15

August 11th, 1737

As Bairn settled himself on the floor of the lower deck on Sunday morning, many heads turned in his direction and then just as quickly turned away. One stern woman with a disapproving face gave him a look that could wither a hardened pirate and he wondered if he had made a mistake. He didn’t know why he was in church that morning, why he bothered, although he knew why. It had to do with Anna. Last night, tossing and turning, he decided he would go, if only to keep her from asking again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Anna’s reflective gaze. Encouraged, he held her gaze. She lowered her lashes; a hint of pink tingeing her pale skin assured him she was not immune to him and the thought pleased him.

But then there descended a terrific silence. It was ominous in its abruptness. He sneaked a look around him. Many had their eyes closed. But just as many had theirs open, fixed upon some point in the distance, though there was not much worthy of attention in that lower deck.

The man next to him fell asleep. He thought about elbowing him, but decided that if he made a cry upon waking, it would be too costly a gesture.

Those people actually sat around waiting to hear from God. Bairn practically snorted. As if the Almighty weren’t busy enough attending to other matters.

He glanced across the room to observe Anna. She was looking at the minister. She bent over to smooth her skirt and that was when Bairn saw the woman sitting next to her and recognized her as the blue-deviled one. She was an older woman, eyes closed, face careworn and etched with worry lines, gray hair drooping down her forehead. It surprised him to realize she was much older than he would have expected, considering she was Felix’s mother. Most passengers were young or middle-aged.

And then she opened her eyes and a forgotten image flashed into Bairn’s mind. This woman looked nothing like the picture in his mind, and yet, something seized him. He could feel his heart start to pound. Deep down in his gut, something surged—grief, anger, disappointment, resentment, he wasn’t sure what, but it was old and familiar and painful.

Then a large woman shifted in front of the gray-haired woman and Bairn realized how foolish, of late, was the road his thoughts were on. His head felt full of strange thoughts and feelings that flickered and were gone like moths darting at a lamp.

He blamed Anna. She was an exasperating woman. They both knew he didn’t belong here.

He bolted off the floor and rushed toward the companionway to get fresh air.

Anna found her heart beat faster whenever she caught glimpse of Bairn. It distressed her, it shamed her to admit it, but she couldn’t help it. She knew that as soon as the journey came to an end, she would never see him again.

She wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted her to invite him to church, once, twice, three times, and then for him to accept her invitation. She hadn’t thought through that there would be consequences to face over what she had chosen to do. It was one thing to speak to the ship’s officers on behalf of the passengers, but it was another thing entirely to invite him into their world.

“He shouldn’t be here,” someone whispered angrily in her ear.

Maria. How annoying. “It’s not forbidden,” Anna said.

“He’ll not understand a word he’s hearing,” Maria said.

Lizzie, seated on the other side of Maria, leaned forward to add, “He’ll be bored to tears.” She looked quite bored herself.

“You’re treading in dangerous waters,” Maria whispered.

That, Anna felt, was a comment of staggering irony coming from a passenger on a ship. She could barely stifle a smile.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you go above deck when there’s no need,” Maria said. “Christian has noticed too.”

A blush scalded Anna’s cheeks. Christian wouldn’t send the carpenter away from church. He wouldn’t. But when she turned her eyes to Christian, concern shadowed his face as he watched Bairn find a spot to sit down among the men.

Then Anna wondered about herself, what her own thoughts and hopes were on this day. She had wanted Bairn to see this because it was so much a part of them, the backbone of their life. And yet she had known that even seeing it, he would never really understand. It could never matter to him anyway. She unconsciously smoothed her apron again.

When Bairn bolted up from the floor and rushed to the companionway, Maria wasn’t done. She turned to give Anna a smug “I told you so” look.

Anna felt a nervous quiver in her belly when Bairn rushed away from church. She wondered what he had been thinking that would make him dash away like that, as if he couldn’t tolerate another moment. But then, she could never tell what he was thinking. Not during all his teasing talk and cautious smiles that drew her to him—she never knew what he was really thinking or feeling.

