Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 81
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Curiosity made a sound, but Giselle Somerville held her off with a raised hand.
"Please. I would much prefer your silence to your sympathy. Now, you can take that story and make of it what you will. I will send word when the time comes. It may be quite soon, or it may not be until tomorrow night. You will act according to your best judgment."
When she was gone, Curiosity said, "Come on out here, child, and talk to me. What did you think of that little story of hers?"
Hannah said, "She never met your eye. I think she was lying."
Curiosity grunted softly. "Maybe. Even if she weren't, it still don't sit right, none of it."
"I don't think we should go with her," said Hannah. "At least, not unless we get a good look at the ship."
Curiosity got up with a groan, and shifted Daniel to her shoulder. "That's just what we'll do," she said. "But pack the basket, just in case."
At dusk Hannah could stand it no longer, and she went up on deck. She found a spot at the rail where she thought she might not be in the way. The sailors ignored her; after a while she began to relax, to take some pleasure in the fresh air and the wind. There were fishing boats in the distance, and she wondered what kind of life it would be to live on the water and to learn to read it as her people could read the sky and the mountains.
"The Indian," said a man's voice. "Come to worship the settin' sun, are ye?"
The first officer stood, hands folded behind him and his chin pressed to his chest. Mr. MacKay was a big man, heavily built with a seaman's squint, a great shelf of a jaw, a high sloping forehead, and a nose so short and mean it looked like it was trying to burrow back into his skull. But it was his eyes that worried her, alive with a moody curiosity that made her sorry to have come up on deck.
And no one else about, and no way to get past him unless he let her go.
"Sir?"
"Have ye been baptized in Christ?" He spoke so softly that she had to strain to hear him.
It was a simple question, and she did not want to answer it. But by his expression she knew that she had no choice. "I was baptized, sir."
His eyes narrowed. "Is that so? And wha guid man came among the savages to save ye from eternal damnation?"
Hannah pressed her back harder into the rail. "I don't remember him, sir. I was very small. A Jesuit, I think."
The long face flushed such a deep shade of red, and that so quickly, that Hannah's unease was pushed aside with the thought that Mr. MacKay might be suffering a stroke before her eyes.
His mouth twisted with disgust. "Papists among the savages. Aye, and I heard tell o' sic travesties. And the puir wee babbies, have they been damned wi' ye?"
Hannah looked about hoping for a friendly face, but the sailor at the helm was watching the horizon. Mr. MacKay was waiting for her answer, and so she shook her head.
"They are not yet baptized, in any faith."
"Ach. There's hope, then. Now you listen to me," Mr. MacKay began, in a more kindly fashion. ""The angels shall come forth, and take out the wicked from among the righteous, and will cast them into the furnace of fire; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth."" He thrust his face forward, within inches of her own. "It's no' in your nature tae understan' the Holy Scripture--savage and female, ava--but it's my duty tae tell the truth and shame the de'il. Lass, ye're bound for hellfire should ye no' see the error o' yer ways."
"I must go," Hannah said, and her voice cracked. "I must go back to the Hakim now."
"The Hakim. Anither infidel." Mr. MacKay shook his head. "Innocent babes among the heathens. Can a guid Christian stand by and watch?"
Hannah's blood beat heavy in her ears, but she made herself speak up. She said, "Stay away from us. Stay away from us all, or I'll tell Captain Pickering."
Mr. MacKay sucked in his lower lip and pushed it out again. "And does it matter, wha ye tell? The Almighty kens aa, and sees aa, and ye canna run fra' him tae yer Captain Pickering. "His wrath is poured out like fire, and in the end ye will burn.""
He rocked back and forth on his heels, his mouth pursed thoughtfully. "Noo, tell me, lass. Will ye be saved fra' yer infidel ways, ye and the wee ones wi' ye?"
"Mr. MacKay, sir!" the bosun called. "The helmsman needs a word wi' ye, sir!"
"Hear me now," he said, peering closely at her. "It's up tae ye whether the babbies burn in hell. We'll talk agin."
Hannah forced herself to breathe in and out as he walked away. When she could make her legs obey her, she went below. And wondered if she would ever come back on deck again.
16
The Jackdaw was seventy-five feet of hard-worn oak and peeling black paint, but as the St. Lawrence widened toward the open sea something became clear to Nathaniel: the schooner might have seen better days, but she still loved the wind and the wind loved her back. It was true that they were twelve hours behind the Isis, but there were other truths, too, and he didn't have to reach far for them: they had an able captain who would stop at nothing to earn his prize, and while the Isis idled along like a fat cow for home, the Jackdaw was a cougar of a ship, fast and lean, carrying no cargo beyond provisions for a skeleton crew of thirty, ammunition, and the monumental force of the Bonners' combined fury.
Nathaniel could see the full strength of it now in Elizabeth's face as she paced the deck, her arms wound around herself. Once before he had seen her this close to broken, but that battle had left the kind of bruises that healed. This time there would be no healing for either of them until they had the children and Curiosity back.
