Unbinding of Mary Reade

by Miriam McNamara

  But her longing was different now. She could sew it up, take it in here and let it out there, dress it as something else, and alter its shape so others found it suitable—but what she really wanted sprawled deeper and wider and wilder than anything she could name. She didn’t want a marriage. Not the kind of marriage Nat wanted, not marriage like it existed within the whitewashed walls of that church.

  She’d make Livie a beautiful dress, like the one she made for Anne. The dress that Anne had worn when she threatened Robbie with a wooden spoon in Mary’s defense—when she drew Mary in by that palm tree and sighed against her lips—when she’d slowly taken it off, not dropping Mary’s gaze.

  “Congratulations, Livie,” she said, feeling strangely giddy as she stood again. “We’d be happy to make your dress. Come here, I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1720

  MARY FELT INCREDIBLE.

  She tucked her chemise-turned-shirt into the waistband of her new, cornflower blue britches. Britches were so much simpler to sew than dresses, and they felt so right! She’d finally made her dress feel like her, like she was supposed to be wearing it.

  She’d run back from Molly’s stall once she’d returned and had spent the past few hours ripping out seams and reassembling her dress in a hunched frenzy. She tore a long stretch of fabric and bound herself tightly, then dressed, shook out her hair, and did her best to queue it in a sailor’s pigtail. Anne walked in right as she was finishing.

  “Annie! Look, I finally gave in. Turned me dress into a pair of britches.” She stood and spread her hands.

  Anne stared. She had a freshly plucked chicken in her hand, and Mary momentarily wondered where she’d gotten the bird. They hadn’t money for something like that.

  And she was wearing a new dress. An ill-fitting one made of cheap linen, but still. Mary started to feel unsure, but she continued. “I realized I was being an arse, and I want to make it up to you,” she said. “I—I’m going to Hog’s Island, they’ll let me join up on the next mission, I just know it, and then I’ll pay off bloody James.” Her gaze fell on a pearl necklace around Anne’s throat, just above the bruises James had left there. “Or we’ll find passage on a ship with the money I make—you won’t need to marry Jack at all, and you’ll be rid of James—” She was blathering—ridiculous, transparent. Where did Anne get a pearl necklace? Mary wished she’d never started talking.

  Anne dropped her gaze. The sun was already visible through the windows. Had so much time passed? Mary sidled up to her like a crab, graceless and over-guarded. “What happened?” she asked carefully.

  Anne’s spark was gone. She trembled when Mary touched her, skin ashy and damp. “I woke up and you were gone. I went to Hog’s Island. I thought I’d just run away, find passage off this island somehow, but James is on to me.” Anne didn’t look up as she walked by Mary and put the chicken on the table, its head lolling off the side. “He told everyone I’m not to leave, and that he’s got the governor behind him. And Jack was out there, helping unload the spoils from Burgess’s brig. He was sweet to me, Mary. He gave me this necklace, and money to replace me ruined dress, and I just realized that … you’re right.” She slumped. “He’s not so bad.”

  “What happened?” Mary asked tightly.

  “I—I told Jack what happened with James, and he went straight away to talk to him. Jack promised him his earnings from the mission if—if James goes to Rogers and asks for the annulment.” Anne groped for her hand and squeezed it. Mary couldn’t bring herself to squeeze back. “When he heard what Jimmy did, Mary—Jack cares about me. He’s a good man.” She took a shuddering breath. “If I marry him, he’ll make sure Jimmy never touches me again.”

  “You’re going to marry Jack.” Mary felt suddenly lightheaded. She put a hand on the table to steady herself.

  “He knows what it’s like to be taken advantage of. When he was first taken on as the pirate captain’s cabin boy—that man, he did horrible things to him. Jack knows what it’s like to be under someone else’s power. Whatever else he is—he’s never meant to hurt me.” She looked up entreatingly. “When he first fell in love with me he saw how James treated me, and it reminded him of what happened to him. And now he’s come to his senses. He’s done being angry with me.”