Lizzie was right. He was probably bored.

Ten minutes in Bairn’s bunk told him sleep would not visit him this night. He went outside, gulping huge drafts of the frigid air, watching the white-capped water turn into a soft blur of colors as tears filled his eyes.

He turned his face to the water, fiddling with the cleats on the railing so the others on watch would not see. He didn’t know where the tears had come from, what they were all about. But something inside him had shifted. Something inside him had woken up from a long sleep, if only for a few moments.

The temperatures had fallen, and it felt even colder out on the deck. Bairn hardly noticed. He climbed the rigging, the noise of the ship fell away, and he entered into a world completely silent except for the rhythmic barking of the sailors in the stern.

Dark clouds fringed with silver moonlight scudded by overhead, carried briskly along by the winds. He stared at the water, pondering what Anna had tried to impart to him earlier this evening, running her words over in his mind.

She had slipped into his carpenter’s shop to ask him why he had left church so abruptly.

“I have no need for it.” He looked straight at her. “Nor of yer wrathful, mercurial God.” Nor of nosy, pushy women.

“But that’s not true, Bairn. Each one of us has a need to know God. Everybody needs people. It’s the way God made us. We need to depend on each other to see us through.”

He snapped at her then. “And I have no more patience for talk of true faith. You asked me to go to yer kirk and so I went.”

Anna stared at him for what seemed like forever. “Oh Bairn, who hurt you so?”

“Lassie, yer not listenin’ to me.” He intended the words to come out with anger. Instead, his throat closed and the lantern light blurred.

“Yes, I am,” she said softly. “I’m listening to what you’re not telling me.”

She was infuriating! Why couldn’t she just leave him be? He paced up and down the small carpentry shop, then finally stopped. His shoulders dropped a fraction as if something settled in him. He turned quietly to face her. “You have lived loved. You and Felix and Christian and all those others down there. They have lived loved. That God of yours has His favorites. And I’m nae one of them.”

“But you are loved by God, Bairn.”

He shook his head vigorously. “Nay. Not me. I dinnae ken what I’ve done to earn the wrath of God the way I did, but I am not loved by Him.”

She stared at him a moment in that intense way of hers. Then, to his shock, she moved toward him, to where he stood, moved her hand to his face, stroked his cheek so the rasp of his whiskers sounded like dry leaves. “Bairn, when you start to trust, when you go through that door, you will feel a peace within you that is far beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.”

No one had touched him in comfort since he was a boy. His chest tightened. His throat thickened. It took everything in him to resist the urge to hold her close, bury his face in her hair, and weep. He could barely suppress the shudders that ran through him from her gentle, maternal touch. Instead he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. “Go back. Back to yer people, Anna. Don’t think twice about me.” His tone held an edge.

Suddenly self-conscious, he struggled into his frock coat. Jerking his gaze away, he stepped around her, not waiting for her to respond, and strode off to the officers’ quarters. Jaw taut, he jerked the door open and exhaled a weighty sigh, grateful Mr. Pocock was on watch. He slammed the door behind with a grunt.

He knelt down and pulled out his trunk, took out his father’s red coat, and held it to his face, breathing in deeply. He thought he could still smell his father’s scent of pipe tobacco. But maybe he was just imagining it.

Oh Papa, Bairn thought, the bitter sorrow pinching his gut as it always did when he thought of his father’s grim fate. His last memory of his father was when he woke with a fever and chill, and his father had placed this coat over him to keep him warm.

For Bairn, who had spent the last eleven years doggedly making his own way in the world, who had forged his identity on stoic self-reliance, nothing was more frightening than allowing himself to depend on others. People let you down. People left you behind. Depending on people, trusting them—it’s what got you hurt. But trust seemed to be at the heart of what Anna felt he was lacking.

