Caroline and William climb onto the roof
of a mail coach, which they ride for six days and nights.
They clutch each other as the horses whinny and swerve.
In Holland, wind sweeps Caroline’s hat into a canal.
She and William board a crowded ship
and catch sleep
while standing on the deck.
Darkness and stars flicker above.
The next afternoon, clouds gather. Wild waves
pound the ship’s sides. Men climb over rigging,
taking in sails. A gale splits a spar in two,
then snaps the main mast. As the deck floods,
sailors toss Caroline and William
onto the backs of two men in a lifeboat.
They’re rowed to shore and hire a carriage.
The horses bolt and throw them into a ditch.
I shouldn’t have brought you, William says.
Caroline brushes dirt off his jacket and her skirt.
They climb back to the road, catch a night coach
in London, and arrive in Bath early the next afternoon.
Walking down stone streets, William points out tearooms,
ballrooms, and concert halls. Aristocrats come here
on holiday to play cards, waltz, or take the waters.
Caroline can’t make out much English,
but nods as gentlemen bedecked in elaborate wigs
and ladies in elegant gowns greet William.
Their glances at her seem friendly,
though her face is scarred and she doesn’t wear a hat.
At William’s house, she carries a candle
up the narrow stairs to an attic room.
She murmurs her evening prayers,
gets into her nightgown, then tumbles
onto the straw mattress, glad to lie down
after twelve days without a bed.
Still, they might be the happiest days of her life.