as he repeated each line of the hymn the priest sang.

  Let those refuse to sing

  Who never knew our God—

  It was Robbie’s sister. The one Nat had said Robbie wanted him to settle down with.

  Mary watched Nat and the girl, cataloging every glance they threw at each other. More on the girl’s side than Nat’s—but he cast plenty her way. And when their eyes finally met, the smile on both their faces was real, shy and warm.

  Mary’s insides roiled. Nat had told her he couldn’t stop thinking about her when he was with Robbie’s sister—but as he smiled at the girl, it didn’t look like he was thinking about anyone else.

  It was hot in the church, the air stiflingly close. Mary was sweating profusely when the hymn ended. Finally Nat glanced around the church, twisting to see behind him, and his gaze landed on Mary. She straightened and lifted a hand—but his eyes slid by without acknowledging her as he turned back around.

  Mary stared at the back of the girl’s head, stomach burning. Two identical ringlets framed her slender neck, the rest of her hair sleekly pinned up. Mary touched her ragged braid. She could try all she liked, but she had no idea how to begin to emulate that kind of prettiness.

  What if she tried as hard as she could, and Nat still rejected her? Would she try to be a good woman because the governor thought she should? Because God wanted her to, when God had never given her a sign He cared?

  Mary squeezed her eyes shut. Here I am, God, she prayed. I’m trying to do it right. She needed to know Heaven was waiting for her, if she just tried hard enough. But no matter how quietly she sat, longing with all her might, there was no sign that He heard her.

  The congregation began to murmur, and it echoed loudly off the bare walls. Mary opened her eyes and realized that the service had ended. Her hair was sticking to her neck, her chemise clinging to her armpits and back. She wanted to run to the beach, to cool off where there was water and a wind, but she made herself walk toward the altar as the congregation stood and began to mill about. She needed Nat to meet her eyes.

  Nat’s gaze landed on Mary as she approached, but he looked away quickly as Robbie’s sister said something, her hand on his arm.

  “Hallo, Nat,” Mary said, trying to keep her voice steady. The front of the church was so hot, so full of bodies pressing close.

  “Mary,” said Nat stiffly, sweat standing out on his forehead. Mary jumped as he took her hand and kissed it—she still wasn’t used people treating her as a lady. “I’m glad to see you made it.”

  Robbie smiled at her smugly, looking unaffected by the heat. “Livie, this is that mate of Nat’s I told you about. The one who used to be a boy.”

  “Oh, hallo, Mary!” Livie said cheerfully, perspiration lending a lovely glow to her skin. “I must say, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

  Mary couldn’t acknowledge either of them. “Nat,” Mary said again. “I was hoping that we could—”

  “Not now,” Nat said quickly, avoiding her eyes. “I need to catch Rogers before he leaves.”

  “But—” Mary started, but he was already gone with Robbie.

  “Poor dear,” said Livie, “that’s quite a bruise you’ve got on your temple. Whatever happened?” She leaned in to take a closer look, nothing but concern in her eyes.

  Mary put a hand to her face, struggling to breathe. She couldn’t stand the stagnant air in the sanctuary another moment. “Excuse me,” she said, trembling, and turned and fled outside.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1720

  MARY SAT AT MOLLY’S STALL, HUNCHED DESPONDENTLY OVER HER PIECEWORK. When Mary had returned from church the day before, Anne had still been lying there in her chemise, her skin slick with sweat. Mary had tried to engage with Anne. She’d tried to be friendly, even tried to be flirtatious, but Anne hadn’t responded to anything with more than a yes or no. Anne had said she felt sick, and wouldn’t eat anything Mary had offered. Her face was swollen and bruised again, worse than Mary’s, but she’d refused Mary’s offer to take a closer look.

  When she’d left the hut that morning, Anne still hadn’t gotten out of bed.

  Mary looked up at the sound of palmettos shifting and saw Livie approaching Molly’s stall through the dappled light beneath the palm trees. Mary’s stomach tightened. She wished Molly would hurry back from her house with her pennies. Mary was only minding the stall while Molly fetched payment for her.

  “Hallo, Mary!” Livie said cheerfully. “Good to see you again.”

  “Livie,” Mary said stiffy.

  “You’re looking well, Ma
ry.” Livie stopped in front of the stall, a delicate sweat beading her brow, a friendly smile on her lips. “It looks like that bruising is going down quickly.”

  Mary bent back over her work. “Quick enough, I suppose.” It was a gusset for an elbow—a particularly troubling piece of stitching, all angles. Nothing forgiving about it.

  “I thought I might find you here. Nat said you worked for the sempstress.” Livie cleared her throat as she looked away, running her hands over a bolt of gold chintz. “I’ve need of a dress, Mary.”

  Mary set her needle down. “Describe what you’ve need of,” she said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. The sooner she helped Livie, the sooner she would leave.

  “Well.” Livie gave her a sly look. “It’s to be for a special occasion. Silk, if possible, and I’ll want it in a color that suits me.”

  “We have that organza silk in blue—well, sort of an indigo, really—and a pale green color. The green would look lovely with your hair and eyes. Here, I’ll show you—” She got off her stool, feeling a pang as she thought of Anne’s ruined dress. She’d dreamed of making her another out of silk, once she’d saved up enough pennies, but she’d barely worked the calico off. She’d have to make Anne’s replacement out of cheaper material.

  “Blue, that’s perfect!” Livie put a theatrical hand to her heart. “My mother always said that blue was the proper color for a wedding dress.”

  Mary sat back down. “A wedding dress,” she said slowly. She knew the answer before she even asked. “Who’s the lucky gentleman?”

  Livie’s eyes widened guilelessly. “Why, Nat, of course! I thought you were close? Surely he told you?”

  Of course Nat’s drunken touch didn’t mean anything. Of course he was going to marry this girl—the kind of girl he’d always wanted to marry.

  Not Mary.