Keturah

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “Oh aye. I’ll send a man to fetch ye so ye do not miss your last moments near English soil. Then I’d be most gratified if ye three would dine with me this night,” he said with another curt bow. He cast a grin in Verity’s direction. “The falcon, however, shall remain with the other animals. I dinna welcome birds in my quarters.”

  “No?” Ver asked, pretending to be surprised. She reached up and stroked Brutus’s neck feathers. “Even if he slays a rat beforehand?”

  “Aye, even if he manages it, he shall eat that rat in the stables rather than astride my table.”

  “Pity, that,” she said, pretending to sulk, even as she gave him a sly smile.

  Keturah frowned. This was no evening soiree. Her sister forgot herself. “And my servants, Captain?” she intervened. “Where shall they sup?”

  The handsome man’s eyes flicked past her to the line of men and women who still carried the Banning wares into the hold. “After they manage loading the rest of your considerable cargo, m’lady, I would imagine they’ll be fair famished. Cook will see to them after the crew.”

  With that, he bowed and turned from her and walked with the first mate down the side of the ship toward the enormous wheel. She didn’t miss Burr’s glance over his shoulder at them as the two talked, the first mate waving his hand in agitation.

  “I take it they disapprove of all we’re taking with us,” Keturah said. “We did pay a great deal for our share of the cargo space.”

  “Pay him no mind,” Lord Shantall said soothingly. “These men are merely unaccustomed to women traveling to the Indies, and all they require. In time it will settle with them.”

  I hope so, Keturah thought. Otherwise it would make their six-week passage all the longer and more tedious. Or might it be a good thing? A wedge to discourage this bubbling interest between her sister and the captain?

  “Well, I wish you a fine voyage and prosperous months ahead in the Indies,” Lord Shantall said. He slid a card out of his inner jacket pocket. “I took the liberty of writing down the names of a few friends your father and I had in common on-island. Seek them out for advice when in need. Anyone else might prove … unsatisfactory.”

  Keturah looked down to the fine linen card, and her eyes welled up. It was uncommonly kind of him to think of her in this way—something her father would have done. “Thank you, Lord Shantall. That is most thoughtful of you.”

  “My dear …” He paused, his eyes shifting back and forth, as if wanting to say more. She tensed, sensing warning and hesitation in his demeanor. “At Tabletop, you might encounter some … surprises.”

  She laughed under her breath, which she knew was entirely unladylike but could not resist. “I would imagine, Lord Shantall, there will be far more than some.”

  “Yes,” he said, brows lifting in relief, “quite.” He seemed to shake off whatever he had meant to say, finding quarter in her casual dismissal. “Be well, Keturah,” he said, leaning down to kiss her hand. “We shall look forward to reports of how you fare across the Atlantic.”

  Ket gave him a wry smile. “Giving you more fodder for discussion at the summer soirees.”

  “But of course!” he said with a wink. “The sugar baron’s daughters will do quite nicely in that capacity.”

  She curtsied as he bowed, and then he left the ship, walking straight and tall. Watching him from the rail, Keturah felt another pang of longing for her father. How many times had she seen him walking with Lord Shantall among their gardens? At parties? Entering the study in the manse?

  She was then distracted by the sight of Gray, bringing another heavy chest up the gangway on his back. It was so unsuitable, a gentleman doing manual labor! She’d never seen anything like it. He’d given up his neckcloth, and his shirt was open and untucked from his breeches, exposing smooth flesh and muscles. Sweat beaded on his brow and dampened the armpits of his shirt, but he appeared so strong, so capable, that it stirred something within her.

  She hurriedly looked to the sea, washing against the planks of the ship below, knowing she did not want to be caught staring. But when she glanced up again to turn and make her way to her cabin, she saw that his steady gaze was upon her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew she’d been looking. And although she expected shame to be caught doing such a thing, there was nothing in him but … pride. Of all things! Pride? Flustered, she moved down the side of the ship, dodging sailors carrying crates, rolling barrels, and hauling rope.

