“Do you, Selena MacPherson, take this man to be your husband?”
Her eyes were blurred with a film of tears, but her voice was clear and strong. “I do,” she cried, as if to God and the sky, and to all those she had loved who dwelt now in far regions. She wanted them to hear, and in the absence of chronicles or chisels, the walls of Coldstream Castle must be imprinted with this faraway call of her heart.
Captain Flanders coughed. “And do you, Sean Bloodwell, take this woman to be your wife?”
“I do,” he replied, and she felt his hands tighten on her own.
“And do you both swear, before God and these witnesses here assembled, that you make your promise freely, and with no mental reservations of any kind, and that you will live as man and wife until…” he had a little trouble with the phrase “…until death do you part?”
“We do,” they said in unison.
“Then, let’s see…then, by the authority vested in my office, by the customs of ships at sea, I pronounce you man and wife.”
There was a long silence, suddenly broken by Davina, who chirped excitedly and pointed a chubby finger into the sky. Everyone turned, wondering what she had seen.
It was a large bird, traveling alone, high against the royal blue of northern sky. It was beautiful, with its wings outstretched, coasting on the wind.
But, at such a distance, no one on the ship could identify what kind of bird it was.
“A good omen,” Captain Flanders decided, and called for a keg of Madeira from his own private stock, his contribution to the wedding party.
The voyage passed swiftly, with great happiness. Selena’s anticipation quickened as they sailed nearer and nearer America, until she could barely contain her excitement. Sean spent a great amount of time deciding how to go about contacting business sources in New York, and how discreetly to deduce the nature of the political situation, how best to evade difficulties, negotiate pitfalls and shoals. Finally, on the morning of October 28, 1776, Captain Flanders announced that the Blue Foray would sail into New York harbor before sundown.
All afternoon, Selena paced the deck, watching intently for the first faint glimpse of her new home, seeing it rise again and again out of the sea, only to have it fade into a mirage of spume and sun dance. Davina stayed with her for a while, toddling on the deck, carefully watched, but finally she tired and was taken below decks for a nap. Sean said he would stay with her—the two of them got on exceedingly well—and, besides, he had to remove the jewels from their hiding place, and put a few last touches on his plans.
Selena went topside again. Captain Flanders, grinning at her impatience, asked her up on the bridge, where she would better be able to see. She agreed enthusiastically.
“How far to New York?” she asked.
“Here,” he said, still grinning, and handed her the spyglass. “I’d say about two hours if the wind holds.”
Did he mean it? It was all she could do to keep from trembling as she put the glass to her eye and turned the adjusting screws. Was he teasing? Was it…Yes! Yes, by God in heaven, there it was, dark and low-lying along the edge of the ocean, and as they sailed closer, driven by wind, it emerged more and more clearly. She saw the mouth of the harbor—my God, it was huge—and almost made out individual buildings. There were many ships.
“British,” Flanders said. “Probably guarding the harbor. There may be war by now.”
War, she thought, with distaste, but even that could not sully her spirit.
And then, quite accidentally, she swung the spyglass to the side, a bit southward, and saw a man-of-war, a bigger ship than she’d ever seen before, bigger even than the Highlander had been. She thought it was British, of course, because of what Captain Flanders had told her, but then why was it going toward the southeast at such speed, rather than guarding the harbor? She adjusted the spyglass for a better view, and the big ship slid past her, black, monstrous, and silent. The letters of the ship’s name stretched across her hull, and they passed by, one after the other, as in a dream: S—E—L—E—N—A.
She jerked the spyglass upward to the top of the main mast, and found the flags.
The unmistakable swath of Campbell plaid.
And another flag of a coiled serpent, which she later learned was the flag of the American rebels, that said, DON’T TREAD ON ME!
Her heart thundered; agony made her gasp.
“Is something the matter?” Captain Flanders asked.
“No,” she said. “No,” she repeated, in a stronger tone. “It’s just I’m so excited to finally…’’
She did not finish.
Captain Flanders laughed, thinking that he could easily supply the rest of the words to her sentence.
Selena resisted the impulse to sag upon the rail of the bridge. She would have done it—would have been forced to—but one emotion saved her. Surprise.
She was surprised that her heart still beat, severed as it was. Severed by surprise itself, and joy, and overwhelming sadness. She had lost him, buried him in the sea! And he thought he had lost her!
Waves of gulls winged out to them, calling in the sky. Their cries, commingled and muted by distance, seemed like the call of some lonely, forlorn animal, lost and pining in the high hills of home.
The Crucible
The city into which Selena disembarked, with her husband and their adopted daughter, was rough, raw, and raucous beyond her most imaginative expectations, just like the country of which it was part. She had never seen a harbor even close to the size of this one, and passage between twin coasts, through something Captain Flanders called “the Narrows,” was like moving into the nave of a savage cathedral. And everywhere, it seemed, was wilderness.
Was this a city? How could it be?
She knew immediately that Sean had been right. It would be the height of idiocy to take sides with a band of rebels from this wild land, no matter how much antipathy her heart held for England.
There was the British Empire, and the British Navy, and London. Westminster, Whitehall, St. Paul’s. There were the vast estates, the great country houses, wealth and culture and accomplishment. All the might and power and easy tradition of the British Empire.
