“Katy, did Lightfoot give you anything when he got back from the Indian village?” I ask. It’s morning and we’re down in our cabin getting ready for the day. Katy is washing up and I’m combing out Clementine’s hair and getting ready to put it in braids. We’re all a bit groggy from last night’s celebration, which went on far into the night. We had pulled the Britannia up next to us when we anchored for the night and grappled her tight to our side so that the soldiers therein could fully appreciate what they were missing. I made sure the fiddling, harpsichording, singing, and general carousing were as loud as I could possibly make them. I also made a point of singing “As We Marched Down to Fennario” loud and clear, especially to gall Richard Lord Allen. Or so I fondly hoped.
“No. Why would Lightfoot want to give me something?”
Why, that bashful dolt! He’d fight ten men, wrestle a mountain lion, and kill a bear with his bare hands, yet he can’t give a present to a girl!
“Oh, nothing, Katy. Just asking, is all. There, Clementine, you are done.” I pat her on both shoulders. “I think Jim Tanner could use a nice strong cup of tea.” She hops up and darts out of the cabin.
“Could you stay here a moment, Katy? I’ll be right back. Thanks.”
I leave the cabin barefoot, dressed in my Indian skirt and light cotton shirt, my intended costume for the rest of this voyage, as it is the coolest possible outfit I have that still stays within the admittedly loose bounds of propriety that manage to exist on board the Belle. Hell, in this heat I’d go starkers, but for sure that wouldn’t wash, not even here.
I find Lightfoot up forward, crouched with Chee-a-quat, sharpening knives. They have done their own and are now honing Crow Jane’s.
“Lightfoot, how come you didn’t give Katy Deere those presents you got for her when you got back to the boat?”
Lightfoot rises to his feet and towers over me. Could he be blushing?
“Uh . . . didn’t seem right. We hadn’t gotten you back yet.”
“I’ve been back almost a full day now.”
“Well . . . uh . . . I . . .”
“Do you want me to give ’em to her?”
“Yup.”
“All right, hand ’em over.”
Lightfoot ducks into the open hatchway to the main cabin and shortly returns with the quiver and the buckskin dress. He thrusts them at me and then returns to sit with Chee-a-quat.
I go see Katy Deere.
She is done washing and sits looking expectantly at me when I come into the cabin bearing gifts. “These are from Lightfoot,” I say, handing her the quiver of arrows and lay ing the beaded skirt and shirt on her bed, spread out so she can see them. “He asked me to tell you that he’s willin’. Those were his words.”
She smiles slightly as she draws one of the finely crafted arrows from the quiver and then chuckles, “Well, I’ll be durned.”
I turn and leave Katy Deere with her new treasures and, undoubtedly, some very new things to ponder.
“She didn’t say anything,” I report to Lightfoot. “But she took ’em.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I say, “You’ve got to give a girl time, Lightfoot, especially a girl like Katy.”
“Wah,” he replies, and turns back to his knives.
I give Pretty Saro a bit of an ear scratch and then climb up on the cabin top and take a seat at my table. I am thankful for the canopy overhead, shielding me from the fierce sun, and I am ever so grateful to be back here at my usual station, free once again.
Seeing Higgins emerge from the main cabin, I catch his eye and he comes to my side.
“Good morning, Miss. I trust you slept well.”
“Like a baby, secure in the company of my dearest friends. Please have a seat, Higgins, as we’ve got to talk.”
He sits, folds his hands on the table, and waits for me to begin.
“We’re stretched too thin, having to manage four, sometimes eight, sweeps with our little crew. We’ve got to do something about it.”
Higgins nods, looking over both the Belle and the Britannia.
“You could release the other boat and let them make their own way downriver.”
“I could, but I don’t want to leave them unarmed and helpless in this wilderness. But on the other hand, I don’t want to give them back their guns—Captain Allen might feel honor bound to try to capture me. After all, I am a wanted fugitive. I know he wouldn’t do it for the reward, but he might do it out of a sense of duty. No, I must have his parole.”
“Do you think he would stand by his word, if he gave it?”
“He could have ravished me when I was a bound captive and he didn’t, though I know he very much wanted to.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s commendable. Is he really a lord? I heard you call him that.”
“Aye. He portrays himself as the black sheep of the family.”
“Umm.”
We both sit and mull over the problem for a while, then Higgins says, “You’ll remember, Miss, that during yesterday’s discussion with Captain Allen, he asked if you would return the money and you refused.”
“Right. It goes against my nature to return plunder.”
