“Alone?”
What was the man saying? “No one goes to sea alone. It takes a crew to handle a ship.”
“I mean, did he sign on alone?”
“To my knowledge, yes, he signed on alone.”
The man paced a few steps until he lined himself up in front of the judge. “Didn’t his departure coincide with the disappearance of a young girl?”
What did he imply? “I know nothing of anything coinciding.”
Now he spun on his heel, pointing at Joseph. “I believe you do! I believe your son attacked and killed the daughter of Daniel O’Malley. And when you found that she was not his only victim, you convinced the girl Aphra White to name a philanthropic gentleman of means, whose only crime was caring for the unfortunate, as the monster. I believe you know the real monster is your son!”
Air ripped from Joseph’s lungs; he gasped for breath. His son a monster? This man had not only besmirched his son’s good name, but that of the entire family! He grabbed hold of the chair arms to keep himself from flying out at the man. Closing his eyes, he prayed help. Breath returned. “You are mistaken. I take umbrage at your accusation and will bring in as many witnesses against—”
“No more questions. You are dismissed.” Thornton waved his hand as if batting a mosquito.
Joseph glanced from the judge to the prosecuting attorney. No one would meet his gaze. They should be ashamed. He stood and walked to his chair. If the defense attacked him like this, what would they do to poor Aphra?
* * *
Sarah longed to embrace Joseph, remind him that none of that was true, that their friends would never believe such nonsense. Instead, she offered her hand. He squeezed it, proof he understood her meaning.
The prosecution lawyer stood. “We call Miss Aphra White to the stand.”
The clerk called out, “Miss Aphra White.”
But the child didn’t stand. Sarah gently rubbed the girl’s shoulder.
Aphra caught her gaze, fear freezing her.
“If ye stand, I’ll stand with ye. Keep yer eyes on me.” Sarah stood, Aphra did the same focused on Sarah.
“Now, we take a few steps. Just a few. Walk with me.”
Aphra followed Sarah until they were next to the witness stand.
“Go ahead, sit in the chair. I’m right here, love.” Sarah moved to block Eleazar’s view so that the child would not have to lay eyes on him.
The defense attorney objected.
Sarah leaned in to speak with the judge. “Your Honor, if ye want to know her story, I must be here. Ye can see I’ll not do anything wrong. But the child canna speak here without me. She needs to hold my hand, keep watch of me. Ye can, too, if yer afraid I will do something improper.”
The judge thought for a moment. Just as Sarah feared he would send her back to her seat, he gave his decision. “I see no harm in Mistress Crockett standing and holding the child’s hand. Your objection is overruled.”
The defense lawyer sat, loud enough to shout he was unhappy.
The prosecution lawyer stood. “Miss Aphra, I will stay back here. I will not come close. I ask you to tell us, in your own words, what happened between you and Master Ferguson.”
Aphra’s eyes darted from the prosecution lawyer to Sarah and back several times. Finally, she opened her mouth, but her voice was less than a whisper. “I hears of a position of maid at—”
“Speak up, child.” The judge sounded kind, but Sarah knew he needed to hear this story.
She nodded to Aphra, squeezed her hand and mouthed, “Go on.”
The girl cleared her throat. She was louder this time. “I went to his house to ask about a maid’s position. Me father died long ago an’ me mither had just passed, so’s I needed work. He was nice an’ hired me. He had me take a room in his house. The first night he came to me room…” Aphra’s eyes were growing larger.
Sarah turned to the judge. “This is very hard for her. Please be patient.”
Turning back to Aphra, she again squeezed her hand and nodded.
Aphra nodded back. “That were the first night. After that he came most every night. He… hurt me. He burnt his letters on me back with a brand. He often raised his hand to me jist to make me scream. I runned away once, but he sent men to find me. They broke me fingers. They tol’ me it would be worse if I ever did that again.”
No wonder the child always clutched her hands.
