by Gian Bordin
"Yes, Constable Fraser, you do that!"
She followed him to the door.
"Had any trouble lately?" he asked, pausing briefly on the steps.
"You know me. I won’t tolerate trouble… No, all my patrons behave themselves while I’m around."
He nodded, saluted, and walked away briskly in the direction of the wharf. She watched him until he disappeared behind a warehouse. The wind had abated and the cloud cover was hanging even lower, with a fine drizzle falling. After closing the tavern door behind her, she leaned against it and let go a relieved "oomph".
20
Three hours later, a miserable and cold Andrew sneaked into the backyard of The White Heron, after Owen had made sure the coast was clear. His clothes were still wet, or wet again from the steady drizzle, and all crumpled up. His shirt was a dirty grey, rather than white.
"Oh, look at you, you poor man. You’re all wet. Change into something dry," exclaimed Rose, and then she caught herself. "Oh, you left all your things on the Clyde." She filled a cup with hot coffee and passed it to him. "Here, have at least something to warm you."
He took the cup gratefully and sipped the hot liquid slowly, looking around, searching for Helen.
"She’s asleep," remarked Rose, guessing his intent. "The poor lass just collapsed. I promised to wake her if I got any news from you. But now that you’re back safely, we don’t have to disturb her."
He simply nodded. He felt leaden himself. After emptying his cup, he begged: "May I see her?"
"Sure!" Rose showed him the way. Outside the door she whispered: "You get undressed and rest too, and give me your clothes. I have them washed and freshened up again."
He entered the little room and watched Helen for a few seconds, before he shed his wet clothes and wrapped himself in a blanket. Then he placed his garments on the floor outside the door.
For a while he wondered what to do. He was reluctant to wake Helen. Should he lie down on the floor? Finally, he decided to join her on the narrow bed. Gently, he moved her closer to the wall. She didn’t even stir. With just enough space, he stretched out next to her. He had barely closed his eyes when sleep conquered him too.
* * *
Mid afternoon, Helen woke up. Without opening her eyes, she turned to her side, and her hands touched naked skin. Startled, she shot up and, seeing Andrew sleeping peacefully next to her, fright turned into joy. She observed him quietly. His lips were slightly parted, tempting her to kiss them, but she resisted. She studied his lean torso, his flat stomach, the sparse spike of black curls pushing from his pubic hair to his navel. Her hand reached out to touch them, but stopped short. His flaccid penis lay on his left thigh a few inches above the pink scar of the bullet wound. A smile played on her face, as she studied its odd shape curiously.
After a while, she carefully slid off the bed, undressed, and emptied her full bladder in the chamber pot. Then she climbed back onto the bed and, lying on her left side, nestled into the crook of his arms, her head on his shoulder, her right hand on his chest, leaning against him, their bodies touching from head to toe. She felt euphoric, hardly able to contain her love, having a need to wake him, to tell him. Almost without thinking, her right hand stroked his torso and came to rest on the spike of curls below his navel. She noticed his manhood filling. How would it be to hold it? For a moment her thoughts shocked her. But he touched her in the most intimate places, why couldn’t she touch him? Almost gingerly, she folded her hand around it and couldn’t entirely suppress a giggle when it began to swell gradually. She moved her hand down the hardening shaft, freeing its shiny, pink head. Andrew stirred. From the corner of her eyes she saw that he had opened his eyes. Embarrassed, she withdrew her hand.
"Don’t stop, love," he whispered, "this feels good."
She folded her fingers again around the erect shaft, moving her hand cautiously up and down, feeling its strangely ribbed texture. She searched his eyes. "Am I doing it right?" she asked hesitantly.
He nodded and then cupped her hand briefly with his own, showing her how to move it more vigorously. Slowly, he tensed his whole body. She sensed her own arousal. Suddenly, his manhood began to pulsate in her hand, the juices spilling onto his belly. Peals of soft laughter rose in her throat. Their eyes met, glowing coals of love. Andrew took her face between his hands and kissed her.
