The Beloved Land

by T. Davis Bunn

  Gordon asked, “How many are left?”

  “All but Williams, sir. He caught a bad chest and went down hard.”

  “God rest his soul.” He raised his voice. “You all need to know I’ve changed sides, lads. Carter and the others you see dockside are with me. We’re off on a mission for the Yanks. Any who want to hold to the new course are welcome. Those who prefer shore duty will have your papers and my best wishes to see them off. You men take a moment to talk among yourselves.”

  “We don’t need a moment, sir.” Samuel’s words raised the motley group to stand at attention. “We’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond.”

  Four days of almost constant effort yielded few supplies. There were two distinct faces shown them by the Marblehead merchants. When it came to business and bargaining on their goods, they were ruthless. But by the third day, the entire waterfront seemed to know of Gordon and Nicole—how his vessel had been seized and used in the British blockade, how the British had then arrested Gordon as a spy, how he had escaped through the endeavors of an American army sergeant and this woman rumored to be a titled lady. Whenever Nicole walked their meandering lanes and stopped in merchants’ shops, people offered the sober greetings of those who shared the strain of sea-bound lives and the privations of war.

  Finally toward the end of the fourth day, she and Gordon took a walk around the dockside and up into the surrounding hills. They felt they had done all they could in preparation for embarking on the morrow. It was a warm afternoon and a welcome escape from the ship’s cramped quarters. Nicole slipped her hand through Gordon’s arm. “I will be overjoyed to be on our way come morning,” she murmured.

  Gordon tipped his hat to a pair of ladies and waited until they had passed. “The thought of how I have bartered over supplies these past few days leaves me no end of weary.”

  An older gentleman veered off the other sidewalk to make his way across the lane toward them. “A word, if you please, Captain,” he called.

  Bearded and shaped like a seasoned barrel, he wore a greatcoat puffed out over a vast chest. “The name’s Darren, Captain Goodwind. I skipper yon vessel Hannah.”

  Gordon gave a proper bow. “At your service, Captain Darren.”

  “Word’s been passed about concerning your troubles and your journey ahead.” He bit hard on a long clay pipe, sending aromatic puffs skyward with each word. “Left a good impression around these parts, you and your crew.”

  “It has not hindered your traders from squeezing every farthing from our meager purse,” Gordon answered sardonically.

  “Aye, they’re a rapacious lot,” he replied with good humor. “Now then. We’re expecting you to be setting sail soon. How do you aim to set yourselves beyond the reach of yon Redcoats?” “I would be grateful for any advice you could give, sir.”

  This was clearly the response Captain Darren had been seeking. “Come moonrise in two nights, our fishing vessels will be making their way home. They will be taking a southerly course and no doubt will be meeting up with the blockade. The Brits don’t sink the fishermen. But they do have a mind to rid them of a goodly portion of their catch. Blockade duty being what it is, they’re as eager for fresh food as any.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nicole said. “Your fishermen know they will be caught?”

  Gordon nodded slowly. “They are a decoy.”

  Darren’s keen pleasure at Gordon’s perception showed in his smile. “Myself and another vessel, we’ll be charting a northerly course outbound. You’d be welcome to tag along ’til we’re safely away.”

  “I am indeed obliged, Captain,” Gordon said. “We shall delay our departure and be ready to sail with the midnight tide two nights hence.”

  Chapter 12

  Anne awoke as the carriage swayed around a bend in the road. She leaned forward to peer out the window. The sea stretched before her in the early morning light. Its expanse only reminded her of the coming farewell.

  Anne looked around the passenger coach at the sleeping travelers. Judith leaned upon Charles, who rested against the opposite side, steady snores escaping with every breath. Anne smiled in spite of herself.