“Last week he says he wants me to be a washerwoman for the Crockett family. He told me to go watch and listen and report to him. But I was too afeared to return.” Suddenly, she pleaded to the judge. “Please, do not let him kill me. If ye let him go, he will kill me.” She started to sob repeating her plea.
Sarah pulled the girl into her arms as the court murmurs grew. “Shush, ye did good, love. Ye did good.”
The judge pounded his gavel, and the courtroom noises subsided. “Does the defense have questions?”
“I have several, but there’s no point in asking as the witness is being coached and is too hysterical to give a truthful answer.”
“How dare ye!” She wanted to slap his silly face.
The judge pounded harder. Joseph rushed to Sarah’s side. “Shush, now. It is all right.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. It soothed, putting her focus back on the child in her arms.
“Order. Order in the court. Master Thornton, you may question this young lady, however, I believe she has been honest. I find her testimony credible.”
* * *
Eleazar wilted. The slut had done him in. There had to be something to do.
His lawyer leaned in and whispered.
It was a possibility. That old clause could be his loophole. Slim, but it was better than hanging.
“Does the defendant wish to make a statement before I pronounce my verdict?”
Alexander Thornton stood and motioned for Eleazar to join him. “Your Honor, it is evident that you have decided. This is a capital offense; there is but one sentence. One, but for this exception.” He met Eleazar’s gaze and nodded. All he had to do was read the Latin. And not get struck down by some invisible hand.
“I request the Benefit of Clergy, your honor.”
The room gasped as if one giant person inhaled all at once. Had the tears swayed everyone? What was he saving his life to?
The judge repeated, “Benefit of Clergy? Then you may come forth. Bailiff, bring the Bible, opened to the passage.”
The bailiff brought the book, opened to Psalm 51, and stood beside him. His hands were manacled so Eleazar had to use both as he guided his fingers under the words. He read aloud in Latin. “Miserere mei, Deus, secundum misericordiam tuam.” Be gracious to me, O God, according to Your lovingkindness.
At the close, the judge pounded his gavel. Eleazar glared at the man who so proudly sat in judgment over him. How did he dare to sit there? What right had he to sit there? He was only one of the little creatures, fortunate enough to breathe the same air as himself. No one was in the position to sit in judgment over him. This was a farce.
“Defense attorney, join your client at the bench.”
Eleazar waited for Alexander Thornton to join him, his stomach roiling, his rage mounting with each pulse.
“This court finds you guilty of rape. This is a capital offense, punishable by hanging. However, as you have requested Benefit of Clergy and proved your request, you will not be hanged.”
His attorney patted him on the back. The toady touched him. He shrugged.
“Instead, you will be placed in the pillory for one month. You’ll be released to the jail at night. And you will be branded with R on your right cheek as this is the only time you may claim Benefit of Clergy.”
Rage exploded from Eleazar’s belly to his hands. He lunged for the judge. Though tentacles grabbed at his arms and legs, he kept striving for the man’s neck. He would kill him. He would kill him. “Leave me go! I will kill him!”
* * *
Joseph stood between the women and the mad a
nimal dragged from the courtroom. If anyone entertained a doubt concerning this monster’s guilt, Eleazar Ferguson’s actions now wiped the doubt clean. Joseph remained vigilant until the cries came from outside the building. Then he turned to see how Sarah and Aphra fared.
Sarah held Aphra in her arms. They both cried.
Aphra lifted her face. “They’ll not be hanging him?”
Sarah wiped tears from the girl’s cheeks. “No, they canna as he claimed Benefit of Clergy, the old law to save him from death. God dinna strike him down when he read the Holy Word when he asked for God to be gracious, so he canna be hung this time. But he can only make the claim once, that is why the branding. I dunna understand how he can still be living after such blasphemy—those holy words in that vile mouth, but he’ll not be coming for you ever again. Yer safe with us.”
Joseph expected her to return to Sarah’s embrace. Instead, she lifted her gaze to him. “Thank ye, sir, for believin’ me.”
