Moonlight Rebel

by Ferrarella, Marie

  Catching her father peering anxiously at her, she offered him a smile. They still had each other. The rest would fall into place somehow.

  She stole a glance at the handsome man at her side. Think of him, she told herself. Think of him. What might come tomorrow very well could offer you a new life with him.

  Far worse things than that could happen. She had been more than half in love with Thaddeus ever since he had begun to frequent her father's house and table five years ago. Even now, as Thaddeus offered her a warm, encouraging smile, Krystyna felt the surge of first love flow through her veins. Yes, things could be a lot worse.

  She soon found that they would be.

  "But why aren't you coming with us?" she asked Thaddeus unhappily as they stood at the dock. She had thought she'd had her fill of unhappiness. Now there was something more to be faced. How much could God ask her to stand? First she'd lost her beloved home, and now she was losing the man she had hoped to, someday, build a life with, losing him before she ever had a chance to show him how she felt.

  Count Kosciusko took her hand and smiled. "Because my work isn't done here. I'm still needed."

  "I could stay with you." She knew that she appeared eager to him, but she didn't care. Perhaps if he read the love in her eyes, he would let her stay — or go with her. "I could be a help to you." She looked into his deep, dark eyes and searched for some sign of affection. She found only an amused twinkle.

  "I know you could," he said with some honesty, realizing that this unusual young woman was spurred on by a measure of patriotism that he had glimpsed only once or twice in other men, "but your life is in danger—"

  "No more than yours is, they tell me," she countered quickly.

  "A man is used to these sorts of things," he said to her fondly. "Trust me."

  She looked down at the clothes she had been forced to put on, clothes intended to disguise her gender and to present the world with a picture of a young boy traveling with his father. "I'm dressed like a man. I might as well behave as one." Her mouth curved as she remembered the insults Andrej had hurled at her. "I've been accused of that often enough."

  Thaddeus laughed. "No amount of clothing could ever turn you into a man, Krystyna."

  Her pulse raced as she stood close to him. Was there something more to his words, or was he still seeing her as an amusing child? This wasn't fair. She needed time with him, time to show him how she felt, time to try to really understand her own feelings. Those strange, surging, hungry feelings that danced through her were so new.

  "If it wouldn't spoil your disguise, I'd kiss you goodbye," he told her, drawing his hand away from hers.

  Cheated even of that, she thought bitterly, wondering what it would be like to have someone you cared for kiss you. She recalled the time that Andrej had tried to force himself on her in the library when they were alone. The memory brought a wave of revulsion along with it. He had suddenly leaped upon her like one of the animals she had seen in the barnyard. How could her father ever have thought she'd marry Andrej? Why hadn't he set up a match with Thaddeus instead? She didn't care if he owned less property than her father. What did she need with more land?

  And now you haven't any, she thought with a pang. Nor Thaddeus either.

  She saw his eyes look over her head.

  "The captain is signalling. It's time to bid you adieu."

  As if on cue, Krystyna's father came forward, having stood a discreet distance away to allow them a measure of privacy. Too late he had realized the way Krystyna felt about the tall, handsome young Count. Too late, he thought heavily. An oppressive depression settled in his chest and enfolded him in its dark cloak.

  Kosciusko clasped the Count's hand firmly in his. "Godspeed, my dear friend. And you," he turned his dark eyes toward Krystyna, "take care of your father. I'll see you both soon."

  "I'll never forgive you if you break your promise to me," she declared.

  He was struck by the fierceness in her voice. "I never break a promise to a Countess," Kosciusko whispered, bowing before both of them.

  And then he was gone.

  Neither Kosciusko nor the two people left on the lonely dock saw the man in the shadows who watched the whole scene. They were oblivious of the chilling, satisfied look on his face, of his signal to the tall, thin sailor who stood before the main mast, watching for him. And for the Count and his daughter.