  The farther they had traveled through the night, the closer they had come to the ship and separation. When Anne could hold her eyes open no longer, her last sight had been of Thomas sleeping directly across from her, with John sprawled across the remainder of the seat, his head in Thomas’s lap. Now her son and husband lay curled up together. Sometime during the night Thomas had stretched out, and the boy had crawled up to lie across his chest. They lay in the comforting closeness of parent and child as the rising sun painted them in the softest hues. Anne turned again to look out the window and struggled to keep her sobs silent.

  She did not turn back until she had regained control. Then she gazed at her two most precious people until the carriage lurched over a particularly deep crevice, throwing them all about.

  Charles snorted awake, rubbed his face, then stuck his head out the window and called softly, “I say, have a care, George.”

  “It’s Harry what’s driving, sir. George is asleep up top.” Harry’s perpetual smile could be heard in his tone. “Can’t help the rocking, I’m afraid. There’s hardly more’n a country lane to follow.”

  Charles poked his head out farther still. “So I see. And there is the sea.”

  “Yes, and a beautiful morning to you, sir. We’ve made right good time.”

  “Pull up, will you, and let us all stretch our legs.”

  “Right you are, milord. I see a lay-by just ahead.”

  When the coach halted, the four adults climbed down to walk about, stretching complaining joints and limbs. Harry woke the driver and the other two guards, and they made great difficulty of clambering to earth.

  Anne handed around mugs of watered cider. She then took the breakfast sack from Harry and laid out their morning meal.

  “What a sight,” Charles remarked. “I say, where’s the lad?” he added, looking around.

  “Still asleep.” Thomas moved up alongside the older man, and together they stood gazing out over the green-blue vista.

  It was indeed a wonderful view. Beyond the lay-by, the lane took a series of steeply winding turns down a cliff of heather and stone. Below them, a village of gray stone cottages lay nestled within the cove’s circling arms. The coast here curved back upon itself, and the village faced almost directly north. The rising sun formed a sharp line of light and shadow where it struck the high cliff. They could hear voices rising from the quayside where two tall-masted ships lay within the harbor. A line of people and produce plodded across the gangplanks.

  “There is no place on earth quite so lovely as north Devon on a fine day,” Judith said as she joined the two men. “Alas, there are very few fine days in these parts.”

  “Aye, I have heard of dangerously high seas in this region.” Thomas kept his voice low to spare Anne.

  “The sailors call this the Wild Coast,” Judith confirmed. Thomas knew her family had been Welsh merchants and traders for generations. The ways of the British seas were a vital part of her heritage. “My father used to prize the Devon and Cornish fishermen above all others, both as sailors and officers.

  But there are precious few who are willing to leave behind their beloved homeland. On such a day as this, I can well understand why.”

  From the dockside came an officer’s shout, and in response the shrill song of a bosun’s pipe. “No doubt the captain seeks to make way while the weather is with him,” Charles said. “We should be under way shortly.”

  Just then Anne called that their breakfast was ready, and they soon had eaten their bread and cheese. John had by this time awakened in high good cheer at the adventure of sleeping in the carriage and picnicking for breakfast.

  As the carriage turned about and began the descent, a convoy of wagons and coaches appeared behind them. The men called a halloo and waved. Through her open window, Anne thought the women among them seemed bot
h wan and stricken. When one of them offered her a tentative wave, Anne replied with as solemn a gesture. The men thought of the challenge, the adventure of the crossing, and a new life. But the women were leaving family and friends—the only life they had known.

  When the carriage pulled up at dockside, Charles and Thomas hurried about, helping the other travelers unload their bundles and chests and barrels.

  With Judith nearby, Anne stood watching, holding John’s hand and trying not to squeeze it too tightly.

  “Excuse me, Lady Harrow?”

  Both women turned as one at the address. None here was to have known their identity, save a single individual. They found themselves facing a young man wearing a vicar’s white collar beneath his black Dissenter cloak. Anne said, “You must be Pastor Fields.”

  “Just so.” He removed his hat and bowed over Anne’s hand.

  “And I am traveling as Anne Malvern with my husband, Thomas,” she said, keeping her voice low.

