Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  “We could do that…” I said carefully.

  “Non,” he growled. “She will not have it her way.”

  I smiled, and pulled him to me so that I could whisper, “I love you.”

  He shrugged me off irritably, but his smile was genuine when at last it came. “You must stay near.”

  “If you wish, I will wait outside the door,” I said sincerely.

  “That will not be close enough,” he sighed regretfully.

  “You can curtain the bed,” I offered, “and I can sit inside the room…” I could not picture her accepting that in the least.

  He shook his head sadly. “It will be a thing I must brave alone.”

  “Do you truly feel it will be a test of your riding skills?” I asked with concern. “Do you feel when presented with… a woman, with… that in the offing, you will lose yourself?”

  He met my gaze with earnest eyes. “I do not know, Will. I only know that the more I consider the matter, the more riled I become.”

  “What if she is not your first?” I asked.

  “She will not be my first!” he hissed.

  I openly cursed my stupidity. “I am sorry. That is not…”

  “I know!” he snapped quietly. “I know what you meant. But Will, why should it matter whether the next is Christine or any other? I feel it will be just as bad.”

  “But, with any other, your Horse might not take offense at my presence,” I said carefully.

  He took a deep breath and looked away to study the wall and worry his lip with his teeth. “I will not… with a whore,” he sighed at last. “I will not.”

  “Well, that limits our options then, somewhat,” I said lightly.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked accusingly.

  “Nothing!” I hissed. “Prior to a few moments ago, I had not given the matter any thought at all, and when first presented with it, I thought we might locate a rather clean and expensive whore.”

  “You would have me bed some damn woman?” he asked, thankfully with more curiosity than rancor.

  I shook my head. “I would have you wet your wick in one with me at your side, so that you might be calm and assured when it is time to bed your damn bride, so that you might make a child. The hand of reason, my love, the hand of reason.”

  He sighed long and hard, and sat on Theodore’s front step with his back to the door. I could envision Hannah with her head to the same door, listening to the madmen outside, and I thanked the Gods she did not appear to speak French.

  “Let us retrieve the child,” I said calmly, “as that is what I assume we are here to do, and go and fetch my wife, go to the church, have the baby baptized, return them all to their proper places, and then discuss this tonight in private.”

  “I am sorry,” he whispered.

  I squatted so I could meet his gaze. “I am not angry, my love,” I murmured.

  Though he was calm now, he had come close to tears. His hand shook as he reached for me. I took it and kissed the backs of his fingers.

  “I am a fool, Will,” he said earnestly. “I cannot… act like a sane man.”

  “Non, non,” I said. “You can act like one, you cannot think like one: there is a difference. We will sort this through. Now, come. We have a baptism.”

  I stood and pulled him to his feet.

  “I cannot act like one without you,” he said as I knocked on the door.

  Hannah was indeed just beyond the door, as it opened before I could speak. She nodded politely, and, like any good servant, ushered us in without any telltale expression that she knew we had argued on the step.

  Theodore sat in his office. I wondered what he had heard. His mien was thoughtful, and when his gaze met mine, he smiled ruefully. I stopped in his doorway, and recalled why our friend might be in such an introspective state: the trouble the events of this morning had revealed was not ours alone.

  Theodore waved Hannah away, and my matelot and I entered the room and seated ourselves in the chairs before the desk. I noticed the usually neat and clean teak expanse was cluttered with paper and chalk boards, many with little notes and diagrams upon them.

  “We need to locate your uncle,” Theodore said without preamble.

  I nodded. “And what shall we discover when we do?” I asked. “If he has been communicating with my father? My sister said he received a letter.”

  “Aye,” Theodore said with a knowing smile. “I never saw it, as it did not pass through me. And I should have realized…” He sighed. “All your father’s prior correspondence has come to me to distribute, or rather, the correspondence of which we know. So, I need to know who delivered that letter to your uncle, and it would behoove us to discover what else he knows.”

  “I do not trust him,” I said. “He is gullible, and… my father thinks him a fool. Thus, any information my father might have imparted to him, even if my uncle will relay it to me honestly, is suspect.”

  Theodore nodded, and his mien became somewhat guilty. “Must not his room be cleaned at the house? I imagine it is quite smoke damaged and…”

  Surprised, I grinned. “Aye, and we should have thought of that… hours ago. Of course, since he is not here to see to the matter himself, it would be a kindness on our part to undertake the cleaning for him. Perhaps tonight, after the baptism. We could procure a good bottle of wine and actually do some work by putting my uncle’s room… in order, since we have been shirking our duties concerning the cleaning all day. Would you wish to assist us?”

  “I think that I will find studying the effects of such a fire to be very illuminating,” Theodore said with good cheer.

  “We shall make a fine time of it, then,” I said. “I would also invite you and Mistress Theodore to the baptism.”

  Gaston frowned at me, and I patted his arm reassuringly as I continued.

  “My wife will not be pleased, as she wishes to see no one, but I feel if you were to meet us at the church, perhaps…”

  Theodore nodded. “I feel Mistress Theodore would like that very much, and… it would behoove you to have witnesses beyond the clergy. Are you going there now?”

