by Sara Donati
Scattered around the deck, men stood frozen in place, their expressions divided between surprise and disgust. All except Moncrieff, who was watching the captain closely.
“Captain!” Mr. MacKay’s voice cracked like a boy’s. “Sir, give the order and we’ll demast her with a single volley!”
Pickering looked confused, as if his first officer spoke a language he had never before heard. Then he ran a hand over his eyes and finally turned and walked away, disappearing into the round-house to shut the door behind him.
Hannah said, “She was telling the truth. It was the Jackdaw she was waiting for.”
Elizabeth let out a little sound of surprise. “Miss Somerville is running off with Mac Stoker?” And she sought out Nathaniel’s gaze as if he might know more about this than she could. But it was Curiosity who answered.
“She had it planned all along. She didn’t reckon on you showing up with him, though. That took her by surprise. Us, too.” Curiosity’s dark eyes followed the smaller ship as it inched away, but Nathaniel was more concerned with Moncrieff, who came striding down the deck.
“Mr. MacKay!” The deep voice carried from one end of the ship to the other. “Carry on so long as the captain is indisposed. And mark me—no action is to be taken now or at any time against the Jackdaw.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Make sail, man. It’s time we were hame.”
18
As a young woman Nathaniel’s mother had sailed from Scotland to join her father in New-York. When Nathaniel asked her about the journey, she had looked up in her thoughtful way, her eyes scanning the mountains, taking in ash and beech, birch and maple, endless stretches of white and red pine, blue spruce and hemlock: too many kinds of green to count.
“Imagine a world wi’oot trees, or a single growin’ thing,” she had said. “And should ye climb tae the highest point on the highest mast, there’s naught tae see but water and sky cleavin’ taegither.”
Even as a boy this idea of a world without trees had not interested him, as wild and curious as he had been. And now, more than three weeks out of Québec, it still took him by surprise. Waking at sunset, Nathaniel was first aware of the lingering light, the color of meat gone bad.
For a long time he kept completely still. The bosun’s whistle blew and the first watch started up from the lower decks. The ship wouldn’t settle down again until the men coming off the last dog watch had made their way below and hung their hammocks: she moaned and quaked, shuddered and whistled, groaned and murmured as she always did, a woman who knew her work and did it well but would not be quiet about it. Nathaniel had come to recognize all her voices, in storm and calm, and just now there was nothing to alarm him.
The sounds from the next room were just as unremarkable; Elizabeth and Curiosity were talking, their voices low. The twins hummed and burbled and crowed. Lily yawned and Daniel laughed as if he had never seen such a thing. And no sign of Hannah, who would be with the doctor, as was her habit at this time of evening.
In the wardroom just below them officers’ voices rose and ebbed, interrupted by the rattle of dice and an occasional curse or shout of laughter. Moncrieff was among them; Nathaniel had not seen the man since the day he left the Jackdaw, but he heard his voice every day.
Steps in the other room; he sat up just as Elizabeth opened the door.
She leaned against the frame, her hands busy at the nape of her neck as she plaited her hair. Nathaniel watched her wrists flex, supple and strong; her raised arms pulled the fabric of her gown tight against her breasts.
“You’re awake.” She came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come to table, then. The food is here.”
Nathaniel ran a thumb over the line of her jaw. “You’ve got shadows under your eyes. Maybe you should come back to bed, instead.”
She took his hand and kissed his knuckles, and then she stood. “I will admit that I haven’t adjusted very well to this daytime sleeping and nighttime waking, but I am looking forward to walking on deck. Do come eat, Nathaniel.”
Curiosity had already dismantled the joint of beef when they sat down. Steam rose gently from bowls of cabbage and beets. It had taken a sharpish note from Elizabeth to the captain to get them plain food instead of the jellied eggs and partridge stuffed with sausage, as he had first sent to them.
Nathaniel tucked Lily into his left side and sat down to pour ale from the pitcher, keeping to himself his longing for venison, red corn soup, and water from the spring at Lake in the Clouds.
“Hannah?”