  “Yes. Of course. Forgive me. I have the name here on my list.”

  “Malvern,” Anne repeated as he searched for the name. They had decided upon the maiden name of Thomas’s grandmother. Judith took John’s hand and led him over to watch the loading of the ship, out of earshot of the exchange.

  “Yes, here it is. None save myself and my wife know your identity.”

  “Once we are safely out to sea, we would be happy to be known by our true names,” Anne told him. “We seek to disguise our identity for their sakes as much as our own.”

  “This is perfectly understood. You are not the only ones who are departing today under assumed names, I assure you.” He held his hat in front of him. “Actually, I wished merely to thank you for your most generous gifts.”

  Anne smiled and said, “I’m glad we had the wherewithal to do so, Pastor. Good stewardship, I believe you would call it.”

  “My lady—”

  “Mrs. Malvern, if you please, Reverend.”

  “Ma’am, I cannot thank you enough. As a result of your most kind donations, our entire congregation is making this journey. And even the poorest family among us shall travel with fresh produce and bedding and medicines and tools for the home that awaits them.”

  “My only request is that the gift remain a secret between ourselves and God.”

  “As you wish, ma’am. But I could not possibly let your goodness go without a word of thanks.” He backed away. “I must go see to my family. After we are safely away, my wife and I shall assist with the introductions to the others in our group.”

  Anne sat on a trunk, her little boy on her lap. She tried not to hold him too tightly. He chattered away, pointing out all the fascinating things that were happening.

  “Look, Mama!” He pointed to a crate of cackling chickens being carried on board. Fortunately she was not required to answer very often. It took heroic effort to hold back her tears.

  Too soon the loading of the ship was completed … too soon. The sun was high, the day warm, the sea kind, the wind a southerly breath of invitation. The captain’s cries turned impatient, and finally Charles came and stood by her to murmur, “I fear the moment has come, my dear.”

  John turned to look up into his mother’s face. “Are you going away now?”

  “Yes, my dearest one. You remember I told you that Grandfather Andrew is ill—”

  “And you are going to help make him well again,” he finished for her. “And Papa is going too?”

  “Someone must come and take care of me, isn’t that right?”

  John nodded somberly. “Are you sad?”

  “Yes, because I shall miss you very much. But I shall think of you every day, and pray for you, and look forward with all my heart to seeing you again as soon as I can.” It both surprised and comforted her how she held to such calm. She felt a great distance between herself and the moment, a sense of watching herself speak. The same amazing peace kept her eyes dry and her voice steady. “You must promise me to be good and obey—”

  “Uncle Charles and Aunt Judith,” he said, repeating the familiar exchange they had gone over several times in recent days.

  “That’s right, my dearest.”

  “And Maisy.”

  “They all love you very much and will cherish you and keep you well. Now give me a hug and a kiss and tell me you love me.”

  “I love you, Mama.” He looked at her with clear-eyed innocence.

  She kissed his cheek and the silken hair upon his forehead. She breathed in the warm fragrance of her son. Then she did the most difficult thing she had ever done. She let him go.

  Anne found it only mildly surprising that her face remained dry. She watched her husband lean forward to bid the boy good-bye and realized Thomas was weeping so he could scarcely speak. She let Judith stroke his shaking back. There would be time on board to hold one another.

  They gathered together and prayed, including John’s small frame in their little circle. They hugged and they spoke final words, or at least all did save Anne. She let herself be moved from one moment to the next, coming fully alert only when her son was guided into the carriage. She heard Charles say something and knew he wanted to give her the letter he had prepared for Andrew. But just then her hands would not function, nor her mind make room for anything save the boy. John’s face emerged through the open window, and the sunlight lit his hair. She fought to keep her eyes utterly clear, for this was the vision she wished to find every time she shut her eyes during the weeks and months ahead. This was the sight that would sustain her.

  “Come, my dear. It’s time.”

