THIS NOVELLA IS THE FIRST OF THREE PARTS OF THE FULL LENGTH NOVEL,
VOICES BECKON:
Thrown together despite class and religious differences, David, Liam, and Elisabeth forge an unwavering bond of friendship, love, and loyalty while onboard the brig Industry.
Set in the late eighteenth century, Voices Beckon (the full length novel) spans seven years in the lives of three teens. Richly evocative of time and place, this sweeping romance chronicles their coming of age against the vivid backdrop of the emerging United States of America.
Voices Beckon is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, event, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 by Linda Lee Graham
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or review—without permission in writing from its publisher, Repository Press, LLC. Thank you for respecting the author’s rights.
Published by Repository Press LLC at Smashwords
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Cover design by Razzle Dazzle Design
Cover image: (ship) Copyright Jeff Wickham
For my mother, who did all the hard work:
how it might have been
CONTENTS
Glossary of Eighteenth-Century Vocabulary
PART ONE
River Avon, Bristol
November 1783
ELISABETH LONGED TO RETURN HOME, and it had been only days since they’d left—two days, nine hours, and heaven knows how many minutes, every one of them biting cold. She stood alongside the trunks, her foot tapping a quick rhythm beneath her skirts as she closed her eyes, briefly shutting out the chaos of the quay. Faith, now it was to be months, months, before she would know if Rhee, her best friend, had managed to snare William’s attention at church on Sunday. They’d had a foolproof plan worked out; it couldn’t have failed. Well, unless he—
“Elisabeth, Elisabeth!”
Her father, finally. Given his grim expression, it wasn’t the first time he’d called her, but in the midst of this mayhem, how could he have expected she’d hear him? Her heart softened as she looked at him, and she pushed back the hood of her cloak and smiled.
He looked so handsome. His fair hair was carefully arranged beneath a stiff new hat, for Papa always seemed to have a new hat, and this one hid his thinning hairline quite nicely. And of course that was a must, given she’d finally convinced him to forgo wearing a wig. The cut of his coat flattered his tall, slim frame, and the garment hung without a hint of strain about his shoulders. His shoes were spotless, their silver buckles gleaming, and the ornate black clocked stockings on display beneath his coat stretched taut to his breeches. Why, he was practically in full dress to board a ship, for mercy’s sake.
Thin lips pressed tightly together, he clutched a fistful of papers in one hand while gesturing to her impatiently with the other. “We’re to board, Elisabeth. You must pay close mind to me. You wouldn’t want to get lost in this rabble now, would you?”
“I’m sorry, Papa. No, of course I wouldn’t.”
He grabbed her elbow, holding her tight. His stride was purposeful and sure, and others, less sure, moved out of his way as he pulled her toward the longboat.
“What of our luggage, Papa?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the pile they had abandoned.
“It’s taken care of. You needn’t concern yourself. Put your hood up. The wind is rising; I can’t have you taking ill.”
“Mr. Hale!” one of the seamen called out, motioning them forward. Her father raised his handful of papers to acknowledge him.
She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and turned again, feeling the scrutiny of someone’s eyes. Two men, members of the crew, she hoped, were loading their trunks onto a cart. Neither were paying her the least mind. Her father tugged, and she followed him onto the wharf. The man who had called out reached for her, his large, bony hands guiding her carefully into the boat that would transport them to the Industry.
She wished she had thought to grab a bit of Bristol sand. She may never return; it would have been nice to have a small piece of some part of Britain. She looked back at the city, saying a silent goodbye.
There! That man—the one slumped against the side of that warehouse, his thumbs hooked in the waist of his breeches—he was the one staring.
No, not quite a man; he probably wasn’t much older than she. But he was as big or bigger than most men. Even slouched, she could see that he was tall, his shoulders broad, his chest wide. He didn’t glance away when he saw her turn; he met her gaze directly.
A lock of dark hair escaped his cap and hung low over his brow. If his meager possessions were anything to judge by, he was likely one of those her father had named ‘rabble,’ one of those traveling in steerage. Or perhaps he was merely boarding one of the ships sailing to Ireland, and didn’t need to carry much. She was too far to make out the detail of his features, but his bearing intrigued her. He conveyed confidence; he certainly hadn’t lowered his eyes when she’d noticed him watching her. Not arrogance. Not a challenge. Merely curiosity?