“I know. But consider this: I have counted the money and it is not much—only eight hundred and ninety American dollars. We have been making steady money on our way down these rivers. What with the Cave-in-Rock loot, the income from the performances, the house percentage from Mr. Cantrell’s games, and the tavern sales, we are quite well-fixed. We shall be able to pay off everybody when we get to New Orleans and book quite comfortable ship passage to anywhere you might like to go.”
“We’ll be even better off if we keep that money.”
“Yes, but I will say again that this is Crown money. If you are ever taken by the British government, you could make a strong case against the piracy charge, since you had the Letter of Marque. Your seizing of the Emerald could be justified, too, because as commander of the Wolverine, you felt it was your fair share of the prizes. But if you keep the scalp money, you would not be able to argue against a charge of common theft of the King’s treasure. There would never be a hope of acquittal or of pardon. I say it’s not worth it.”
I give out a low grumble of dissatisfaction, but I say, “Oh, very well, then. We’ll give it back. But if any of our pirate acquaintances from last summer’s Caribbean cruise get wind of this, I shall be mortified. Drummed out of the Brotherhood, as it were.”
“If any of them remain yet unhanged, Miss, we shall certainly endeavor to keep it from them.”
“Good, then let’s set up another parley with Captain Allen. Go see him, please, and take a bottle of wine and present it with my compliments and request that he join me for lunch at my table here. If you could whip up something special from our stores, Higgins, I would greatly appreciate it. Oh, and my blue dress, if you would.”
The arrangements are made, Captain Allen’s temporary parole is taken, the two boats are brought together, and he hops over onto the Belle and is escorted up to my table by First Mate Higgins.
I, of course, am not there to see it. When I am told he has been seated, I give my chest one more dab with the powder puff, I assume the Lawson Peabody Look—eyes hooded, chin up as if balancing an invisible book on my head, lips together, teeth apart—and I go up to join him. He has seen me as Wah-chinga, Indian Maiden, and then as Lieutenant Faber, Naval Officer, but now he shall see me as Jacky Faber, Fine Lady, or at least the best I can manage in that regard.
I am taken up to the table on Higgins’s arm, and Captain Allen, resplendent in his regimental jacket of scarlet, rises. He looks me over and pulls out my chair. I smooth the back of my dress and sit down.
“Thank you for inviting me, Miss Faber. You could not look lovelier.”
“It is my pleasure, Captain Allen. However, before I take refreshment, I must insist that you take off your fine coat, as it is much too warm today. You can see that I, myself, am dressed in a manner quite cool.”
My blue dress, which I had first tailored on the mizzen top of HMS Dolphin and which has since gone through many alterations by female hands much more expert than mine, does not cover much of my upper body. It leaves my shoulders bare, while it pushes up certain parts of me in a hopefully appealing way. Higgins has arranged my hair in an upswept French fashion, which, I think, makes me look older than my years.
Nodding, Allen, whose gaze is fixed on my bodice, strips off his jacket, drapes it over the back of his chair, and sits back down.
“Thank you, Higgins,” I say, as he fills my glass. When he is done, I lift it and say, “A glass of wine with you, Sir. Shall we not toast to love and friendship?”
“Aye, that we most certainly shall,” he says, clinking his glass to mine and looking into my eyes with a good deal of heat. “But I cannot think that you invited me over just for that.”
“Oh, no, Captain, I do not take you for a fool. We shall parley, you and I, to seek a solution to your unfortunate situation, but we will do that after we dine. Higgins has prepared some very special treats.”
“Very well, Jacky, you may try to soften me up with some wine and then we shall talk—oh, and may I call you Jacky? I once did, you know. What was it, all of . . . yesterday?”
“Yes, you may, Richard, as we are of similar rank.”
“What? A captain surely outranks a mere lieutenant?”
“He does in the Army, Sir, where there is the rank of major, and lieutenant colonel to which a mere lieutenant can aspire before he reaches the Flag rank of colonel. But in the Navy there is only lieutenant and captain, as in captain of a ship. Many have spent long, honorable careers as lieutenants. I am proud to have been named one.”
He gazes at me without expression. “You know, when you told me of your past life yesterday, I didn’t believe half of it. Now I am starting to change my mind.”
“Put thoughts of any kind out of your mind, Richard, and enjoy what Higgins is setting before us. See, those are rare mushrooms that Katy Deere has gathered—oh, no, they are quite safe, as we have already eaten many of them. And that is the finest of sturgeon roe over there—caviar, and right here in the American wilderness! Can you imagine? And Crow Jane tells me that soon we shall be in the land of the crawdads, little creatures that look like miniature lobsters and taste divine.” I clasp my hands together in rapture. “Is not the world a place of wonder, Richard?”
