The Golden Cross

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  Sterling struggled to comprehend the man’s message. “Why is she so different?”

  Van Dyck’s mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “I think it is because she suffers,” he said simply. “She bleeds into the water.”

  The old man paused a moment, then cleared his throat and turned back to the railing. “She really is unlike any other young woman, but I don’t expect you to understand that. All right, then, perhaps you can appreciate this: My protégée is an heiress worth at least twenty thousand of your English pounds. I could not risk leaving her behind.” He lifted a bushy brow. “Does that answer satisfy your inordinate curiosity?”

  Sterling blinked and retreated a half-step. Aidan, an heiress? By heaven, no heiress he knew would resort to such a drastic action! Then again, he reflected with a rueful smile, he did not know many heiresses. If fortune-hungry suitors were relentlessly pursuing Aidan in Batavia, perhaps this was not such an extreme plan. After all, her faithful maid had been murdered in the street and the girl had no parents or brothers to protect her.

  “Do you not think,” he said, lowering his voice as he edged closer to the rail, “that Captain Tasman would understand your motivation in this case? Surely he would forgive your action and allow the girl to abandon her disguise.”

  “Captain Tasman,” Van Dyck said, grinning, “knows his seamen better than you, Doctor. An unattached woman on this ship, particularly one as lovely as my ward, could no more return to Batavia with her virtue intact than a lawyer could feel compassion gratis.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “And if you know men like I do, Doctor, you’ll understand why the disguise is necessary. Keep her secret, I beg you. Her life and honor depend on it.”

  Sterling nodded slowly. “All right, Heer Van Dyck,” he said, returning to the rail as the older man regarded him with a level gaze. “You have my word on it.”

  Captain Tasman spent nearly a full month on Mauritius refitting his ships, restocking fresh water and supplies, and ordering his men to do a thorough scraping of the ships’ hulls. And as she did odd jobs for the seamen, Aidan learned a great deal about sailors’ superstitions. Part of the hull scraping, she learned, was necessary to rid the ship of barnacles, weeds, and remoras, small fish only seven or eight inches long. The stubborn sucker-fish attached themselves to any flat surface and could only be dislodged with great effort. Despite the fish’s small size, the seamen believed remoras capable of dramatically impeding a ship’s progress.

  When she was not coiling rope or mending canvas below deck, Aidan spent her time sketching ashore. She discovered many strange and new sights in this part of the world, including the infamous dodo bird. ’Twas a pity, she thought as she sketched a hen atop a nest of eggs, that the animals were too slow-witted to escape those who sought to snare them.

  One morning, on a quest for some new adventure, Aidan accompanied the doctor into town for another of his visits to the apothecary’s shop. Not finding anything unique upon the streets of Mauritius, she implored the doctor to walk with her along the beach in an uninhabited part of the island. He agreed, a bemused look on his face, as she led him out of town, past the ramshackle houses and thatched huts that reminded her too much of dreary Batavia.

  Quick-moving shadows of clouds skimmed over the barren beach, while the distant mountains provided a scalloped border to the western horizon. Aidan felt a beauty in the desolate spot, a quiet solitude unknown along the crowded wharf. The great blue bowl of sky stretched above her, and slanted sunlight shimmered off the glowing foliage that grew beyond the beach, marked by a line so dramatic she could almost believe God had set the boundaries of sea, sand, and forest with his finger.

  She left the doctor on the shore and walked down to the water’s edge. Slipping out of her soft shoes and stockings, she stepped into the sand, feeling her weight sink as the beach shifted to accommodate her presence.

  Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the sun, relishing its warm caress on her face. Her skin was probably as tanned as a native’s, and she’d undoubtedly have to take six months of milk baths to restore it to a ladylike shade of white. But she could not rise to nobility overnight. It would take time for her engravings to be published, discovered, and appreciated. And during that time she would continue to learn and work with Heer Van Dyck. One day—she exhaled happily at the prospect—Gusta would be forced to admit that Aidan had indeed made a lady of herself.