She felt an odd pressure beneath her stays, and her hand rose without thought to push back at the sensation. Her father pulled on her elbow to sit, and she fell back against him as the crew rowed the boat away from the dock, her eyes still on the boy as he watched her.
DAVID PACED THE QUAY, an eye out for his uncle. The innkeeper had handed him Uncle John’s note first thing that morning, relaying he’d had to take care of some last minute details, that David was to meet him on the quay and board the Industry when he could. The man likely thought he was doing him a favor, letting him sleep, but zounds, he could have done without it. He wasn’t keen on doing any of this alone.
Besides, if he were going to leave him alone, the night before would’ve been the time for it. He wouldn’t have minded then, not with the prospect of whiling away some time with the barmaid at the inn. He smiled, her image holding his worry at bay for the moment.
Betsy, her name had been, just here from Bath, agreeable lass. Pretty, blonde, and plump; she had laughed at everything he’d thought to say as she lingered over presenting their meals, hinting she’d still be about after the kitchen closed later that night.
Which hadn’t been as pleasing a prospect to Uncle John as it had been to him.
David and his uncle, the Reverend John Wilson, had been traveling for close to three weeks now: on foot, by water, and by coach. His uncle had had the worst of it, traveling all the way from Ireland, stopping in Scotland to collect him. And though Ma’s lectures had always been delivered by Da in the past, she’d apparently taken advantage of that brief time to pass the obligation on to her brother. And Uncle John had taken the duty to heart many a time over the last three weeks.
And so David had had his hands full with a far less pleasing prospect—steering the conversation from the barmaid and diverting his uncle’s attention.
Sailors called down from a nearby ship as they repaired its rigging, mocking him, he supposed; he couldn’t make out the words, but he knew well the tone. He ignored them. The early morning fog had lifted some and he had a clear view of the Industry now. The brig had a tidy look to it; two masts, an uncluttered deck. Tidy’s good; someone’s minding things then.
Hands in his pockets, he rolled up off the balls of his feet as he studied the ship. His last day in Britain . . . for how long? Years? A lifetime? He added it to his round of ‘lasts.’ His last Sunday spent with his family in kirk. Ma’s last home-cooked meal with all his favorites. One last tussle with Cousin James . . . tucking his younger brothers in that last night. Then there was that last lecture from Da as they fished a lazy morning away. But Da could write as well as talk, so no, that likely wasn’t the last. And that final hour spent with Alice Ennis. He grinned as he thought of her beckoning him into her da’s barn. Now that had been a sweet leave-taking, for sure.
As the quay filled with more travelers, he moved to stand alongside a warehouse, keeping in view of the ship, watching as the crew directed the loading of the cargo. It looked as if they’d be carting a load of glass. His uncle had speculated as much when they had passed three different glass factories in their wanderings yesterday. He wished the man would come; it had to be getting close to time to board. What in God’s name could be keeping him?
Then he had seen her.
She was standing alone next to a large heap of baggage, framed by the passel of gulls screaming and diving at the leavings of the fish trade on the sand behind her. Well dressed, her dark cloak was tied with bright blue ribbons, a color he thought might match her eyes; though why that thought should occur to him, he didn’t know. Bonny lass, a slight smile played around the corners of her lips, alternating with a grimace of impatience as she looked about. She seemed out of place, standing there alone, though he thought her family must be near, given the number of trunks she guarded. He wished his were, but they’d had a hard enough time scraping money together for his passage, much less the others.
He watched her turn as a man called out, and his mouth curved into a grin of anticipation. Elisabeth, the man had called her, was boarding the transport for the cabin passengers of the brig Industry.
She turned as she boarded, sensing his scrutiny, meeting his eyes. He thought briefly of lowering his; he’d been taught better than to stare. But he didn’t.