  Krystyna turned to face the ship. It was a weather-worn cargo vessel that hardly appeared seaworthy. No one would look for them here, Kosciusko had been certain, nonetheless, the sight of the ship sorely depressed her. The smell of wet wood assaulted her nostrils and made her faintly nauseous. She wondered if this vessel was up to making the laborious journey across the Atlantic. Or for that matter, if she was.

  She shivered.

  It would be terrible to die at sea, without anyone knowing that she was gone. Thaddeus would go on thinking she was safe in America. How would he ever learn what happened to her? Would he care? Would he grieve for her?

  Her eyes strayed toward her father, and all the thoughts that were racing through her head came to an abrupt halt. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself, not even considering what this flight meant to him. She was still young, but to lose everything at his age . . .

  She took her father's hand and squeezed it. "To our new adventure," she whispered with more bravery than she felt.

  Her father looked at her fondly, knowing what she was trying to do, knowing how she felt about leaving everything behind. He had raised her in his own image. He knew every thought in her head.

  Lovingly, he adjusted the woolen cap on her head. "Ah, I may be leaving my property behind, but I am bringing my greatest treasure with me." He put an arm around her shoulders.

  The captain motioned them aboard impatiently. He was a burly man who greatly preferred the sea to the land. He knew how to handle the sea, how to read water, wind, and sky. Things on land tended to become muddled and obscure. He had no idea who he was transporting, but from the large sum of money he had been given, he knew these were people of importance. No matter. He didn't concern himself with politics and rebellions. The only things that concerned him were his ship and the vast blue wilderness that rippled before him.

  "Your cabin is ready, sir," he said gruffly in halting Polish. Krystyna listened to his accent. As he continued speaking, she decided that he was Dutch. "I've sent in some food." His voice trailed off, as if that was all that needed to be said.

  "You are most kind." Count Stefan bowed formally. He motioned Krystyna before him as the captain began to lead the way below, but she shook her head. "Krys?" he asked uncertainly.

  "I'll be with you in a moment." she answered in a low voice, then she turned toward the dock. The order to cast off had been given. Ever so slowly, she could feel that they were swaying to and fro, and pulling away from land.

  "Goodbye," she whispered, staring unseeingly at the dock and the lands beyond. She was leaving her entire world behind. "Goodbye."

  She swallowed. Surrounded by water, her throat was dry, almost parched. Taking a deep breath, she turned her face to the sea and walked to her father, who stood waiting for her.

  The trip was long, tiresome, and depressing, one endless, restless day feeding into another. Krystyna, forced to stay inside the cabin, grew to hate the small wooden cell that in effect became her prison. But venturing topside was too dangerous. Her father worried that she would inadvertendy give herself away. Once that happened, even the captain couldn't save her. Sailors out to sea for weeks at a time tended to become unreasonable where their appetites were concerned. She would be, her father warned, the victim of some crew member's "unbridled passion." Krystyna stayed in the cabin. Their meals, mostly hardtack and tasteless biscuits, were brought to them by a sullen man who hardly acknowledged any of their questions.

  It was a lonely, hard journey for Krystyna. With no books to read, except for the one she had brought with her, she was left to her own thoughts hour after hour. Th
e idea of going to America festered in her mind. Who would ever have thought, when Professor Nicholas was teaching her American history, that she would someday have to go there? How odd the way pieces of a life fall into place.

  Or out of place, she thought bitterly.

  She shivered despite her resolve to be brave. Though equipped with the language, she didn't feel equipped to face that wild country. To her it was a land where men were slaughtered in their beds by devils wearing feathers in their hair and little else. She was aware that there was political discord between the Colonies and the mother country, but knew the situation wasn't as dire as that in her own country.

  Krystyna sighed. Well, at least some people there were brave enough to stand up for what they believed in. Maybe she'd even find her stay interesting. Maybe. But she doubted it.

  As the days threaded into one another, she began to feel that landing in America couldn't possibly be as odious as she had once felt. Anything was preferable to being trapped on that damnable ship. She had always loved being outside and felt utterly smothered in the cabin. Furthermore, her father wasn't responding well to the voyage. He ate little and took to his bed a great deal.