"I needed that . . Where did you learn how to do this?" he asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
The question was so unexpected that she blushed in spite of herself. "I discovered it right now," she said defensively. "You’re my first and only man!"
"I know, Helen. I was only teasing… I also love playing with all your exciting treasures… You’re my treasure trove."
"But you learned doing these things with other women!"
"I did, Helen… Would you rather that I still were the same green lover of four years ago?"
"I loved it fine then."
"I was clumsy, though. Admit it!"
"A bit," she conceded reluctantly and then broke into a broad smile. "And now you’re almost too clever. You set me on fire with a single touch."
She got off the bed, wet a cloth in the water bowl and wiped his stomach and penis clean, giggling as she did. When she had finished, he pulled her down onto the bed and, lying partly on her, covered her with light kisses.
"I love you," he murmured.
A smile twinkled in her eyes. She offered him her lips.
"I want to make love to you," he said softly.
She nodded. Her smile broadened. Her eyes became narrow, blazing slits. "Stay inside me this time," she whispered, as she folded her arms around his neck.
* * *
Growling stomachs finally drove them out of bed. Andrew found his clothing, clean and neatly pressed on hangers outside the door. They joined Rose in the kitchen. She was preparing the evening meal.
"I was just going to bang at your door to rouse you from your sleep," she exclaimed. "Or did you wake up already a while ago," she added, winking at them.
Andrew and Helen both blushed, but Helen replied: "Yes, Rose, we did."
"Thanks for doing my clothing," murmured Andrew.
"Oh, that was no trouble at all."
"I forgot to tell you, Rose," said Helen, "I told Captain McGeorge to leave our saddlebags with another ship, and that somebody will pick them up."
"That won’t be so simple anymore. Constable Fraser—he’s the fellow who arrested you—told me that they’re watching the wharf… But maybe if the bags are put into a sack and taken off the boat by a sailor, we might get them past the police. Let me worry about this."
"So they’re watching the wharf," repeated Andrew. "Then, we can’t leave by the river anymore." He turned to Helen: "We’ve to flee on horseback!"
"I guess that’s the only way now," remarked Rose. "Where are you going?"
"South to England," answered Andrew, while Helen said at the same time: "Into the Western Highlands."
The two young people looked at each other in consternation. Rose laughed spontaneously, and then, seeing their confused expressions, tried to appease them: "I’m sure you want to go together."
"Most boats to America leave from Liverpool. So we’ll have to go south," explained Andrew.
"But it will be easier to get away and hide from the police by going into the Western Highlands, and then catch a boat to Ireland and go to America from there," argued Helen.
"Only small boats leave from Ireland."
"So?" Helen countered with a defiant edge.
"Quarters on a small boat are too crammed. There’s no privacy." And then he added somewhat derisively: "Besides, a small boat tosses you around horribly. I don’t want to be sick all the time."
"Most people survive it. It won’t kill us."
"But why go on a small boat, if we could take a comfortable big boat from Liverpool?"
"Because, it’s more dangerous to go South." Helen tone of voice was now strident. "Lots of people live t
here, and it’s more likely that we’ll be spotted and reported to the authorities than if we went into the Western Highlands."
"But it’s a big detour. It will easily take a whole month longer."
"That’s hardly a good reason for not taking the safer route!"
"I had planned to arrive in America before the end of the summer, so that we’ll be settled when winter comes."
"You had planned to go there alone. Now you’re married. So your precious plans may have to change. Anyway, a month more will hardly make much difference."
Rose watched them argue, an amused smile playing around her mouth. "So, the two love birds have their first little spat. I bet you’ll have many more. You can take my word for it."
"Oh, it’s not our first one," remarked Helen with a hint of sarcasm.
"Helen," exclaimed Andrew, a mixture of indignation and hurt in his voice, and then he begged in a subdued tone: "Let’s not fight. Let’s look at the pros and cons and then make a decision together, … sensibly, logically."