And then he couldn’t. He felt her gaze as it shot straight down to his boots, then meandered back up to scurry to and fro across his back and his shoulders, before it darted down to his fingertips. He flexed his fingers, staring at her, watching the longboat as it shoved off.
Zounds. Had he just imagined that?
He narrowed his eyes, puzzled. He must have.
The clouds began to disperse, the strengthening breeze chasing them about. He grabbed the bags and joined in the push to the loading queue, the worry leaving him as he moved forward, the excitement growing as he listened to the chorus of voices around him.
A man just ahead was struggling to keep three boys within arm’s reach. Not brothers, they were nothing alike, and they addressed the man as “Mister,” not “Da.” The man was of middling age, his kindly round face surrounded by a full head of sandy hair beneath his tricorn hat, hair he wore loose and wild about his shoulders. Mayhap he was their guardian.
The tallest boy, the one they called Liam, was about his age. He grinned when he caught David’s eye, and pointed down the river.
“How long do you suppose before we get to Philly? Sean here says a fortnight,” Liam said, tousling the youngest boy’s curly red hair. The boy grinned at Liam, his round, freckled face lighting up at the touch. “Rob says it’ll be three to four times that. There’s a ha’penny banking on it, for them tha’s closest.”
“For the one closest, Liam. Mind your grammar,” the man said absentmindedly, his eyes on the untidy heap of papers he held in his hands.
“Aye, Mr. Oliver,” Liam said obediently, winking at David. “Well, what d’ye say, mate?”
“It’ll be at least eight weeks, I’m thinking, being as it’s winter. Mayhap longer, if we hit more than a bit of weather,” David said. “And ye, your wager?”
“Nay, Canna risk what I dinna have, and I dinna have a bawbee to spare. But I dinna mind risking what these two have,” Liam said, with a slap on the back of each of his companions.
The one named Rob rolled his eyes and turned toward the water. David noticed he had a pronounced limp in his walk, evident each time they took a few steps forward. He appeared to be the oldest of all three, sturdy and serious looking.
“Where’s your family, young man?” Mr. Oliver asked, peering at him over his spectacles, seeming to notice him for the first time. “You best stay close to them in this crowd if you don’t want to risk crossing on your own.”
“I’m not with my family, sir. Well, that is, jus’ my uncle. He’s to meet me here, Reverend Wilson he is. He had some last minute things he needed to take care of. I’m to board so as he doesna have to waste time finding me. I have all my tickets and letters,” David said, patting his jacket with confidence.
“Aye, well, he can follow us, canna he, Mr. O, jus’ in case tha’ hawker up there gives him trouble?” Liam said, canting his head toward the man incessantly shouting, “All aboard, have your tickets ready or step out of the way.”
“I suppose,” Mr. Oliver said, his gaze sweeping the crowd for anyone resembling a reverend searching for a boy, clearly not relishing the prospect of another charge.
David also scanned the crowd. It was easy enough to spot his uncle, his height being the one thing they shared, though of course his collar set him off as well. The resemblance ended there, his uncle being fair of skin and hair, his features rounded and pleasant, always friendly and approachable, reminiscent of his mother. David’s coloring was dark; his own features with more of an edge to them, at times appearing brooding and unapproachable, reminiscent of his father.
What was he going to do if the man didn’t show by the time he reached the transport?
With an effort he brought his attention back to Liam. It was hard not to like the lad straight away; he was alive with an excitement that was contagious. He was almost as tall as he himself was, but of slighter build, with jet black hair that brought to mind the tales of the sleek coats of the silkies off Orkney. His dark blue eyes were bright with intelligence .
“Rob and I are going to help Mr. Oliver set up a school in the states. As soon as he heard the war was done he jus’ upped and ‘cided to leave and start o’er, didna ye, Mr. O? Ye can do just about anything you want in Philly wi’ an education, says Mr. O. Sean here will be goin’ on toward Pittsburg, to meet up with his brother and help him on his farm, maybe end up with a farm o’ his own. Land’s free for the takin’, I hear, if ye can work it. Are ye aimin’ to stay on in Philly?” He paused for a breath and introduced himself.
“Liam Brock,” he said.
