The gelding, which whinnies and blows beneath me, is grateful for this short rest, as I have been riding him hard. I had Higgins rent him for me for a day's outing, with the regular saddle. Higgins protested most vigorously, but I prevailed—I know how to ride sidesaddle, Higgins, I just don't like it. When we go off into Society, I promise I'll do it all the time—ride to the hounds in the silly female rig, even, but for now, please get a regular saddle. I'll wear my cloak over my uniform and trousers so there will be no scandal. Pleeeease, Higgins...
I win again.
***
On the day we took that prize, it was not long before Mairead, stripped of her cutlass, was hauled squalling back aboard the Emerald over her father's shoulder and the Spaniards were in their lifeboat and heading for the coast of their native land and we were headed north with their former ship following behind us. The Santo Domingo, for that is what she turned out to be, was newly back from the Orient and was filled with spices, rare silver treasures, and fine silk. There will be presents for wives and sweethearts from this load, that's for sure. Maybe something for my cabin, too. And money for our pockets.
It's been a long time since I sat a horse and I felt the need to get out and away, alone. Mairead is not allowed off the ship, and besides, she is not a lover of horses. So I found myself in bad company, even though I was alone as the song goes. I have my pistols strapped to my chest, 'cause Higgins insisted, not totally trusting the ethics of the locals.
I mounted the horse in the stables down by the docks, burst out the doors, past the church, and pounded up here to the High Road, leaving a cloud of dust and not a few irate citizens behind me. Hey, I've been working hard and need a bit of fun, I figure. Besides, I've been bringing a lot of honest commerce to this town, so I'm owed.
All right, horse, you've rested enough. I pull his head up off the grass and around to the left and dig in my heels and we're off again. He is a good horse, with a sort of merry glint in his horsey eye, but I know he will never love me like my dear Gretchen loved me. Or even that Sheik of Araby. Or me him.
I ride up the road to the north and I bring Bucephalus, for that is his name, back up to a full gallop again. I've loosened the front of my cloak and it flies out behind me like a cape—like any highwayman come riding—and I'm whooping like a banshee when we come to a turn in the road. As we round it, I'm astounded to find myself in the midst of a gaggle of young girls, all dressed in white frocks and plainly out for a church outing of some sort. There're blankets laid out and there're baskets of food placed upon them.
I pull back on the reins to keep the horse from trampling them, and he rears back and screams in fright. The girls scatter like a flock of geese and I hear one of them cry, "It's her! She's the one!"
I leap off the back of the horse to pat his neck and calm him down so he won't hurt any of them, and it's then that I realize that my cloak is hanging down my back and there I am in my lieutenant's uniform and my white pants and black boots and, of course, my pistols sticking out of my harness all brazen.
The girls stare at me aghast. One of the braver ones trips up to me, backed up by several of her friends, who hide behind her skirts, and asks, "You are the one, aren't you? The one on the ship with the Irish boys?"
I nod in the way of a bow and say, "I suppose I am. But you needn't be afraid of me. I'm sorry I disturbed your picnic, I was only out for a ride. Please forgive me. I'll be gone now," and I go to remount.
"Wait," says the brave girl in the front. She is a neat and pretty thing, with light brown curls sticking out from under her bonnet. "The boy with the red hair..." Those behind her collapse in giggles.
Ah.
I smile and say, "That would be Padraic Delaney. He is a fine lad ... and ... he is not married."
There is a great shriek from the brave girl's friends.
"And if you would like to be introduced, Miss, come down to my ship and have a tour. Come, all of you. I can—"
Two older women burst into the clearing, take one look at me, and gather up their charges, covering their eyes as best they can, and hustle them away. The brave girl is the last to be hustled off, and she looks back at me with a kind of defiant longing.
The old woman in charge looks at me with undisguised loathing as I throw my leg over the horse. I give her a bit of a salute and turn to go on my way.
We trot up the road and soon woods close in on either side and the road tips upward and eventually we come out into an open place, where lush grasses grow between smooth flat rocks. There is a place to the left where the woods open up enough to see the harbor again and now my Emerald looks like a tiny toy boat down below. A perfect place for the picnic that Higgins has packed for me.
I hop down and tie the horse to a tree, but slack enough so that he can get at plenty of grass. I choose a nice rock, throw my cloak over it, and plop myself down upon it. I pull out my whistle, to have a few tunes to see how they float in the air hereabouts—it's my feeling that the tunes on the pennywhistle sound different in different places, whether in the foretop on a stormy day, in a cozy tavern, or here on a windswept heath. Having done my duty there, I open the basket that Higgins has packed for me. Dear Higgins, I have become quite spoiled, I know, as I pull out the chicken pieces, the potato pie, the hard-cooked eggs seasoned with the spices we took from the Santo Domingo. I think he is trying to fatten me up, for what I don't know, me living single and all. With that I look off to the south again. Then I shake my head—got to stop doing that.
Having eaten like a pig and drunk the little half bottle of claret that Higgins had packed, I stretch myself lazily in the weak but warm fall sun to think and plan and daydream. I am lulled by the drone of the bees buzzing about doing their last work of the year, and I doze in and out of sleep.