  Mary turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at Anne. She took a slow breath, trying to calm her accelerating heart.

  Mum had been right. Being a boy was worth any sacrifice. All that freedom, and all she’d had to give up was herself. If she’d been a boy, she could have protected Anne. She would have gone on that privateering mission, come back with that string of pearls. She could marry Anne, she could demand that divorce. Mary had always been poor, she had always been powerless, but this was the first time she couldn’t find any way to fight it.

  This was the difference between living as a girl, and living as a boy. How could she have been so foolish?

  “Once Jimmy talks to Rogers,” Anne said hesitantly, “then all we’ll need is a witness, and the governor’s signature, and I’ll be free.”

  “Free to marry Jack.” Mary dropped onto the bed, sitting uselessly. She was useless. What was the use of someone who couldn’t work and couldn’t protect you and couldn’t be herself and couldn’t be someone else?

  She was no one, she was nothing.

  Anne sat beside her. “You said you wanted this.” Anne’s voice was deathly quiet.

  “I know.” She should be happy for Anne. There was no place in the world for the two of them together.

  “Is it still what you want?” Anne’s eyes were bright. Her voice hitched.

  You.

  I want you.

  I want all of you.

  She’d kept the thoughts buried so far down, they came over her so fast—they almost rushed from her mouth—

  She barely kept them in.

  She would not say them. She’d been this close—and Anne had chosen someone else.

  “Aye.” Mary’s voice was so hard, it surprised her. “I’m done being nothing more to you than a distraction.”

  Anne pulled away. “What—what do you mean?”

  Mary’s pulse accelerated. “I should’ve never talked to you again after the way you treated me after I put me secret out for all to see, back on that island—when you bloody applauded when your man undressed me! ‘Oooh, mistress Reade, let your bosoms out! Let ’em breathe, sweetheart!’ No? That wasn’t you?”

  “I can’t believe you’re going on about that,” said Anne, drawing away as she stood. “We would’ve been shot by Jack if you hadn’t revealed your bloody precious secret. It was you I was applauding!”

  “I risked my life, Anne—for you!” Mary jumped to her feet. Standing, she had a good inch or so on Anne. That felt good. “Don’t act as if I wasn’t just part of some game you was playing to get back at Jack—and me playing right along! ‘What’s that, Annie dear? Kiss you where? Why, it’s almost as if you really wanted me!’”

  Mary realized she was shouting—so loudly—but she couldn’t stop, the anger and sadness a surging wave inside her. It felt like her lungs were collapsing—she couldn’t breathe. “And this!” she gasped. “This is just the same. You using me while it’s convenient, while Jack is away—then you sail off when you see the tide’s about to turn. You’re faithless, Anne—I knew it all along, but I was stupid enough to think—” She couldn’t finish. She’d thought—what? That they could live happily together forever?

  Anne looked like she’d been slapped. Good. Maybe Anne was feeling something real, for once.

  “Is—is that really what you think of me?” Anne’s voice was small, the room suddenly so quiet after their shouting. The surf crashing outside like it was about to rush in the front door and drown them both. “You really think I care so little.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Mary dropped into a chair. “Marrying Jack’s the best way to keep your head above water.” She felt herself deflating.
“No sense in drowning along with me.”

  A flash of light came in as the sailcloth lifted. Jack came in, arms full of bread loaves and a round of cheese. “Mary!” he said. “Did Annie tell you the good news?”

  “I told her,” said Anne loudly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with tears, her fingers toying with the pearls around her neck. “She’s thrilled to get me off her hands.”

  Mary tried to say something. She tried to speak, to curse or congratulate—

  Jack laughed. “Annie, girl!” He pushed past Mary. “Mind your cheek, now!” He lifted Anne into the air—

  Mary stumbled to the door.

