All Out--The No-Longer-Secret Stories of Queer Teens throughout the Ages

by Saundra Mitchell

  Stowed on the boat was a set of boy’s clothing, stolen a piece at a time from her own father’s laundry, which she would don as soon as it was safe to do so. For now, she slapped one of her father’s old cocked hats on her head and kept her body hidden in the belly of the hull, emerging only to adjust the boom when the wind shifted.

  She sailed thus, lying flat on her back with her eyes trained on the gentle billowing of her yellow-dyed sails, until the sunlight sliced orange and pink across the sky. The air began to get cooler, the sky above darker and all of a sudden Clara felt a chill of fear. She was alone as she had never been. Alone with precious few possessions and no notion of where to take them except away from Mr. Earwood and the promise of a landlocked life.

  It was then that she heard it: sudden splashing in the river and shouts in the distance. Her pulse quickened and the chill she’d felt only seconds before was replaced by a fresh sheen of sweat. She lay on the bottom of her boat with ears pricked and eyes open wide, hoping the sounds would pass her by. But instead of moving off, the splashing grew nearer, the shouting louder.

  When her boat rocked sharply to one side, it was all Clara could do to keep from crying out in surprise. She bit the inside of her cheek and waited for the rocking to subside.

  Nothing followed. Her boat resumed its course, floating smoothly downstream. Had she bumped a stone? Had some large catfish mistaken her for food?

  “You there! Boatman!” The shout carried across the river to Clara’s ears.

  The shock of it caused her to bite too hard on her cheek. She tasted blood.

  “Good sir! Pause and speak with us!”

  If she lay in the bottom of her boat, they might assume it was adrift and come out to retrieve it for themselves. If she answered, they might know her for a girl and still come out.

  Though her hands shook, she knew she must move. Lifting only her head, she spied two figures pacing her on shore. They were smartly dressed and bore expressions of determination and mild panic. The one in front was tall; his stride was commanding and bold. The one behind had a flower pinned to his brocade waistcoat and ran twice as fast to keep apace with his friend. Here the banks of the river were peppered with long stretches of tall, marshy grasses several feet deep. The two men had to run farther up the hillside in order to see the river where she sailed.

  Clara pitched her voice low. “Good day to you, sirs!”

  With a pinch of panic, Clara noticed how the man behind seemed to pause midstride, as though aware that something was amiss. The other plowed on, shouting, “Have you seen a girl? She came this way! Did she cross the river? A girl!”

  For just a second Clara’s mind reeled. These men would know her for the runaway she was and force her to return to the dreadful life she’d only just escaped. She would be married and her sloop dismantled by sundown. But her sense returned nearly as quickly as it had fled. They sought a girl from their side of the river. She was not the delinquent they pursued.

  Clara thought of the splashing and suspected it had been no catfish that had nudged her hull. She placed a steadying hand on the boom as the wind shifted. The sloop rocked in response. Lowering her chin and keeping her voice deep, she responded, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen her. There’s been nothing but sunlight on the water with me this day.”

  The taller man nodded his thanks and bolted back up the gentle hill to the pine woods above. The shorter man didn’t follow immediately, but studied her for a long moment. It was too far for her to see clearly, but Clara was sure she could see some hint of malice in the slope of his shoulders.

  Finally, both men were gone from sight. Clara adjusted the boom and carefully climbed to the starboard side of her little boat. Keeping her hat firmly atop her head, she peered over the lip of the hull and directly into the wide brown eyes of a girl.

  She clung to the side of the ship like a barnacle, her face barely above the water as the boat swept her along. Her hair streamed behind her, and her lips were drawn tight across chattering teeth. Clara could see that she wore a gown as yellow as the sails above, which was probably trying mightily to drag her down.

  Without a word, Clara removed her hat, then reached down with both hands to pull the girl aboard. The boat heaved and cold water sloshed over the side, but soon the girl was huddled beneath the jib, safely onboard.

  Clara tightened the sail at once. The wind was in their favor and moved them swiftly downstream, away from any who might still be searching for a runaway girl or two.