“I sent Charlie for her,” said Curiosity. “The child cain’t keep track of time when she all wound up with that microscope machine.” Her tone was a cross between irritation and something else Nathaniel couldn’t quite put a name to, something close to insult.
He could see Elizabeth thinking the same thing. She said, “We are very fortunate to have the Hakim’s support and friendship.”
Curiosity thumped her knife down. “Did I say we wasn’t?”
“No, of course—”
“Then don’t be puttin’ words in my mouth.”
There was a sudden silence while Elizabeth flushed, her chin up at an angle. Both babies began craning their necks between Elizabeth and Curiosity, more alarmed at this silence than they would have been at raised voices. Nathaniel put his free hand on his wife’s knee under the table.
Curiosity met his eye. “You got somethin’ to say to me, Nathaniel?”
“I suppose I do,” he said. “Maybe you should tell us what’s on your mind about Hannah.”
Elizabeth said, “I wish you would.”
There was a tic in Curiosity’s cheek. She tapped her spoon on the edge of her plate twice, and then she put it down.
“It don’t set right, this whole business. Now you two do me a favor, and don’ start tellin’ me again what kind of mess we’re in. I guess I know that well enough myself. It don’ mean I got to like sendin’ the child out to spy.”
“That is a very strong word,” said Elizabeth testily. “I should not call what Hannah does spying. She merely listens, and tells us what she hears.”
Curiosity snorted softly. “You call it what you want, but I’ll tell you this: I ain’t so sure as you that she safe on this ship, runnin’ around by herself. But it seem like you happy to look the other way. And I hope that child don’ have to pay the price.”
All the high color drained from Elizabeth’s face, leaving behind only the dark circles under her eyes.
“Has someone been bothering her?” she asked. “Is there some threat?”
Curiosity frowned. “I cain’t say there is, but I can say this: there’s something wrong. She don’t sleep well, and ain’t you ever took note that she won’t go up on deck without somebody go along? Charlie or Mungo or the Hakim, or one of us.”
Nathaniel said, “She’s never said anything to me about trouble.”
“O’ course she ain’t said nothing. She’s a child. It don’ take much to set her mind to workin’, somebody lookin’ at her too hard, or sayin’ something nasty about the color of her skin. That might give her bad dreams, but she ain’t goin’ to come runnin’ to you to say so, Nathaniel Bonner. She’s prideful.”
Nathaniel said, “I’ll talk to her.”
“Here she is,” said Curiosity as the door banged. “I’d like to hear you get someplace with her, I surely would.”
Hannah came flying into the room, one plait hanging half undone over her shoulder and her arms full of books, a covered basket, and a squirming bird. As she came to a halt the bird got the better of her and flapped away through the room to come to a standstill near the open transom windows. It stood upright to show off a white breast, its dark wings folded into its body. There was a broad white mask on its face with eyes almost human, and a large triangular beak banded in yellow, red, and blue.
“Lord above,” muttered Curiosity. “Do that creature call itself a bird?”
“It’s a puffin,” said Elizabeth, holding up Daniel so he could see it
better.
“Puffed up, more like.” But Curiosity was grinning.
The bird gave them all an indignant stare, turned, and seeing the open windows in the transom, began to lift its wings.
“Oh, no!” Hannah cried, and lurched toward the bird, dropping her basket and going down in a tangle. Papers flew everywhere and the basket rolled, spitting out a collection of small corked bottles.
The twins broke out in deep belly laughs just as Curiosity got hold of the puffin. In the crook of Nathaniel’s arm Lily wiggled helplessly, her mouth spread wide to show her toothless gums as she laughed.
“Hannah,” Elizabeth said. “Where did you get a puffin, of all things?”
“Mr. Brown gave her to me to keep for a while,” she explained, picking up her papers. “He raised her from a chick. Her name is Sally.”
Daniel’s laughter had taken on a familiar note, one that meant his mood was about to turn for the worse. Elizabeth got up with him. “I’ll have to hear about Sally later,” she said, taking Lily from Nathaniel. “I fear it may take some time to settle these two for the night.”