  She ran, feet sliding in sand. She pushed their little boat down to the water—she jumped inside—

  She rowed. Big, heaving strokes. She gulped air, arms aching. Her eyes burned. She saw Jack lifting Anne into the air, letting her slowly down—kissing her mouth—Mary wished she’d never kissed her. She wished she’d never met her, that Jack had picked some other ship to attack that day. She wished Kapitein Baas had locked her and Paddy in the hold and sailed back to Rotterdam. She wished she’d never set foot in this new world. Then at least she could still imagine there was a place out there for her, instead of knowing there was no place at all.

  She heaved past Hog’s Island and kept going, her back to the sun.

  Gradually she slowed. She looked over her shoulder, at the wide ocean. She looked at New Providence, nestled on the far side of Hog’s Island, jungle all around. The sky was pinking. It would be dark soon. She couldn’t stay out here—she’d be lost by morning.

  She was lost already.

  Wherever she went, no one would take her in.

  She drifted, anchorless and alone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  ROTTERDAM—1717

  THE QUEEN CATHERINE SAILED ON THE EVENING TIDE, AND MARY watched her go. Alone in the cold, still air. Alone on a strange dock in a strange city, with nothing to her name.

  He’d seen her. She’d clung shivering to a barnacled pile beneath the docks for hours, then found a ladder up from below when her panic eased. He’d seen her climbing from the water, clothes clinging to her body, water streaming from her hair. When she looked up, wiping water from her eyes, he was standing by the gunwale. He stared down, dark-eyed and beautiful.

  She stood and met his gaze.

  She was clean. The blood washed from her face, the filth washed from her body.

  She stood and let him see her.

  He saw her, and still he sailed away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1720

  MARY STALKED THROUGH THE EMPTY MARKET SQUARE BLINDLY. GAS lamps flickered as a sea breeze caught the flames. The tavern, busy on the far side, grew louder as she approached—probably Burgess’s crew was inside, spending their windfall. She could have been there, if she was Mark. She would have been there gladly, drinking with them, if they would let her.

  Where did she think she was going? She couldn’t walk up the bar and face those lucky men. She couldn’t go back to the hut—not if Jack and Anne had left, not if they were still there, not if only Anne was there, with sad looks and soft hands and sweet eyes—

  “Mary Reade!” A voice called from the darkness beneath a well-lit tavern window.

  She didn’t turn. Since she’d become Mary, whenever someone slurred at her from the tavern, it wasn’t to say anything she was interested in hearing.

  “Mary! Otherwise known as Mark. C’mere you. Me old mate.” The voice faded, words running together. Nat? She’d hardly recognized his voice, drunk as he was. She turned and stomped back to the tavern. Maybe she’d convince him to buy her a drink or six with his newfound wealth. Maybe she could forget for the night that no one wanted her.

  He was sitting on the sandy street against the tavern’s wall, listing to one side. Voices and laughter spilled out of the window above his head. She didn’t look in, in case Robbie or Jimmy caught her eye.

  She ducked beneath the window and crouched beside Nat. “How are you, mate?”

  “Good, good. Just lovely.” His head fell back as he looked up at her. He looked sweet and simple, softened by drink. He looked like the boy she’d known—and she looked like the boy he’d known, too, back in her britches.

  She patted his hand. “I heard you made a killing with Burgess.”

  He nodded. “Aye. I’ve got money enough to build a house for me and Livie now. I’m to marry her, you know.” His brow furrowed. “I’m going to be a married man. That’s what we’re over here celebrating.”

  She gave him another pat. “Congratulations, mate.”

  “Mary, Mary, Mary.” He cocked his head. “We had some good times together, didn’t we? Remember when we used to play at Captain Avery and his mates, down on the docks? An’ I was always captain?” He gave her a sloppy shove. “Why’d you let me get away with that, now? God knows I made a terrible captain!”

  She smiled, in spite of herself. “You made a fine captain, Nat. Anyway, I was too afraid to be captain meself. Always trying not to be noticed.”

  He snorted. “Not like now. Mary, Mary, Mary. In your britches. With your hair done up like a sailor, though everyone knows you’re a girl. Sure, everyone notices you. They all want to hear your story.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do they, now.”