“David Graham,” David responded. “I’m to apprentice to printers Hall and Sellers in Philadelphia. Mr. Hall’s da knew my kin at the University in Edinburgh.” As they were pushed forward he turned to scan the crowd again. Finally! He closed his eyes in a quick prayer of thanks, then grinned broadly.
“Uncle John, Uncle John, o’er here!” he called, waving his hand high above his head.
John Wilson hurried forward with a small trunk, his brow furrowed with concern.
“There you are, David. I was worried, what with the sail being so close. If I didn’t see you, I was in a quandary whether to board or not. I should have arranged it better to assure myself of your whereabouts.” He paused, setting the trunk down as he hunted for his handkerchief. “What was I going to tell your mother if I ended up in Philadelphia and left you here, or if I should stay and you ended up in Philadelphia on your own?” He took off his hat and wiped his hairline, his blond hair dark with perspiration born of worry.
“Dinna fash, Uncle. I did what ye told me and here I am. Did ye find what ye were looking for, did ye—”
Noticing David’s curious companions, Wilson set his hat back atop his head. “Aye, are ye planning to make the introductions, David?” he asked, interrupting his queries.
“Oh, aye, of course,” he said. He introduced Mr. Oliver and the others.
“Well, ain’t that cozy. This ain’t a tea party; are ye boarding or not?” They had reached the front of the queue. “Plenty behind you want yer space if not, so make it quick. Where’s your docs? That’s not them. Yer not getting far with yer lodging receipt. Stop wasting these good people’s time; there’s a windward tide to catch, man.”
Mr. Oliver continued to fumble through his paperwork, dropping several pieces in his search for the tickets. Liam reached over and quickly plucked the tickets from amid the scramble of documents, his foot moving atop the fallen papers just before the breeze could take them.
“Here they are, ye old sap, and dinna forget ye kept us waitin’ these last three days for the sail.”
“Liam, tis better to return discourtesy with courtesy,” Mr. Oliver said quietly.
“Right, Mr. O, sorry. Sometimes I get me back up and forget.” He bent and retrieved the papers beneath his foot, then took the balance of documents from Oliver, carefully placing them in the case at the man’s feet. He nodded toward the waiting barge. “Let’s board then, aye?”
David passed the ticket he’d been safeguarding to his uncle, who handed it, along with his own, to the ship’s employee. The man motioned them along impatiently, “get on with ya man, keep it moving.”
THE DECK OF THE Industry was a chaos of passengers milling about and seamen shouting orders. David grabbed his uncle’s elbow, steering him to an unoccupied spot along the rail where they stood silently for several moments, watching the pandemonium on the quay.
“Well,” Wilson said, sighing and turning. “No looking back, aye? Let’s go below and claim a berth, shall we?”
Even midmorning it was dim between-decks, lit only with the weak bit of sunlight streaming through the small open hatch. It took David’s eyes a few seconds to adjust.
Zounds, it looked full, people clamoring about everywhere. The berths were stacked two high on either side of the hold, and four long tables ran the length of the center. A man was already making use of the slop bucket behind a board serving as a makeshift water closet.
“Uncle,” he asked quietly, “will the women bunk here as well, then?”
“We’re all in this together son, although we shouldn’t have to share a bunk with any women, since we’ve none traveling with us.”
“Share . . . ye mean there’ll be more than the two of us in one of these?”
“Aye, David, we’ll probably share a berth with two other men, maybe more.”
David looked closely at the size of the berths and led his uncle toward the other end of the hold, where not as many people had gathered yet.
Wilson laughed. “It’ll fill up over here as well, but aye, this will do.” He set his bag on the top berth.
“Willna ye be more comfortable on the lower berth?”
“At first perhaps, but not when the seepage from the sick above makes it way down to those below.”
David quickly lifted his own bag, storing it next to his uncle’s, hitting his head as he did. “Ouch, geez.” He put his hand to his head and looked up at the low-lying timbers.
“Ye’ll only be able to stand up straight in the middle of the hold.”
“’Pears so.” He asked about the small locked trunk his uncle had added to their gear.
“It carries our dishware, as well as some provisions.”