  Krystyna felt isolated and alone. For some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that death was stalking them. She told herself it was just her overactive imagination feeding on their unfortunate circumstances and their gloomy surroundings. It was hard to have bright thoughts amid all this dreariness.

  Still, uneasiness seeped into her very soul. And the few times she ventured out on deck with her father and caught the tall, thin first mate watching them; it increased markedly. Something in his eyes frightened her. He seemed to see right through her.

  She couldn't wait until the journey was over.

  Chapter Three

  It seemed like an eternity, but finally, after more than a month and a half of oppressive dankness, of confinement, of poor food, vermin, and no bathing facilities, the cargo ship drew near to the Virginia harbor. Krystyna could have cried with relief when she heard the muffled call of, "Land, ho!" from the crow's nest. Ambivalent feelings immediately erupted within her. Elation laced icy fingers through her depression. There was relief that they had safely completed a long, horrible journey. But the realization that another was to begin was quick on its heels. A journey to be taken a world away from her roots, her home. One into the unknown. All the feelings she had had on the dock in Poland began to resurface.

  As she leaped off her cot and started for the cabin door, her father called after her. "Your cap!"

  Impatience dancing through her, Krystyna stopped to pick up the gray woolen cap from the floor. Quickly, she stuffed waves of dark hair under it. The infernal cap. She was going to relish tossing it into the fire as soon as she could. It represented part of the lie she was living, part of the bondage imposed by the ship.

  "All right?" She turned toward her father for his approval.

  Stefan waved a weary hand as he remained seated on the narrow cot. "All right." And perhaps, he prayed, just perhaps, it will be.

  Krystyna didn't wait for him as she raced up the narrow steps. Topside, she spun in all directions. Where was it? Where was the land the sailor in the crow's nest had sighted?

  Squinting, she could make out a thin strip of something enshrouded in mist far out on the horizon. It was hardly more than a glimmer.

  So this is it, she thought, leaning against the damp, splintered railing. This was "the promised land." This was America.

  She felt no joy.

  Instead, a pang of fear clawed at the pit of her stomach. America. Halfway around the world. Far from her world. Relief at no longer being buried alive in the damp, rotting little cabin began to slip away. How long would she have to stay on those shores before she could go home again? The question throbbed in her temples, hot and demanding.

  How long?

  A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped. Her father's patient smile cracked a hole in her dark mood. "It will seem strange for a while," he said, reading her thoughts in the expression on her face, "but we'll get used to it. Jan writes that the people here have strange ways, but they're warm and friendly."

  Krystyna nodded, not believing a word he said. The only warmth she'd known was back home. Here there would be nothing but isolation and desolation.

  She looked at her father's worn face. Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced a half-smile to her face. "We have each other and that's all that counts." She stepped away from the railing. "I'll get our things ready." She went back to their cabin for the last time.

  She would have thought that her heart would have been lighter on leaving the ship. She had dreamed of nothing else but land all these weeks at sea. But it was her own land she had thought of, not some hellish wilderness where manners meant nothing and the word savage could be applied to men of two colors. She lingered for a moment, looking around at the cabin. Small, with only two narrow bunks and a table that sat one, yet despite the constant dank smell of wet wood, it had been both her refuge and her prison. Here she had dwelled on her present condition. That had occupied all her thoughts. Anything would be better than this, she had thought. But it is human nature to forget the pain of the past. What was over was in part already forgotten. Instead of relief, she felt apprehension at what lay ahead, at what was to be.

  Her hands became still as she stopped folding the clothes into their solitary trunk, gold hidden in its bottom. She listened to the sounds of the men above. There had been little to do but listen and think during her journey. She had known the crew's routine by the noises that were generated, had recognized the distinct sounds of the ship. What she heard now were different sounds.

  They were landing.