And then there was this. New York. Selena was surprised that the English would even allow the name “York” to be used for a place like this.
And yet, had not Royce Campbell somehow lived to ally himself with these rebels, and against all the might of the old country?
Her heart was in furious tumult which she fought to keep from Sean, when Captain Flanders received permission to put into port.
“Well, here we are, Selena. What do you think?” Sean exuded, putting his arm around her. He held Davina, to bring her safely down the gangplank. “Isn’t this the perfect place to build a dream?”
Dream. What a word. She had dreamed the black ship—black, as for mourning. She had dreamed it, but it had never been there! It did not exist!
She had made her vows, and the future lay free for the taking.
Within his embrace, she suppressed a shudder created by the chill of the past, and steeled herself. As she could. As she must. She had made her promises, and they were forever. Her love was for Sean and Davina. The past was over, complete. The future lay before them. Difficult or easy, it must be built of truth and honor, love and will.
These she possessed, and these she had to command. These she would give.
“Yes, it is. It is a place to build dreams,” she replied, and put her own arm around Sean’s waist.
Captain Flanders, on the bridge, smiled and called down to them: “Deal’s a deal, and I got you here safe and more than sound.”
She waved back to him, trying to give him the smile he deserved.
“You can get ready to put ashore now,” he called. “Got everything you need?”
“Only a fortune in my pockets,” Sean whispered to her exuberantly. “This city is mine. And maybe the country, too.”
Selena laughed with him, patting one
of his jacket pockets, feeling the reassuring hardness inside. Everything that counted, everything that mattered, seemed to be hard. Wealth was hard: diamonds, rubies, even gold. The hearts of the victorious—men or women—seemed always to be hard. (But at what effort, and price in pain, was all of this achieved?) And even a man’s love was hard when it was in your body.
Yet would you have it any other way? Could it be any other way?
No.
Davi? Still, he had had to be hard, too, in the end.
Well, perhaps not. Yes, he had to, in order to be free. Of life.
With a vague feeling that, in spite of the distance she had come, in spite of the degree of maturity she had reached, she still did not fully understand what love was, or what life was, Selena MacPherson Bloodwell set foot upon the violent shore.
It was readily apparent that this new land was much like the old: vast differences in wealth lay right before their eyes. Along the banks of the Hudson River, along a place called Bowling Green, were the fine, stately mansions of rich merchants. Sean’s eyes were drawn toward them right away, and their elegant perspective pleased Selena, too. Along the dock proper were the offices and warehouses of a busy port; it was easy to see the East India Company’s office, and on its clapboard wall the lettering of some rebel said, in faded paint, No Tax on Tea! Yet, within a few minutes walking distance from the waterfront were sections that reminded her of Liverpool, where the groaning riffraff now working on the docks—Negroes blacker than Davi had been, and runty, reddish-hued men she later learned were Irish—retreated when evening came, to try and drink their way out of squalor and misery. Beyond this, farther into the town, she saw the steeples of five or six churches, the two Anglican churches, Trinity and St. Paul’s, being the most imposing. Indeed, they were the only truly imposing things in that section of the town. And along the Battery was the small fort, symbol of British Power. Selena stared at it.
“You’ll have to go over there and register your arrival in the city,” Captain Flanders advised. “They’ll come a-lookin’ for you if you don’t.”
Selena felt a twinge of apprehension at this news, but Sean remained calm. “Thank you, but first I shall attempt to see the harbor master. We require information about the city, such as where to find suitable lodging. We shall attend to protocol in due course.”
“I shouldn’t wait too long,” Flanders said uneasily. “Talk is that war’s on. You see the men-of-war here in the harbor, and the lack of freighters. And war makes men powerfully suspicious.”
Sean thanked him and they walked down the pier to the harbor office. Yet, for a place at war, New York seemed very placid to Selena. True, there were the warships in the harbor, but they were British warships in every port on earth. And the office of the harbor master was almost somnolent. Several young assistant officers leaned back in chairs, their feet atop desks. Blue smoke rose in the air as they puffed leisurely at pipes. Faded notices were pinned to the walls. They all stood to acknowledge the presence of a lady. Sean asked to see the harbor master, using a tone of voice that was courteous but commanding. One of the assistants, who introduced himself “Grimsby at your service, sir,” hastened to an office in the rear of the building, while the other men bent to their desks, attempting to look busy, all the while casting surreptitious glances at Selena.
“Lord Weddington will see you now,” Grimsby said, coming out of the harbor master’s office.
“Everyone in the world is a lord,” Sean muttered in disgust as Grimsby led them to the office. And Richard Weddington, harbor master of New York, looked every inch the young, confident scion of a long line blessed by noble birth. He appeared to be about thirty years of age. His hair was yellow as a jonquil. His eyes were green. He was not as tall as Sean, but when he rose to greet them, Selena saw his breeches tauten upon the muscles a man would use to ride a fine horse, and ride it long. His tone was friendly; his manner was intelligent.