  “Aye, will this pose a problem?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nay, I should truly abandon this… supposition I have been engaged in, else it will surely drive me mad.” He gave Gaston a guilty glance.

  My matelot awarded him a good-natured smile and a shrug.

  We went to collect the child and inform Rachel of our plans. She handed Gaston a sleeping bundle, and frowned at her dress and apron, and then at her husband, before sighing and informing us she would change into something more suitable for church. We agreed to wait on the baptism until they arrived, and we hurried out the door.

  As we walked home, Gaston cradled the tiny bundle in the crook of his arm and pushed her blanket away to reveal her face. He touched a cheek with his fingertip and smiled in a manner that warmed my heart considerably. I put my arm about his shoulder to steer him while he was thus enraptured. I did not feel any other would view that little girl with such adoration, nor did I feel any would ever view my matelot as I did.

  I was beginning to feel Christine should be added to the list of people I should have killed long ago.

  Vivian was ready when we arrived, and Henrietta looked none the worse for it: no teary eyes or strained expressions on either of them. There was an awkward moment when Vivian went to reach for the child and it became obvious Gaston would not relinquish her. My matelot appeared somewhat guilty over the matter, but resolute, and my wife took it well enough and made much of saying it was probably best he carried Jamaica, as she was not accustomed to doing so.

  “She should hold her at the baptism,” I said quietly in French, as I took Vivian’s arm and ushered her out the door.

  “I know, I know,” Gaston sighed.

  Vivian peered about self-consciously once we were on the street, as if someone might be there to spy upon her, and then her gaze fell on the ruins of her house and she gasped. The h
azy golden light of late afternoon made the black skeletal remains appear even worse than they had at midday. It was as if we gazed upon a graveyard. She released my arm and went to stand before it with her arms tightly crossed and utter dismay upon her features.

  “We will have it rebuilt,” I told her gently.

  She shook her head. “And then what? Shall I live there as I did before? Or will we all live there? I will not share it with…” She looked to Gaston guiltily. “His wife. I will share it with him, now… but not her.” She looked away with a little frown, as if she realized how childish she sounded. “And I do not…” She sighed heavily and began to lead us toward the church.

  “What do you not?” I prompted.

  “I do not wish to live in it alone,” she said over her shoulder. “I will drink if I do.”

  “Do you wish to live with us, then?” I asked. “We feel Gaston’s wife will be in France as soon as it can be managed.”

  She stopped and turned, her arms akimbo. With her simply plaited hair and drab, shapeless dress, she appeared far older than her years. She sighed expansively and nodded her head in a tight little gesture. “Aye, I would live with you then, and the baby, as I see…” She looked pointedly at Gaston and shrugged.

  “Will and I will share a bed,” Gaston said.

  “Obviously.” She rolled her eyes, but her response seemed to contain more annoyance that the matter should be discussed at all than that it should exist. “I will sleep alone quite happily, thank you.”

  “We do not choose to live in town for most of the year, however,” I said.

  “I do not wish to live here, in town, either,” she said. “There are too many people here who…” She trailed off with annoyed shake of her head and a resolute set to her jaw.

  “Who know of you and your exploits, both purported and witnessed,” I said kindly and gestured at the rubble behind us.

  She nodded tightly. “I do not… I do not wish to face them without the fortification of strong spirits. I do not know how.”

  “I understand,” I said, and went to take her arm again.

  “We live in a hovel on Negril Point when we do not live here or rove,” Gaston said. “We will not… We could not build a house like you had, there.”

  She shrugged. “That house was my… fortress. I feel distance from… others, will make for even thicker walls than those fine ones once made.”

  “Then we will manage it all, somehow,” I told her, and began to lead us to the church.

  I looked to Gaston over her head. He met my gaze and nodded thoughtfully, and then sighed with relief as he fell into step beside us.

  I could barely imagine how we would survive upon the Point without one of us wishing to strangle her or her not taking a knife to us while we slept; but there was reason to hope we would find a way to manage it. Gaston would have his child, Vivian would remain sober and safe from the cares of the world, and I would have him and still have managed to thwart my father while doing everything a proper gentleman should – after a fashion.

  At the church, Gaston handed her Jamaica, and she carefully carried the little bundle inside after pausing to gaze down at the little face with nearly as much adoration as my matelot had shown. And I wondered if what I perceived of her feelings toward the child was merely a thing of women, in that all women gazing upon an infant looked much the same, or whether she truly felt for the child as much as Gaston did.

  She was dismayed to see the Theodores inside, but as Rachel gave her no looks of reproach, and even greeted her with a kindness I found strange coming from the woman, Vivian calmed somewhat and we managed the baptismal ceremony with little incident – though the pastor was disapproving of our choice of name, insisting repeatedly that we choose a Christian name. He finally relented beneath five glares and my argument that we were making it a Christian name this day.