  He nodded seriously. “People ask, ‘Why does she go about like that?’ but also, ‘Why shouldn’t she?’ ’S very confusing. People don’t like to think so much.”

  She snorted. If only they knew that she was more confused than anyone.

  “Mary, Mary, Mary.” He rested his head against the wall. “I still can’t quite figure you. I shouldn’t like you. You, looking for all the world like a boy jus’ as soon as you ditch your skirts.”

  She felt her skin tingle. “You still like me, even though I’m—even when I look like this.”

  He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  The buzz of voices behind them got louder, and a couple of women flounced out the door, dragging laughing men behind them. One of them caught Mary’s eye and winked as she passed.

  Nat whispered, “They ask me, ‘D’you think she’s ever loved a man?’ I never know what to answer to that.”

  She fought to steady her breathing. “There was a boy I loved, once.”

  He looked solemn. “It was me, wasn’t it.”

  “Aye.”

  Nat frowned, his eyes going fuzzy. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he said.

  Mary exhaled. “No, I suppose you shouldn’t.”

  “I never should’ve wanted to, when I thought you was a boy.”

  “Wait, now—” Mary pushed away and looked at him. “You wanted to kiss me when—back in London?”

  “It felt so wrong having thoughts like that about me best mate. And now of course there’s Livie.” He leaned forward, staring at her mouth. “It’d be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

  And he kept leaning forward.

  Mary held very still and closed her eyes. When his lips touched hers they were light and sweet. Too sweet—he’d been drinking rum, she could taste it on her mouth when she pulled away.

  He’d wanted to kiss her, when he thought she was a boy. He wanted to kiss her now, though she still looked like one.

  Mary stood. “Do you have any spirits back at your kip?”

  “Aye, I do. But there’s plenty to drink here …” He trailed off, his mind working slowly. “Oh. Or … we could go to me kip, sure. I’ve got a bit of rum there.” He started to his feet.

  Mary glanced in the window and saw Robbie looking around.

  She grabbed Nat’s arm and yanked him out of sight, pressing against the wall next to the window and pulling him to her. She sighed when he groaned and dug his fingers into her waist.

  She could make him want her. He wanted her right now, and she’d hardly done a thing.

  This was so much easier than Anne. She might not want to marry Nat anymore, but this she still wanted.

 
“Take me home,” she whispered.

  And just like that, he did.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1720

  NAT LIVED UP THE HILL, IN MORE OF A TENT THAN ANYTHING ELSE—three walls, a lean-to roof, nothing but sailcloth at the front. The fort loomed above. A few men stood sentry, silhouetted against a starry sky, staring out over the battlements for any sign of the Spanish. The moon was huge and bright. Mary could see the spikes of their bayonets, the peaks of their brims, the rock and mortar detail of the wall.

  “With the money I’ve made I can buy real lumber from the northern colonies,” Nat said, pulling up the flap of cloth that hung from the roof. “Me own house. Who’d have thought a boy from Wapping could come so far?” He gestured past the threshold: a pallet, a crude table and chair, a messy pit with dead coals scattered around. “Soon this mess will be more magnificent than your Granny’s place ever was. That’s what this land is about. Any man can make it here, no matter what he came from.”

  Any man was right. She held her tongue. “You’ve done well, Nat,” she agreed. “Things are working out for you just splendidly.”

  “They are, aren’t they?” He paused. “It’s nice for you to see that, you knowing what we came from.”

  What about her? She’d come from the same. She could do anything he could. Why did her life look so different? “Where’s that rum you promised?”

  “Do you ever think about it, where we came from?” he asked, ducking into the hut. “Do you ever think about your mum, where she might be now?”

  “I like to think she got out of there,” began Mary, then had to stop. All she could think was that she knew how lonely Mum must have been when Mary’s da held his arms open to her. She knew how imagining love would be a certain way would make her fall into them—