Trust was something that was once second nature to him. His father would stop work to point out migrating geese as they flew in a crisp, perfect V, instinctively working together to maximize energy for the long journey ahead. He had marveled at his father’s team of horses, pulling a heavy wagonload effortlessly, like one creature.

A shout from down below jolted him back to the present moment. Bairn descended from the ratlines and landed on the wooden deck with a soft thump. He crossed to the fo’c’sle deck and took the wheel to give Miles Carter a rest at the helm. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well let someone else do so. The night winds howled and the wrath of a bitter Atlantic beat against the Charming Nancy. And a great loneliness overwhelmed Bairn.

His relief helmsman arrived at midnight, and he retreated to his bunk. He slept long and deep until he began to dream of being hauled away, grasping the red coat that his father had placed over him when he had first taken ill. He was being sent from the ship to be auctioned off, to redeem his passage. Panic filled him and brought him jerking upright, his head foggy from sleep, fear and dread going bone-deep. That was the first time he knew he was entirely alone in the world.

August 13th, 1737

A day, then two, slipped by. Beneath the shadow of an overcast sky, the sea had turned a dark olive gray. A shout rang overhead. “Sail ho!” Heads turned on the Charming Nancy and all those sailors not on watch raced to the larboard side. They had sighted their first vessel since leaving Plymouth.

Bairn sprinted for the side, caught hold of the shrouds, and began to climb the ratlines. In seconds, he squeezed onto the crosstrees and snatched the spyglass from the lookout to peer through it. The ship’s topgallant sails grew visible over the horizon, along with her flag. A grin spread across his face. “’Tis the St. Andrew, Captain!”

Captain Stedman paused at the rail and cupped his mouth to give the order to furl the sails and drop anchor. There was great commotion as dozens of sailors crawled up the rigging to furl the sails and bring the Charming Nancy to a stop as the St. Andrew forged up alongside.

Bairn leaped to a backstay and slid to the deck, shouting an order before his feet hit the ground. “Johnny Reed! Go fetch the speaking trumpet for the captain.”

Before Johnny returned with the trumpet, a familiar voice rolled over from the ship. “Ahoy! I request an audience. I am coming in a boat.” Though low-pitched, John Stedman’s voice was unmistakable with its highland burr. Captain Charles Stedman, who rarely betrayed much glimmer of emotion, couldn’t contain a grin at the sight and sound of his older brother. Bairn handed him his speaking trumpet, which he caught up to shout, “Then make haste and come forth!”

The crew on the St. Andrew readied the longboat for the captain to scale down the rope ladder and drop into the ship. The oarsmen made quick work of rowing the longboat over to the Charming Nancy, despite a stiff crosswind and heavy chop, closing alongside the massive hull. Mr. Pocock secured the boat hook to the Charming Nancy’s chains. Bairn dropped the rope ladder over the side and one of the oarsmen caught it.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” Charles Stedman called down as his brother scaled up the rope ladder that hung along the ship’s wooden side and hoisted himself onto the deck of the Charming Nancy.

“Captain Stedman.” Captain John Stedman snapped from the waist into a bow, grayed hair flopping over his forehead. His brother did the same. Then John extended his hand, which Charles eagerly accepted, and they clapped each other on the back.

“How far out are you, John?”

“Twenty-one days from Cowes.”

“We left twenty-seven days ago. We ran into a storm that slowed us down.”

“You always were prone to run headfirst into trouble, brother.” Captain John, eyes dancing with amusement, turned to Mr. Pocock, who made a slight bow before him.

“Mr. Pocock, you look well.”

“Very well, sir.” He lifted his foot. “Other than a bit of gout that troubles—”

Captain Charles coughed to cut off Mr. Pocock before he could expand on his ailment. “Bairn brought some of your luck with him, brother.”

Captain John turned toward the carpenter. “Bairn. You look well. My brother is treating you reasonably well? ”

“Aye, sir. He is a fair and generous captain. Like his brother.”