David lifted it to the foot of the berth. “It’s heavy. What kind of provisions?”
“Mostly oatmeal, but there’s cheese, biscuit, flour, a bit of butter, some vinegar . . . in case rations are tight.”
“I thought all was provided?”
“I heard talk. Tis prudent to have something to supplement your rations, due to the uncertainty of the winds. Now, if ye don’t mind, I’ll rest a spell. It was a long night spent worrying. Why don’t you go on up and watch our departure, while I close my eyes a bit?”
David raced up on deck before his uncle reconsidered, nearly colliding with a young sailor who was carrying the log-line and sand glass.
“Best be making yerself invisible abaft bucko, or Mr. Ritcher will have ye below faster than ye can say ‘but suh’,” the boy said, placing the items near the wheel. David nodded and moved farther aft. He supposed that was abaft; there were fewer seaman in that direction.
“Loose sail!”
He heard the sharp crack of canvas overhead as several of the sails unfurled. The sound sent his blood racing, made it all real. After months of endless talk and ceaseless planning, he was truly sailing to America.
Several sailors dropped from the rigging and raced to the front of the ship, hoisting two of the ship’s boats up from the booms and over the larboard side, down to the river to join the other three boats secured to the ship with tow-lines. Men scrambled over the side, dropping into the waiting boats to man the oars. Forgetting the admonition to stay out of the way, David went forward to watch. The anchor now up, the tide and the brig’s boats began the laborious task of towing them out to sea.
Great limestone walls rose from the thick forests crowding the banks on either side of them, and as they rounded a bend he spotted two deer taking water at the shoreline, heads rising warily as their eyes followed the ship sailing by. Smaller fishing boats passed by under sail, and farther ahead he caught a glimpse of another ship being towed out to sea. He briefly considered waking his uncle to witness it all, but that would require going back down into that hold. And the man had said he wanted to rest.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, the young sailor who had spoken to him earlier joined him at the rail. Clad in ill-fitting brown trousers, his coarse linen red-checked shirt tucked haphazardly about his narrow waist, the slight young lad was hatless, his long dark hair tied untidily back. The bright red scarf he wore around his neck was his only concession against the cold. He was not at all in keeping with David’s impressions of what a sailor should be: burly, weathered, and mean-tempered.
“Watch all that, did ya? Now you can say you know first-hand why the English be the best seaman in the world. Ain’t a easy thing to work a ship down a windward tide, backing and filling the length of it, especially no’ in a channel as narrow as the Avon Gorge. No matter how skilled the pilot. I heard it done, ain’t never seen it afore now.”
“I’ll have to take ye at your word there,” David said, “Seeing as I havena a clue what ye’re talking about. Ye’re American? Have ye been at sea long?”
The boy laughed. “Yes, I am, and no, I ain’t. Could be why I ain’t never seen it done! Alex Mannus,” he said, holding out a rough, wind-chapped hand.
David shook his hand and introduced himself.
“We’re at the Bristol Roads now, soon as the pilot’s paid off, we’ll be heading out,” Alex said. “See? They’re bringing in the boats.” He pointed to the sailors hoisting in the ship’s boats and securing them, each one nestled inside another.
David looked where he pointed, then noticed one of the crew bearing down on them; a husky, rough looking man with an air of authority. “I think that man behind ye is looking for ye, Alex. He’s headed this way, and he doesna know me. First mate, is he?”
Alex turned. “Aye, that’s Mr. Ritcher. Don’t get on his bad side. I’m off then.” He ran the short distance to meet the mate.
“Make sail,” the captain bellowed at last.
There was shouting from atop the rigging as more sails unfurled, snapping alive with the power of the wind. A brisk, salty breeze replaced the last of the pungent stench of the river, chasing away the final grey of the sky until all that remained above was a cloudless, brilliant blue. Gulls circled and dived, their screams a chorus of farewells.
Three porpoises kept pace with the ship, sailing into the air from time to time as if to welcome them to their world. The sea was bright with small, white-capped swells, the sky alive with gulls diving now and then to snatch a meal. David savored the breeze, filling his lungs as he took slow, deep breaths.
