Chapter Six

 

In tears, Rosalyn threw herself back against the cold leather upholstery in Mrs. Cottington’s carriage and bit her lip, as she recalled her humiliating attempt to reason with that...that man with his tiger-bright eyes! She turned her face away from the ship, just in case he had his spyglass trained on her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her in tears. He was not only an arrogant rogue, but he knew all along the unfair advantage he held, that she was in desperate straits, needing safe passage to England, but lacking the funds to book passage on any other ship.

What now? she thought. She had to leave Boston. As distasteful as sailing with such a wicked rogue would be, the Fair Winds represented her best chance to escape her father’s control. She also knew that Grant Watermann would make her every waking moment on board a living nightmare, if she persisted in sailing with the tide!

Ill disposed to any sort of a truce, he opposed having to share what he saw as belonging to him, as the eldest son and heir to his father’s estate. Gloating, despicable swine! Rosalyn blushed, recalling his snide remarks. Admittedly she was his father’s wife in name only, but she did have a legitimate claim to half the profits and the ship. No matter how much he objected, she would not let him bully her out of her fair share. Who does he think he is? she raged. She might be young, but she wasn’t stupid! That cargo ship guaranteed her financial freedom!

Like it or not, her future was inextricably tied to her widow’s inheritance.

Of course, his offer to buy her out had given her pause. But there was a big difference between receiving a lump sum settlement and the possibility of an ongoing income.

He had even offered, with that perfectly infuriating smirk of his, to return her dowry!

But if she had accepted, who would get it? Her father, that’s who!

Clearly she was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea! She must either screw up her courage and set sail with this wicked rogue, who made her spine tingle just by looking at her, or her life was over!

Yes, she concluded, she must stick to her guns! Even though Grant Watermann would stop at nothing to discourage her from sailing on the Fair Winds. That he would like nothing better than to give her the heave-ho overboard took no wild stretch of the imagination. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t actually throw her to the sharks and other predators of the deep, she thought with a shiver. But judging by his bold manner and those fiendish, glowering dark looks, she had better watch her step, if she hoped to escape unscathed.

By the time Rosalyn reached the front door of her father’s house, she was in a terrible emotional state. Even so, she refused to be manipulated and used as a bargaining tool, as if she were an object of trade. Let Father improve his various enterprises in the Massachusetts Bay Colony some other way, she vowed, fumbling with the door latch. Her services as a wife were no longer for sale! And that, in the end, decided her course. There would be no turning back now.

As she entered the hall, Mrs. Cookson bustled out of the kitchen, scolding worriedly. “Where have you been, Mistress Rosalyn? Your father is absolutely frantic.”

Rosalyn swept past, her face mirroring her pique, and Mrs. Cookson followed in her wake. “You had no business leaving without informing him of your whereabouts, young miss!”

Rosalyn took a deep breath. If she was going to make a stand, she had to start now. “Mrs. Cookson, from now on I am not accountable to my father for where I go, or what I do, or for anything I decide,” she said.

“Gracious, child! How can you say such a thing!”

As she turned to hang up her wrap, Rosalyn noticed the sorrow in the housekeeper’s plump face and gave her a quick hug. Then she paused, one hand on the banister. “Please send Mercy up to me right away.”

“She’s busy scrubbing the pantry floor,” Mrs. Cookson told her, arms akimbo. Clearly she wasn't willing to help the young mistress oppose her father.

“I need her help packing. I am leaving this house today,” Rosalyn announced. A sudden rush of tears flooded her eyes at the thought of leaving so many precious memories behind, but she steeled herself against weakening in her resolve. “Nothing will persuade me to spend another night under this roof.”

“Ah, lass, where will you go?” The older woman’s voice broke.

Briefly Rosalyn told of her decision to sail for England. “I want to take Mercy with me, if she will come. Father gave me her indenture papers as a wedding gift.”

Mrs. Cookson let out a sigh. “Aye, then of course she’ll go. But, Rosalyn, ‘tis foolhardy, running off like this.”

Rosalyn squared her shoulders in quiet resolution. “For the first time in my life, I am in charge of my destiny. As for Mercy, I shall free her of her bond. If she comes, it will be as my friend, not as a servant.”

“Rosalyn!” Abner Morgan bellowed, coming through the front door. It shook violently on its hinges, as he slammed it behind him and stood there, tall, fierce, and foreboding. “What’s this I hear about you sailing on the Fair Winds?” He advanced like a thundercloud, his big hands clenched into fists.

“That is my intention, Father.” She swallowed, trying not to sound nervous.

“It’s out of the question! I just spoke with Grant Watermann. He has offered not only to return your dowry, but to double it, if you’ll give up this madness.”

“And where would that leave me, Father?”