“What is this luck you speak of?”

Bairn colored. “Somethin’ I learned from you. To let the ship lie ahull during a severe storm.”

Captain John looked pleased. “Aye. It goes against seafaring logic, and yet it works.” He clasped his hands together. “Charles, there’s a matter I must discuss with you.”

“Let’s go to the Great Cabin.”

“No time to tarry. I’ll tell you now and then I must return at once. I’ve received information that you have a passenger aboard ship who is wanted for thievery, back in Germany. There’s a recruiter on my ship who is determined to come aboard and bring the individual to justice.”

“How does he expect to do that on the open seas?”

“The recruiter plans to return to Rotterdam with the criminal immediately.”

“A criminal? Among the Peculiars?” A scoff burst out of Charles Stedman. “You know these people better than I do, John.”

“Aye. And unlikely for one to be a thief.”

“Who is the recruiter? Do I know him?”

“Georg Schultz.”

“Schultz,” Captain Charles said flatly. “I should have known. That man will go to no lengths for gold.”

“He wishes permission to come aboard.”

“Why? To sniff out the thief?”

Captain John nodded. “He thought he might be on the St. Andrew, but I have only Mennonites. Yours is the ship with those followers of Jacob Amman. The thief, he is convinced, is a follower of that church.”

“And then what? We are bound for Port Philadelphia. As are you.”

“He hopes there will be opportunity to speak a ship with a returning vessel. But frankly, I ken not and I care not. I’d like to hand this to you, Charles. My ship is overcrowded as it is . . .”

“As is mine.”

“Still. He won’t leave it alone. You know Schultz as well as I do. He’s practically foaming at the mouth for the reward. I’ll be glad to be rid of him.” He glanced at Bairn. “And I did let you take my best carpenter from me.”

Captain Charles blew air out of his cheeks. “You will throw that in my face at every opportunity, won’t you, brother?”

Captain John grinned. “I will.”

“What exactly did the thief take?”

“A pocket watch. Pure gold.”

“John, this has already been a taxing voyage. Two storms, a cracked structural beam. And now this.”

Captain John’s wooly eyebrows lifted in concern. “A cracked beam? Should you not be turning back to England?”

“We think we have it repaired. Temporarily at least.”

Captain John rose and patted his brother on the back. “Well done. ’Twas no accident to have Bairn aboard your ship, no doot. The Almighty was looking out for you.”

“Aye, that, and the passengers had the right tool. A screw jack, Bairn called it.”

“I’m not surprised. Those Germans are a resourceful people.” He picked up the speaking trumpet and shouted through the mouthpiece. “Send Georg Schultz over.”

Over on the St. Andrew, Bairn saw Schultz find a spot for his foot on the first rung of the rope ladder before continuing with his descent.

“Will you stay for tea? Or something a wee bit stronger? A dram, mayhap?”

“Nay. I must leave immediately while the westerly gales are with us.”

Captain Charles looked disappointed. “Then I’ll see you next in Philadelphia.”

The brothers shook hands again, thumping each other on the back, a Scottish version of a hug.

Below, the longboat bobbed and rolled on the waves splashing against the Charming Nancy’s side. Three pairs of seamen sat at the oars, patiently remaining in the longboat as it rolled with the choppy waves, fidgeting in their seats, adjusting their grips on the oar handles, waiting for the captain to return.

Captain John Stedman descended to the longboat and stood at the bow, a captain at heart whether it was a mighty ship or a humble longboat. The oars were lowered and they shoved off, all six crewman putting their backs into rowing across a foamy, choppy sea.

They passed the other longboat containing Georg Schultz. When it reached the Charming Nancy, Schultz struggled to scale the rope ladder. He was huffing and puffing, his face a purplish red, as Bairn hoisted him over the weather-smoothed railing.

“Thank you, Bairn. Where is Captain Stedman?”