His hands tightened on the rail as the shoreline slowly receded. What was it Uncle John had said? He crossed the deck and instead faced a horizon full of possibilities, bounded only by the sky.
Aye, no looking back.
Celtic Sea
November 1783
BY DAVID’S RECKONING there were close to thirty children onboard. He’d wager each of them had cried out at one time or another throughout the night—and not at the same time, mind you; the bairns had it synchronized so that there was never more than five minutes of silence between outbursts.
And that was after the others had knocked about for an hour or two preparing for bed in the dark. Why that was, he hadn’t a clue; all one had to do was take a piss and set aside one’s boots. No livestock to see to, no barn to secure.
But things were what they were, and thus he’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, little of it sleeping. Especially when the image of a lass called Elisabeth had come unbidden, filling his mind, crowding his dreams, displacing all lingering remnants of Betsy, the barmaid from Bath.
Opening his eyes slowly, he glanced over. Alone. They’d been fortunate; they had only one other, a man from Galloway, sharing their berth. He stretched out across the full width and length of the berth, pointing his toes and raising his arms above his head in an effort to ease the tightness in his body. His hands slammed into the rafters. Grunting, he readjusted his stretch, lengthening it until he could feel his muscles calling out their thanks. Rolling off the side of the berth, he pulled on his boots and made his way to the bucket that served as the privy.
Someone had thought to hang a blanket for privacy, nice touch. Nicer still if someone had thought to empty the bucket before it was so full it splashed over each time the ship rolled. He grabbed the pail and hauled it up the ladder, emptying it over the side of the ship. Replacing it, he looked for something resembling a wash basin. He’d like to splash some water on his face and hands; he wasn’t waking easy today.
A boy was studying him, one he recognized from the inn in Bristol, one of the Germans the place had been full of. “Good morning, lad. Have ye seen any water?” He pantomimed splashing his face and washing his hands.
The boy grimaced.
“Dinna care for washing, then?” David said, laughing. The boy rattled off something and pointed to a woman packing away the remains of breakfast. She looked up and smiled, signaling David to wait. Bringing over her small tub, she offered it with a towel.
“Thank ye, Frau—” He looked at her, and she supplied her last name, or so he thought. “Thank ye, Frau Kiefer. Much obliged.”
He gulped down the oatcake his uncle had left him on the berth, shaking his head in disbelief at the small amount of water in the cup. Really? He tossed it down in one swallow, then scowled. Foul tasting stuff anyway.
At least he could hold out some hope for supper. He grinned, recalling the stroke of luck they’d had last night when a woman had approached them on deck, timidly offering an exchange of services.
“Reverend,” she had said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but— well—it’s just I seen you and your boy—I was wondering. Well, d’ye suppose I might take on the cooking for ye, in exchange for your boy taking on the burden of the heavier work the captain be asking of us?” Her hand had gone up nervously as she made her request, shielding a side of her face. She’d been beautiful once, still was on the side unscarred by burns.
Wilson had smiled gratefully. “Aye, I’d welcome such an exchange. Neither my nephew nor I have much experience with the stove. Thank you, madam. I’m Reverend Wilson, this is my nephew, David. And you are?”
“Mary, sir. Mary Andrews. These be my two boys, Adam and Samuel. My husband, he’s in America, a year it be now. He thought it too risky to take us, without his having work first, that is. But he’s sent for us now, I’m glad to say. It’s been hard without him.”
“We’ll be glad to help ye, Mrs. Andrews. I’ve two brothers a’ home. You look to be the age of one of them, Adam,” David had said. “And I dinna mind taking the meals to and fro the fire once ye ha’ them set. Gives me reason to be on deck, makes it more of a fair exchange.”
“Och no. I’ll have your meals hot and ready.” Thanking them, she had led her boys away, Adam peering back shyly at David from the shelter of her skirts.
“Thanks be . . . huh, Uncle?”
Wilson had smiled. “Aye, David, the Lord provides. And do cart the pots. She doesn’t need to be hauling and watching two small lads shipside on her own. Poor lass; looks like she’s already experienced her share of mishaps ‘round the fire.”
