Three Queens

Chapter 1

I have received your pleas of my joining you, and they do not fall on deaf ears.

Years of separation has made me yearn to reunite with you, but I fear the dangers of the sea, unstable as they are in both peace and war, and I despair of leaving our two youngest behind.

I think if you were abroad in a private venture, and necessitated to continue there, I should not hesitate so much at coming to you.

But I am a mere American, unacquainted with the etiquette of royal courts.

Because I was taught to say the thing I mean and to wear my heart in my countenance, I fear I may be an embarrassment to my country.

Letter from Abigail to her husband,

Abigail

Death was imminent.

It had to be.

Too many days of emptying her stomach of its meager contents, and occasionally no contents at all, had left Abigail Adams weak and perpetually shaking in her cot aboard this ship.

Her rheumatism had flared up in conjunction with the seasickness, and her body had been rendered into such a pathetic state that a fever had settled into her frame.

Lying still and doing nothing was not even helpful anymore. She was riddled with abject misery simply by her consciousness, and only death would free her.

She would welcome it with open arms. Her life had been filled with everything she could have wished for, and her complaints were minimal at best.

Vocal, but minimal.

Her husband, John, would certainly be distraught by her death at sea, but she had warned him that she had not wished to come.

She yearned for their reunion after four long years of separation, but she had hoped he would come home to America instead of her being trapped on this nautical prison headed to Europe—and her untimely demise.

How long had she been at death’s door? The days blended amidst the pinpoints of pain and suffering, rocked to and fro in the roiling cradle of the sea.

A mockery of motherhood, in its way, though there was nothing lulling or comforting about these sensations, and no sailor would ever convince her otherwise.

Someday, if death chose to spare her, she would have to cross the ocean once more to return home, and then—assuming she survived that venture—she would never do this again.

Never.

“Lord our God,” she prayed through cracked and tingling lips, “should this be my time to greet Thee, let me pass my love to my dearest friend before I ascend. Let John know my heart is his, even in death.”

If the good Lord had any thoughts on the subject, He kept His peace.

And when her breathing did not falter and the feeling of her body did not fade, Abigail could only conclude that, for the moment, she was not dying.

The war between thanking the Lord and inquiring of Him for further clarification was strong.

Swallowing against a parched throat, Abigail forced herself to sit up, preparing herself for the usual swaying and shaking that accompanied any change in position.

Yet, her stomach was remarkably settled, and she felt no heat at the base of her neck or along her hairline, which would indicate perspiration, the precursor to her fainting or being indisposed.

She felt weak, perhaps unsteady, a trifle achy in her head, but otherwise . . .

Abigail glanced across the room toward her servant’s cot, where Esther rested fitfully in her own illness.

Then her thoughts extended beyond the wall and into the next stateroom, where her eighteen-year-old daughter lodged with the only other female passenger on board.

Nabby—their pet name for her to avoid confusion by having two Abigails in the household—had been as unwell as Abigail, though without the effects of rheumatism, thank heavens.

All the women had been struggling without someone to tend them, the sea making each of them violently indisposed.

There was nothing so painful to a mother’s heart as being unable to aid one’s child in a time of need, and the bond between Abigail and her daughter was a sweet one.

Even more for Nabby being the only surviving daughter in their family.

She was the only child accompanying Abigail on this voyage, more to prevent her forming an unfavorable engagement back home than to give her the experience of Europe.

If Nabby’s infatuation with Mr. Tyler was true and deep enough, the separation would enhance their feelings and perhaps give Abigail less reason to dislike him.

At least that was what Abigail had insisted when she’d arranged for Nabby to come with her.

She was rather hoping Nabby would forget all about the man and move forward with more sensible thoughts and actions. Surely John would agree with her. He had not replied to her concerns prior to their boarding the Active, so the conversation would have to wait until they were reunited in France.

