Chapter Eight
Grant brought the Fair Winds around the unpredictable waters of Raleigh Bay and, sailing a half day’s journey beyond, he took two long boats ashore at the mouth of the Cape Fear River.
He was acquainted with several planters in the area, including Roger Belmont, one of his father’s former comrades-in-arms, who now raised rice and tobacco. Belmont had acquired all the trappings of respectability, including land, a young wife, and two young sons. All these evidences of prosperity and domestic tranquility seemed to prove that even a cutthroat pirate could mend his ways.
Grant found the changes in the old rascal’s life truly amazing. He still recalled how, with great gusto, Belmont had plundered many a Spanish galleon of its wealth, including the priests’ gold and sacramental vessels. The man was a true chameleon, since crossing over to the side of law and order. He had even finagled a generous land grant and contracts from the Crown!
Ascending the river bank with his men, Grant met a small group of farmers—a few blacks and Cherokee Indians among them—who directed him to the Belmont farm. Coming upon a modest but roomy house covered with rough hewn siding, he followed the squeal of a fatted pig and the laughter of men around to the back, where he found Roger Belmont, standing in filthy trousers stained with the blood of slaughter and shouting orders to a farmhand. His wife stood nearby, stirring a kettle of lard she was rendering.
“Have a care now!” Belmont bellowed to a servant. “Don’t tear the meat. That hog will provide good smoked meat all winter, if you do it right.”
“Belmont, you old sea wolf!” Grant called, striding into the yard to embrace his father’s longtime ally.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Belmont gave a hearty roar and nearly lifted the younger man off the ground in his powerful arms. “How’s your father, lad?”
“He died quite suddenly of a stroke.”
“Sorry to hear it. A fine old gaffer. So what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
“Just thought I’d drop by and see if we might do a bit of trading. I need a load of tobacco and rice to see me on the next leg of my journey.”
“Why, certainly, son. Come on up to the house.” Belmont turned to his wife. “Mary, break out the best you’ve got in your larder. We’re inviting Grant Watermann and his hungry crew to dinner tonight.”
Greeting the handsome woman, Grant tried to ease her worst fears that a locust hoard of hungry sailors had descended on their farm. “Mrs. Belmont, we’re well provisioned on board. I've no wish to impose upon your kind hospitality—”
Considerably younger than her husband, Mary Belmont beamed at her husband’s guests. “Nay, you're more than welcome," she said. “We just killed six large hogs and have plenty to spare with you and your men. Now tell me, Captain, are there more men aboard your ship?”
Grant shrugged his shoulders. “Besides the two lady passengers from Boston, there's only our cook and two other men.”
Instantly her eyes lit up with interest. “Women folk, you say?”
Grant nodded. “Aye, my father’s widow, for one. I had no choice but to bring her along, since she’s part owner of the Fair Winds. The other young lady is her companion.”
“It’s been quite some time since I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining ladies. All the way from Boston, you say?” Mary grasped him by one arm, and her husband flanked him on the other side, as they escorted him into the house. “You must send word at once and invite them to dine,” she declared. “I am sure by now they'll welcome a nice hot bath and a clean bed, as well!”
And so Grant dispatched a boat to bring the two women ashore. He'd already concluded that his two female passengers wouldn’t hurt his trading with Belmont. Living in comparative isolation, the Belmonts seemed eager for news from elsewhere in the colonies. Besides, he and his crew would welcome some barbecued pork for a change.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
As they were rowed ashore by four crew members, Rosalyn and Mercy found the choppy waves a little nerve wracking. Even so, Mary Belmont’s cordial welcome soon made them glad they had accepted her kind invitation. She personally met them at the landing and drove them in her small carriage up to the house. After a quick tour of her home, she led them upstairs to a comfortable room.
“My personal maid will attend you, while you’re here,” Mary told them, indicating the quiet, doe-eyed servant waiting in the hall. “And now, ladies, I must leave you for now. Please make yourselves to home.”
After thanking their hostess, Rosalyn and Mercy grinned at each other. “What a treat, bathing in soft rainwater, instead of salt water!” Rosalyn laughed.
“Heavenly!” Mercy agreed.
The subsequent pampering lavished upon them made up for all the discomfort encountered during the trip so far. After the luxury of unhurried baths, the servant massaged fragrant oils into their skin, until Rosalyn experienced a delicious languor she'd never known before. The two young adventuresses were not permitted to lift a hand. Unbidden, the maid dressed their hair, using a scented pomade. By the time they went downstairs to thank their hostess, they felt as if all their cares had melted away.