But it was a long while til supper. He headed up on deck to search out Liam and his friends, spotting them gathered below the mainmast, a lass among them as well.
Liam called out to him. “David, are ye up for a game of hazard? Come meet Elisabeth. Her pa’s not taking the sea well; she’s up for a bit of fresh air from tending him.”
David stilled as the girl turned to greet him. She was the one he’d seen quayside yesterday.
He could now see her eyes were indeed blue, a startling sapphire blue, flecked with dark specks of indigo. Her flawless skin was creamy white, unmarred by smallpox, touched with just a bit of color along the fine line of the bones above her cheeks. Hair was escaping her cap in the breeze and curling in wisps about her face, some of it caught in the corner of her mouth. Her mouth . . . full pink lips tilting up in a perfect bow. His hand rose to touch her face, to pull back the hair, to test the softness of her skin.
Don’t.
He couldn’t recall ever seeing hair the color of hers, not the color of wheat as he’d first thought, but that of a pale amber. He didn’t recall ever seeing a face such as hers, period. She was the colors of sunrise.
Liam elbowed him in the ribs. Zounds, how long had he been staring?
He roused himself, taking his cap in hand. “Hello, I’m David Graham. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, horrified to hear his voice betray him with a slight stutter. He noticed Liam’s raised brow and resolved it best to say no more. Elisabeth smiled politely and returned his greeting. There was silence then, an uncomfortable silence, but he didn’t trust his voice to speak, didn’t know what to say. She was the first to break it, taking her leave to see to her father.
No sooner was she down the ladder and out of sight than the others began their merciless banter at his awkwardness. Liam played a part of the proper English gentleman, Sean the lass, and Rob provided an amicable commentary, letting him off easy. He shrugged it off good naturedly—what could he say anyway? He had played the fool; he deserved the taunting. Besides, if he resisted, it’d only go on longer.
“Eijits,” he said, a wry smile turning up a corner of his mouth. Admiring the effortlessness with which they interacted, he gave them a couple moments before deciding enough was enough. Running his hand back through his hair, he set his cap on, pulling it down tight. “Are we to play, or are ye all too busy acting the goat?”
“Oh, to be sure, we can carry the weight of both, David. Dinna ye be mistaking that,” Liam said. “But ye seem a bit discombobulated so we’ll make it simple for ye and keep it to the bones. Rob, toss ‘em, will ye?”
Hazard was a game of chance, though Liam turned out to be a skillful player in his gaming strategy and the play required all David’s attention for the next few hours for him to hold his own. The stakes were tiny, but he didn’t like to lose. Especially after he’d just embarrassed himself over the chit. Liam stood when they broke for the midday meal. “D’ye play whist David? No? Well, we’ll teach ye tonight then. Mr. O’s always lookin’ for a fourth.” Mr. Oliver was also set on teaching lessons in the afternoons, and Liam invited David to participate in those as well.
“He willna mind a bit. He loves to impart bits of his wisdom. He’s even arranged with Elisabeth’s father to include her,” Liam added with a wink and an elbow to Sean. The lad took his cue and pantomimed a swoon.
David grinned, shaking his head at the teasing. He gave a noncommittal answer before leaving to find his uncle, sure Mr. Oliver would be expecting payment, something he didn’t have to spare.
November 8, 1783—Our first full day at sea passed without event. Weather fair, wind light. A German boy, Paul, from the inn, is on board with his family. We passed a pleasing hour with the language. He’ll likely be speaking English like a Scot at journey’s end! And I hope to be speaking German like a German. Morning spent gaming with Liam, Sean, and Rob, lads from the country north of Glasgow. Most of the afternoon reading with Uncle. Tomorrow plan to ask the Captain for some chores, so as the time passes less slowly.
BREAKING BRIEFLY FROM his monotonous pacing, David sat on deck and made a short notation in his journal. The ship’s bell rang twice, signaling mid-dog watch.
He was beginning to doubt his ability to keep his wits about him for the length of time it would take to reach Philadelphia. Only the first full day, and he was so wound up with the urge to run his skin fair crawled with the wanting of it.
