by Carla Kelly
Her teeth already chattering, she did as he said. “I should have my head examined,” she grumbled, getting a grip on his drawers.
“Too late for that. You said aye to the vicar.”
Why did the man have to be so disgustingly cheerful? She knew there was no danger of her drowning in three feet of water, and no one would stroll around the stone basin at this hour and chance upon nearly naked lunatics.
“Do this,” he directed. “Splay out your knees, you know, as if, well, you know.”
She did. Maybe blushing would warm up the water.
“Good. Lean back as though I’m tugging you up by your belly button. And breathe. Fill those marvelous lungs. They’ll make you more buoyant.”
“You are certifiable.”
“And you have lovely … lungs.”
She gave him a filthy look, probably unnoticed in the gloom of near midnight. Ready to scream from the cold, she splayed out her knees cautiously and leaned back, all the while keeping a death grip on Able’s waistband. “I can’t lean back,” she whimpered. “It’s too cold.”
“If you are ever thrown overboard, you might wish you had learned to float and tread water until another ship picked you up.”
“I doubt that will ever happen,” she assured him.
“Lean back! Show me your tits.”
The man was unstoppable. She leaned back, raised her chest and stomach, and felt herself begin to float.
“Success!” her husband exclaimed. “Heavenly days, can your nipples ever stand at attention.”
“Don’t make me laugh, you wretch! Now what?”
“Pretend you’re a starfish. Keep your head back, and angle out your legs and arms. Big breaths. Let go of me. Remember: belly button up.”
She did as he said and floated, her hair loose around her head, her teeth chattering. “I’d rather be thrown overboard in Australian waters,” she told the man of her dreams. “It must be warmer.”
“Sharks love warmer water, too.”
That did it. Meridee planted her feet on the stone basin and whipped her head around. Able laughed. She splashed him and he splashed her back.
“Not a shark in the pool. One more time. Do you need to hang on or can you flop back on your own?”
She splayed her knees, tipped her head and stretched out, ready to die from the cold. Wouldn’t her husband be upset then?
“One thing more, my bountiful, adorable woman,” he said, incorrigible to the end. “Turn over onto your stomach.”
“That will never work,” she argued.
“I could quote you any number of sources that would dispute your prejudice against floating on your stomach,” he said, teeth chattering, but so unflappable as to be nearly insufferable, if she hadn’t loved him amazingly. “It’s how you learn to s-sw-swim.”
She flopped over, shrieked when she started to sink, then remembered to spread out her arms and legs and breathe. Able put his hand under her stomach until she stabilized herself, then took his hand away. She floated stomach down, face turned to the side to breathe.
“Are you satisfied?” she gasped. “I’m going to die and you will be alone in this cruel world.”
“Oh, the drama. Put your feet down. Let’s get out of here.”
She needed no coaxing to leave the frigid pool. Able bound her up in a blanket, helped her scuff into her slippers, and wrapped her cloak around her before he took care of himself. She took a good look at him, standing there shivering in his drawers.
“You weren’t teasing me about your testes,” she commented. “Will they ever return, or are they fated to become a distant, fond memory?”
“There are some things I never joke about,” he said with some dignity, even as he struggled not to laugh. “Give them a little while, oh lusty female.”
They hurried across the street, into their house, and up the stairs double time, where Meridee sat down in front of the fireplace in their bedroom. Able pushed her chair as close to the flames as he could, then sat down beside her, still wrapped up. In a few minutes he convinced her to strip off while he found a dry blanket. Wrapped up, she crawled into bed.
He joined her in a few minutes. “We’ll do this again tomorrow night, and the night after,” he informed her. He nudged her. “Don’t you pretend to be asleep! You heard me.”
“Was ever a new bride so put upon?” she asked the ceiling.
“The drama continues,” he replied, addressing the same ceiling.
She felt him begin to shake with silent laughter.
“If I die from the ill effects, you’re to blame.”