“I’m here, Schultz.” The captain climbed down the ladder of the fo’c’sle deck to meet the portly recruiter.

“Captain Stedman, did Captain Stedman—” Schultz frowned and shook his head— “did your brother inform you of my duty as a German citizen?”

Wind buffeted the captain’s face, forcing his eyes to narrow. “He mentioned something about it. You’re convinced there’s a thief on board.”

“I am. Without a doubt. Word was all over Cowes about the very generous reward.”

Captain Stedman waved a hand dismissively. “A pocket watch is hardly a reason to upend a life. It can be replaced.”

“This one holds great value. It is a family heirloom.” He leaned forward to whisper to the captain. “It belongs to a baron. Terribly influential.”

“To you and your purse, Schultz.”

Schultz only laughed at the insult. He pulled his waistcoat over his large belly. “I would like to look over the passenger list.”

“And what will happen to the thief?”

“He will be brought to justice.”

“And?”

“The watch will be returned to the baron and the thief will be punished.” Schultz shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“As long as you receive your reward.”

Schultz gave him a smug smile. “After you and your brother, both, have overcrowded vessels with these sheep, you dare to accuse me of greed?”

A streak of red started up Captain Stedman’s cheeks, then his entire face went as red as an autumn apple. He turned to his first mate. “Mr. Pocock, weather us a course southwest by south and fetch me those sails. Carry her as close to the wind as she’ll bear, full and by.”

Mr. Pocock relayed the order in his slow, exacting way and several of the crew went clambering up the ratlines.

The captain appraised the remaining sailors, standing at the railing, watching the St. Andrew. “Bairn, the crewmen are idle. See everyone returns to his duties. Let us be quick about it. The St. Andrew is nearly off the horizon.” He narrowed his eyes to a slit. “And then you may show Mr. Schultz the passenger list.”

As Bairn spun around to get to work, a flash of red hair caught the corner of his eye. Felix.

The boy disappeared down the companionway as though the devil himself were hot on his heels.

When Felix had heard that a ship had been sighted, he dashed up the companionway to the main deck and crouched low in the bowsprit, his favorite hiding place, to listen to the captain talk to Bairn about speaking the ship. He had learned from Cook that to “speak a ship” meant both vessels would approach each other at a distance of about two hundred yards, drop their sails, and send officers back and forth in small boats.

He found it amusing to watch the two captains talk to each other. The brothers enjoyed each other, that was obvious. They made a show of bowing to each other, then clapped each other on the back. And their laughs! Nearly identical, though they didn’t look at all alike. John Stedman, the older one, was taller and oozed self-confidence. Charles Stedman sounded as if he was trying to impress his brother. Felix felt a tug of sympathy. He knew what it was like to try to seek attention from your older brother. Johann always liked to sound as if he had enormous experience in life, though his knowledge only came through books. Books that didn’t even belong to him.

On the heels of that thought came a wave of sadness, followed by guilt for thinking badly of Johann. Felix no longer had a brother to complain about, or play tricks on, or to wrestle with, or chase lambs down the hillside. Johann was gone.

Felix’s interest in the captains’ conversation quickly waned when he heard of Georg Schultz’s return and saw for himself that the stout little man had returned to the Charming Nancy. He disliked Georg Schultz, though he knew his mother would scold him for thinking such a thought. But he knew his mother would feel the same way if she understood English and realized the kinds of remarks he made about Anna when he watched her with those eyes of his, eyes that looked wrong. Felix asked Cook what a few of Schultz’s words meant and Cook practically boxed his ears. The sailors watched Anna too, but with a look of adoration on their faces. Schultz stared at Anna as if he hadn’t eaten a meal in quite some time and was very hungry.

Felix liked the way Bairn looked at Anna. As if she was made of delicate china.

And then he heard Georg Schultz tell the captain that he was looking for a thief who stole the baron’s watch, and his heart thumped hard.