  Catching sight of Edwin and Absalom entering the hold with the last of their crates, she followed behind, assuming her sisters had already gone to their cabins as she bade farewell to Lord Shantall. She knew she’d promised Captain McKintrick they would hide away, but she wanted a chance to figure out the layout of this massive ship before they were fully underway. Once they left the wharf, her exploration might feel more intrusive when a third of the crew was likely to be belowdecks at a time, but for now she had the freedom to see all of the Restoration, from stem to stern. And if she was to sleep at night in the middle of the vast sea, she knew she’d want to run her hands across the strong beams, observe where the hundred men of the crew slept, count the casks of water and hogsheads of flour that would keep them all alive.

  Because it had all seemed like a grand idea when she first thought of it, this adventure to the Indies. But now that she’d left her homeland’s soil for the last time—not to touch ground again until her slippered feet were atop sand and volcanic earth—she found her heart raced and her hands trembled.

  She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and then turned toward a cabin to her right where she heard her sisters chattering and laughing. It was so good to hear them that way, and she felt the tug of a smile on her own lips. How long had it been since they had sounded so young and excited? Since before we knew Father had died.

  Concentrating again on the joy rather than the sorrow, she rounded the corner and spied her sisters, merrily trying to settle their things in the tiny, cramped space. Selah spied her in the doorway and came to her, face flushed and grinning. “Have you seen anything like it, Keturah? Why, we’re packed away like sardines in oil!”

  “I like it,” Verity declared, hands on her hips. “I think it cozy.”

  Keturah lifted one brow, looking over the narrow cots and the trunks, stacked one atop the other and anchored with ropes to the wall. Selah saw her looking and went over to them, placing her hand on a sturdy rope. “To keep them from sliding, they say,” she said. “Can you imagine? Seas so rough that they could move these heavy things?”

  Such a thought was not welcome, Keturah decided. And moving the trunks to get to those below for a change of clothes or other items her sisters needed would be a daily trial. But Selah took her arm and urged her to the doorway. “Come, your room is just across from ours. You are fortunate not to have to share with Ver,” she said under her breath. “You know how she talks in her sleep. I’d much rather be with our Grace. Besides, she only has one small trunk. Ver insisted on three!”

  Keturah smiled and in two steps stood at the threshold of her cabin. While her own trunks were also bound at the end of it, there was far more room because of Grace’s sole small trunk. Each of the servants had been allowed the same trunk—Baxter had purchased six of them and saw to their packing, making certain each had three sets of clothes, a cloak or coat, and other pertinent items. “If she gets too loud, you can come and sleep with me,” Keturah whispered to her sister. “Come, let us go explore the rest of the ship belowdecks and find where Brutus is to roost.”

  “Ooo, a grand idea!” Selah enthused. “Let me fetch Verity. Here is your key to your cabin.” She slid a skeleton key on a chain from around her neck and placed it around Keturah’s. “We were given firm instructions by a crewman to always keep our cabin doors locked. Apparently, they do not wish for any of our ‘finery’ to be tempting to the crew.”

  “Honestly?” Keturah said. “How would they hope to escape with it? There are only so many places a man could
hide something aboard a ship.”

  “All I know is that the mate said the captain doesn’t wish to be forced to deal with such repercussions and that he would hold us as accountable as he would the man who stole from us.”

  “Truly?” Keturah shook her head. “The thought!”

  “This might be a long voyage,” Selah whispered, leaning close, “if the captain proves to be unpleasant. But how can a man as handsome as he be unpleasant? And that Scottish brogue …” She sighed. “I could listen to that every evening with pleasure.”

  Ket lifted a brow. Six weeks, she told herself. She could endure anything—or anyone—for six weeks. But all she needed was not one, but two sisters to be endlessly flirting with the captain.