“You won’t. I’d never put you in harm’s way, Meri-deelerious. Go to sleep now. You’ll feel more cheerful in the morning.”
She didn’t. They woke before daylight to Davey Ten pounding on their door, announcing that Stephen Hoyt had run away during the night.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Able leaped out of bed and grabbed him. He let go when Meridee, blanket tight around her, pulled the little boy close.
“Davey, it’s not your fault,” she whispered, her arms around him as he sobbed. “How were you to know?”
“He woke me up around midnight,” Davey said, when he could draw a breath without tears. “He was standing there at the window.” He peered over her shoulder at Able. “Master, he said he saw you and Mistress Six walking toward St. Brendan’s.”
“Aye, he did,” Able said, calmer now. “I’m teaching your mam how to float, so I can teach you. Did Stephen go back to bed?”
“I … I … think so. I know I went back to sleep.” The fright returned to his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have done … something ….”
“What?” Meridee asked gently. “He’s not your responsibility, and you didn’t think anything was amiss, did you?”
Davey’s confidence started to return. “Nay, Mam. He cries sometimes—we all do—and sometimes we eat our ‘midnight biscuits’ together, as Nick calls them.” He shook his head. “Where’s he going?”
“To Australia,” Able said.
“He doesn’t know enough to get there,” Davey said, ever practical.
“No, he doesn’t,” Able replied. He touched Davey’s head. “Get dressed. We’ll have breakfast as usual.” Meridee held her breath as her husband kissed the boy’s head. “Don’t fret. We’ll sort it out.”
Davey patted his head where Able had kissed him and left the room.
“He needed that kiss,” Meridee said. “I need one, too.”
Able folded her close and kissed her. “What do you know: my testes have returned,” he announced in her ear. “That’s better, Meri. Laugh, don’t cry. We’ll find the little scoundrel. I’d better go disrupt the headmaster’s baked eggs and toast.”
“Stephen must have heard us leave and thought he could get away,” Meridee said as she followed him to their dressing room. “Able, can we find him?”
“I hope so. He’s too young to be roving Pompey’s docks,” her husband replied, as he pulled on his clothes in record time. “We have ample evidence in Nick’s experience to know it’s a rough town for children.”
He was out the door and across the street by the time she dressed and made their bed. While Betty buttered toast, Mrs. Perry stirred oats into boiling water in the kitchen. She looked up with a frown.
“Is something wrong, Mistress Six?” she asked. “You don’t usually let the master escape without his neck cloth tied properly.”
Meridee sat the two of them down. Between her own tears, she told them Stephen Hoyt was missing.
“Poor lad. All he wants is his parents, even if they are thieves and rascals,” Mrs. Perry said, shaking her head. “I was thrown into a slave ship when I was thirteen or thereabout. I know what it feels like to want what you cannot have.”
“At thirteen I was wondering which ribbon to wear with my day dress,” Meridee said. “My hardships in no way equaled yours.”
“Don’t chide yourself,” Mrs. Perry said. “Not everyone has the good
sense to survive the Middle Passage in chains, or … or … live in a workhouse.”
Both her cook and maid of all work looked at each other, bound in a sisterhood she did not share.
No wonder I am naïve. “I’m learning,” Meridee said simply.
Meridee already knew Mrs. Perry to be the soul of generosity, even though she had the height and girth to intimidate little Admiral Nelson himself. Still, the woman could surprise her. “I imagine you worried when no one wanted to marry you without a dowry. That’s a bleak life too.”
Meridee had no argument for her. “Thank God a poverty-stricken bastard of unknown origin rescued me from such a fate,” she joked.
Mrs. Perry whooped with laughter. Betty was still too new to the Six household to understand self-deprecating humor. You’ll learn too, Meridee thought. “Let’s get breakfast—handsomely now!” she said. “You know that’s what my curly-haired fellow would say.”
They didn’t require her help fixing breakfast, but seemed to understand her need to keep busy. With a nudge from Mrs. Perry, Betty kindly turned over to Meridee the task of buttering the toast, while she set the table and poured milk in each glass.
