As we pass Bournemouth, I see a Royal Navy frigate lying at anchor, golden porpoises entwined about her name on the stern, a newly restored figurehead of a scantily dressed woman on her prow, and my breath catches in my throat.
It is the Dolphin, the ship that took me in and gave me a home when I had none, the place where I was taught all the sailor skills I now have and where I met and joined the Brotherhood and where I first fell in love with a fine boy.
I force myself to be strong and not cry, and say to Jim Tanner, my very skilled helmsman, "Bring us close to that ship there, Mr. Tanner, if you would."
We have the wind behind us, so it is an easy thing for him to do, and as we swing alongside the dear Dolphin, I see Captain Hudson and Lieutenant Bennett and, yes, Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher on the quarterdeck. They all look up, surprised, as I cup my hands to my mouth and merrily call out, "We'll beat you over by two weeks, you sorry lot of swabs, just see if we don't!"
There are cheers and laughter from both ships as we sheer away and head off to the rolling sea. I stand there a long time, looking back, and I think I see Jaimy doing the same.
PART II
Chapter 9
"Back in good old Boston!" I crow, as the sleek Nancy B. slips by the more clumsy craft in Boston Harbor on this fine day, all her sails tight as drums, flags out and snapping, heading for Long Wharf. Oh, how good it is to be back and, for once, not being chased!
As we approach the town docks, I see a likely spot. "There, Jim," I say, pointing. "Right behind that merchantman. We'll tie up there. Careful, now."
Jim Tanner is at the helm, Davy and the others tending the sails. Joannie Nichols is by my side, jumping up and down in her excitement at her first glimpse of the New World. Daniel Prescott is there, too, but he affects the more world-weary, seen-it-all-before attitude of the experienced sailor, for all of his twelve years. I know he does this to impress Joannie, but I also know he is just as excited as the rest of us to be back in Boston, our dear home port.
As we edge in, taking down more and more canvas till there is none left up, we let the breeze and the tide nestle our stout little schooner into her berth. Ah, yes, home again, girl...
While we're maneuvering in, I notice a girl with flaxen hair standing on the dock, dressed in the serving-girl gear favored by Mistress Pimm of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls located up there on that hill. When she sees that it is us and that it is Jim Tanner who stands straight and tall at the helm, she falls to her knees and clasps her hands in front of her, her head bowed. Yes, Clementine, I say to myself, once again, your prayers have been answered. I speculate that she had gotten hold of a telescope and stolen chances each day to climb up onto the widow's walk on the top of the Lawson Peabody to scan the incoming seagoing traffic, and today she was rewarded, and I wish you the joy of it, Sister, I do.
Tink throws over the land lines and a dockhand ties them to the wharf's bollards. We are secure, the Nancy B. now a thing of the land and not of the sea. The gangplank is laid across. And no sooner is it done than Clementine hops over the rail and is wrapped around her Jim, and he wrapped around her.
"Clementine! Dear girl!"
"Oh, Jimmy, I'm so glad! So glad!"
"Good to see you, too, Clementine," I say to she who has not spared me so much as a glance. "Ah, well ... Jim Tanner, be off with your girl. We'll get things shipshape around here and we'll come get you when we need you. Keep in touch, now. See you in a few days." Jim throws his seabag over his shoulder, and they are joyously off without a backward glance.
There is a thump of feet upon deck and I turn to see that Davy has come down from the mainmast, where he has been managing the set of the sails for the tricky way in. His sandy hair is neatly braided in a pigtail—hair the color and texture of which is so much like mine that people have sometimes taken us for brother and sister. That and the fact that we bicker like any two members of the same litter of pups.
Well done, Davy, is what I should say for his expert handling of the sails, but what I do say is, "Not bad, Seaman Jones, though there was a bit of a luff in the jib on the way in. Hope no true and worthy seaman was watching and chanced to see that. I should die of shame were it let out that I would allow something like that to happen on a ship of mine."
He knows I am joking with him, so he grimaces and grunts, "Stoof it, Jack-o."
I realize that he is about to jump out of his skin in his fervent desire to get close, very close, to his new bride, Annie, who he knows is working in the Lawson Peabody build-ing right there up on Beacon Hill. Right there, by God...
"Now, is that any way to talk to your Captain, Day-vee?" I tease, giving him a poke in the ribs.
Yesterday I had given him some money, 'cause I knew he'd be wanting to take Annie off for a few days' romp in a room at the Pig and Whistle, rather than suffer under her father's stern and sometimes not-very-friendly eye at the Byrneses' family homestead. After all, he is taking the man's daughter to bed, and that doesn't always set easy with a dad.
"Your first pay from Faber Shipping Worldwide. Ain't that grand, now, Davy?" I had said, pressing it into his hand and grinning into his face. "It isn't much, 'cause you're only rated Ordinary here, Davy, very Ordinary. But it should serve. Ah, yes, I know that in the Royal Navy you are rated Able, yes, I know ... But here at Faber Shipping, we hold to a much higher standard."
I do love to see his teeth go on edge ... Ah yes, just like old times.