"Please. I would much prefer your silence to your sympathy. Now, you can take that story and make of it what you will. I will send word when the time comes. It may be quite soon, or it may not be until tomorrow night. You will act according to your best judgment."
When she was gone, Curiosity said, "Come on out here, child, and talk to me. What did you think of that little story of hers?"
Hannah said, "She never met your eye. I think she was lying."
Curiosity grunted softly. "Maybe. Even if she weren't, it still don't sit right, none of it."
"I don't think we should go with her," said Hannah. "At least, not unless we get a good look at the ship."
Curiosity got up with a groan, and shifted Daniel to her shoulder. "That's just what we'll do," she said. "But pack the basket, just in case."
At dusk Hannah could stand it no longer, and she went up on deck. She found a spot at the rail where she thought she might not be in the way. The sailors ignored her; after a while she began to relax, to take some pleasure in the fresh air and the wind. There were fishing boats in the distance, and she wondered what kind of life it would be to live on the water and to learn to read it as her people could read the sky and the mountains.
"The Indian," said a man's voice. "Come to worship the settin' sun, are ye?"
The first officer stood, hands folded behind him and his chin pressed to his chest. Mr. MacKay was a big man, heavily built with a seaman's squint, a great shelf of a jaw, a high sloping forehead, and a nose so short and mean it looked like it was trying to burrow back into his skull. But it was his eyes that worried her, alive with a moody curiosity that made her sorry to have come up on deck.
And no one else about, and no way to get past him unless he let her go.
"Sir?"
"Have ye been baptized in Christ?" He spoke so softly that she had to strain to hear him.
It was a simple question, and she did not want to answer it. But by his expression she knew that she had no choice. "I was baptized, sir."
His eyes narrowed. "Is that so? And wha guid man came among the savages to save ye from eternal damnation?"
Hannah pressed her back harder into the rail. "I don't remember him, sir. I was very small. A Jesuit, I think."
The long face flushed such a deep shade of red, and that so quickly, that Hannah's unease was pushed aside with the thought that Mr. MacKay might be suffering a stroke before her eyes.
His mouth twisted with disgust. "Papists among the savages. Aye, and I heard tell o' sic travesties. And the puir wee babbies, have they been damned wi' ye?"
Hannah looked about hoping for a friendly face, but the sailor at the helm was watching the horizon. Mr. MacKay was waiting for her answer, and so she shook her head.
"They are not yet baptized, in any faith."
"Ach. There's hope, then. Now you listen to me," Mr. MacKay began, in a more kindly fashion. ""The angels shall come forth, and take out the wicked from among the righteous, and will cast them into the furnace of fire; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth."" He thrust his face forward, within inches of her own. "It's no' in your nature tae understan' the Holy Scripture--savage and female, ava--but it's my duty tae tell the truth and shame the de'il. Lass, ye're bound for hellfire should ye no' see the error o' yer ways."
"I must go," Hannah said, and her voice cracked. "I must go back to the Hakim now."
"The Hakim. Anither infidel." Mr. MacKay shook his head. "Innocent babes among the heathens. Can a guid Christian stand by and watch?"
Hannah's blood beat heavy in her ears, but she made herself speak up. She said, "Stay away from us. Stay away from us all, or I'll tell Captain Pickering."
Mr. MacKay sucked in his lower lip and pushed it out again. "And does it matter, wha ye tell? The Almighty kens aa, and sees aa, and ye canna run fra' him tae yer Captain Pickering. "His wrath is poured out like fire, and in the end ye will burn.""
He rocked back and forth on his heels, his mouth pursed thoughtfully. "Noo, tell me, lass. Will ye be saved fra' yer infidel ways, ye and the wee ones wi' ye?"
"Mr. MacKay, sir!" the bosun called. "The helmsman needs a word wi' ye, sir!"
"Hear me now," he said, peering closely at her. "It's up tae ye whether the babbies burn in hell. We'll talk agin."
Hannah forced herself to breathe in and out as he walked away. When she could make her legs obey her, she went below. And wondered if she would ever come back on deck again.
16
The Jackdaw was seventy-five feet of hard-worn oak and peeling black paint, but as the St. Lawrence widened toward the open sea something became clear to Nathaniel: the schooner might have seen better days, but she still loved the wind and the wind loved her back. It was true that they were twelve hours behind the Isis, but there were other truths, too, and he didn't have to reach far for them: they had an able captain who would stop at nothing to earn his prize, and while the Isis idled along like a fat cow for home, the Jackdaw was a cougar of a ship, fast and lean, carrying no cargo beyond provisions for a skeleton crew of thirty, ammunition, and the monumental force of the Bonners' combined fury.
Nathaniel could see the full strength of it now in Elizabeth's face as she paced the deck, her arms wound around herself. Once before he had seen her this close to broken, but that battle had left the kind of bruises that healed. This time there would be no healing for either of them until they had the children and Curiosity back.