  But until then, there was time for living. She opened one eye and squinted at the rolling, crashing waves. She had never visited the beach of Batavia, had never felt free to wander the island. But Heer Van Dyck would encourage her to swim if he were here; he’d tell her to devour the sea, to taste it and spit it out and sketch it.

  “Feel like a swim?” She tilted her head mischievously toward the doctor. Shock flickered over his face like summer lightning, then he grinned at her.

  “Surely you jest,” he called, resting his hands on his hips. “The water is much colder here than in Batavia.”

  She did not listen, but tiptoed into the water, feeling its icy touch through the fabric of her breeches.

  “You aren’t, ah … ” Sterling’s voice faltered. “Aidan, you can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” she called over her shoulder. Her clothes would soon be sticky with salt and seawater, but later, back on the ship, she could rinse them out in a rain barrel. Right now she wanted the water to tingle her skin and her face; she wanted to feel the waves lift her from her feet. With her shirt sleeves flapping about her arms, she ran further into the water, then squealed in glee and retreated from a crashing breaker.

  “Come on, Aidan,” the doctor called, an imploring note in his voice. “You forget yourself!”

  “Perhaps you ought to forget yourself,” she called back, gauging the next breaking wave. If she waited until it broke, she could run full bore in the surf and reach the place where the waves rocked in a gentle rhythm. Laughing in sheer delight, she ran in, splashing wildly, until the cold water rose up to her rib cage, pressing the breath from her lungs, enlivening every sinew and particle of her flesh.

  “Aidan! Come out!” the doctor called, moving toward her. “You do know how to swim, don’t you?”

  “It’s all right.” Aidan turned and lifted a wet arm to wave in reassurance. Her soaked shirt was like a second skin; she felt like one of the legendary kelpies her mother had described in nighttime stories. As a creature partly of the sea, partly of the land, she could live forever in the water.

  “Aidan!” The doctor’s voice had a sharp edge now. “Come out! I am losing patience!”

  “It’s all right, I can touch the sand,” Aidan yelled, standing erect to demonstrate. “It’s right—oh!” A wave caught her off guard, lifting her from the sandy bottom, breaking over her head and arms, then carrying her forward in its curling momentum. Aidan thrilled to the power of the surge, feeling herself borne up and away, but when she sought the surface, she panicked when she could not find it. She opened her eyes, felt the sting of the salty water, and reached out to grasp nothing but a watery expanse.

  Blood pounded thickly in her ears as she fumbled to find her footing. How foolish she was, so intent upon devouring the sea that she had allowed it to devour her! She listened, straining to hear some sound that would set the world aright again, but she could hear nothing but the muffled sounds of the sea and her own frantic heartbeat.

  Her lungs began to burn. If she opened her mouth to scream, water would rush in, and until she felt either the emptiness of air or the solidity of the bottom, she was helpless.

  So this is how drowning feels. Aidan stopped thrashing and closed her eyes, hoping that in surrender God might have mercy and take her quickly. She would have to open her mouth and breathe in water. It could not be avoided; her chest would cave in if she did not fill it with something—

  An iron vise gripped her arm, pulling her upward with surprising force. Aidan opened her mouth and gulped wonderful, sweet air as sheets of water streamed from he
r shirt and her hair. An arm braced her shoulders now, probably an angel’s. He’d come to escort her into the presence of the Heavenly Judge …

  “You are a wondrous fool, girl.” Relief and ridicule mingled in the voice that addressed her, and Aidan opened her eyes to see Dr. Thorne, not Gabriel, standing before her. Like her, he was drenched, too, his doublet, breeches, and shirt stained dark by the seawater.

  Despite the cold, Aidan felt heat stealing into her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her teeth chattering as he held her upright. They were beyond the breakers, standing in chest-deep water. “I—I don’t understand what happened.”

  “Undertow,” he answered, his brow still creased with worry. “It catches you and pulls you under. I didn’t think you’d know how to escape it.”