And the warm sun on my face makes my dreaming mind think of the Caribbean and Kingston, and Jaimy and me rolling around with our arms and legs wrapped around each other in the foretop and, Oh, Jaimy! and in that way that dreams have, suddenly I was off and gone and dragged away and he was in a small room, a box, really, writing me letters, letters that he lifted up and held to the wind and the wind had borne them away like fluttering white doves ... And then he puts down the pen and he's standing over me as I lie as if dead and he's crying ... But Jaimy doesn't cry—not that easy, he doesn't, not over my poor dead bones anyway, and he sees me and says Nancy! Nancy! It's you! And I think, Wait a minute, Jaimy—my name ain't Nancy—why, you, I'll give you Nancy, I will, you false...
My nose itches and maybe that's what wakes me up—or maybe it's that horsefly—I groan and stretch again and bat at the fly and crack open an eyelid. There, leaning over me, is an old man holding a walking stick and crying ... Crying? Christ! It ain't a dream, it's a lunatic!
I scramble to my feet and lunge for my horse, leaving the remnants of my lunch scattered on the heather, but still the old man comes after me.
"Nancy!" he cries. "Nancy! Don't you know me? Don't you..."
But that's as far as the crazy old coot gets, 'cause now I'm up on my mount and off. I leave him standing there in the dust and calling after me. Damn! You take a little nap and you wake up with a crazy old man standing about you! I'm getting back to my ship, I am.
I ride for a bit and then slow down, knowing that the old man couldn't possibly catch up with me. Damn! I left my cloak back there! Oh, well, I sure ain't going back for it now. Stupid! To fall asleep all splayed out and unprotected like that! You deserve whatever happens to you, girl! Damn!
That night, I stay in. The Port Watch invites me out to the taverns but I say, Nay, I cannot, for Mairead is not allowed off the ship, and in the spirit of true sisterhood, I must stay with her. And besides, later, when we are put up for the winter, there will be lots of time for the pubs and taverns. And besides, that Arthur McBride needs the damper on his ardor turned down, and besides ... there are lots of besides.
After dinner, as a special treat before turning in, we take out this book I had bought back in Waterford. It is called Laugh and Be Fat and it is a bunch of stories and jokes and is just the most obscene, dirtiest thing I have ever read, and, as I tell Mairead, I have read the Decameron as well as The Canterbury Tales, mind you, and so, of course, we are soon snorting and burying our faces in our pillows, we're in highest gross hilarity and rolling around in the bed in pure hellish joy.
It is good that we have the laughter 'cause it eases me off to sleep—it keeps me from thinking about that crazy old man on the road today. Something about that nags at me, I don't know why. Probably 'cause I was so stupid as to let myself be surprised like that—helpless and all. That's gotta be it, and I won't let it happen again.
We snuff the lamp and stifle giggles and poke about and Get your cold feet offa me! Cold feet? I'll show you cold feet! Yow! It comes from eatin' cold potatoes all yer life and you got it coming, Brit! Take that! and we settle in for the night.
Chapter 38
Noon of the following day finds us in the Golden Rudder tavern—Liam, Mairead, Padraic, and me. Higgins had been dispatched to the bank in Colchester and would be back shortly, but since he was not there to make my lunch, I invited the Clan Delaney out to lunch at this local pub. No singing or dancing at this time of day, just eating and knocking back a few pints. A fragile peace exists between Liam and his daughter—and between Padraic and his sister. Padraic was none too pleased, either, when Mairead was found aboard—but now he knows we're sailing back to Waterford tomorrow and he can stick her back in Moira's care. During this meal, at least, Mairead keeps her mouth shut about running away again and that's good, for even though I know she intends on gaining her freedom, it's best that things lie calm for a while.
The food was good, but now it's done and time to be gone, so we get up, pay both money and compliments to the landlord, and go back out into the bright light of day. Just as we are heading down the road and back to the ship, the midday coach from Colchester pulls up and Higgins gets out.
"Ahoy, Higgins!" I say. "That was quick. We hardly had time to miss you."
"Yes, Miss," he says, as he joins our little group. "I had good luck in..."
"Nancy!"
I whip my head around and there he is again, the dusty little old man who stood over me yesterday as I lay asleep on the hillside. Again, he comes at me with his hand outstretched, tears running down his face. "Nancy," he wails again, "oh, don't you know me, Nancy?"
"Crazy old beggar," says Liam, fishing a coin out of his pocket and holding it out to the man. "Here's a penny, old man. Now off with you."
The old man, who I now notice is wearing a churchman's collar and an old-fashioned frock coat, once fine but now threadbare, ignores Liam and his coin.
"No, no," he says, never taking his eyes off me, "I don't mean Nancy, I know you can't be her, because she's ... she's dead, my child is dead. I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... I got confused because you look so much like she looked is why I got confused ... I'm sorry..."
Liam makes a move to hustle him off. A chill runs up my spine and I put my hand on Liam's arm to hold him back.
"Wait. Wait, let's hear him out," I say, feeling myself start to tremble. From out of the half-forgotten past it comes to me now and I know why I was so uneasy yesterday when first I saw this old man—My mother's name was Nancy.