"You and your logic!"
"There’s nothing wrong with good reason and logic. Any sensible person will accept logical reasoning."
"I see, and next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m not logical and sensible. If you had used your reason and common sense, you wouldn’t have bought that black stallion, and we wouldn’t be in this stew in the first place."
Blazing, she stormed out of the kitchen. For several seconds Andrew stood there, dumbfounded. The remark about the horse felt like a blow below the belt. He blushed. She was right, but he resented that she brought it up in front of Rose. He didn’t comprehend how that little disagreement had suddenly escalated into a major fight. But I’m right, he told himself silently. It was better and much safer to sail out of Liverpool on a big boat. He had traveled on small boats. He knew how sick everybody got. In a bad sea, even the sailors weren’t spared.
"Go, young man. Talk to her. Make up," said Rose, pushing him gently to the corridor that led to their little room.
He needed little encouragement. His righteous mood had already given way to fear of having lost Helen’s love, and remorse for insisting on being right. Hadn’t she said ‘men always need to be right’?
She sat on the bed and turned away when he entered and wanted to join her.
"I’m sorry, Helen. Please, don’t be angry… I’m so grateful for all the things you did for me and should have shown more consideration. It must have been terribly distressful on you, and then Robert—"
"Don’t treat me like this fragile little girl. I can hold my own as well as you!"
"I know that you can cope. I didn’t mean it that way," he murmured. "Helen, let’s not fight again… We will go into the Highlands. I just wanted us to consider all things carefully and find the best way."
"Yes, that’s what you always say when you want to wear me down with your reason and logic."
He was stunned by her renewed attack. Fighting his own anger, he finally murmured: "You’re unfair, Helen. I always stopped when you made me aware of it… I love you." The last words were barely a whisper.
She seemed to fight with herself. Suddenly, she turned to him and buried her face on his shoulder. "I’m sorry, Andrew."
He stroked her hair. Both remained silent for a minute, perturbed, rueful, wondering. Then he raised her face, searching her eyes, and said: "Give me a kiss, love."
Their lips met fleetingly. A light knock at the door and Rose’s reminder that dinner was ready made them get up. They returned to the kitchen holding hands. Helen kept her head bowed, refusing to look at Rose.
"That’s better," chuckled Rose. "For what it’s worth, you should know that your father and his three helpers, including the Drummond lad, vanished before the police could arrest them. In fact, as you predicted, Helen, they beat up the two constables who tried to wake them… I don’t know if this has any bearing on which way you should go."
Surprised, Helen raised her head and let go of Andrew.
"And the black stallion?" questioned Andrew.
"Oh, apparently, one of the constables rode off with it before the highlanders could catch him."
"So I remain the prime suspect and that’s why the police are still after me." And turning to Helen, he added: "And now we also may have to contend with your father again… You seem to be glad that your cousin got away, aren’t you?"
She blushed. "How did you guess?"
"Your face lit up… In a way, I’m glad too."
She came back and put her arms around his neck. "Andrew?"
"Yes, Helen."
"No hard feelings?"
"No, love." His lips touched her forehead fleetingly.
Rose interrupted them: "If he continues in his ways, the police is bound to get him eventually."
"However, then it’s not because of us," replied Helen.
"Look, you young people, I don’t know whether you’ve resolved your problem yet, but dinner’s ready. It won’t improve if we wait any longer. Anyway, a full tummy and a glass of wine smooths things out."
* * *
As Rose predicted, Andrew and Helen pretty quickly came to a meeting of minds of where to go, which was neither to the south nor into the Western Highlands. They agreed that going south directly was out, since it meant crossing the only bridge over the Clyde at Glasgow, where, according to Owen, two constables stood guard.
Helen was also in no doubt that her father wouldn’t give up that easily, and he knew his way around the Western Highlands better than they, undoubtedly posing the greater threat to them. On the other hand, they figured that he would expect them to escape to England—all good reasons for neither going south nor back into the Highlands.