  Endless miles away from everything she had ever known. Impulsively, she pulled her mother's sampler out of the depths of the trunk and tucked it inside her blouse. She needed to feel a piece of home next to her.

  She closed the lid and secured the straps that encircled the trunk. There was no hanging back now. She had to face reality. Whatever that was here. Krystyna squared her shoulders. It was time to get on with life. You have never been a coward, she reminded herself. This is not the time to start.

  Her father opened the door to the cabin. It startled her. She swung around, anxious. Stefan sensed her thoughts, felt her anguish. They were of the same blood. He knew she, too, was experiencing what he was feeling at this moment. He took her hand and silently squeezed it.

  Together they emerged on the deck. Shades of gray were swallowing the light as darkness approached. The sails flapped loosely in the near calm wind, and the sea, for once smooth, seemed like glass as the ship creaked its way into port.

  Krystyna felt the ship grind against the dock. They were here. But no laughter bubbled in her throat. She was afraid of what lay ahead. No matter what sort of a face she presented to the world, she was afraid.

  The captain came up behind them. When his presence went unnoticed, he cleared his throat. Getting the attention he desired, he delivered his statement in a voice that sounded like gravel hitting a stone wall. "Well, this is the end of your journey. You gave me no cause for complaint. If ever you need to go back—"

  Back, oh yes, Krystyna thought. Take us back. Now.

  " — I come into the harbor about once every six months. We can work something out."

  Count Stefan nodded gravely. "I hope that we will be in need of your services soon." A sheepish look came to his face, and Krystyna thought that, just for a moment, he looked youthful again. "Can you tell me what day of the month this is? I'm afraid I have lost track. My brother was to be here on the twenty-seventh."

  "If he was, then he had a long wait ahead of him. We're off schedule." The captain shrugged carelessly. "It's the thirty-first"

  Krystyna saw her father's expression grow grave. She was about to slip her arm through his, then thought better of it. A more manly gesture would be to put a hand on his shoulder. Even though the trip was over, she would go on with
her charade until they were alone again. One never knew.

  "We can hire a carriage," she suggested.

  Stefan turned toward her, and she saw the helpless frustration in his gray eyes. "But I'm not sure where the plantation is or how to get to it."

  "Surely someone—" Krystyna began.

  "Begging your pardon, sir, was someone to meet you?"

  The voice came from behind them. Krystyna turned abruptly, startled by the intrusion. The tall first mate stood so close to her that she felt his breath against her skin. The look in his eyes frightened her, but she thought probably everyone in this strange place would frighten her.

  Stefan was immediately suspicious of the man's offer to help. But he had to trust someone sometime, and he needed to reach Jan as soon as possible. After a moment's debate, he nodded. "My brother. But I fear that he was not able to wait for us to arrive."

  The redheaded man gave them an easy smile that lazily curled about his thin lips. "Shouldn't be any problem. I've a friend who's meeting me at the harbor. He lives just down the road and can see the ships come in. If the price is right, I'm sure he can arrange for you and your son to get to wherever it is you want to go."

  "That is very kind of you." The Count's words were measured and formal.

  The thin shoulders shrugged beneath the heavy woolen jacket that had seen better years. "Can't have new folks stranded in the middle of the night. Hard enough being strangers without being lost, too. I'll come for you before I leave." He turned and walked away.

  Stefan stared after him in silence, wondering if he had been wrong to trust the man. Lately, he was afraid to trust anyone. It was a horrid way to live. In truth, it was like living inside the hand of death, waiting for the fingers to tighten and close. It would have been trying for anyone, and at his age, it was almost impossible to bear.

  The first mate wasn't long in getting back to them. Jovial, gregarious, he kept up a steady stream of conversation as he retrieved their trunk for them and brought it down the gangplank. Krystyna felt guilty for not trusting him, yet she couldn't quite let herself be pulled in by his warm, friendly voice. He looked up at her as he set the trunk down on the dock, and his bold gaze alarmed her.