“You cannot...must not do this! It’s far too dangerous. Think of your reputation! Anyway, Captain Watermann flat-out refuses to take you.” Morgan mounted the stairs until they stood eye to eye.

If anything, the thought of her father conspiring with Grant Watermann took care of any niggling doubts Rosalyn might have been entertaining. No, God helping her, neither of these arrogant, overbearing men was going to dictate what she could or could not do!

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Her chin set as stubbornly as her father’s, she gave him an insubordinate smile. “Need I remind you that Grant Watermann is only half-owner of the Fair Winds? I shall go where I please!”

His anguished expression made her acutely aware of the power she possessed to hurt him. Indeed, she had both men over a barrel! To go contrary to their wishes made the risk doubly worthwhile! “Even if he paid me half the ship’s value, I wouldn’t agree to his terms,” she said. “I expect to live off my share of the profits for a good long time to come. And I intend to put a whole ocean between myself and you, Father!”

Abner Morgan’s face darkened with anger. “The sea’s no place for an innocent young girl. Have you no concern for your safety?”

Her eyes flashed defiantly. “I value my freedom more. Now, pray excuse me, Father. I was just on my way upstairs to pack.”

With that, she hiked her skirts and hightailed it to the attic for another trunk.

Fearing her father might attempt to detain her, she heaved an immense sigh of relief when she heard the front door close, less vehemently this time. Hurrying, lest he return to create another scene, Rosalyn found a small leather trunk, which she dragged noisily down the steps to her room.

Quickly she packed her favorite keepsakes, a small pearl brooch and a few mementos that had belonged to her mother, several well worn books, the Bible Mrs. Cookson had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and the carved ivory fan and matching comb her father had given her the previous Christmas. Since she might need materials to occupy her time on board ship, she filled her little trunk with sewing and embroidery supplies, fabrics, and a stack of her favorite recipes, most of them filched from Mrs. Cookson. Bath oils, scented with spices and dried rose petals. Her tortoise shell hair brush, her second best pair of shoes, a pair of soft leather gloves, and a heavy woolen nightgown. She stripped her bed of its down comforter and pillows and added them to the pile. Wherever her travels took her, she meant to be comfortable.

Rosalyn was nearly finished when Mercy tapped lightly on her door. “You wanted to see me, Mistress?” she asked.

“Yes, Mercy. Please come in and close the door, so we can speak privately.”

“Mrs. Cookson said you’re leaving this afternoon.”

“Yes, and I hope you will consent to sail with me.”

“If that is that you wish—"

Mercy’s hesitation was quite understandable. Rosalyn couldn’t blame her. For one thing, the journey probably did seem a trifle reckless. She crossed to the dresser and, retrieving the parchment bond from her dresser, pressed the papers into Mercy’s trembling hands. “Here, take your debenture papers. As of this minute, Mercy Wallins, you are free to follow whatever course in life you choose.”

Mercy’s mouth dropped open with surprise. “Mistress Rosalyn!” she exclaimed. “Are you quite certain?”

“You have been a faithful friend to me. If you prefer not to come with me, I shan’t hold it against you. But if you decide to come as my friend, I shall be overjoyed.”

Mercy looked from the papers in her hand to Rosalyn’s shining sea-blue eyes and back again. Then she burst into tears and reached out to hug her young mistress.

Amazed that such a simple gesture of friendship should so deeply affect Mercy, Rosalyn struck a bold stance, hands on hips. “What say you, Mercy Wallins? Will you sail with me? Or will you stay in Boston and seek your fortune here?”

Mercy laughed brokenly and dabbed her eyes. Looking at Rosalyn, she found herself caught up in the excitement. “Aye, I’ll go with you, Mistress Rosalyn—most gladly!”

“Oh, Mercy!” Rosalyn cried. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.” She couldn’t bring herself to reveal the truth, that Mercy’s decision had eliminated her greatest fear about the voyage: how she was going to keep the ship’s new master at arm’s length. For that one detail bothered her more than storms at sea, or pirates, or venturing into the unknown. Truly, there is a God in heaven! she rejoiced, for Mercy had agreed!

Elated, Rosalyn twirled on her toes, almost her old self again. “England, here we come!” she declared, giving Mercy another quick hug. “From now on, we shall do everything together. Oh, I always did want a sister!”

“Aye, sisters, and even better—friends!” Still a little stunned, Mercy watched Rosalyn resume her packing with renewed zeal. “I can scarce believe this is happening,” she marveled.

Rosalyn stuffed her comforter into the trunk and struggled to close the lid. “Give me a hand, Mercy. Then we must get you packed.”

Mercy plumped her bottom on the bulging lid, while Rosalyn secured the leather straps. Together they lifted and carried the trunk downstairs, making enough racket to send the family dog scurrying for safety under the dining room table.