"All right, the ship is secure and I'm off," says Davy now, preparing to leap over the rail and sprint up Beacon Hill to the school. "Do I have permission to go ashore, Captain?" the last word spoken with a bit of a snarl.
"Not just yet, Seaman Jones. You must calm yourself." I simper. "We shall go off and visit the Lawson Peabody together. I have to change, and you will stay right there till I get back," I order, pointing to the deck beneath his feet. "I shan't be long."
I give him a bit of a finger wave and go below into my cabin, where I find Higgins laying out my Lawson Peabody School dress. I am out of my working clothes in a moment and into the uniform black dress.
"What else will you need, Miss?" asks my good Higgins.
"Just my mantilla," I say. "And my red wig."
"What?" he says, eyebrows up.
"Davy and I are going up to the Lawson Peabody, he to see his wife and me to see my sisters. Will you not join us?"
"No, thank God," says Higgins, reaching into my seabag and pulling out the wig as if it were a large and particularly hideous spider. He shudders as he puts it on my head and fluffs it up. "I must go see Mr. Pickering concerning the disposal of the cargo."
"Ah. Good," I say. "Well, please give Ezra my compliments and tell him that I shall see him later this afternoon. And please inform him and all the crew that we will have dinner at the Pig and Whistle this evening, Faber Shipping's treat."
"I shall convey that message. But how can you wear this thing in public?" he asks, shuddering.
My red wig is undoubtedly one of the more outrageous of the hairpieces I've picked up to hide my shorn locks—short hair on women is a scandal in many parts of the world—and the wig is very high and very long and is decorated with yellow ribbons, and when it is in place, a cascade of ringlets hang by my face.
"It is a joke, Higgins. I mean to have a bit of fun," I say as I wrap the black lace mantilla about my shoulders, ready, should I need it, to veil my face.
"Well, I hope you do, Miss," says Higgins. "Here, you will need your cloak if it grows chilly outside."
"Thank you, Higgins," I say, as he wraps the coat about me and pulls the hood up over my head, completely concealing my fake hair. "And now we must be off."
Regaining the deck, I link my arm in Davy's and say, "Now, my fine young sailor lad, we shall go to see about the Lawson Peabody and all who lie within it."
As we walk through the narrow streets near the docks and then up across the commons, I revel in the old familiar sights and in the delicious cool of the late fall day.
It is not long before we have crossed Beacon Street and are approaching the school. I stop and heave a great sigh while looking at the building, the scene of much grief and, yes, much gladness for me.
Davy, however, is in no mood for such female wistfulness and charges on ahead.
"Wait, Davy," I say, running to catch up with him. "Let's go around back and go in that way."
And so we do,and as I approach the door to the kitchen, I say, "You wait out here, Davy." Then, lifting the latch, I add, "It'll be better that way, you'll see."
I open the door and duck in. Sure enough, there's good old Peggy, working away at the stove. As she turns to look at me, I pull the mantilla from my face and say, "Hello, Peggy," and her eyes grow wide and she drops her ladle and says, "Oh, my good Lord, it's our Jacky!" and comes to enfold me in her warm embrace.
I bury my face in her breast, and the tears come, as I remember all the kindness she has always shown to me, her poor wayward girl, and just then Annie comes down the stairs and into the kitchen, bearing a large empty tray, and I know she has just come down from the dining hall, where dinner is being served to the girls.
Seeing me, she gasps, then says, "Jacky! Can it be you? Is it possible?"
I wipe the tears from my eyes and go over and take the tray from her hands before she drops it, as I know she will when she hears my news. "Yes, it's me, dear Annie, and—"
"Jacky, have you heard anything—"
"I think you had best just go out through that door right now, Sister, and your question will be answered," I say, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of her joy.
Her mouth pops open and her eyes go wide and she says, "You mean..."
I nod and she flies across the room and out the door and then lets out a squeal of pure, absolute joy.
"Davy! Oh, dear God! Davy!"
I go over and pull the door shut. "Sorry, Peg, but I think you're gonna have to do without Annie for a few days, and Clementine, too, I'm afraid, 'cause Faber Shipping's back in town."
Peg laughs. "That's all right, Jacky, we've got lots of girls. Oh, it's just so good to see you, dear! Where have you been and what—"
"I'll fill you in later, Peg, but just now let's fill up this tray and let me carry it up to the little darlings."
While Peg is preparing the platter with some very tasty-looking meat dishes, I shed my cloak and shawl and let the red tresses spill down over my shoulders.
"Well," says Peg, with some disapproval in her appraising eye, "ye don't look like half a tramp, now, do ye?"
I give her a saucy wink, like any true strumpet, pick up the tray, and head up the stairs and out into the hall. I meet two other serving girls coming out of the dining room as I head in, new girls whom I do not know, and who look in wonder at me in all my garish splendor. I give my head a shake so that the ringlets hang more in my face and I gaze about me.
The girls are all seated, as are the teachers at the head table, awaiting the arrival of Mistress Pimm. And here are all my dear sisters, I'm thinkin', and startin' to mist up. Here's Martha and Julia and little Rebecca and Rose and...