chapter 60

Parting of Ways

Bidwell landed with a soft thump in the dinghy, which floated at the bottom of the ladder. Good thing the tide’s in.

Shouting, interspersed with the sounds of running men, filled the night. Several musket shots rang out, the rounds singing in the air overhead. One tore into the dock, kicking up splinters that showered the men below.

“Sounds like all hell’s broken loose up there,” William said, rowing strongly. Nate grabbed the second set of oars and pulled. Muffled with swaths of wrapped cloth, the oars were noiseless. William said softly, “We’ll keep in the shadows and pull for the ocean-side of the Voyager.”

They rowed parallel to the pier. Nate timed his pull to match the British officer’s. The shouting from the wharf was muted by the bulk of the docked vessels that came between them and their pursuers. Hidden behind the ships, the small dinghy was soon consumed by the night.

William asked in the same quiet voice, “Well?”

Nate stopped rowing, secured the oars, and opened the satchel he had taken from the Spaniard. He clenched his hands to stop their trembling. He carefully went through the items inside the bag—a small pistol, sheath knife, bandana, and money clip—before he found what he was looking for. Wrapped in an oilskin was a teak box. He lifted the lid of the box and opened the silk bag within. His heart pounded at the emerald sparkle from a dark-green gem the size of a man’s fist.

“Sorry, Gunn.” The British officer’s last remaining hope for his daughter’s cure had just been dashed, and Nate tried to dilute the elation in his voice. He tied the bag, wrapped the box, and put it back in the satchel.

William heard the sharp clang of a ship’s bell. He coughed back a tightening in his throat and let out a deep breath, “Well done, Yank.” He heaved powerfully on the oars.

Later that night, Nate was alone in his room in the palace. He was grateful that Captain Acton hadn’t asked about the gunfire on the wharf and thankful that Acton had roused the ship’s surgeon to tend to his wound. Fortunately, the American and the British officer hadn’t met anyone on their way back.

Now that Nate had some privacy, he carefully unwrapped the parcel. To his surprise, his hand shook. Didn’t realize I was the nervous sort.

He drew a sharp breath.

The gem was enormous, larger than he recalled from first sight. He held it up. Even the candlelight streaming through the emerald was enough to throw shards of deep-green fire around the room.

He exhaled in a soft whistle. For Nathanial Bidwell, El Jefe was the end to all his troubles. His luck had finally turned. He could not only buy his way back into the States but buy anything else as well.

There was a light knock at the door.

“One moment,” he said, and hurriedly stowed the gem. He held a pistol behind his back and opened the door.

The young girl who had been whipped at the slave market stood there, holding a mug of hot cocoa. She took a couple of tentative steps forward and shyly held the drink up to Nate. The dress that Lady Julia had given the child almost hid the welts, but not entirely.

Knowing she must have waited for hours to perform this act of kindness, Nate’s breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the little girl. He managed to say, “Thank you,” but then choked up without really knowing why.

She smiled a beautiful, bashful smile for him, nodded, and backed out.

Nate put his pistol down and cupped the warm mug in his hands. He stared at the closed door for a long while.

The next morning, the American and the British officer rode toward the harbor together. Cauã sat behind William, while Pax ran alongside. The servants in the palace had opened their hearts to the orphan and his canine protector and had taken great care of them. The young boy had seen so much that was new to him that he was beyond being surprised at anything, even riding a horse.

Nate asked the British officer, “What did you give the Dutchman yesterday?”

“The Saint Christopher medals. The Sheridans should have them.”

They were both quiet for a few minutes.

Nate broke the silence. “That slave girl who was whipped, Gunn . . .” Nate shook his head. “Do you know that smell when the slave ships pull into the docks?”

“Can’t say that I do, Yank.”

“The scent of death, Gunn. It never leaves you.”

William said soberly, “If you’re wanted for murder, Bidwell, I know the bastard deserved it.”