  “I never knew such a thing existed,” she answered, suddenly grateful for the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. “I have never swum in the sea. I only knew I had to try it once.”

  The smile he gave her was utterly without humor. “And now that you have tried it, will you come away? You should not have gone into the water. Do you obey every inclination that fills your imagination?”

  “Not usually.” She stared up into his face. He had just risked his life to save her. And here they were, safely out of the treacherous current, yet his hands still remained on her shoulders, warming her through the light fabric of her shirt.

  Was the yearning that showed in his face as apparent on her own?

  “Are you hurt?” His gaze slid from her eyes to her neck. “Sometimes a person can be scraped against the bottom—”

  “This person,” she whispered, lightly placing her fingertips upon the soaked fabric of his doublet, “is fine.” A gentle rounded wave pushed forward and lifted them, as one, for a dizzying moment, and Sterling brought her close, holding her safe until the wave dropped them back to the sandy bottom.

  His nearness made her senses spin. She’d been around men all her life—drunks, lechers, pickpockets that put Lili’s girls to shame, egregious con men and card sharks, but never a man like this. His strength wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and suddenly Aidan wished she was a kelpie, that she could pull him under the water to live with her forever in the sea.

  The dull rumble of thunder broke into her thoughts. “Rain,” Sterling said, loosening his grip slightly as he glanced out toward the sea. She looked and saw sullen masses of clouds on the horizon, briefly veined with lightning, bringing in an afternoon storm.

  She pressed her hands to his chest, reluctant to have the moment end. “You know how to swim,” she said matter-of-factly, desperate to continue the conversation. “How did you learn?”

  “My brothers and I swam in a lake near our farm.” Gently, he took her hands in his own and led her through the water. “And now we must get ashore, and you must dry off.” A reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. “Though I know you fancy yourself invincible, I am of the opinion that a cool wind and wet clothing bring on the ague, and I’d hate to see you get sick.”

  He released her hands as they passed the breakers and stumbled up onto the sand, but she pulled at his wet sleeves, unwilling to let the magic moment pass. He had accused her of obeying her slightest inclinations, and a particularly strong one now gripped her imagination.

  “Doctor,” she said, digging her heels into the sand.

  “Yes?” He bent to pick up his cloak from where he’d dropped it on the beach, then looked at her with patient amusement. “Are you cold? Here, let me put this around you.”

  Expertly, he snapped the sand from his cloak, then unfurled the garment around her shoulders, tying it below her quivering chin. Aidan studied his face as he worked; then, without thinking, she laced her hands behind his neck and searched his warm eyes. They stood together for a long moment, breathing each other’s breath, then Aidan closed her eyes as Sterling Thorne gently bent his head and kissed her. His tender lips were warm and salty, and his mouth moved across hers with a hunger that belied his outward calm. For a long moment they stood there, two souls joined by the sea, then his lips left hers and moved across her cheek. He pressed her head to his shoulder, his fingers entwined among the loose hair above her braid.

  “Forgive me,” he said, his voice trembling. He would not look at her, but placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “You are a fine lady, and I have forgotten myself.” He looked past her toward the looming clouds in the distance. “Please, let us forget this ever happened. This will be a long voyage, and I am betrothed to another woman.”

  She listened with rising dismay, then turned away and staggered up the beach. She had seen enough of the real world to know how men acted when they desired a woman. The men she knew from Bram’s tavern would not have hesitated to take her body, heart, and soul in the instant she put her arms around them, yet she had never offered herself to anyone else. She was fool enough to yearn for this man, and he did not want her. He could make all the excuses in the world about treating her like a lady, but the fact was he didn’t want her.

  The rejection stung Aidan’s soul, and she shivered, suddenly chilled as the sun disappeared behind the encroaching clouds. The heavy sand pulled at her knees and ankles, slowing her down. But she could not delay, for Sterling Thorne’s faint shadow stretched behind her.

  “Do not fear my attentions, Doctor,” she snapped, not looking back over her shoulder. “I doubt that I will have cause to be in your company again. ’Tis certain I will not choose it.”