In the end, they decided to take Rose’s suggestion and go to Greenock, as originally planned, and catch the first boat out of there, whatever its ultimate destination. They should make it to Greenock in one day. Rose had them promise to look up The Irish Belle, an inn in the thick of Greenock’s harbor, and tell Mabel O’Brien, the wife of the innkeeper, that she sent them. They could trust her with anything. She would know which boat to take. Andrew remembered having been in The Irish Belle two or three times, waiting for news on ship arrivals.
Shortly before midnight, a sailor brought back their saddle bags and got a one-shilling reward. Before saying goodbye to Rose a second time, they settled their account with her. Initially, she refused to take any money, but finally relented and accepted twenty pounds to cover the gift for Owen, Joe’s liquor, and her own expenses.
Sacking bound to the horses’ hooves, Andrew and Helen sneaked out of The White Heron shortly before one in the morning. Heeding Rose’s advice, they followed the banks of the Clyde. Fortunately, the sky had cleared and the northern night offered enough visibility, even without a moon. Near the River Kelvin, Andrew went ahead on foot to reconnoiter the approach to the narrow bridge above Partick Castle, but found no guards stationed there. As they crossed over, they heard the rhythmic pounding of a galloping horse slowly fade in the distance.
"Nobody was on or near the bridge. I’m sure of that," he wondered aloud.
"Whoever it was, is riding away."
"And in a great hurry."
"You think it has anything to do with us?"
"I don’t know, but I think we should get away fast. Let’s remove the sacking, so we can canter or even gallop for a while."
They untied the sacking, threw it into a ditch on the side of the road, and then cantered away from Partick. Just ahead of Scotstoun, they briefly discussed whether to cross the Clyde at the Narling Ford or not. Somehow, both cautiously avoided getting into an argument, still feeling bruised by their earlier spat. Since neither wanted to get wet, they quickly agreed to stick to the original plan of crossing the Clyde by the Kilpatrick ferry.
As dawn lit up the eastern horizon, they hid in a copse of oak, a quarter mile from the ferry. Helen insisted that she, rather than Andrew, should check out the place for any guards. With considerable a
pprehension, he watched her gray shape, cloaked in his long riding coat, disappear in the small cluster of houses near the river.
Time passed and there was no sign of her yet. She should be coming back by now! Should he wait some more or go looking for her? He dithered back and forth, his anxiety rising. He chided himself for letting her go rather than do it himself. Finally, he couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer, and went to search for her. Instead of approaching the houses from the road, he started walking through fields and paddocks. Suddenly, he spied somebody coming briskly away from the houses. After several seconds the flowing gray coat let him guess that it was Helen. He rushed back to the horses, reaching them barely a minute ahead of her.
"I was so worried," he greeted her. "I already started for the ferry to look for you."
"You needn’t have worried. I didn’t encounter a soul. Nobody! Not even a rooster. We’re lucky; the ferry is moored to the pier. Shall we go there to make sure we’re on the first crossing?"
"You think this would be wise? I mean, being in the open for two hours or longer?"
"No, maybe it’s better to remain hidden here. It might even be a good idea to check once more whether the coast is clear." She came to him. "Hold me, Andrew!"
He folded his arms around her, kissing her forehead. "Is anything the matter, Helen?"
She did not answer right away, and then she murmured: "I’m still shaken by the way I accused you last night. I love you, Andrew. I don’t want to argue with you, especially not over trifles."
He stroked her hair.
"Tell me that you still love me, Andrew!"
"Oh Helen, I do … more every day."
She raised her lips to him and they kissed.
"Rose is right, Helen. We’re bound to disagree from time to time, but if we both make an effort to listen to the other, we’ll be all right."
"Maybe we should remind each other of this by saying ‘Rose’ when we risk getting carried away," suggested Helen with a happy smile.