7

Philadelphia
October 21, 1737

Felix was back on a ship, back where he belonged, where he was happiest. He was eager to explore this ship, a barque, different from the leaky Charming Nancy that had brought his church over the Atlantic from Rotterdam. He had learned every nook and cranny of the Charming Nancy; she was like an old friend to him. This new ship would take getting used to. Staying hidden did require a great deal of effort, at least until the ship was in open sea and he knew the captain would not be tempted to turn around to deposit him back on the docks of Port Philadelphia.

He grinned, brimming over with satisfaction.

Earlier today, he had carefully planned his getaway. He had stuffed his leather knapsack full of apples from a bushel in the back of one wagon, as he had no idea where his next meal would be coming from. In his pocket, he had nothing more than a Dutch dollar he’d found on the docks and about a shilling in copper. Felix wasn’t worried, though.

He had taken great care to make certain that Anna, Maria, and walleyed Catrina had seen him frequently during the early morning so as to not arouse any suspicion. He had to be especially mindful about Maria and Catrina. They kept their beady eyes on him all the time. And Catrina was everywhere he turned.

Felix even made a big show of crocodile tears as he said goodbye to his brother Bairn. Very convincing, he was, and proud of his theatrics. As the wagon caravan began to roll forward, Felix walked beside it for a number of city blocks, chattering happily to Anna. He even carried the awful dog in his arms, just to throw her off. But then Maria and Catrina came alongside and distracted Anna with the day’s complaints—Maria was always complaining about something!—and as Catrina patted the awful dog, Felix saw his chance. He let Catrina hold the awful dog, which kept her occupied and would restrain the awful dog from following him. Two birds, one stone. Little by little, Felix dropped back behind them, still adding something to the conversation until Maria scowled at him and said that children should be seen and not heard.

And there was his moment. He slipped farther and farther behind them, scooted around one wagon to get to the other side of the road, then kept walking more and more slowly until he was at the back of the caravan. He reached his hand into the apple and potato wagon, felt around for the leather satchel he had hidden, grabbed it, then ducked behind a tree. The caravan moved along on its lumbering journey.

Felix stayed behind the tree until the caravan was out of sight and out of earshot, then he did a little jig step before he set off briskly, moving toward Philadelphia with bold, broad strides.

When he reached the city, he made a quick detour to Market Street to say goodbye to the printer, Benjamin Franklin, who had been kind to him, then made a beeline toward the waterfront. The barque had been brought to the docks to load cargo into its hold. This was a welcome change from last evening, when he had seen the barque still anchored midriver. He kept out of sight, crouched behind barrels on the docks, seeking a glimpse of Bairn. He heard him before he saw him, giving orders to the stevedores on which barrels to load first.

This had not been good news. Trying to get around Bairn was like trying to get around Anna—they both had eyes in the back of their heads. But here was where Felix’s English came in handy. He saw one of the dock workers lift a barrel lid and peer inside. “Why are these ones empty?” The dock worker sounded puzzled.

“They’re heading north to fill them,” another dock worker answered back, lifting his hand to his mouth as if he were drinking from a bottle.

Then Felix had a brilliant idea.

He waited until a load of barrels was getting uploaded by the capstan, cautiously crawled around the barrels still to be loaded, lifted the lid partially off the barrel that the dock worker had indicated was empty, and dove into the barrel, then closed the lid. It was a bit topsy-turvy when the barrel was loaded, and his head, elbows, and knees got bumped more than a few times, but with all the noise of the docks, his hiding place went unnoticed. As soon as he heard the footsteps of the deckhands climb up the ladder to the top deck, and he didn’t hear any other sounds, he lifted the lid of the barrel and peered around. Satisfied he was alone, he jumped out of the barrel, only to be nearly discovered by a sailor, an older fellow as wrinkled as a dried apple, who was coming out of the fo’c’sle. Fortunately, the lighting was so dim that the old sailor probably thought it was a rat he’d heard. He walked around the lower deck, muttering to himself about needing to put more arsenic down.

Felix was as nervous as a cat. He held his breath until the old sailor climbed the companionway ladder to the upper deck, then he let out a huge sigh of relief. He had to be careful and not be found. Not yet.