“Oh, indeed, Jacky,” he says, his eyes never leaving either me or my own eyes. “It is that.”
The dinner finished and the table cleared, we turn to business.
“Captain Allen, we cannot have your men suffering confinement any longer. It is cruel, and I won’t have it. I must have your parole.”
“What you mean is you don’t want your crew rowing us downriver while we sit at our leisure. Do you mind if I smoke?” He pulls out a cheroot and holds it up for Higgins to light. “Thank you, Higgins. If you ever lack for employment, please look me up.”
“What I mean is, we must come to an agreement.” I lean forward, over the table. “In return for your parole, your promise not to harm us, I will give you back the money, provided you do not use it to buy scalps.”
“Very nice move there, my dear, that bit with your chest,” he says, lifting his eyes from my chest and puffing on his cigar. “But we’ll need a little more than that. Will you give us back our weapons?”
“That would be hard for me to do. You could take me captive again, and carry me back to England, where I would surely be hanged,” I say, dropping the eyelashes over the eyes and squeezing out a tear.
“I know that you plan to stop in the towns that lie below us, to put on your shows. We would be with you, but we cannot be seen without guns. It would shame the men beyond all endurance. They wouldn’t stand for it.”
“Suppose we give you back the weapons, but without powder and shot?”
“Hmmm. That might be acceptable. I assume we’ll be allowed to leave when we wish?”
“If you want to leave us now, I won’t prevent you, but unarmed in these hostile territories, well, you might reconsider . . .”
“Our sabers. They will be returned?”
“Yes.”
“I think we are close to agreement, my dear.”
“That is very good, Richard. What do you plan to do with the money?”
He takes another long drag on his cigar and then brings his attention back to me. “I plan to acquire horses when we reach a place called Baton Rouge, which is in Louisiana, and it is there that we will leave you. We’ll travel overland to the south and thereby find our way back to our base in Jamaica. According to maps left behind by former agents Moseley and Flashby, we’ll be getting into flatter, more open country, and much more suited to horses, and at Baton Rouge we should be able to get outfitted properly. I must tell you that, however charming the company, these leaky, damp, and altogether wretched boats do not suit Heavy Cavalry. I can tell you the lads will be much relieved.”
“We have agreement, then?”
“Umm. And just what did you do with Moseley and Flashby?”
“I marooned them on separate sides of the river, many miles upriver, and several miles apart, dressed only in their drawers.”
Richard Allen throws back his head and roars with laughter. “Serves the buggers right! Oh Lord, the picture of Flashbutt scurrying around in the bush with only his knickers to protect him from mosquitoes, gnats, and hostiles! It is just too, too rich!”
I rise from the table. “All right, Richard. Recite to me your oath.”
He rises and holds out his half-full glass to me. “I, Richard Allen, Captain of Royal Dragoons, give my pledge that I will not cause harm to you, Lieutenant Jacky Faber, nor to any of your crew of the . . . what?”—he pauses to look over the side to read—“the Belle of the Golden West, in return for the terms agreed upon.”
He drains the glass and continues. “I do, however, reserve the right to continue to pursue the aforementioned Jacky Faber, Wah-chinga, and Princess Pretty-Bottom, for purposes amorous!”
I lift my own glass and say, “It is so agreed. You may re-lease your men and tell them of the terms. Please station your own men on the tiller and sweeps as soon as possible. Have them take position behind us until we stop for the night. Since you have already dined here, we will have Sergeant Bailey and Privates McMann and Merrick over for dinner tonight. As for assaults on my virtue, you, Lord Allen, are confined to the Britannia unless specifically invited over to my ship.”
Richard Allen prepares to leave. “So you do not trust me, then?”
I down my glass and say, so that others cannot hear, “Nay, Richard, it is myself that I do not trust.”
He smiles, bows, looks at me from under lowered brows, and then crosses over to the Britannia.
Hmmm . . .
The three soldiers are shy at first, but they are soon relaxed by the food, the drink, and the general merriment of our little tavern, to say nothing of the presence of Clementine, Chloe, Honeysuckle Rose, Tupelo Honey, and my own cheeky self. In no time at all, the stiff-collared red jackets are cast aside and the dragoons are bellowing right along with us as we sing every song we know.
As I crawl into bed, thankful for the bits of canvas that we’d rigged to scoop any errant breeze directly into our cabins, I gaze up at my picture of you, Jaimy, and pray once more for your health and safety. I have no idea where you are and I’m sure you couldn’t possibly guess my whereabouts, either. We are just two little specks on the surface of this great big old world, aren’t we?
G’night, Clementine. G’night, Chloe. G’night, Katy . . .
G’night, Jaimy.