  “I’m Pearl,” said the girl. She’d found the last glimmer of sunset and sat inside it. The light made her brown hair burn and her eyes glassy and deep. “Thank you.”

  “I’m Clara. You’re welcome.”

  “I suppose you’d like to know who those men were?” Pearl asked, and without waiting for an answer, she plowed on. “The one who shouted was my brother, William, and I do feel badly for deceiving him. He’s never been cruel to me, at least, not intentionally. The other was Mr. Michael Pitts, my husband-to-be, and I don’t feel badly for him in the slightest. Mealy, indecisive and selfish. Took me to wife out of ‘the kindness of his heart.’ Pah! Well, I left him out of the meanness of mine.”

  Clara had not intended to inquire, but she was glad Pearl spoke so freely. “You ran away from your wedding day?”

  Pearl raised her chin, defiance shining in her eyes. “I did.”

  It occurred to Clara that Pearl’s dress was yellow. Not blue to signify years of faithful love, not pink to announce her purity, but yellow, the color of pagans and the wildest of flowers. This was a girl she knew already, even as she knew her not at all.

  “Me, too,” Clara answered, fluffing the skirts of her own black dress. “And I am sorry for the disappointment my father will feel, but I am full of too much life for Mr. Earwood. I’d have driven him to an early grave.”

  Pearl laughed. “Pitts and Earwood. They should be friends.”

  “After this, perhaps they will be!”

  Pearl’s smile softened. “I know we certainly shall be.”

  Something in the curl of Pearl’s voice called a corresponding curl in Clara’s breath. She did not respond and the two girls drifted in silence while the sun slowly drained from the sky. Clara sighted a particularly reedy section on the opposite side of the river from where Pearl had just fled and nosed the sloop inside it for extra coverage. It would be a cold night on the sloop, but it was still too dangerous to camp on shore. They would have to make do with what little heat her lanterns could provide.

  But Pearl would need more than that.

  The girl made no complaint, but she shivered in her layers of wet dress. She would make herself ill sleeping in such a state.

  “Here,” Clara said, offering her single change of boy’s clothing. “Put these on.”

  Pearl accepted them gratefully, cold fingers brushing Clara’s as she took them from her hands. Though they were surrounded by mere reeds instead of sturdy walls, Pearl quickly began the work of loosening her dress. Clara helped, tugging on cold, wet lacings until her own fingers burned.

  The work was so familiar that it didn’t occur to Clara that Pearl was a near stranger until the dress slid from her shoulders, leaving only the shift behind. Then it wasn’t only her fingers that burned, but her cheeks, her lips, her chest. She turned away to give Pearl her privacy and tend to the stirring in her lungs.

  “I have bread and cheese,” she said, rooting through the bag she’d stowed on the sloop ahead of time. “Jars of preserves and a few bottles of wine.”

  “You’re my savior,” Pearl said, voice muffled by cloth. “Let’s start with the wine. Tonight’s a celebration after all.”

  “You’re right,” Clara said, feeling the truth of it expand in her lungs. “We did it, Pearl. We left.”

  “And tomorrow’s all about the life we choose.”

  The life we choose. The wor
ds were said with such anticipation that for a moment, Clara felt overwhelmed. She had spent so long trying to imagine herself inside a house she had no hand in creating, imagining the rooms and cabinets and nearest neighbors she might have as a married woman in a new town. Now there was no house, no town even, and the possibilities seemed as long and steady as the river rushing past.

  The girls opened their wine and tore their bread and scooped generously of fig preserves. They drank until the bottle was gone and ate until the jar was empty, and then they lay on their backs on the flat nose of the sloop.

  “What was your plan?” Clara asked. “Just...run?”

  Pearl’s laughter sounded like merry song of a wood thrush. “From start to finish. The thought came over me all of a sudden. I was standing there, at the entry of the church, staring down that short aisle to a long future with a man who was already calculating the value of our wedding gifts. And I tell you before I knew what I was about, I was running out the doors and down the road. So, yes, ‘run’ was my plan. And it worked, I’ll remind you.”