He heard the familiar rhythmic cadence of his brother’s boot steps up above, striding up and down the deck in that long stride of his. Felix would know his brother anywhere. His heard Bairn’s voice as he spoke to someone, then he heard that someone answer in response, with intermittent sneezes and coughs like he had the plague. Bairn shouted out to the deckhands to make way, and Felix realized he must have been talking to the captain.

Felix hoped Anna would get the letter he left for her, telling her not to worry, that he was with Bairn and would make sure they returned safe and sound, come late spring. With her grandparents.

Ohhhhh, wait.

He patted his pockets and heard a crunching sound. The letter! He’d forgotten to slip it into Anna’s basket with her rose.

Oh well. She’d figure out where he went. Anna was smart like that. She could calm his mother down so she didn’t dip back into her sadness. He felt another sting of regret. His mother was not like other mothers, not like Maria or Barbara. His mother carried sadness around like a burden, almost like the way Anna carried her rose basket. It was never far from her.

Would his mother understand that he was with Bairn, that he couldn’t bear to be parted from him? Surely, she could understand that.

And if not, spring would be here soon enough. He dismissed the ping of worry about his mother and settled down, leaning against the ship’s exterior wall, waiting for the tide to come in and the ship to go out.

Felix did not dare venture from the lower deck quite yet—not until the ship was well under way, far from any chance of it turning around if he were discovered, and not until he had a sense of the ship’s rhythm. He had much to learn—to listen for the watch bells, to instantly recognize this new captain’s voice, to count the deckhands and know where they were at all times.

To Felix’s reckoning, he should stay below deck for at least two days, longer if he could stand it. But oh, he was getting so hungry! The growls of his stomach sounded like angry tigers lived inside him.

He dug into his satchel to find an apple to eat. Inside it were not the apples he had grabbed from a bushel, but a bundle of papers, a tan linen shirt, a blue woolen scarf. In Felix’s haste to slip away unnoticed from the wagon caravan, he had accidentally grabbed the wrong leather satchel. Rats! He was famished.

He heard someone come down the ladder and hid behind a barrel near a cannon portal. A sailor—the cook, perhaps?—was rooting through a few barrels and filled his apron with something, then climbed back up the ladder, knees creaking with each step.

Remember that, Felix told himself. Cook has creaky knees.

It was surprising how much a person knew about another person, without really knowing him. Already, he was learning. Cook had cracking knees, the captain had a persistent sneeze and hacking cough, Bairn had bold, strong footsteps. All clues to their identity, when a person lived hidden in the lower deck.

Why so many cannons on this ship? The Charming Nancy did not have nearly as many. He was beside himself with excitement, eager to explore this ship—every inch. But first, he was desperate for something to eat.

He crawled on hands and knees over to the barrels where the cook had filled his apron with supplies. He had left a mess getting flour from one barrel. Maria would box the cook’s ears if she saw such a mess, but he would leave good clues for Felix to figure out where the food barrels were. He peered into the barrels, opened one to find onions—no thank you—and then hit a gold mine. A barrel filled with apples, so freshly picked that leaves were still on the stems. This, Felix believed, was a sign from God that he would be provided for. He could live on apples for weeks. Months, if necessary.

He heard sailors shout to each other as they unfurled the sails from the masts. Sails snapped. The ship creaked and groaned, lurched, tipping one way, then another, as it started to move away from the dock. Once it went roundabout and more sails were unfurled, one by one, so that the ship gained speed and hit open water, it had a kind of music all its own. Creaks, groans, rattles, bangs, slapping sails.

He hurried over to the cannon hole to watch the ship make its way slowly down the mouth of the Delaware River. He ran to the other side of the ship to see Port Philadelphia pass by. He gave it a salute, the way he’d seen sailors do.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of the sea.

And now Felix was quite free to do as he pleased. No boy could ever have been as happy as he was at that very moment.

And then, out of nowhere, down the ladder came Squinty Eye’s awful dog, his tongue hanging out, nails clicking along the wooden planks, his short, nearly hairless tail wagging back and forth, pleased to have found Felix.

Bairn stood at the helm of the ship, overlooking the dock, the port, the river filled with bobbing ships. A thousand times his eyes must have taken in such a scene. It was all the same, and so was he. He hadn’t changed at all, not at all.