“You ain’t finished your plate yet,” Curiosity called after her, but Elizabeth was already closing the door firmly behind her.
“Don’ nobody eat enough these days,” she said, eyeing the bird that sat placidly in her arms. “Maybe this Sally’ll come in handy, roasted crisp.”
Hannah frowned. “That would hurt Mr. Brown’s feelings, I think.”
Nathaniel picked a feather out of Hannah’s hair. “Who is this Mr. Brown? You haven’t told us about him yet.”
A wide smile broke across the girl’s face. “He grew up in Carryck. His father ran the farm for the earl, and now his older brother is the head gardener.”
“Ah,” said Nathaniel. “Now, that is good news.” Any source of information about Carryck was welcome.
Curiosity seemed less impressed. “At least he ain’t another one of them ‘mac’ kind of folk. Don’t these Scots got no imagination? MacIver, MacIntosh, MacLeish, MacKenzie, MacLachlan. Tell me, do he talk your ear off like that Mungo, or is he like old Jake MacGregor back home. The kind that cain’t spare a word unless his hair on fire and you the only one with a bucket.”
Nathaniel laughed, but Hannah seemed to consider carefully. “Once he found out I speak Scots, he got curious and he wanted to know all about Granny Cora. I think he’ll be talkative.”
Curiosity thrust the puffin toward Hannah. “Go tie it up out on the gallery, child. We don’t need the stink. Appetites poor enough as it is.”
The few hours after sunset were the best of the day, as far as Nathaniel was concerned. It was the time they all sat together before Hannah and Curiosity went off to bed and he and Elizabeth began their night watch.
Every day they were at sea they faced real dangers—storms, pirates, privateers, a hungry French Navy—but what worried him enough to keep him awake was Carryck. He had fought in more than one kind of war, but he had never walked into a battle blind, with women and children at his back. It wasn’t so much the lack of weapons that sat wrong—the ship was full of them, and he could put his hands on what he wanted without a lot of trouble.
What he needed most, and what was hardest to come by, was information.
Nathaniel stood at the transom windows. Somewhere behind them was the Jackdaw, and he scanned the darkened waters for a glimpse of her.
Curiosity came up beside him. Nathaniel was surprised, as he always was, at how slight she seemed when she was nearby, as if the sea were drawing the marrow from her bones.
“I saw them three times today,” she said. “A few miles off. No sign of trouble.”
The truth was, the Jackdaw had stayed close so far, but she might disappear without warning or explanation and never show herself again. And what Moncrieff would do then—if they would turn back to find her, or push on—that was a question Nathaniel didn’t want answered. But Curiosity knew this and so he kept his worries to himself.
“Three times?” Elizabeth opened the little journal she had sewn out of paper provided by the Hakim. It was divided into sections with colored threads, and she found the page headed “Jackdaw.” There were paragraphs about the ship, her crew and weapons, and Nathaniel’s drawings, as well as a column for sightings. She noted the date and Curiosity’s report and then she turned to another chart. Nathaniel leaned over her shoulder and read the last three entries.
Fraser, Peter. 45–50 years of age. Of Dumfries.
Navigator
His whole life in this service. Multiple times to the East and West Indies. A wife and two grown children at home. Fond of pippins. Called the best navigator in the company by his mates.
Hamilton, Alex. Of Dumfries. Captain’s cabin boy. In service on this ship since age 10. His father a textile merchant.
Jones, Ron. Of Cardiff. Ordinary seaman. Flogged for repeated drunkenness and an assault on another seaman. His wounds treated by Hakim Ibrahim.
“Now about Mr. Brown,” Elizabeth said.
Hannah’s brow creased in concentration. “I don’t know his first name. He is Curiosity’s age, I think.”
Curiosity said, “You cain’t tell with these sailors. Could be a hundred from the face on him.”
Elizabeth entered Carryck as his place of birth. The quill hesitated. “His work?”
“He keeps the chickens and such. They call him the duck-fucker.”
Nathaniel would have laughed out loud if it weren’t for Curiosity’s strangled cough and the color that flooded Elizabeth’s face.