Three sober boys came downstairs at the usual time. Davey had obviously acquainted them with Stephen Hoyt’s disappearance, and they looked as long of face as he did.
Meridee sat them down at the table. “Here is another rule for all lodgers: no one is to blame for the actions of another. You mustn’t chastise yourselves over a situation out of your control.”
“Can we help find him?” Nick asked. The others nodded, too.
“Your duty is to attend classes across the street,” Meridee said. “Master Six is at St. Brendan’s already, talking with the headmaster. They will think of something.” She clasped her hands together. “Let us pray and then we will eat.”
The long faces staring back at her suggested that no one was up to taking his turn for morning prayer. She bowed her head. “Please Lord, bless this food. Please help Stephen find his way back to us. Amen.”
Backs bent, eyes down, the boys crossed the street after breakfast. Her own heart breaking, Meridee watched them, wishing she could keep them with her for the day. She thought of times when she had felt low, or ill, and Mama took the time to make sugary cinnamon toast and let her wrap up in a blanket on the sofa, with a hot water bottle at her feet. It certainly wasn’t a specific for any known ailment, but it always cheered her.
“They say you don’t miss what you never knew,” she said to the window. It fogged with her words, but she could still see her little charges trudging to class. “Where are you, Stephen?”
She had a lapful of mending—how did one fairly new husband could go through stockings so fast?—but she paced in front of the sitting room window instead, her eyes on the street as if wishing Stephen to appear.
An hour later she was rewarded to see Able at the door to St. Brendan’s. She opened their door as he came across the street, his boat cloak tight around him against the chill of a brisk wind.
“What? Do you know anything?” she asked.
“Nothing yet,” he said. “No, I can’t stay. I’m here between classes. You can imagine the gloom across the street.”
“Then why—”
“Am I here?” He walked her to the door of the sitting room and nodded to Mrs. Perry, who had come out of the kitchen when the door opened. “Master Croker wanted you two to not attempt to find Stephen on the docks.”
“It crossed my mind,” Meridee admitted. “Mrs. Perry and I could—”
“Absolutely not,” Able said, in a tone of voice that gave her no room to maneuver. “I feel confident enough for the two of you to roam our few streets here, but not down at the docks. Never, in fact.” He turned his attention to Mrs. Perry. “You and I and the baker were lucky in the Bare Bones.”
“You needn’t raise your voice,” the cook said with some spirit.
“Did I? I apologize,” he said, and put his arm around Meridee, drawing her within his cloak in that way she liked so well. “The docks are more dangerous than the Bare Bones and I won’t risk anything happening to either of you.”
She heard all his worry and forgave him at once. “Master Fletcher has sent out an alert to his friends on the docks, for all the good that will do.”
The three of them stood there in silence for a moment, then Mrs. Perry went quietly back into the kitchen.
“Poor lad. He wants to go to Australia to find his family, and I for one don’t blame him,” he said.
He pulled away after another too-brief embrace. “I must return to my classroom, put on a good face, and explain the care and feeding of fractions to lads who are worried about one of the Gunwharf Rats.”
Meridee kissed him and stepped out from the protection of his cloak. “I have a pile of mending that isn’t exactly calling my name, but there it is.”
He smiled at that and tugged a curl that had escaped from her cap. “Meridee, I really came here because I knew you would stuff the heart back in my chest, since you are my keeper. Thank you.”
Standing in the open doorway, she watched him until he crossed the street and the cold defeated her. She remembered a time she had run away from home over some infraction soon forgotten. Running away had consisted merely of sitting in the neighbor’s apple tree, grumpy and put upon, until she started to miss luncheon. When she came trudging home—looking much like the little boys she had sent across the street that morning—Meridee remembered how Mama had paddled her backside, then pulled her close, murmuring admonitions and love at the same time.
“Stephen Hoyt, I would do the same to you,” she said, picking up her darning egg and pulling one of Able’s socks over it.