Or had he?

He threw off that jabbing thought and let the old rhythm of the sea return to him. How he’d missed this.

Sail ships had distinct personalities. No two had been built alike, no two handled alike. Bairn had learned to familiarize himself with the sounds of each sail ship he served on, grew to know them like they were people. He closed his eyes, listening carefully to adapt himself to the unique sounds of the Lady Luck. The noise of a ship was similar to the effect of heel taps on a boot—it let a man know he was alive, breathing, and had someplace to go.

Someplace to go. Someplace to return to.

A cold, clear reality swept over Bairn in a terrible wave, one so powerful it stole his breath. He was alone again, truly alone. This time, the fault was not his father’s, or greedy redemptioners’, but his own foolish judgment.

Why had he left Anna? Why had he left his mother, his father, his brother? He himself couldn’t grasp what it was inside of him, where it came from, that made him walk away from what was right there, right in front of him, everything he’d ever dreamed about and longed for.

What was the matter with him?

Before he could answer, wind and tide came together and the captain gave the signal to prepare the ship to make way. Bairn set aside his turmoil and snapped into action as first mate. Exiting the port required his full attention, especially at twilight, and he was grateful. It took skill to maneuver the ship around anchored vessels and approaching ships, and this barque was new to him.

Its load was light as it left Port Philadelphia, which required an adjustment of sails to slow its movement. And then, as the river widened and they headed toward the Delaware Bay, Bairn cupped his mouth and shouted, “Hard-a-lee!” to the sailor who manned the wheel, to turn the ship’s head. He hollered another command to the sailors on the masts, to unfurl the last of the sails and let them billow.

“Aye, sir!” echoed back.

He stood at the stern, taking a deep breath, and watched the receding wooded shoreline of Pennsylvania. His thoughts returned to Anna.

Anna cried when they’d said goodbye and it tore his heart in two. She was not one to cry. It touched him with a grave longing for something he couldn’t name.

Was he wrong to leave her? It was for such a short time, five, maybe six months. Bairn had learned a great deal about time in his life on the sea. Time wasn’t meant to be hoarded but to be mastered. Use it well, or lose it poorly. He told as much to Anna and she strongly disagreed. She said time was to be measured. Exchanged like a value. She made it sound like gold.

He’d done everything he could to leave things right between them: He worked out the compromise to have the men affirm submission to the British Crown rather than swear an oath. He helped the church gather supplies and tools, horses and wagons. He explained to the minister that he was not accompanying them. Christian said he was disappointed but not surprised, and he wished him well. And then Bairn bid them goodbye as the wagon caravan got on its way.

It wasn’t fair to promise Anna that he would return with her grandparents. He didn’t say it aloud to her, but he wondered if they might have already passed to their glory. He remembered them as quite elderly. Or what if they refused to come, like they had done on this past year’s journey?

Her grandparents had made the right decision. The journey was a brutal one, made increasingly difficult by things that were out of anyone’s control. He’d heard of one ship, bringing German Moravians, whose whereabouts were still unknown.

Surely, this last year was atypical. The captains were more experienced now, toting passengers in the lower decks and not just cotton and woolens. Surely, next year’s crossing would be much easier.

And then what? Would he be ready to return to Anna, to his family? To take his spot beside his father and become one of the farmers who tamed the wilderness?

Or would he be wrestling with the same doubts? The same despair? Anna thought so. She said it wasn’t a problem of his vocation. It was a problem with his heart.

A gust of wind billowed the mighty sails, so strong it lifted his hat. He grabbed the brim with both hands, firmly settled it on his brow, and tried to dismiss the distressing emotions that followed him like shadows. It was the old melancholy that was returning to him—confusion and heaviness. Loneliness.

He walked around the upper deck, checking spars and halyards, looking for any loose ropes. As he jumped down from the fo’c’sle deck, he stopped and turned in a full circle.

He was not a man prone to superstition or funny feelings, not like most sailors and deckhands. They drew meaning from every jot and tittle, in every dream, every cloud that floated by. No, he’d never paid any mind to that nonsense about premonitions.

But there was an odd feeling he couldn’t shake. All day long, he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched.

And then he heard a familiar bark.