Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 73
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But she only stared at him, her silence marking him for the liar he was.
He flushed then. Gave in and let her leave. There was only so far she could go, anyway.
There was no sign of Hakim Ibrahim, but Hannah found Curiosity just waking in the small sleeping cabin off the surgeon's quarters, where she had spent the night. She was clear-eyed and finally free of fever, but she made Hannah repeat her story three times before it seemed to take root. They were at sea, not headed for home, and alone.
While they pieced together the few bits of information they had, Curiosity simply rocked the babies. They had settled into a new, softer wailing. Hannah looked away, afraid to be drawn into their web of misery and despair.
"Ain't this a woeful mess." Curiosity's voice was still a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat more than once. "Elizabeth will be out of her head with worry. Not to mention the folks at home." And her voice creaked and broke.
Hannah found she must ask, or let the question choke her. "Do you think they're dead?"
"No." Curiosity's dark eyes met her own, full-on. "It's Hawkeye and your daddy that Moncrieff wants. You and these babies, you nothing but a way to get to them. Your folks all alive and well, and not a day behind us--I'd wager my good right hand on it. Do you hear me?"
Hannah nodded. "There's a wet nurse, Moncrieff says."
"I figured. He wouldn't want to deliver these children half dead to his earl, would he. The devil ain't pure dumb, after all."
"Do you think she had something to do with it?"
Curiosity turned as if she could look through the length of the ship to the bed where Giselle Somerville was most certainly still fast asleep.
"Wouldn't be surprised," was all she said. And she rocked the twins all the harder.
A scratching at the door began a procession of cabin boys with platters of food, water, and a note from the captain. This Curiosity did not even unfold before she dropped it into the chamber pot. To the startled cabin boy she said only, "Tell him we don' need no apologies and no excuses. What we need is that wet nurse."
The captain brought the woman to the door himself. Curiosity met him with an expression so dark and seething that Hannah felt the hair rising on her own nape. Pickering dropped his gaze, and withdrew backward.
The wet nurse was called Margreit MacKay. She was the wife of the first officer, delivered of a dead child in Québec; she had a face as bitter as arrowroot and dun-brown hair and eyes like a smear of slugs.
Lily and Daniel met the offered breasts with all the fury they could muster. Lily gave in and suckled only when hunger had grown stronger than her anger, falling into an exhausted sleep after a quarter of an hour, and before she had her fill. Daniel held out longer. Finally he nursed in a frenzy, working his fists and feet against the pasty, slack flesh, winding his fingers in a hank of loose hair until tears sprang into the woman's eyes. When he had taken all Margreit MacKay had to offer, Hannah lifted him up against her shoulder and he collapsed into an indignant sleep, shuddering with every breath.
Mrs. MacKay rubbed her scalp and said, "Soor dooks, the baith o' them. Spoilt wi' gettin' their own road."
Curiosity had Lily in her arms, but she moved so quickly that Hannah could hardly follow it: she grabbed Margreit MacKay by the elbow and pushed her, bare breasts swaying, to the door.
"Three hours," Curiosity said. "And don' be late, or I'll teach you what you don' know about spoiled." And she shut the door before the astonished Mrs. MacKay could protest.
But when Curiosity turned back her anger was already gone, replaced by a trembling in her hands that Hannah didn't like to see.
Curiosity went to bed with the twins, thinking that her familiar smells and nearness might help them rest. Hannah, agitated and ill at ease, wandered into the middle cabin of the surgeon's quarters, where Hakim Ibrahim examined and treated the sick and injured.
There was still no sign of the doctor. Hannah was both disappointed--she had a strong urge to see him, and to know what part he had played in all of this --and relieved to have some time alone in this cabin that was so pleasing to her. There were no carpets or velvet cushions here, just the clutter that she associated with healers. Folded bandages, baskets of roots, a huge medicine cabinet that took up an entire wall. Overhead dried herbs hung in bunches as they did at home, but here they swung with the rhythm of the hull against the waves.
Hannah made herself breathe in and out slowly, taking in smells strange and familiar: cinnamon, coriander, thyme, little-man root, mint and vinegar, cedar and sandalwood, camphor and rose oil. On her first visit here --she could hardly credit that it was only the day before yesterday--the Hakim had opened jars and bottles and named the powders and oils first in English and then in the musical, winding sounds of his own language, throaty and soft all at once. She had feared he would find her curiosity unseemly, but there was nothing of irritation or impatience in his manner.
Yesterday this medicine cabinet had seemed a wondrous thing, with its cubbyholes to keep jars safe from the rocking of the ship, dark glass bottles stoppered with cork, small drawers labeled with a strange, flowing script she could not read. When she had first come here with Runs-from-Bears, Hannah had wanted nothing more than time to explore this little room and all its treasures. She had wished for it. Perhaps she had called all of this down upon their heads with that wish.
There was a whispering of sound and Hakim Ibrahim came through the door, in his arms a wide, flat basket filled with bread and what seemed to be fruit. He was not so tall as the men of her family, but taller than Moncrieff or the captain, and the way he held his head put her in mind of a Kahnyen'kehâka elder. He did not have the age to be a sachem--she thought he was probably not much older than her father--but he had that way of looking, sharp but not cruel; his gaze cut but drew no blood. He was looking at her that way now, and the welcoming smile on his face faded.