Either way, if Abigail was no longer on the brink of death—according to the Lord, anyway—then she was going to tend to her sweet daughter and make this ship a more inhabitable space.

She pushed to her feet and tentatively moved out of the room and into the next. She held her breath the entire time, waiting for the waves of nausea and faintness to overtake her.

They never did.

A tremulous smile spread across her lips, and she pushed back a lock of hair clinging to her damp brow. Perhaps she might survive this journey across the sea after all. She dared not hope this was more than a delightful reprieve, but even momentary relief was welcome.

She crouched beside Nabby’s cot, placing her hand against her daughter’s pale cheek.

Nabby’s eyelids fluttered before her eyes opened fully, the haze of illness still clouding them. “Mama?”

Abigail smiled softly. “Shh. You rest, darling. I seem to be recovered, for now. I will take care of you while I can.”

Nabby smiled weakly and nodded before closing her eyes.

Abigail dared to take a full breath, then wrinkled her nose. Being unable to change her clothes during her days of illness had allowed a stench to sink into her very skin. She felt nearly inhuman because of it, and that was going to change now.

The first order of business would be a change of clothing.

Then she would be ordering a full clean of this part of the ship.

How anyone could be expected to live in such conditions, even on a temporary basis, was utterly unacceptable.

Especially now that she was functional and in a position to make such adjustments.

Provided the sailors and the captain had no objections. Having never sailed across the ocean, she had no knowledge of such things.

With a clearer head than she’d experienced in at least ten days, Abigail made quick work of her personal ablutions, the feeling of clean skin and clean clothing doing as much for her body and mind as being relieved of illness.

She pulled her skirts back into a bustle and then strode with full purpose to the main dining area just off their staterooms.

She was going to demand some changes for the four females on this ship, and she would brook no argument or opposition.

Remember the ladies, she had told John several years ago, when he and the other men had been assembling their thoughts and plans into a proper foundation for their new nation.

Well, she intended to see that others remembered the ladies as well, regardless of their station.

The crew of the ship was not in the dining area, so she progressed out to the deck itself, where she had yet to venture since boarding.

But the sea was steady for the moment, and her gait not so altered by the rise and fall of the ship as to make the way impassable.

On the contrary, she felt she was moving fairly well for someone who had only left her cot for bouts of indisposition over the last several days.

A young sailor worked at spooling rope nearby, so Abigail walked over to him. “I need to speak to the captain. Might you direct me to him?”

The young man seemed surprised, either by the request or perhaps by her tone, but he pointed above and behind her. “He’s just there, ma’am. Wearing the tricorn hat.”

Abigail turned, shielding her eyes with her hand as she looked where he indicated. “Ah, spotted him. Thank you kindly.”

She moved to the stairs leading to the upper deck, pleased that her steps were growing ever more sturdy and sure despite the rolling of the ship. There was a certain pleasure in overcoming difficulties and witnessing progression in such matters.

The captain turned to her with a bow, notably not removing his tricorn hat. “Mrs. Adams, a pleasure to see you up and about on the deck.”

Abigail felt her lips quirk even as she folded her hands before her.

“Captain. As one of the four ladies on board the Active at this time, might I offer a word of complaint? Our quarters are filthy, hardly suitable for the sick and afflicted, let alone the well and hale. I can only imagine the state of other parts of the ship I have yet to view. I would like permission to have these areas scrubbed and reordered for the sake of sanitation and dignity, if nothing else.”

To her immense surprise, the captain chuckled, his smile easy amidst his weathered features.

“Mrs. Adams, you need no permission to do any such thing. I have crew aplenty to see to your needs, provided you are not prone to flights of fancy. I suspect you are anything but, so please, do rearrange the staterooms and any living quarters, dining quarters, and anywhere else on this ship that seems disordered to you. Any complaints about your activities may come directly to me, and I shall send them to the watery depths beneath us.”

“The sailors?” Abigail asked with a questioning lift of her eyebrow. “Or the complaints?”