While the crew feasted on pork baked in a brown sugar sauce with fruit, various breads, squash and raisin pudding on the servants’ porch, the Belmonts, Rosalyn, Mercy, Grant and his officers dined by candlelight in the dining room, using heavy silver of a Spanish design, which Grant suspected was part of the booty Belmont had collected over the years.
Mercy wore a pair of earbobs and a matching brooch Rosalyn had lent her for the occasion, and Rosalyn was sporting a tiny pearl drop in each ear and a pearl necklace around her slender throat. They looked positively radiant, as everyone, from the Belmonts’ two young sons to the elderly host himself, feasted their eyes on the winsome pair. Even Grant, seated at his hostess’s right hand, had to admit that Rosalyn and Mercy were a social asset. If anything, their charms promised to enhance his bargaining power with Belmont.
Watching Rosalyn raise her wine glass and take a cautious sip, he smiled, remembering her wedding night when her drinking had gotten so out of control. The red wine matched her soft lips and brought a soft bloom to her cheeks, while her blue eyes gazed intently upon Belmont. The pirate-turned-farmer was describing in vivid detail how he and Rosalyn’s “dear dead husband, Nathaniel,” had fought it out with the crew on a Spanish galleon.
“Well, Mr. Belmont,” she said, setting down her barely touched glass, “I am happy to see you have chosen a more law-abiding way of making a living.”
Grant tensed, expecting his host to bristle. Instead, Roger Belmont merely smiled and raised her fingers to his lips. “Quite right, my dear. Unfortunately, not all thieves operate outside the law.”
Somewhat taken aback, she frowned. “Indeed, sir?”
“You see, my dear Mrs. Watermann, I now find myself in a tight spot. I and my fellow Carolinians are expected to cater to the Governor of Virginia’s every whim. Otherwise he enforces the most damnable trade restrictions, which keep us from receiving a fair price for our crops. I must confess, life was simpler in the old days when I knew what I was up against.” He turned toward Grant with an ironic smile. “As long as I pay him off, the dirty blackguard looks the other way when smugglers such as yourselves come up river to do business.”
“Smugglers?” Turning pale at this news, Rosalyn looked as if she might faint.
Grant smoothly cut in, ignoring Rosalyn’s outburst. “I have a proposition that should benefit us both immensely.”
At this point, Mary Belmont rose tactfully, signaling for the ladies to withdraw, while the men continued their discussion. Now filled with the best food they’d had since leaving Boston, Rosalyn and Mercy were happy to oblige.
The officers of the Fair Winds enjoyed their host’s brandy, rum, and cigars in the dining room. Facing a busy day on the morrow, they withdrew an hour later and returned to the ship with the crew. Meanwhile Grant and Roger Belmont moved their discussion to the study. After considerable discussion over well worn maps, Belmont and Grant struck a bargain.
“Aye, ‘twill put a good deal more money in both our pockets,” said Belmont, shaking Grant’s hand vigorously.
“I’ll offload the barrel hoops, staves, and textiles for you to sell through traveling merchants in the district,” Grant agreed. “Meanwhile I’ll gladly take all the rice I can safely carry. That and the salted cod I already have on board should find a ready market in Jamaica.”
Belmont grinned. “A smart move, tradin’ for Jamaican sugar.”
“Aye. Expect us back in two or three weeks with a load of sugar,” Grant grinned.
“In the meantime I’ll sail to Williamsburg and strike a deal with the Virginia customs house to exchange the sugar for gold. After that, we can settle up,” his host proposed.
“I’ll be heading to England afterward, Belmont,” Grant stalled, “so I might be better off, carrying a load of tobacco, instead of gold.”
Belmont gave him a crafty look. “It seems you don’t share your Old Man’s fascination for gold, lad. Gold bars take up less space than cargo. Best think it over.” Chuckling, he poured them both another stiff brandy.
“Let me sleep on it, sir.” Grant finished his drink and followed his host upstairs to a guest bedroom. If he weren’t headed for England, he might have accepted the offer of gold without a second thought. But taking on another cargo could net him even more, and he'd need the extra funds when he returned to Boston to build more ships next spring.
The following morning, Grant and Belmont feared a sudden storm and set every available man to work without delay. The weather holding, they were able to lash several rafts together, thus forming a small pontoon bridge out to the ship for faster offloading. They had the new cargo aboard in two days and, after collecting his two extremely merry passengers, Grant returned to the Fair Winds and prepared to set sail.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Installed once again in the captain’s cabin, Rosalyn and Mercy made a pact to keep themselves busy, and thus they passed the time pleasantly in conversation, planning menus, redecorating the cabin, and doing needlework.