“Mrs. Cookson,” Rosalyn called through the kitchen door. “Could you have your son Ralph bring the buggy around? We need him to take us down to the wharf within the half-hour.”

Gathering their skirts above their knees, Mercy and Rosalyn raced back upstairs. By the time they reached Mercy’s room in the attic loft, they were giggling and out of breath.

“I’ll find a trunk while you gather your belongings,” Rosalyn said and headed toward the storage room.

“I have only a few things,” confessed Mercy. “Three dresses, undergarments, stockings, and two pairs of shoes.”

Rosalyn shrugged. “When we get to London, I shall buy us both a fine new wardrobe.”

“Where will you get the money?”

“Why, from the Fair Winds! Where else?” she laughed.

Fortunately her father didn’t reappear before Rosalyn left with Mercy. Mrs. Cookson bid them both a tearful farewell on the front stoop. “Here—cookies to see you on your way,” she said, pressing a large fragrant bundle into Rosalyn’s hands.

Rosalyn clung to the warm-hearted woman who’d been a substitute mother for so many years. Then she took a final look around her, at the clapboard house and the neighborhood. “I shall treasure every memory I have of this place,” she wept, momentarily bereft. “Except for Father,” she added.

“God be with you, my dear,” said Mrs. Cookson, wiping her eyes on her apron.

“I shall write you,” Rosalyn promised.

In minutes all the luggage was secured, and Ralph Cookson helped the two young women into the buggy. Then the horse clip-clopped down the wet road, past a long line of elms and maples, stripped naked of their magnificent fall foliage. They passed houses where Rosalyn had played with neighbors’ children. Again she fought the rush of emotion, the sting of fresh tears on her cold cheeks. But there remained no room for doubts now, no time for regrets.

She had made her decision. But, oh, how difficult it was to leave all this behind. Perhaps never again would these scenes of childhood pass before her eyes.

Mercy reached over and gave Rosalyn’s cold, clenched hand a squeeze. “It will all be here, should you choose to return,” she said softy. “Over time memories tend to grow sweeter.”

Mercy’s understanding nature brought comfort to her aching heart. Rosalyn turned for one last lingering look, again reminding herself that she’d made the right choice. She was equally glad that she had invited Mercy to accompany her.

When they reached the pier, Rosalyn heaved a sigh of relief. Not seeing any sign of the Fair Winds’ formidable captain on board, she climbed down from the carriage and led the way up the boarding ramp. No one was present to challenge her, so she gave Mercy a saucy smile. “I guess Captain Watermann is resigned to his fate,” she joked.

Only a few men at the bow of the ship observed their progress up the gangplank with Ralph right behind them, loaded down with luggage. Mercy looked around cautiously, as if half-expecting an ogre to emerge from below decks.

“Come along, Mercy. We’re perfectly safe,” Rosalyn said, hoping she was speaking the truth. She led the way to the captain’s cabin.

Mercy stared worriedly down an open hatch. “At any rate, he doesn’t seem to have issued any orders to throw us off the ship,” she observed.

Rosalyn entered the cabin first. Waxing bold, since no one was present to offer resistance, she turned, hands on hips, and slowly surveyed the room. A plan had already begun to formulate in her mind when Ralph Cookson entered with two trunks. “Ralph, please remove the Captain’s sea chest, and put it in the First Mate’s cabin,” she said, taking charge.

“Where’s that, Mistress Rosalyn?” Ralph asked, his young voice cracking.

She shrugged casually. “Ask one of the men on deck,” she suggested.

Mercy cleared her throat. “Should we be doing this without the Captain’s permission?”

“Pish-posh,” said Rosalyn. When Ralph returned, she started loading things in his arms. “Here, take these maps, and this shaving mug.” She held it between two dainty fingers, as if loathe to touch so intimate an item belonging to the Captain. “And take those ledgers from the desk. And this bottle of brandy, and these nasty cigars.”

She made a face over the Captain’s filthy habits and continued her housecleaning. In no time, she had piled most of Grant Watermann’s belongings in Ralph’s arms. She turned him around by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shove out the cabin door. “Go, Ralph. Quickly now! And you may bring in the rest of our trunks after you’ve disposed of the Captain’s things.”

Briskly dusting her hands together, Rosalyn congratulated herself on having removed all masculine items from the cabin before her nemesis could raise a single objection.

Mercy watched Rosalyn brashly commandeering the cabin. “Do you not think the Captain will think you’re being a bit high-and-mighty with his things?” she whispered, in awe.

“I care not what Captain Grant Watermann thinks!” Pursing her lips, Rosalyn looked thoughtfully around the cabin. “It certainly needs a woman’s touch in here, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it could use something,” Mercy agreed.