Hannah looked directly at Nathaniel, raising a shoulder in confusion. “That’s what the men call him,” she insisted.
Elizabeth hiccuped. “I have never heard the term. I expect that you were not meant to hear it, either.”
“Oh,” said Hannah with an easy shrug. “The sailors talk freely around me.”
“So it seems,” said Curiosity. She gave Nathaniel a pointed look.
He said, “Call him the fowlkeeper, then. What else do you know of him?”
She knew quite a lot. Elizabeth’s quill scratched as Hannah told them what she had noticed of his work, his character, his likes and dislikes, and most important, the little she had learned about the brother who was Carryck’s head gardener.
“Let’s hope Brown likes to talk about home,” Nathaniel said when Elizabeth had put down her quill.
Hannah yawned. “I’ll go by and see him tomorrow. He’ll be butchering some capons and he said I could help.”
Elizabeth caught Nathaniel’s eye but she spoke to Hannah. “I haven’t seen capons on deck.”
“He keeps them below, in the pens.” And then seeing the doubtful look on her father’s face, she said: “The Hakim said Charlie could go with me.”
Nathaniel put a hand on her shoulder. “Make sure you watch yourself. Don’t get caught alone belowdecks with any of them, you hear me?”
She studied her thumbnail. “Except Hakim Ibrahim,” she said. “And Charlie and Mungo.”
“Even Charlie and Mungo,” said Curiosity. “I ain’t sure either of them could stand up to some of the rougher types I seen around here.”
Hannah dropped her gaze, and flushed. It was not like her at all, and it made Nathaniel uneasy.
He said, “It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, and there’s too many men on this ship to keep track of.”
She raised her face and he saw that Curiosity had been right: she was frightened, and trying to hide it.
“Come up on deck with me,” he said.
Hannah did not argue, did not even speak a word until they were at the rail. He waited, because he had no choice. If she was to tell him what was wrong, she would do it in her own way. There were times when he thought he could see some of his own mother in his daughter’s face and it was there now: that same reluctance to bend, a holding back that would bring her close to breaking.
She said, “Do you know about hell?”
He hid his surprise as best he could. �
��I know what the O’seronni believe about that place they call hell. I’ve heard enough church talk in my time, and so have you.”
She hesitated. “Granny Cora believed in the O’seronni hell.”
He had imagined all kinds of trouble on the short walk up to the deck—men who put hands on her, or tried to make her ashamed of the color of her skin—and this talk of damnation put him off balance. He said, “Do you think you’re headed for hell?”
She let out a great sigh. “Not for me. I am not true O’seronni.”
“Is it me you’re worried about, going to hell?”
That got a small smile. “Your skin is white, but you are not O’seronni, either. But some say—” She glanced around herself, and then stepped closer to him. “Some say that the babies might …”
Nathaniel drew in a breath, and waited.
She looked resolutely out over the water. “They might, if they are not baptized. Or if they are baptized papist.”
A slow flush began in Nathaniel’s belly and worked its way up to his chest. It was hard to draw a normal breath, but he fought to control his voice. He put a hand on her arm and turned her so he could look in her face.
“If there’s a Christian hell, then it’s for the kind who would fill your head with such lies. Do you hear me?”
Her face crumpled, and she collapsed forward to put her face against his chest. She was mumbling, and Nathaniel had to lean over to catch her meaning.
“… I thought he might try to take them, to save them from hell. But then you came back, and I thought they were safe.”
“They are safe. Squirrel, they are safe, and so are you. He will never come near any of you again, I swear it.”
She rubbed her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, and he thought his heart would break, with sorrow for her and with a terrible blind fury at the man who had brought her to these tears. She drew in a wavering sigh.
“But she watches.”
“Who watches?”
“His wife. Mrs. MacKay. She watches the babies whenever we bring them on deck, and there’s something in her eyes, like a cat that’s hurt bad and won’t come near to have her wounds tended. Maybe she thinks having the babies will fix whatever’s wrong inside her. I can almost see her thinking it. I think—I think her husband promised them to her.”