“Dick Weddington at your service,” he said, offering his hand to Sean. “Come in. Please be seated. Here, ma’am, allow me,” he added, coming around to place a chair for Selena and the child. He motioned Sean to another chair and returned to his own seat behind the desk.
“Just arrived in New York, eh?” he asked. “What vessel were you aboard?”
“The Blue Foray, out of Bombay,” Sean told him.
“Ah! Flanders’ ship. Fine man, Flanders. A Scotsman.” Neither Sean nor Selena said a word.
“At least we have a merchant ship in the harbor,” Weddington said, with a smile that acknowledged the wartime situation. “Parliament’s Law of Interdiction, you may have heard. Forbids trade with these rebel colonists. Oh, a great deal of military shipping comes in, mostly for our military and for Americans still loyal to the King, but…”
With a disappointed look and a toss of his hand, Weddington told them that there was little for a harbor master to do. Selena, who had been watching him closely, sensed something in his demeanor that, while not exactly false, seemed somehow inconsistent.
“May I be of help to you?” Weddington was asking. “You’ve been in India?” he inquired of Sean. “My God, I’d have given an arm and a leg to get out there. But Pater believed that America was safer!”
Selena searched her mind. Weddington? Lord Weddington! Not the young man seated here before them, but his elder. One of the few Englishmen Lord Seamus had respected. Weddington had not been a liberal, but Selena’s father had always thought him to be a reasonable man. Now, smiling at Weddington’s son, Selena hoped that she and Sean would not, with a hint of Scottish brogue, arouse in the harbor master any latent suspicions or memories.
“This war,” Sean was asking, “will it hinder a man seeking his start in business?”
“It depends upon the line you’re in,” Weddington replied. His glance turned just a bit shrewd. “You’re not just starting in business, I daresay? And I don’t believe Grimsby mentioned your name.”
The interview was taking a turn that neither Sean nor Selena had anticipated. Instead of the visit Sean had envisioned, a simple quest for information about New York, they had been led into confrontation with a lord. And now it was becoming an inquisition.
“I am Sean Bloodwell,” Selena’s husband said.
Had he pronounced his name a bit too defiantly? Selena thought so. But Weddington’s expression revealed nothing.
“Ah, Bloodwell. Yes. What line of business are you in, Bloodwell?” His tone was perceptibly harder now. Selena could see him making his calculations. Weddington could see before him a fine-looking man, a woman with beauty of form and face, and with more than a hint of aristocratic bearing. The man had come from India and was seeking introduction to business opportunities in New York. Hence, the couple must be rather well provided for.
“What, indeed, are your interests, Bloodwell?” Weddington pressed, leaning forward over his desk.
“I have certain general plans,” Sean said frankly, having decided on a bold response. “I will need to learn the situation here in America before I decide upon a definite course. And I will need to learn it from someone upon whom I can rely.”
He shot Weddington a hard glance of his own, and an appraising glance as well.
“Trade, real estate, and banking will certainly be among my activities,” Sean said. “We came here to your office to seek information as to lodging, but since you seem so interested in my affairs, I think it only fair to ask if you, as harbor master, can recommend to me men of trade on whom I can call.”
The two men looked at each other, each trying to interpret the nature of the other. Weddington looked at Selena for just a moment, as if he were about to ask her a question. Then he turned back to Sean. “You are prepared to enter three major fields of commerce?”
“I am,” Sean said. “We are,” he amended, glancing at Selena.
Intelligence flickered in Weddington’s eyes, and a new measure of respect. “I will do what I can to aid you,” he said then, and banged a bell on top of his desk
. “You will have to decide yourself whether or not I prove to be reliable.”
In answer to the bell, Grimsby appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
“Grimsby, I am placing you in charge of the office for the rest of the day.” He rose from his desk. “You seek accommodations,” he said to Sean, “and, I am sure, good food. And a place for the child. And,” he added, nodding to Sean, “you may find there are services worthy of reward that I can provide. There are some rebels in New York, but it is still a place where a clever man can turn a pound note to a profit. I do not shrink from becoming one of those men.”
Sean smiled in appreciation of Weddington’s candid remark, but Selena, taken aback by what he had said, blurted her question before she could hold it back.
“Do you mean some of the Americans are not rebellious?” she asked.
“Heavens, no,” Weddington exclaimed, as he led them out of the office building and onto the docks. His horse and coach were waiting there. “Why should they be? No point in it, is there?”
Sean shot her a hard look, chagrined at the outrage in her tone. “It’s just that I’m surprised…” Selena fumbled.
But Weddington seemed not to notice. “Just in the last few months,” he said, as they were climbing into the coach, “our military commander, Lord Howe, chased the rebels and their commander, a Virginia farmer called Washington, right off Long Island. The entire uprising might have ended if Washington had not gotten away with his army. Too bad, it is. Business suffers, and what ought to be a busy harbor becomes naught but the berth of gunships. And gunships bring no profit,” he added, with a sidelong glance at Sean.
“That I vow,” Sean agreed. Selena, observing them, listening to their exchange, could sense a relationship being established between the two men. It seemed a business relationship of some sort, but there was a quality in it that she could not decipher, as if some element in their exchange was not being revealed. Whatever it was, Sean seemed not to notice.
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