Mercy was in a decidedly mischievous mood, as the second lap of their journey began. “Travel is all very fine,” she said, “but I wouldn’t mind meeting some irresistibly handsome man and falling madly in love.”
“I prefer to think of the vast fortune I am about to make,” Rosalyn countered. “Not that money guarantees happiness, mind you! My father is living proof of that. He’s miserable, for all his wealth.”
“Aye, but money helps,” Mercy laughed. “Coming from a good family, I never expected to be thrown in debtors’ prison. Then my husband died, and suddenly I found myself bound for the New World. ‘Twas a chance for a fresh start, once I served out the terms of my bond.”
Rosalyn felt a twinge of guilt. “And here I’m taking you away from the colonies. Do you think me selfish for dragging you back to England with me?”
“No. My destiny is in God’s hands.” Her face broke into a broad smile. “Besides, how could I turn down such a grand adventure, and with such a good friend as yourself?”
Rosalyn focused on cutting material for the cabin’s new curtains. “We shall have great fun.” She smiled, contemplating her good fortune. “Can you imagine? A few weeks ago I was plotting how to escape being married to a stodgy old husband!”
Mercy laughed. “Keep your eyes open, Rosalyn. Maybe your perfect dream man is right under your nose, just hoping you’ll give him a tumble.”
“There you go again, looking for trouble.” She tossed a length of material to Mercy. “Here, hem this, while I cut two more lengths for the windows.”
“When we get finished, this cabin will be fit for newlyweds,” Mercy mused, threading her needle. “What could be nicer than to have a good life with someone who truly adores me?”
“Sounds like a form of slavery to me,” Rosalyn mumbled, her mouth full of pins.
Mercy giggled. “Sounds romantic to me.”
“Aye, and how long would it last? A woman should at least be able to say ‘yea’ or ‘nay’ regarding the person she marries,” Rosalyn argud, warming to the subject. “I’ll never forget how I felt when Father insisted that I must marry a complete stranger. And a pirate, too!”
“Aye, 'twas a difficult situation,” Mercy agreed, and then her face brightened. “But your prayers were answered, and now we’re sailing the bounding main!”
“Yes, bounding and bucking and splashing!” Rosalyn said, nearly falling off the bunk as the Fair Winds hit a patch of rough seas. She settled back against her pillows and checked the curtain panels she had meticulously cut. “Anyway, I doubt I'll ever marry. My mother had nine children and died at thirty-three. I’m her only child who lived past five years of age.”
“A great loss, to be sure, but think of all your parents shared. It couldn’t have been all bad,” Mercy reasoned.
“No, we had plenty of happy times,” Rosalyn admitted, “but that’s what made Father’s actions so terrible. He only wanted me out of the house so he could marry the Widow Blankenship and get all her money, too!”
“Since he has plenty of his own,” Mercy pointed out, “perhaps he only wanted to make sure you’d never suffer want.”
“Well, I won’t be pushed into such a calamity again,” Rosalyn declared. “And as long as this ship brings in a profit, I shall be financially independent,” she added gleefully.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you sound as hard-headed as your father.”
Rosalyn winced. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Mercy.”
Eager to make peace, Mercy patted Rosalyn’s hand. “I don’t mean to meddle, Rosalyn, but you and Grant Watermann, being partners and all, should at least make an effort to get along.”
“I’ve tried to be polite, but it’s useless trying!" Rosalyn sighed, shaking her head. "Besides, he despises me. No matter what I say, he always comes back at me with a horrid remark.”
Still not convinced as to the hopelessness of things, Mercy persisted as peacemaker. “Deep down, he doesn't seem such a bad sort. I suspect he likes and admires you very much.”
Rosalyn squirmed. “In that case, I should hate to have him for an enemy!”
Mercy chuckled. “God’s truth, I think he’s just covering up a powerful lust for you.”
“Again, you are mistaken,” she said primly. “He hates me.”
“Poor sweet chick!” Mercy rolled her eyes. “He is wild for you! I’ve seen him when you’re not looking his way.” She lowered her voice confidingly. “Trust me, he wants you.”
“What a wild imagination you have!” Rosalyn whispered, half afraid the winds might carry their voices topside to the ears of the very man they were discussing.
“Take a look at the front of his breeches, if you doubt me.” Mercy rose and began to pull her hairbrush through her soft brown curls. “Oh, Rosalyn, if only you could see your face!” she laughed and reached for her shawl. Her hand on the door latch, she turned, unable to resist a parting quip: “Fortunately we have plenty of fine brawny men on board, and plenty of time to make their acquaintance. So if you will excuse me, I think I’ll take a stroll on deck.”