Nate seemed to make his mind up about something and pulled his horse up. “What the hell, Gunn: my woman died, and I killed a man. He more than deserved it, and she didn’t. And had I stayed, many more innocent people would have been hurt.”

“I figured you for an honorable man”—a smile creased the Brit’s sunburned face—“deep down, that is.” He asked, “And you’ve reason to believe all is forgiven now?”

Nate appeared distracted. He said mysteriously, “If I play my cards right with this emerald, I’ll come out on top in the end.”

William didn’t say anything for a beat. Weighing the good of the many was a fine topic for drawing-room conversations, but they were both too experienced to entertain any delusions that their actions could affect the fate of countries. Freedom was a fine word, but it was hard to see the sense in fine words when every day was a fight for survival. Nate had caught a break, and William couldn’t begrudge him for it.

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, Yank.”

They rode down the wharf to the Voyager, where even at this early hour there was quite a bustle. There was a notably vacant space toward the end of the wharf, where the Prins Willim had been berthed.

Nate said, “Let’s hope your duke’s as generous as you believe. With everything you’ve done for him, there should be no question of his funding another search for the orchid.” The American gave Cauã’s shoulder a squeeze, then leaned over and rubbed Pax under his chin. When he stopped stroking, the big dog gave a yelp.

“And for God’s sake, Gunn, teach that dog how to bark.”

Jimmy, the cabin boy of the Voyager, met Cauã and Pax on the wharf and escorted them aboard. He was thrilled to have someone he could show around, not to mention the bonus of a big dog for company.

William followed them onto the gangway of the British brig-sloop. He turned and shook Nate’s hand.

“Somehow, Yank, I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of each other.”

Not long after, King John and Queen Carlota arrived on the dock alone, save for Lady Julia, whom Nate asked for a moment alone with. The queen gave a questioning glance, but Julia nodded and released her arm.

Nate walked Julia apart from the others and gripped her by the shoulders.

Julia was startled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just listen, please,” Nate said fervently. “I’ve had time to think. Your king was wrong. The tide of freedom can be stopped. I’ve seen it—stopped dead in its tracks . . . by people like my father.”

He took her hand and placed a heavy object wrapped in brown paper in her open palm, “Take it.”

She looked from the object in her hand to the American.

“Don’t say anything. I just know that if I don’t do this, I might not regret it at first, but someday, I’d realize my mistake.” He gazed at Julia and recalled the first time he’d seen her, lying half-drowned on a streambank on the side of a mountain.

The shock on her face was quickly replaced by doubt, then pure and simple astonishment when she opened the paper. “I never thought—”

Nate interrupted. “Someone once told me that doing the right thing regardless of whether anyone will ever know is what makes for greatness. I may be an idiot for doing this, but this may be my last chance to make that choice. What are the chances that this will work?”

Julia smiled, and then kissed him on the cheek.

“That’s what I thought. God help the Portuguese when you hit Lisbon.” He had never known her to be speechless before, but as the realization of this most extraordinary turn in their fortunes sank in, it appeared she was on the verge of tears.

She sniffed, regained her composure, and said with a crooked grin, “Sure, Yankee, me with my duck-foot pistol, right?”

“I suggest you leave now,” Nate said, “before I change my mind.”

She wiped the wetness off her cheek, squeezed his hand, then joined the king and queen at the foot of the gangway.

Captain Acton welcomed the Brazilians aboard. At the top of the gangway, John glanced back at Nate standing below on the dock and nodded once. Then the king put his arm around his wife’s waist and went forward. Julia hesitated.

The walkway was drawn up and the lines cast off. Under the pull of the ebb and reduced sails, the ship moved slowly away from the dock.

The tidal flow gradually increased. Drifting out of the land shadow, a full complement of sails was set. A fresh breeze snapped the sheets taut, and the Voyager picked up speed.

The wharf emptied. The American alone remained, staring at the ship that slowly disappeared beneath the eastern horizon.

He felt the weight of the jungle pressing in behind him and counted the years that were left ahead.

He spoke aloud to himself, “I should at least have kept the dog.”