  Humiliation coursed through her, and she tugged at the string of his cloak, loosening it until it fell from her shoulders. Without its weight, she moved more quickly. As she hurried away, she pulled her heavy braid over her shoulder and squeezed it, hard. She’d like to squeeze Sterling Thorne’s heart right now. But she’d get more seawater from her clothes and hair than she could get blood from his heart.

  On October 8, 1642, the Heemskerk and the Zeehaen sailed from Mauritius, heading for the fifty-second parallel. Adhering to Van Diemen’s plan, Tasman intended to sail south until he reached fifty-two or fifty-four degrees south latitude, searching for the rumored southern continent. The ships encountered masses of seaweed and drifting logs, a certain sign of land, but a cold and dense fog soon convinced Tasman to change course. After checking the position of the southern constellations, Tasman ordered his pilot, Visscher, to plot an eastern course on the fortieth parallel. He returned to his cabin in morose silence.

  For three weeks Aidan had sat in her own cabin and struggled to paint several insect specimens Heer Van Dyck had collected upon Mauritius. He was eager for her to perfect her watercolor techniques, for he was firm in his belief that they would soon discover an important unexplored continent. His own map lay spread on the table, with penciled grid lines marking latitude and longitude, awaiting only the actual coordinates of the unsighted land. But day after day passed with only bitterly cold winds, obscuring fog, and temperamental storms to mark their advance.

  On November 24, after weeks of difficult sailing along the fortieth parallel, a lookout in the crow’s nest cried out, “Land ho!” Aidan, along with every man aboard the two ships, spilled out to the deck, straining to see through the turbid mist that brooded over the waters like a vengeful spirit. The land rising in the distance appeared to be another mountainous island, of definite shape and a goodly size. Heer Van Dyck assured her it was uncharted. This was no unknown continent, but it was a sizeable piece of property, and now a Dutch possession.

  The old gentleman fairly glowed with the prospect of exploration and darted back into the cabin to prepare his supplies. “Hurry, Aidan,” he called through the doorway. “Make yourself ready! Captain Tasman will want to send a party ashore!”

  But Abel Tasman was not as intrepid as Heer Van Dyck imagined. Aidan watched as the captain stood on deck and surveyed his discovery. He stood motionless, one arm crossed defensively across his chest, the other holding his finger to his lips, restraining the order to lower the barges for a landi
ng party. The weather had worsened since they moved closer to shore, and the heavy clouds overhead now churned in the pulsing breaths of the wind.

  Aidan moved to the rail, shivering as a tremor of fear and anticipation shot through her. The cold wind needled her flesh through her stockings and stirred the fog over the water.

  This was the moment she had waited for. If she were to rise in the world, she’d have to do the work she’d been gifted to do. But how could she step out into this hostile environment? She had dreamed of exploring a quiet, sunny beach where friendly natives waved welcomes and roasted wild boars in honor of their arrival—not this alien stillness.

  The densely forested mountains of the unknown island could be hiding a great many unfriendly natives. Aidan scanned the shore as the ships turned and sailed slowly down the coast. Ostensibly searching for a safe harbor, each man aboard the two ships also searched for any sign of life.

  “There!” One sailor gestured to a group of trees near a shallow stretch of beach. “Look, Captain! See the marks on the trunk of that tree!”

  “How high up would you say those marks are?” Tasman pulled his spyglass from his pocket, pressed it to his eye, and squinted toward the shoreline. “Six, eight feet?”

  “At least twice the height of a man, Captain,” Visscher answered. His seamed face lengthened in a scowl as he pointed to another clearing. “Look at that palm. There are notches at least five feet apart. Such markings could only have been made by a race of giants.”

  “Or a band of monkeys,” Aidan murmured to herself. She didn’t believe in giants, but she’d heard that the natives near Batavia could shimmy up tall coconut palms with remarkable ease. What was to prevent these island dwellers from doing the same thing?