Suddenly overheated, Rosalyn picked up her embroidery hoop and frantically began to fan herself. As much as she liked Mercy, clearly they were poles apart when it came to dealing with men!
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The next morning the men were hoisting sail and chanting in unison:
“I eyed this wench full warily, an’ found to me surprise,
She was nothin’ but a fireship, rigged up in a disguise.
I fondled her, I cuddled her, I bounced her on me knee.
She wept, she sighed, an’ then she cried, ‘Jack, will ye sleep wi’ me?’
Oh, she had a dark an’ a roguish eye,
An’ her hair hung down in ring-a-lets.
She was a nice gal, a proper gal, but
One of the roguish kind.
Now all ye hard workin’ sailors that sail the Western Sea,
An’ all ye jolly ‘prentice lads, a warnin’ take from me:
Steer clear o’ lofty fireships, for me they left well spent.
For one burnt all me money up, an’ left me broke an’ bent!
Oh, she had a dark an’ a roguish eye,
An’ her hair hung down—"
“Captain Watermann!” Her blue eyes spitting fire, Rosalyn advanced across the deck, clutching her shawl, her body stiff with indignation,. “I wish a word with you!”
“Prepare to fill those sails, lads!” Grant bellowed to his crew, who were busy untying canvas on the mainmast. He turned impatiently and found himself looking into the eye of an oncoming human hurricane. “Well, madam?” he barked.
“This cannot be postponed another second,” she protested. “You must do something to modify your men’s language, Captain.”
“Has someone said something offensive in your presence, Mistress Prim?”
Though his words were delivered civilly, his question didn’t match the way his eyes undressed her, going up and down in the most disconcerting way. His manner of dress, too, was disturbing, for he had abandoned his shirt in the hot noonday sun, exposing a well tanned muscular physique. “If so, I shall severely reprimand the man,” he said with a cocky grin.
Rosalyn glared at him, knowing full well his morals were no better than his men’s. “No, of course not,” she said. “No one has said anything directly to me, or to my companion. However, those dreadful songs—the words are disgraceful!”
“Indeed? Well, the men like singing, and so do I.”
“The words are lewd!” Oh! Why do I even bother? she lamented. He was absolutely incorrigible!
“I disagree, ma’am. A good sea chanty with a lively tempo helps lighten the work,” he argued, his golden-brown eyes dancing like stygian flames. “Some of us happen to enjoy thinking about a bawdy, buxom wench now and then.”
“Well, pardon me for trying to improve the moral tone of this ship!” She turned on her heel to leave, but he crowded her against the ropes. “Now, if—if you’ll excuse me, I-I shall leave you to your work!”
“While I have your attention,” he said, leaning in close. Again she smelled those cloves, and saw a fine bead of perspiration trickle down his temple into a black sideburn. “I warned you and Miss Wallins to make yourselves scarce on deck. That way you ladies won’t get yourselves so worked up over a harmless sea chanty!”
“Low and disgusting, you mean!”
His lips tightened, and his hand closed around her forearm, as his piercing eyes dragged her under his hypnotic spell. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mrs. Watermann. If I wanted to take you to my bed, it wouldn’t be all that difficult.”
His crude remark made her knees buckle. Fortunately he was holding her up. Hating him for his ability to destroy her peace of mind, Rosalyn bared her teeth in a mean smile. “What makes you think I’d even be interested?” she snarled.
“Because you are dying of curiosity.” he told her in a husky whisper. He lowered his head until their eyes were scant inches apart. Her heart raced crazily. Looking into his tawny eyes was like trying to remain calm, while a tiger swishing his tail decides which part of her anatomy he intends to devour first! “You’re asking yourself right now what it would be like to lie with me and have me make wild passionate love to you.”
Rosalyn’s heart began tripping so fast she feared she might faint. If she had to listen to him one more minute, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions. And if the thought of making love had never occurred to her before, it did now. He was a dangerous, thievish man, capable of anything! Oh, if only she dared, she would push him overboard to the sharks. But no! Lacking the strength, it seemed wiser to bar the door to her cabin until they got to the next port.
“I-I have never— Oh, how dare you!” she spluttered.
Involuntarily she dropped her gaze to avoid his mocking eyes. Too late, she realized the direction her eyes had taken. The evidence of his arousal in his tight fitting breeches was undeniable! “Oh!” she cried, and her eyes quickly darted upward, only to meet his bold gaze.
“Aye, and I could make you want it, too,” he grinned.
Her face burning, she wrenched free and, stumbling in her haste, she fled.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Mrs. Waterman,” his voice drifted to her softly on the wind. “Though an ocean should stand between us, it seems our fathers have sealed our fate. It’s only a matter of time.”