Chapter 65
65
To die is landing on some distant shore.
John Dryden
The shudder of the ship as it left its moorings was but one small alarm in a series of them. Juliet had lost track of the hours. Addled, she missed her watch. Where had she mislaid it? Her only clue to the time was the ebbing light fading from the porthole and Minette’s soft snores in a hammock. Had it been two days? Three?
Throat sore, Juliet drank deeply from the pitcher of water that had been provided for them alongside a platter of moldy cheese, dry bannocks, and wizened apples. At least their hunger and thirst were sated if nothing else. She’d told the cabin boy to summon the captain, with scant confidence her message would even be relayed. So far he’d not appeared. And now, upon open water, what did it matter?
As she thought it, the rattle of the lock alerted her, though it didn’t awaken the exhausted Minette. Summoning every shred of her dwindling strength and dignity, Juliet faced the doorway, bracing herself for she knew not what.
A sailor gave a little bow, his pockmarked face a pit of scars. “Permission to come on deck is granted, ma’am.”
She dreaded the encounter, though fresh air would do her good. She followed him, a gust of wind tearing at her skirts. She’d entirely forgotten her hat.
The captain was at the wheel, his lined face testament to a lifetime at sea. “Mrs. Buchanan” was his gruff greeting, slightly slurred by the rum she smelled.
“Captain, you are aware that by transporting me, this is naught but a convict ship.”
“Since yer husband is nae longer at liberty to manage matters, I take my orders from Mr. Euan Buchanan and nae other, ma’am.”
“Euan Buchanan is a murderer and a thief.” She all but spat the words. “Best follow your conscience—”
“My conscience? Seared beyond recovery, some say. As for my orders, I’m to sail this vessel to the Caribbean. With colonial American ports closed, it’s become the primary destination.”
“Where in the Caribbean?” She would keep him talking if she could, if only to lessen this dire feeling of being in the dark.
“Saint-Domingue, barring pirates or privateers or heavy weather.”
“Why?”
“The Buchanans have business there.” He bellowed an order, clearly done with their conversation.
That terrible lightheadedness was overtaking her again. She leaned into the ship’s rail, trying to stay atop the crushing panic that seemed like the ocean’s depth and breadth. The Caribbean was unfathomably distant, at least from the North Atlantic. Vasanti Hall in Jamaica had been sold by Father not long ago. She wanted nothing to do with going there. But if she must, then what? She had no funds to secure passage on a ship to the colonies. She couldn’t even make her way to Aunt Damarus in Philadelphia.
Out of the corner of her eye she spied a hunched figure seated below the main mast. On his ankles were irons. Leo Tate? His face was battered, a medley of purplish-black bruises. His usual pristine garments were filthy. But he was alive, at least.
“Mr. Tate.” She approached him, aware of several sailors’ scrutiny.
He raised his head. Had he been dozing? “Mrs. Buchanan.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Aye, ma’am. A bloody bad business, to be blunt.”
“I believed you to be dead.”
“Death is just what I’ve been threatened with if I ever set foot on Scottish soil again.”
They looked at each other, a dozen different emotions passing between them. She wanted to bathe his face, apply some of Loveday’s remedies. Words failed her and apparently him too, for he lowered his head again as if too weary to hold it up.
Shaking with rage, she returned to the wheel. “For God’s sake, Captain, relieve that man of his irons and have the ship’s surgeon tend to his injuries, or let me do it myself.”
“Tate? I’ve threatened to throw him overboard should he cause me any more trouble.” He eyed her with an especially venomous look. “Now finish yer airing and go below lest I vow to do the same with ye.”
She stood still in defiance half a minute longer before turning away from him. Scotland’s shores were growing dimmer in the dying light.
What was happening with Leith? The twins? By now Father might have realized her absence. But he could hardly come after her. And Loveday ... her dear sister would take it the hardest, perhaps. They’d rarely been separated. Add to that the sudden mystery of her disappearance and the situation was nearly unendurable.
“Never have I been aboard a ship, and it is dreadful.” Minette stared at Juliet, the light of the hanging lantern giving her pale face a ghostly aspect. “A floating gaol.”
“Being sick makes it far worse,” Juliet said softly, giving her a drink of mint water begged from the ship’s surgeon. “Hold tight to the possibility of seeing your sister again. édith wanted nothing more than to be reunited with you after the trial.”
But even this reminder failed to cheer Minette. Though the hammocks relieved some of the ship’s tossing, the combined odor of the chamber pot and last night’s supper lent to their queasiness. The hours lengthened interminably, peppered with memories of deep feather beds, cozy coal fires, and fine porcelain teacups ready at a moment’s notice. But it was the faces of those Juliet loved who haunted her most. Leith. Bella and Cole. Loveday and Father. Lost to her. All lost. And yet what had Mama said?
What we once loved can never be lost to us—it is ours forever.
When dawn limned the porthole, Juliet stood watch. Her whole world had flipped and become an open ocean, a vast misery of gray swells and sky. But anguished as she was, Leith stayed uppermost in her thoughts. She reached into her pocket and withdrew his letter. If she could not have him, she had his words, penned in his own hand from his heart.
My heart is yours, has been yours since the moment we met. Nothing can alter that, not separation nor silence nor even death.
She had memorized every word, could recite it like a child at prayer. It brought small solace as the unknown ate at her, demanding answers. If Lyrica’s news was true, Leith had by now been executed.
Dear Lord, help me to bear it.
She’d had but a few months of him. Not nearly enough when she’d taken her vows “till death do us part.” She’d envisioned them growing old together with children then grandchildren at the knee. She’d wanted to have children with him—that quiverful of arrows Scripture spoke of. To celebrate their union and find fulfillment in each other and the home they made.
Minette moaned and turned over in her hammock. Ready to abandon the porthole, Juliet paused at a flash of movement. Riding the silvered horizon was a ship bearing straight for them. Three-masted, it cut through the white-capped waves with the authority of a British warship. An armed merchantman? She guessed twenty guns. The cut of its jib held her captive. Soon it would be within hailing distance .
Her heart began to race as she saw its colors. The British union flag?
In response, the Black Princ e attempted to outrun the merchantman’s approach, but being heavily laden, it lagged. After maneuvering within range, the merchantman fired a shot to leeward, signifying friendly intent.
“What is this fracas I hear?” Minette was beside her now, sharing her cramped view, fright scoring her face as she surveyed the guns. “Do they not know we might explode with all this French powder in the hold?”
“See their colors?” Juliet’s gaze ran up the main masthead. “They are not the enemy.”
A bone-jarring shot raked their bow and called her a liar.
“Mon Dieu!” Minette sank to the floor and clutched Juliet’s skirts as if to bring her down too.
Were the British colors false? The ruse was common enough, enabling the enemy to board and rob vessels.
Rattled yet transfixed, Juliet saw the action play out through the porthole as if watching a stage play from a theater box. Orders were shouted and the merchantman’s crew gained the Black Prince ’s deck. Privateers? Was their aim the coveted gunpowder?
She tried to shout their plight through the porthole, but the rising wind flung her attempt away. In moments, hasty footsteps sounded in the companionway. Was someone breaking the lock? Juliet turned toward the clamor as the door flew open so hard it collided with the cabin wall.
There, filling the doorframe, stood Leith.