  “Barely! And by luck alone!”

  “What was your plan, then? More than run, I assume?” Pearl leaned up on her elbow to level Clara with a playful glare. “Did you steal this boat, Clara? You might’ve chosen something less conspicuous than a sloop with yellow sails.”

  It was Clara’s turn to laugh, and she felt self-conscious as she did. “It was mine, but seeing as I was married when I took it and all my belongings were also Mr. Earwood’s, it’s probable he thinks I stole it.”

  “You’re an outlaw,” Pearl teased.

  “In good company,” Clara teased back, noting the way Pearl’s gaze slid to her lips and back again to her eyes. “And my plan was to take my sloop and ride the river to the open ocean. I’ve food and a fishing pole to keep me fed, a blade to keep me safe and skills to keep me afloat.”

  “And then what?” Pearl asked.

  Clara was almost afraid to say it. For so long, she’d nurtured this secret desire knowing anyone who heard it would think her too childish for the world. The words had been so long held back that now they feared coming out. But in the flicker of lamplight, Pearl’s smile was encouraging.

  “Do you know of the Sweet Trade?” Clara asked, fiddling with the delicate lace on her stomacher.

  Pearl’s expression was skeptical. “Piracy? That’s your plan? Become a pirate?”

  “It is,” Clara answered seriously. “All my life, people have told me what to do or taken what’s mine. The same is true for you! We’ve been raised among pirates who call themselves gentlemen. And I’m ready to turn the tables. I’m ready to take what’s mine and maybe a few things that aren’t.”

  “That sounds like a lovely sort of justice.” Pearl smiled as she leaned close, her breath sweet with figs, her lips stained purple with wine. “Perhaps I’ll join you and we’ll rule the Carolina seas together.”

  “I’d gladly take you amongst my crew.”

  “And I would gladly join it.”

  Clara felt warmth spreading through her cheeks. Pearl’s smile was softer now, her brown hair falling around her face to curl at her chin near her lips. She looked perfectly unkempt and radiant. Clara had started this day evading a kiss she didn’t want, but she would end it with one she did.

  Clara leaned up, and Pearl leaned down. Their lips met, gently at first, then more urgently, one kiss diving into the next and the next like little waves until they parted to breathe. Clara rested in Pearl’s arms, a sheet of brown hair covering them both.

  “We shall be the most dreadful of pirates,” Clara said, cupping Pearl’s chin in her hand. “Because between us, we’ve left three husbands wanting.”

  Silence fell around the girls. Clara watched as Pearl drifted away from her, though her body remained so near she could feel its gentle heat. Finally, after several long moments, Pearl sat up and spoke again.

  “It won’t work,” she said. “It’s just a dream.”

  “This whole thing is a dream. But we’ve made it real,” Clara protested.

  “No, maybe if we were boys, this would work. But we’re not. We’re only girls, and this won’t work.” Tears shimmered in Pearl’s eyes. She scooted away, huddling in her boy’s clothing, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. “We have to do something girls can do.”

  Clara knew that she hated everything Pearl had just said, but she had no solution for it. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “We should get some sleep.”

  The girls settled down to sleep with their eyes on the stars above and their ears full of crickets and owls and the soft shushing of the river. It all sounded like tomorrow and like the future and like a life they’d chosen. For better or worse.

  * * *

  The morning came with a cold drizzle and the sound of men’s voices.

  Clara awoke sharply. Her skin was damp and shivering cold, but her heart was thumping heat into her veins. She could feel Pearl beside her, hear the sound of her steady breathing. Still asleep.

  Making as little noise as possible, Clara rolled to her side, placed a hand over Pearl’s mouth and gently shook her awake. She startled, but seeing Clara’s face, she settled again at once, nodding to show she understood.

  All around, tall grasses shuffled in the early-morning breeze, providing them cover, but obscuring their view of the shore. The girls sat still in their bobbing boat, listening again for the sounds of men.