He barely heard her words, only but a breath, but he knew the healing had started. Perhaps one day she could speak with him like his daughters because, as he now realized, he felt protective enough to be her father.
Chapter Thirteen
Maybe and Willie returned to the ship. They’d been gone a few hours, so she checked in on Cookie, hoping his headache had subsided.
The galley remained neat and tidy, just the way he kept it, but she found no sign of the sweet old man. Maybe remembered that he kept his pallet with the stores “to keep precious food portions from landing in some gluttonous bellies.” She made her way to the larder. He slept on his cot.
She thought to leave him to his snores, but something stopped her. She felt his head and pulled back. He was feverish. Nearly on fire.
She raced to find Willie. “Go get the surgeon and the boatswain. Cookie is sick.” Then to the galley where she grabbed a basin of water and rags. The water was cool, less than room temperature. Please let it help. She dabbed Cookie’s neck and face.
He moaned; his eyes fluttered. “Och, ’tis ye, boy. Whatcha doin’?”
“Ye’ve got a fever, Cookie.”
He started to sit but grabbed his head and lay back.
“Jist stay still. I’ll take care o’ ye.”
He didn’t like that idea but was too weak to fight. She continued applying the cool water and watched him close his eyes, drifting again.
“What’s the problem here?”
The surgeon and boatswain arrived, the former pushing his way to Cookie’s bedside. “What are you dabbing on him?”
“Water, sir.”
“Good. Now let me see what’s what.”
The surgeon woke Cookie and made him open his mouth. Using a candle with a reflector, he looked in, shaking his head. “Your throat’s mighty sore, isn’t it, Cookie?”
The old man nodded his head.
Turning to Maybe, he changed his tone. “Have you had the chicken pox?”
“Aye, when I was little.”
“Then you can stay and care for him. Boatswain, we need to quarantine the ship. We can’t let this get off. Expect it to go through the crew. Anyone who has not had the chicken pox will get it. If they were with Cookie when he was exposed, they’ll be showing up with symptoms in the next few hours. Those who were not exposed and never had them, will experience the fever in approximately a fortnight. You must be making plans. The older a person is, the worse the consequences are. Children generally get over it, but folks like Cookie can have a hard time. You mustn’t sail until this is done. They must stay out of the sun.” He patted the boatswain’s arm. “I’ll see what I have for his pain. The spots should pop in the next twenty-four hours.” He left the room.
The boatswain appeared stricken.
Cookie moaned.
Maybe resumed dabbing him with the wet rag.
* * *
Chicken pox? How was the surgeon so sure? Sam Johnson’s head swam with all the possibilities, none good. What if it were smallpox? Had the whole crew been exposed? Meanwhile, how did he feed the crew? Quarantine the whole ship? That part just sank in. For more than a month? He turned to the door. The Stewart lad stood, having heard the whole thing. He grabbed him by the shoulder. “Mr. Stewart, have you had the chicken pox?”
The boy shook his head.
Great. “Then you must leave this room. Go. Do not tell anyone. They’ll all be finding out soon enough, but we do not want a panic before we form a plan. Do you understand?”
He nodded, his eyes a little too big.
“Your friend will be fine. He’s already had chicken pox. You can only get them once. It’s the ones who haven’t that need our concern. While you are helping, start praying.”
“Aye, sir.” He paused. “I’ve already been exposed. And I know nothing about cooking, though I’m willing to help. What if I help with Cookie? Maybe is most experienced in the galley. Could… could he cook and I help here?”
Sam glanced from Maybe at Cookie’s bedside and back to the boy. “You’re a good man, Mr. Stewart. Thank you. We may need to accept your offer but not at this moment. Let me talk with the master and the surgeon first. You can wait on deck.” He guided the boy up the hatch.
Before making his way to the master, Sam went to his cabin. There he knelt by his bed. He had prayed for this voyage, prayed for each onboard. He prayed for every voyage. And he’d pray for this one again.