  After collecting Verity, the three set about exploring the hold. In the back was a vast section stuffed full with exports. Hogsheads—rounded vessels holding sixty-five gallons each—of flour, salt, casks upon casks of wine, crates of bottles labeled MADEIRA, others labeled CHAMPAGNE, thick bolts of fabric, three harpsichords, and ten fine hutches. There were crates of stationery and India ink and gowns and hats and much more.

  “’Tis quite fascinating, is it not?” Verity asked, looking up one side of the towering stacks that reached the ceiling. She turned back to her sisters. “In a way, it’s a glimpse of what we might be clamoring for in a few months.”

  “Indeed,” Keturah said, admiring how the crew had packed it all so tightly. Even in heavy seas, it would not likely shift. And she saw that the cargo had been evenly divided, with half the wine casks on the starboard side, the other half on the port side. In order to distribute the weight, she concluded.

  Verity edged around a metal contraption, partially crated. It took Ket a moment to recognize it.

  “What is that?” Selah asked.

  “I heard Gray call it a field plough. He had it built,” Verity said, stopping beside them to admire the contraption. “He said the Romans once used something similar to it. He intends to plant his own sugar in tidy rows rather than the customary mounds. He’s quite proud of his plan.”

  Keturah’s eyes moved over the metalwork, the sturdy, elegantly curved wooden frame between the curved blades. The thought that Gray had the foresight to bring such a thing with him startled her. How on earth had he come to decide on such a course of action? Make such an investment? Why not do as their fathers had done on the island, as their fathers had before them? What had worked in England and the islands for centuries?

  They moved on to a section containing the stables. Pigs and chickens and even a cow that would serve to feed all those aboard. “Poor dears,” Verity said, already lamenting their living conditions and fate as future suppers. She walked past the stalls toward the back where Brutus’s cage had been set inside one stall. So this is where he will roost, Keturah thought.

  Verity went to the big cage and opened the door and stroked his neck feathers. “This is where you shall rest each night, my friend,” she said. He moved along her glove, clearly agitated by the noise all around them—the pigs and chickens all seeming to be intent upon complaining. “I think I’ll take him outside when we’re allowed up again. Give him a bit of time to stretch his wings before we’re at full sail and he has to be in his coop.”

  Keturah thought this a solid idea and followed behind, Selah still at her arm. For the hundredth time she observed that her sister and her falcon made a striking pair. Brutus had similar coloring to Ver’s hair—golden brown with bits of light and dark—and was so big that he had to duck his head as they passed through doorways. Keturah had held him a couple of times and knew he was heavy on the arm, but Ver never seemed to mind. And she was grateful that it was possible to bring him on the voyage, because it helped Verity adjust to the idea of leaving her beloved stallion behind.

  Keturah planned to purchase more horses as soon as they got to the island, or perhaps her father had left behind a few fine mounts. Four had been listed on the will that the lawyer had read to them all. But they could either be old nags, weary after years of work in the field, or handsome pairs fit to draw a carriage. There was so much they had yet to discover, so much she wished she knew already. Lord Shantall’s vague warning came back to mind, and she wished that he had been more plainspoken. What had he wanted to say?

  Probably a thousand things. There were thousands upon thousands of details about island life and running a sugar plantation that she had yet to even consider. The thought of it threatened to overwhelm her. One step at a time, came her father’s voice to her mind. One step at a time leads to a mile crossed, and then ten, and then a hundred.

  Oh, Father. If only you were there to greet us …

  But then, of course, they would not be on this ship at all.

  They passed through a smaller hold where the servants were to lodge, a sprawling room with nothing but beams and columns, hammocks hanging in lines, and a small crate bolted to the floor beneath each—presumably for the meager belongings of each person—and a similar, but much larger, space that was for the crew. On either side of the ship, she spied twelve large cannons, and between them lay stacks of supplies for the voyage.

  Among the slaves, men and women were together, something that grated on Keturah’s sensibilities. But she figured it could not be helped. The few white servants—none of them belonging to the Bannings—were separated by a canvas curtain on the far side.