He flushed then. Gave in and let her leave. There was only so far she could go, anyway.
There was no sign of Hakim Ibrahim, but Hannah found Curiosity just waking in the small sleeping cabin off the surgeon's quarters, where she had spent the night. She was clear-eyed and finally free of fever, but she made Hannah repeat her story three times before it seemed to take root. They were at sea, not headed for home, and alone.
While they pieced together the few bits of information they had, Curiosity simply rocked the babies. They had settled into a new, softer wailing. Hannah looked away, afraid to be drawn into their web of misery and despair.
"Ain't this a woeful mess." Curiosity's voice was still a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat more than once. "Elizabeth will be out of her head with worry. Not to mention the folks at home." And her voice creaked and broke.
Hannah found she must ask, or let the question choke her. "Do you think they're dead?"
"No." Curiosity's dark eyes met her own, full-on. "It's Hawkeye and your daddy that Moncrieff wants. You and these babies, you nothing but a way to get to them. Your folks all alive and well, and not a day behind us--I'd wager my good right hand on it. Do you hear me?"
Hannah nodded. "There's a wet nurse, Moncrieff says."
"I figured. He wouldn't want to deliver these children half dead to his earl, would he. The devil ain't pure dumb, after all."
"Do you think she had something to do with it?"
Curiosity turned as if she could look through the length of the ship to the bed where Giselle Somerville was most certainly still fast asleep.
"Wouldn't be surprised," was all she said. And she rocked the twins all the harder.
A scratching at the door began a procession of cabin boys with platters of food, water, and a note from the captain. This Curiosity did not even unfold before she dropped it into the chamber pot. To the startled cabin boy she said only, "Tell him we don' need no apologies and no excuses. What we need is that wet nurse."
The captain brought the woman to the door himself. Curiosity met him with an expression so dark and seething that Hannah felt the hair rising on her own nape. Pickering dropped his gaze, and withdrew backward.
The wet nurse was called Margreit MacKay. She was the wife of the first officer, delivered of a dead child in Québec; she had a face as bitter as arrowroot and dun-brown hair and eyes like a smear of slugs.
Lily and Daniel met the offered breasts with all the fury they could muster. Lily gave in and suckled only when hunger had grown stronger than her anger, falling into an exhausted sleep after a quarter of an hour, and before she had her fill. Daniel held out longer. Finally he nursed in a frenzy, working his fists and feet against the pasty, slack flesh, winding his fingers in a hank of loose hair until tears sprang into the woman's eyes. When he had taken all Margreit MacKay had to offer, Hannah lifted him up against her shoulder and he collapsed into an indignant sleep, shuddering with every breath.
Mrs. MacKay rubbed her scalp and said, "Soor dooks, the baith o' them. Spoilt wi' gettin' their own road."
Curiosity had Lily in her arms, but she moved so quickly that Hannah could hardly follow it: she grabbed Margreit MacKay by the elbow and pushed her, bare breasts swaying, to the door.
"Three hours," Curiosity said. "And don' be late, or I'll teach you what you don' know about spoiled." And she shut the door before the astonished Mrs. MacKay could protest.
But when Curiosity turned back her anger was already gone, replaced by a trembling in her hands that Hannah didn't like to see.
Curiosity went to bed with the twins, thinking that her familiar smells and nearness might help them rest. Hannah, agitated and ill at ease, wandered into the middle cabin of the surgeon's quarters, where Hakim Ibrahim examined and treated the sick and injured.
There was still no sign of the doctor. Hannah was both disappointed--she had a strong urge to see him, and to know what part he had played in all of this --and relieved to have some time alone in this cabin that was so pleasing to her. There were no carpets or velvet cushions here, just the clutter that she associated with healers. Folded bandages, baskets of roots, a huge medicine cabinet that took up an entire wall. Overhead dried herbs hung in bunches as they did at home, but here they swung with the rhythm of the hull against the waves.
Hannah made herself breathe in and out slowly, taking in smells strange and familiar: cinnamon, coriander, thyme, little-man root, mint and vinegar, cedar and sandalwood, camphor and rose oil. On her first visit here --she could hardly credit that it was only the day before yesterday--the Hakim had opened jars and bottles and named the powders and oils first in English and then in the musical, winding sounds of his own language, throaty and soft all at once. She had feared he would find her curiosity unseemly, but there was nothing of irritation or impatience in his manner.
Yesterday this medicine cabinet had seemed a wondrous thing, with its cubbyholes to keep jars safe from the rocking of the ship, dark glass bottles stoppered with cork, small drawers labeled with a strange, flowing script she could not read. When she had first come here with Runs-from-Bears, Hannah had wanted nothing more than time to explore this little room and all its treasures. She had wished for it. Perhaps she had called all of this down upon their heads with that wish.
There was a whispering of sound and Hakim Ibrahim came through the door, in his arms a wide, flat basket filled with bread and what seemed to be fruit. He was not so tall as the men of her family, but taller than Moncrieff or the captain, and the way he held his head put her in mind of a Kahnyen'kehâka elder. He did not have the age to be a sachem--she thought he was probably not much older than her father--but he had that way of looking, sharp but not cruel; his gaze cut but drew no blood. He was looking at her that way now, and the welcoming smile on his face faded.