But he’d never had to pray so hard on a voyage in all his born days.
* * *
Willie stood by the rail, sending prayers out into the cloudy sky and waiting to hear what to do. The plan scared him. He did not want to get sick. Plus, the boatswain’s face told him something more. If he were only concerned about a childhood malady, he wouldn’t have appeared so… grimly frightened. That was it, grimly frightened. Did he not believe the surgeon?
Plus, how could the surgeon diagnose chicken pox without spots? What if it wasn’t chicken pox? What if Maybe was exposed? Perhaps the surgeon knew she’d already been exposed and figured she’d be less worried about something she’d experienced.
He didn’t want Maybe sick. She’d suffered enough at his hands. Relieving her at Cookie’s bedside not only made sense for all concerned, he owed her that. And if he got sick, well, he deserved it.
* * *
Sam Johnson and the surgeon gathered in the master’s quarters. Listening again, as the surgeon explained, Sam had to ask. “How do you know it’s not smallpox?”
“I don’t.”
“What do you mean?” The master had a growl to his voice that matched the one Sam held at bay.
“I mean, I’m preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. The worst is it turns out to be smallpox. I’ll quarantine us on this ship for the next month and a half until it’s run its course. The best case is chicken pox. If the rest of the crew has had it and Cookie improves, we’ll be underway in about two weeks. There are several varying possibilities between these two scenarios. Part of the good news is I had chicken pox as a boy, so I won’t get it again. If that is what we fight, I can treat the crew without becoming ill, and you will not lose a surgeon. Have either of you had the chicken pox?”
The master nodded, but Sam shook his head.
“Then, Boatswain Johnson, you have things to prepare. You’ll want someone who has had the chicken pox and train him to do your job until you are better.” The surgeon began to pace—four steps out, four steps back. “The worst, if it is chicken pox, will run its course in about a week once it hits, but you must stay out of the sun another week, or until the scabs dry and no pox erupt.” He sighed. “If it is smallpox, we must be vigilant so as not to expose the town. I suggest going out a mile to sea, using a jolly boat to go to shore if the need arises. I’ll work a plan with the town. They can leave needed supplies at the dock.” He paused, capturing their gazes. “Understand, with either possibility, there‘s likely to be deaths.”
“With chicken pox?” Sam’s pulse increased.
“Aye
, it is easier on children, but on older adults chicken pox can be brutal. There are many complications to consider. You may need new crew members before this is over. If we stay quarantined, staying from the town not only keeps them safe, it should remove the fear of getting the disease because of joining the crew once this is over.”
“You’ve given us plenty to think about.”
“And do,” Sam added.
The surgeon stopped pacing. “It is a lot. Things come to mind even now. But you’ll want to prepare the crew. I’ll leave it in your hands. I must go to my patient before I’ve more.” With that, he left Sam with the hardest part of the ordeal to date—telling the crew.
* * *
Willie spelled Maybe an hour after the surgeon left. She worried that he was unnecessarily exposing himself, but he assured her it was the boatswain’s orders. They needed her in the galley. No one else knew Cookie’s business.
So, now she was the cook.
She’d not imagined the voyage like this. But what she imagined had little in common with reality.
She realized something—she mustn’t cook as well as Cookie. The crew needed to eat, but they must want Cookie to return. Otherwise someone might wonder why she cooked like a girl. The leap was too easy.
So, she planned based on the stores available. When Cookie was lucid, she questioned him, but tried not to bother the old man too much.
The first meal, dinner, turned out acceptable. Maybe felt she’d passed some examination. The next meal came easier. Soon, the men accepted her.
In the meantime, more crew succumbed with the fever. A few days after spots appeared. The surgeon confirmed it was chicken pox, not smallpox. A lightness lifted the spirits of sick and well members alike. There was less fear, only annoyance.
Then Cookie took a turn.
He hadn’t been improving like the others. Though he didn’t improve, he hadn’t gotten worse. Until the end of the second week.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 71