  As they walked through the crew’s quarters, several men glanced their way. Keturah hurried her sisters along. It would not do to be caught in such an intimacy. She noticed they were in the crew’s primary passageway leading to their quarters and resolved to tell Verity she’d have to use the other side to reach the stables and Brutus’s roost so as to avoid most of the men. Better yet, she should send Cuffee, the stableboy, to fetch the bird while Verity awaited him abovedecks. With more than a hundred men aboard ship and presumably a portion of them down here at a time, resting, it would be wise to stay out of these passageways as much as they could.

  “I want you two to stay together as much as possible,” she said to Selah, knowing Verity would hear her too. “If the other is unavailable, then you must wait for a servant to accompany you. Do you understand?”

  Both bobbed their heads. Selah’s warm brown eyes widened, taking in the edge to Ket’s voice. At first she wanted to soften the fear she felt shake her little sister, but then she decided to let it stand. Best for her to err on the side of caution.

  They passed other cabins with several men and one young family getting settled. Having not yet been properly introduced, they merely nodded at one another and continued on, knowing that in time they’d all be practically kin, given the cramped spaces. There was already a feeling of camaraderie in the air that thrilled Keturah, as if the shared adventure of sailing across the Atlantic would forever bind them.

  It was with that thought they approached Gray’s cabin, and it was with some dismay she saw Verity pull to a stop and brazenly glance inside. “Gray!” she said with delight. “Is your work complete? We’re about to take in our last bit of British breezes, as soon as Captain McKintrick sends for us. You should join us!”

  Gray’s cabin was a mirror image of Keturah’s, and just six doors away. She swallowed hard as she saw him tuck his shirt into the waistband of his breeches and look her way. He gave Verity a small smile. “You are most gracious, Miss Verity. Allow me to see to a few more things and then I shall join you above.”

  “Very well,” she said brightly and moved on.

  Keturah didn’t look back into his cabin but felt Selah’s grip tighten on her elbow. “He truly is such a handsome man, do you not agree?” she cooed, leaning close.

  “Do you think so?” Keturah asked, forcing a blank tone.

  Selah giggled. “As if you weren’t the first to notice, Ket! You always had eyes for him.”

  “Shh,” Keturah said, scowling at her little sister. “That is patently false. Mr. Covington has many admirers, to be sure, but I assure you, I am not one of them.�
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  Selah said nothing more, but Ket could feel her tremble with laughter. Verity, to her credit, never turned to join in her sister’s jibes. They were about to return to their cabins when the sailor Selby came for them. “Cap’n says you might wish to return abovedecks,” he said, eagerly nodding. “We’re about to set sail.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Selby,” Keturah said. Together, the girls reached the steep stairwell where, lifting her skirts with one hand and carrying Brutus with the other, Verity adeptly led the way upward. Keturah didn’t know how she managed without a hand on a rail, but Verity had always had impeccable balance. It was part of what made her such a fine horsewoman. Whereas Ket was reasonably secure in a sidesaddle, Ver acted as if she had been born to it.

  They reached the deck again and moved to a space on the aft deck, away from masts and ropes and clamps, where there seemed to be no men in need of working for the moment. Untying the falcon’s leather strap from her wrist, Verity said, “Away!” and lifted her arm. Immediately the falcon spread his wide wings, sank perilously close to the dock, caught the wind and rose with surprising speed. Time and again, Keturah thrilled to watch him fly, wishing she had the same ability. To climb into the sky, to sail higher than the crow’s nest, so far above them? It made her heart pound to think of it.

  “Will he know where to return?” Selah asked, eyes wide.

  “Oh, he will know,” Ver said confidently. “After he finds that nice, fat wharf rat to eat.”

  The bird was rather indifferent, and Keturah never understood how Ver could be so attached to it. But while Brutus seemed to care for no one but himself, she knew he was fiercely protective of Verity and obeyed her every command, proving that the two had some sort of mysterious bond.