  They came softly at first. Low, indistinguishable voices threading through the reeds. Not until they came a little closer was Clara able to determine that there were two of them. She raised two fingers and Pearl nodded, agreeing.

  Two girls to two men. They were decent odds, but Clara felt a tremor threaten in her breast. She stilled it with a plan.

  Leaning close to whisper in Pearl’s ear, she said, “The plan is to run. I’ll ready the boat. You get my sword and be ready to look fierce with it.”

  Pearl nodded, but asked, “Where’s your sword?”

  Clara pointed to the cloth bag she’d filled with everything she could think to need, including one of her grandfather’s short swords. Now she wished she’d thought to grab a second.

  The men’s voices grew louder and the girls quieter. They pushed their wool blankets aside and slipped around the boat as seamlessly as water. Pearl sorted through the bag with care until she produced the sword, and Clara eased the boat out of its moorings with smooth, steady motions. Soon, the sloop was free, held in place only by the thicket of reeds they’d nested it in overnight. But it would go nowhere without lifting the sails to catch the breeze, and that was sure to draw the notice of these men.

  Clara was deciding how best to execute their escape, when she heard a shout, “You there! Lad!”

  Pearl stood at the stern of the sloop, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, one hand resting on the boom for balance, the sword in her other. She looked every bit a boy in her breeches and waistcoat.

  Without wasting a second, Clara whistled and tossed her cocked hat to Pearl, who snatched it out of the air and pressed it on her head. Next, Clara scooped up the still-damp yellow dress and tucked it in the narrow hold of the sloop’s nose. She finished just as the two men spotted them through the reeds and called out again, “We don’t mean you no harm, lad. You can put the sword away.”

  The voice was terribly familiar. By the way Pearl’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, she thought so, too.

  “We’re looking for a girl. Maybe you’ve seen her?”

  Now Clara recognized the voice. It was that of the man who’d called out to her yesterday afternoon. Pearl’s brother, William, which meant the shorter man standing to his side was Mr. Pitts.

  Pearl made no move to answer. In response, her brother began to push through the reeds. “Lad?” he called, coming into full view. His eyes landed on the sails. Though still wrapped and bound
, they were glaringly yellow.

  Clara jumped to her feet and moved to Pearl’s side. “Please excuse my brother. He’s not much for conversation so early in the morning. I’m afraid I’m the only girl we’ve seen.”

  Pearl’s brother stopped, eyes settling on Clara’s face. It was still dim, but he was near enough now to see her clearly. His dark brown eyes traveled from her to Pearl’s tucked chin with a hint of suspicion.

  “We’re out for the crabs,” Clara offered, attempting to draw his focus back to her. “We’ve got traps down the river. But best of luck finding your girl.”

  Now Mr. Pitts stood forward, his narrow nose reaching only to William’s shoulder. He raked his eyes from one girl to the other, but it was the boat he settled on, studying it for a long minute.

  “You were alone yesterday.” Mr. Pitts’s voice was as dense as his gut.

  Pearl shrugged, careful to keep her head bent away from the bruising gaze of Mr. Pitts. “So I was.”

  Clara could hear the slight shudder in Pearl’s breath, but Clara wasn’t afraid. She smiled kindly at the men, then gave Pearl a shove. “The mainsail won’t raise itself, Jack.”

  Pearl took the invitation, throwing herself at the mast though she didn’t have a clue how to do as instructed. But it didn’t matter. The men, convinced these two had nothing to offer them, moved along down the banks of the river.

  Clara joined her friend at the mast, quickly loosing the riggings and raising the sail. Within minutes, they were back on the river, riding the wind away from trouble.

  “Jack!” Clara crowed when she was sure they’d put enough distance between them and the men. “Do you know what this means?”

  “That I owe you twice over?” Pearl’s voice was drawn tight as the sail.

  “Yes, but also, it means we don’t have to be boys.” Clara danced to her friend’s side to steal the hat from her head and place it on her own. “They only have to think we are and we can be whatever we desire.”