  Anne allowed her husband to lead her away. She did not wave so much as reach out, openhanded, toward her son. “Good-bye, my dearest!”

  Up the plank she walked. She released Thomas’s hand and moved to the side of the vessel, from where she could stand and see the sunlit tableau below. She felt Thomas move up behind her and was grateful for his comforting strength. She heard him shout their farewells and let him speak for them both. As the sailors drew in the gangplank and tossed the ropes on board and raised sails and canted the vessel seaward, it was all she could do to hold to her calm. So long as her boy was visible, she was determined to remain composed.

  But finally the harbor became merely a flat pan at the base of curving cliffs, the village a stony speck upon an emerald hill. Then the sunlight played upon the rolling waves, and the golden reflection gentled away her vision entirely. She turned then, as did several other women gathered there upon the railing. Anne buried her head in Thomas’s chest and gave herself over to sorrow’s flood.

  Chapter 13

  The entire voyage was unlike anything Anne had ever before experienced.

  Her first sea voyage had been in the hold of a ship wallowing in the storms of winter. She had been mourning the loss of her first husband, Cyril, and traveling to England because of Nicole’s fervently expressed invitation. Her days had been defined by cold and howling gales and crashing waves and moaning passengers and her own dismal grief. Only her tiny baby, her dear little John, stood between her and the darkness threatening to engulf her soul.

  Now, in the first hours and days of this next journey, her son’s absence threatened to be her undoing. Anne found herself wracked with sorrow. Within the sleepless hours of night, surrounded by the cramped berths of other passengers wrenched by their own farewells, Anne experienced a small measure of her mothers’ pain—yes, both of her mothers.

  She had known the facts of this all her life, how her French birth mother had allowed her friend Catherine to take her to an English doctor to try to save her frail life. And that while Catherine was in Halifax, the English had expelled the Acadians to the four corners of the globe. Raised by the English family, her beloved Andrew and Catherine, Anne’s double heritage was as much a part of her as her name, her hair, her eyes, her own breath.

  She had never livedit, though, until now.

  But I will see John again. We will be reunited soon,she told herself over and over. And
sometimes, Oh, Mama Louise, how did you bear the sorrow, the not knowing. . . ? She at least knew where John was, that he was being lovingly cared for in a place that was his home.

  Sabbath fell upon the third day of their journey. Anne had not slept more than a few hours in the two nights since their departure. She ate because Thomas placed food in front of her and urged her to do so. She moved about the deck only when he grasped her hand and led her. That Sabbath morning began with the dawn, when Thomas drew her from bed with a bowl of the hot black tea called sailor’s broth. He directed her toward the chamber where the other women had gathered to wash and dress for the morning service.

  By that time all the ship knew of Anne and Thomas, both who they were and how they had left their son behind. Anne had heard others tell their own tragic tales, but she had tried to close her ears to the words and the tears, unable to bear anything further. But this morning was different. As she returned to the main hold and gathered about the central table for a breakfast of ship’s bread and brine-soaked apples and more tea, Anne sensed a soft whisper within her heart.

  For the journey they had taken the Dissenters’ style of dress, homespun frocks of black and gray. Thomas wore a long black overcoat and stiff-brimmed hat. Anne smoothed back her hair and settled upon her head a starched white bonnet and tied it beneath her chin. As soon as the bosun had piped the morning crew on deck and the others to their breakfast, the passengers made their way from their quarters.

  The captain greeted them, doffing his hat and bowing to the elder of the two pastors. “It is my habit at sea to offer the men a Sabbath reading. But I’d be grateful for a proper vicar to bless this day.”

  “It would be an honor for you and your men to join us.”

  They began with a song, and another, and another still. One of the men drew out a concertina, another a mouth organ, and one more a set of bagpipes. There were no hymnals, nor any needed. This was a group bound together through years of shared worship and common faith. They greeted the rising sun in four-part harmony, causing the sailors to cast astonished glances among themselves.