  As I had when I married Vivian, I found myself saying much in my heart to the Gods, even as blasphemy and lies passed my lips as to how I would raise this child. We named Gaston as godfather, and as I heard him say the necessary words to satisfy the ceremony, I continued to muse on how very much more we truly intended to do for this babe than so many others would do who stood where we stood and said what we said. Our participating in this ceremony was perfunctory, but the pact we made with this child was truly heartfelt and encompassed more than what little – and self-serving – direction the Church was giving us concerning her upbringing. In truth, my standing there at all – and all that that implied – was very much more than many children ever received.

  When it was over, I found myself taking the child from her mother’s arms and holding our little Jamaica so I could gaze upon her cherubic face. I doubted any about me would see adoration upon my features, but perhaps they saw my wonder. We were truly responsible for this little person, and for the first time I felt that charge, as deeply as I had felt I was married to Gaston on the day we were named matelots by our friends. The weight settled heavily upon my shoulders, and to my relief I felt myself rise to the occasion; and I knew I would walk taller for it, as I did with Gaston.

  “Thank you,” Vivian whispered as I returned the child to her arms, and I knew she was not thanking me for giving her the baby for the walk home.

  “Nay, thank you,” I said, and kissed her forehead. “We will make it work somehow.”

  Her eyes were moist. “Swear it,” she said.

  “I swear it.”

  “On?” she demanded quietly.

  “On my love for Gaston,” I said.

  She smiled. “You are the only man I have ever met who would have the balls to say such a thing in a church. If you are so very brave, I believe you can truly make it all good somehow.”

  I bowed and grinned. “Then, my Lady, I thank you for the trust you have placed in me.”

  She snorted with mock annoyance, but her smile was genuine as we walked to the door.

  Outside, Rachel and Theodore were waiting. “We might as well take her home,” Mistress Theodore said.

  Vivian seemed reluctant to part with the baby.

  “Do you want to keep her yet?” Rachel asked my wife.

  Gaston frowned at this suggestion, and Vivian tried to shrink into my side.

  “I am… I am… I am afraid I will be a poor mother,” Vivian said at last and handed the child carefully to Rachel.

  “We all have to learn to handle little ones,” Rachel said in a kinder variation of her usual direct manner. “I’ll bring her around tomorrow, and you can start learning.”

  Vivian nodded tightly. “If you think it… best.” She looked to Gaston and bit her lip.

  My matelot looked to Rachel.

  She sighed and said, “Any rum you might have left in you cannot be worse than what we’re giving her now.”

  Gaston nodded glumly and shrugged.

  “I will locate a bottle and see you… soon,” Theodore said, after a glance at his wife proved she was not approving of whatever he might have planned involving a bottle.

  “It is for a good cause,” I assured her quickly.

  “It always is,” Rachel sniffed, and began to lead them home.

  Theodore was battling a good chuckle, and he smiled warmly at us in his wife’s wake. “Soon, then; I feel I should dine at home first.”

  “That might be wise,” I agreed.

  I offered Vivian my arm, and she clung to it as we began to walk home. Gaston fell into step on her other side.

  “Mistress Theodore is often a direct woman; you should not take it personally,” I told Vivian. “She does not seem to revile you.”

  She sighed, and tried to speak as if I was naïve, but her delivery was somewhat hesitant. “How a woman behaves in front of men is not always the same as how she behaves towards other women.”

  “I know that well,” I assured her. “But I truly feel she means you no harm. I am merely warning you that on occasion she has scolded even Pete.”

  “Who is Pete?” she asked.


  Gaston and I exchanged a perplexed glance over her head.

  “The Golden God that lives in our house,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, him…”

  “It is good to know you are not blind,” I teased.

  She snorted dismissively, but there was color in her cheeks. “Oh, I have seen him, to be sure; I simply did not know his name. Captain Striker is a delight to the eyes as well.”

  “Aye,” I said enthusiastically.

  She rolled her eyes, and then sobered to glance at Gaston with a quick frown.

  “I do not favor men, but I know they are handsome,” Gaston said levelly.

  This deepened the furrows on her brow and caused her gaze to flick to me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She shook her head and considered several tacks before blurting, “Neither of you is disagreeable to the eye, either. And… do not interpret that as anything other than a compliment. I want nothing to do with either of you, or any man, for that matter. I have had my fill of men,” she finished quietly and sadly.

  I shook my head, and squeezed the hand she had upon my arm. “I hope, for your sake, that you will have a change of heart on that someday. I am quite open to your taking a lover, if the opportunity should present itself and it will not complicate other matters.”

  She frowned, and flushed with her eyes steadfastly on the ground before us. “I cannot… could not…” She shook her head. “Will not do as I did before. I cannot see even allowing someone to touch me without a good deal of rum.”

  Her gaze shot to Gaston, and her color deepened.

  “I tell him everything,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “I thought as much.”

  “I do not think you a whore,” Gaston said.

  She flinched at his tone, but she nodded and found the courage to ask, “What do you think me?”

  “A drunkard,” he sighed.

  “I have had my reasons,” she said quietly.

  “So have I, and so has Will,” Gaston said without recrimination. “We all have reasons to hide from pain. Some men, or women, take to spirits such that the cure becomes a disease. You are one of those people.”