The Captain’s cabin was plain but functional, furnished with a small dresser with a mirror over it, two small chairs and a small writing table—a study in slovenly disorder, including the untidy bed.

Near an old basin and pitcher lay a crumpled towel, casually tossed aside. Rosalyn picked it up between thumb and forefinger, while she pondered its best use. “The lamps need polishing.” She lifted a grimy chimney and wiped the oily film off with the towel.

“Where do you want these?” Panting, Ralph appeared in the doorway with another trunk and two valises. Behind him were two sailors, similarly burdened.

Mercy stepped lively, permitting them to enter. “Set them in the corner.”

“Afternoon, Miss.” The man entering behind Ralph politely doffed his knitted cap. “Charles Lamb, ship’s carpenter.”

Ignoring Charles Lamb’s bold speculative gaze, Mercy turned to supervise the placement of their belongings. “I am Mercy Wallins,” she said, taking it upon herself to make the introductions. “This is Mrs. Watermann, the old captain’s widow.”

The carpenter touched his cap respectfully, but the twinkle in his eye suggested a prior acquaintance. “Aye, lass, we met at the wedding.”

Rosalyn gave him a cool stare. “If you are quite finished gawking, Mr. Lamb,” she said stonily, “I’m sure you have duties to attend elsewhere.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” He winked at Mercy. “No doubt we’ll be seein’ more of each other during the voyage.”

Mercy ushered the two sailors out the door. Then Ralph stuck out his hand awkwardly. “I must go, too," he said. “Best of luck to you ladies.” He looked at Mercy and jerked his head for her to follow him outside. “Mistress Wallins, could you walk with me to the buggy? Won’t take a minute. I-I forgot to bring in my Ma’s cookies.”

Figuring something was up, Mercy nodded. “I’ll be right back, Rosalyn.”

When she and Ralph reached the buggy, Mercy stopped dead in her tracks.

Abner Morgan stood on the pier.

“Mr. Morgan!” she exclaimed. A sharp wind went through her like a bad omen, and she clutched her cloak tightly about herself with a shiver.

Morgan nodded curtly. “Don’t say anything to Rosalyn.” He rummaged in his greatcoat and brought forth a soft leather pouch. “Here. Take it.”

Too astonished to speak, Mercy accepted the bag of gold coins from him.

“Keep watch over my daughter,” he said gruffly. “And please, write me when you reach England—to let me know she’s safe.”

“Oh, Mr. Morgan—”

“There’s plenty of money to take care of her needs. Don’t tell her I gave it to you though,” he warned. “She would only refuse it.”

“Mr. Morgan, don’t you want to say goodbye to her before we set sail?”

He shook his head. “Rosalyn has made up her mind,” he managed after an awkward pause. “Now away with you, girl! You’d best go aboard before she comes lookin' for you.”

Deeply moved, Mercy laid her hand on his sleeve. “You must love your daughter very much,” she said softly.

“Godspeed, Mistress Wallins.” Abruptly he spun on his heel and left her standing on the wooden pier.

Stubborn old fool! Such mulish pride that kept him from bending. Aye, and look at all the unhappiness he had caused Rosalyn. No wonder he hadn’t the courage to face her again.

As Mercy stepped back into the cabin, Rosalyn held up Mrs. Cookson’s package of edibles. “What is Ralph’s problem?” she laughed. “I found his mother’s cookies on the dresser.”

Mercy shrugged. “He must have forgot in all the excitement. Why don’t we clean this room up?”

“Aye.” Rosalyn whipped the disreputable quilt from the Captain’s bed and tossed it in a heap outside the cabin door.

“A good thing we came prepared.” Mercy opened a trunk and brought forth sheets, two new quilts, a down comforter, and two feather pillows.

After they made the bed, they cleaned and filled the oil lamps and trimmed the wicks. Evening fell early, and they lit the lamps against the encroaching gloom. With a few knick-knacks set about to cheer their flagging spirits, they were ready to relax when the ship’s cook knocked softly.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, ladies. I brought you some dinner.” He carried in a tray with bowls of fish stew, oven-baked biscuits, a tankard of ale and two drinking vessels.

Rosalyn and Mercy raised their pewter flagons in a mutual salute.

“Here’s to a safe journey!” Mercy proposed.

Rosalyn clinked with hers, a little sloshing down the side. “To bold new beginnings!”

After a few sips, they fell to, devouring the stew and sopping up the last few morsels with their crusty biscuits. Thus fortified, they set aside any last minute qualms about gambling their futures on the seaworthiness of the Fair Winds. Soon the gentle lapping of the waves and the ship’s creaking timbers, as it lay quietly at anchor, lulled the two adventuresses to sleep.