Chapter 39
New Providence, Nassau
“Morning,” Mary said, handing Anne a cup of bush tea.
Anne nodded in thanks and took it.
Mary wouldn’t stoop to call the morning “good,” not after she and Thomas had taken the cot, leaving their guest on the cold floor with their only spare blanket. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Anne said, staring into the pale tea. She had an angry slash across her cheek and similar cuts covering her exposed skin from trekking through the woodlands.
It was clear that neither of them had slept.
Mary had tossed until dawn. Before the sun broke the horizon, Thomas had already risen—none of his usual whistling—heading to the docks to attend to his nets.
Mary anticipated she’d get an earful from Thomas about not exercising discretion about her identity, an identity that brought in more coin than she could ever make as a barmaid.
This was her plan, after all. He might be more worried about blowing their guise than harboring a risky runaway.
Not that they needed the governor sniffing around.
What did Anne make of two men sharing a single bed? All forms of relationships existed in New Providence, but this scrappy young woman who still smelled of high society likely didn’t know better.
Am I … justifying myself? Worried about what Anne would think?
Mary had nothing to justify. She had exactly three reasons for being with Thomas.
First, he was one of four people on this island who knew the truth of who she was and, of those four, he was the only man who was unwed and didn’t have a head of gray hair.
Second, by pooling their modest incomes, they could afford to share a single room rather than Mary having to rent a bed in a dormitory or inn and risk revealing her identity.
Third, she fancied him—even if he acted, at times, like a self-serving child.
He could whistle better than a nightingale, smell a storm hours before it arrived, and—most of all—he was a friend.
It didn’t hurt that he was handsome and generous with his physical affection; he made for a fine companion.
He, too, had a history that haunted him and knew when to stop asking questions.
Mary dared anyone to judge her for dulling the stab of loneliness.
Anne brought the saucer to her lips. Her face scrunched at the bitterness as she swallowed. “I’m grateful—for everything. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
Mary sat on the floor across from Anne, surveying her puffy eyes. Her hair looked messier than usual, with leaves poking through the strands.
“Ready to talk?”
Anne looked up, and something like surprise passed across her face.
Mary sipped at her own tea. “What happened?”
Anne leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I’ve told you about James Bonny.”
“Yes,” Mary said. She knew what Anne herself had mentioned and then some—as was the custom in Nassau.
Her fingers clinked against the chipped teacup. Anne opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I was … in trouble when I married him. Desperate. We made a kind of agreement.”
Anne paused as tears welled behind her eyes.
Mary had never seen her struggle for words.
“I’ve made a lifetime’s worth of mistakes in an existence that presented few real choices,” Mary offered.
Not realizing Ma was sending her away in time.
Not asking Ma enough questions that would have helped Mary find her again.
Lying about who she was for so long. Not responding fast enough to the shot that struck Bjorn.
Not putting away money before losing the inn.
The thousands of errors she’d made in her unending grief that led her to share this room with a man she didn’t love while facing a future that didn’t matter anymore.
“I don’t know where to begin,” Anne said, rubbing her temple. “This is a disaster.”
To deny the truth of that statement would be foolish. But Mary couldn’t help Anne if she didn’t know the full extent of her situation. Mary offered a small smile. “I’m listening.”
So Mary listened. For an hour, they did not move.
Mary gritted her teeth as Anne wrestled with language for what to call Nathaniel’s assault.
Mary wanted to hug her, but instead of reaching out, she held back, holding her heart in as she always did.
It wouldn’t be appropriate or comforting, Mary reasoned.
Anne continued to talk as the bush tea grew cold.
“That’s not all,” Anne added. “I’m with child again.”
Mary closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “Does Rackham know?”
“Not yet. I’m only two months along and don’t want him dumping me off in Cuba for a second time. I feel perfectly well. I want to show him I’m more than capable of serving on the crew despite my condition.” Her chest fell. “Not that ‘resting’ on land did much good for the first pregnancy.”
“He made you stay on shore?”
“He has a kind of family in Havana. Jack’s protective of me. And I was, to his credit, quite ill.”
Mary had a lot of questions about Rackham’s behavior, but those questions could wait. “And you had the sense to not tell Bonny about this new development?”
Anne frowned as if wrongly scolded. “It didn’t come up.”
Mary held up her hands. “I only wanted to make sure.”
Anne stood to stretch when the door flung open. In barged Thomas. His crazed stare latched onto Anne, then Mary.
“Thomas—”
He dropped a net filled with fish at the threshold. They wriggled and water pooled on the ground outside. The smell, oh Lord, the smell—
Thomas slammed the door. “Bonny is searching the town,” he said, breathless. “Questioning everyone with known connections to his wife.”
Anne stiffened. “I am not his wife.”
“Tell that to the governor.” He rolled his eyes and turned to Mary. “Bonny knows she lived at the Jubilee. He’s hunting down everyone who worked there. And a certain cook thinks you might have information.”
“Huxley,” Mary sighed. Her stomach twisted. The lingering stench of the fish. The sour, awful—
Breathe through your mouth. “We need to move Anne,” Mary said.
“Where?” Thomas panted.
Mary had to sit down. There was no time. She sorted through the limited options, lowering a bucket into the mental well of stillness she thought had dried up for good. “Your rowboat,” she said at last. “Anne might paddle to the other side of the island. Catch a sloop headed to Barbados.”
“I’m not leaving Jack,” Anne fired. “I have no reason to run.”
“Fine,” Mary said. It was fool-headed. But Mary had done more foolish things for love. She clutched her abdomen.
“Are you feeling all right?” Anne said as Thomas moved toward her.
No time.
Avoid risk at all cost.
Risk. It was already at her door, in the room.
“I’ll feel better after I eat something. Disguise Anne. Get her to the rowboat.” Acid rose and she held it back. “Anchor for the day. Let Bonny come knocking. We’ll fetch her after dark. I have”—she swallowed—an idea.”
Mary dry-heaved, and Thomas caught her with both strong arms. “Mary?” He searched her eyes. His dark tresses and hard facial features appeared blurry.
Bile coated Mary’s throat.
Anne whirled on her. “Mary?” she said, the pieces starting to click into place as she studied Mary’s visage, then body.
Thomas cursed, realizing his mistake. Mary lunged for the water basin, felt her insides roil, then vomited with enough violence to double her over.
Thomas and Anne were kneeling at her side in an instant. Anne held back her hair as the insides of Mary’s stomach rose again.
“Do you have bread? Anything?” Anne snapped at Thomas.
The room spun. Thomas scurried away, then returned with a bit of crust. “She’s been like this for weeks now. Always tired. Lightheaded. Queasy.”
“It gets better when I—” Mary bent forward again, knocking the bread crust out of the way. Every muscle in her lower back strained.
“Read,” Anne said with trepidation. “Are you …?”
“A woman?” she scoffed with a glare at Thomas—his handsome features pale with fear—before wiping her mouth. A fraud? A liar? A washed-up piece of flotsam from the fragments of a beautiful, shattered life?
Anne placed her cold inner wrist against Mary’s forehead. “With child?”
Mary laughed.
Impossible. Cruel to suggest.
Mary meant to say all of that before burying her head in the basin again.