She finished two stockings and was starting on a third when someone knocked on the door. Meridee threw down the darning egg and ran to the front door.
Dignity, dignity, she lectured herself and then yanked open the door anyway, and stared, open-mouthed, at the sight before her. Ezekiel Bartleby, the baker at the head of the street, pushed Stephen Hoyt forward. He was trying to hide behind the big man’s legs.
“T’lost is found, madam,” Ezekiel said. “C’mon, lad, face the music.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was one thing to remember how her mother had reacted to her own childish misdemeanor, but there Stephen stood, looking penitent and defiant in turn. His lips trembled as he tried to sidle closer to the baker and make himself invisible.
Meridee snatched him and paddled his backside, then pulled him close, her arms tight around him. “Stephen, what were you thinking?” she exclaimed.
She held him off, looking at the obvious tracks of tears on his face. Gathering him to her more gently, she murmured, “I am so relieved, Stephen, so relieved.”
Her heart turned into a puddle when his arms went around her and he cried into her neck. She carried him inside, indicating that Ezekiel should follow her.
“Mrs. Six, I shouldn’t … flour everywhere ….”
“Certainly you should,” Meridee said over her shoulder. “We’re going in the kitchen, so no fears about flour.”
As Mrs. Perry looked on in amazement, she sat down at the kitchen table and held Stephen as he melted into her arms and sobbed. She closed her eyes in relief and something singularly close to love.
Meridee saw Betty with a dishcloth in her hand, drying the same plate over and over. “Betty, hurry across the street and tell Headmaster Croker that Stephen has returned. In the front door, up the steps, and first door on the right,” she added, to forestall any questions.
Betty ran out the door. Meridee returned her attention to Ezekiel, who sat there looking monumentally uncomfortable as he tried to brush little pills of flour from his hairy arms.
“What happened?” she asked him.
“My wife and I, we was working as usual, early-like,” the baker said. “Thou knowest, miss: bakers get up early. Heard a noise out back and there he was, sitting on the steps.” He touch
ed the little boy’s back. “Thought he was one of yours, but he didn’t want to go back.”
“Stephen wants to find his parents in Australia,” Meridee said. “I know he does.” She put Stephen off her lap. “I’ll be back, Stephen,” she told him. “I need to walk this good man to the door. It’s polite.”
Mrs. Perry took her place. Meridee nodded to Ezekiel and he followed her from the kitchen.
“Do you think you could locate his parents?” Ezekiel asked as they stood together at the front door.
“I don’t know how, but there are those who do,” she said, and looked across the street where Headmaster Croker and Able were hurrying from St. Brendan’s. “Perhaps these two. Thank you again, Mr. Bartleby.”
The baker ducked his head, evidently a man unused to even the most rudimentary praise. “Just so you know, all the merchants on my street keep a watch out for St. Brendan’s.”
“We’re grateful to you, Mr. Bartleby.”
“Ezekiel to you, Ma’am,” he said shyly.
“And Meridee to you,” she told him.
“Ma’am, I could never presume,” he stated.
“You’re not presuming, Ezekiel.”
She remained in the doorway as the three men met on the sidewalk, knowing that the straightforward, plain as a pikestaff baker was rehearsing again his role in Stephen Hoyt’s sad little saga.
She put her hand on Able’s arm when he greeted her at the door. “He’s terrified of what you or Headmaster Croker will do.”
“Mostly we’re giving thanks, Meri,” Able said. “What did you do?”
“I swatted his bottom then embraced him,” she said. “Exactly what my mother did to me, the one time I ran away.”
“You ran away?” Able asked with a grin. “How far?”
“Our neighbor’s apple tree,” Meridee said with some dignity. “I received a swat and a hug, and don’t you laugh, you reprobate.”
“Then that’s all the punishment Stephen requires,” Able told her. “You’ve seen the welts on my back for running away,” he said seriously, speaking into her ear so no one else could hear. “We don’t do that in our house.”