Breathe . . . breathe and look about.
The brig moved swiftly through the water, the sea occasionally blasting him with a light spray of cold, salty water. He focused his thoughts on the motion of the breeze, the movement of the ship.
Breathe.
Aye, so the ship was small. But the ocean, now there was another matter entirely. Imposing . . . without end . . . full of life beneath. Another world just out of sight, just had to imagine it. He stood and walked to the rail.
Breathe . . . breathe and look about.
The sun, a huge glowing ball of orange, fell slowly toward the horizon, bathing the timbers of the ship in a soft glow of red, its sails in a fiery orange. All the colors of the rainbow surrounded him as it sank from view, vivid colors intermingling with the flat slate blue of the sky. He turned a slow circle to take it all in, doing his best to be nonchalant about it. It wouldn’t help matters any to have the crew start in on him for gawking at a sunset.
Things weren’t so bad, just different, just have to look about. A full moon was rising early in the east, a spectacular yellow globe rivaling the sun. He watched the trail of light it left across the water and relaxed his hands atop the rail, welcoming the calm as it washed over him and settled.
He felt her approach, felt her pause before she spoke, felt the tranquility he’d worked so hard to achieve, vanish. She hadn’t made a sound, he thought idly, not one that could be heard above the myriad of other sounds aboard the ship anyway.
He kept his eyes on the ocean. The lass likely thought him a simpleton; there was nothing to be gained in passing on how aware he was of her, everything to be risked if her face befuddled him again.
“Are you frightened, thinking of the changes to come?”
Hell. She did think him a simpleton then. He managed a snort of contempt before he answered her.
“Frightened? Nay.” Turning toward her, grateful the night and her hood cloaked her face in shadows, his eyes scanned the deck behind. “Should ye be out alone after dark?”
She laughed, lowering the hood of her cloak. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I apologize. It’s just that you appear to be making the trip alone. I’d be frightened if I were.”
Her laugh, there was no artifice to it. It tugged at him. My God, she was even more beautiful in the moonlight, her face luminescent. He turned away.
“No’ alone. My uncle is traveling with me. And I was serious, lass, what with the seaman, it might no’ be safe for ye up here a’ night.”
“My father has made great friends with Captain Honeywell. I’m sure his sailors have all been asked to keep an eye out for me.” Her voice carried an odd blend of tones: soft, sweet, yet confident. Mayhap that assurance came with the traveling in cabin class.
“David?”
She was looking at him, waiting. What had she asked? A corner of her mouth tilted prettily as she studied him.
“Do you have family other than your uncle?”
“Aye.”
“Well? Why aren’t they with you?”
“It’s no’ the right time.”
“Why is that, if you don’t mind my prying?”
He smiled, shaking his head slightly. Would it matter if he did? “We just set up in Glasgow las’ year, when we had to give up the farm in Newry. Ma’s kin is all there, and Da thought to try his hand at tailoring again. He says now that he’s older and more settled he might be more suited to such. I canna see it, but mayhap . . . ye do what ye must. That I do know.”
“He didn’t want to start over in the colonies?”
“No’ the ‘colonies’ any longer, lass. Nay, I dinna see my Ma ever wanting to leave, especially when Da’s trade is uncertain. Since I’m the oldest of my brothers and a bit at loose ends without the farm to work, Da thought it time I learned a trade of my own. When Uncle James wrote that a print shop was looking for young men in America, he decided I should go.”
“You’re fortunate to have a large family, even if they can’t be with you. My mother died, giving birth to my sister, and my sister soon after. I still miss her, but I miss my Papa, as well. He hasn’t smiled much since then. He promises things will be different in Philadelphia. I do hope he’s right.”
He thought about that. Pa’s brother, Richard, had left the farm in seventy-five when his wife and baby son had died in childbirth. Took off to France, hadn’t come back home since. His mother had retreated deep into the recesses of her own soul when his sister Margaret died of the smallpox. She’d left them for months.
Maybe it was necessary, the licking of wounds on one’s own so as they heal. Ma had come back to them, and Uncle Richard was doing just fine now, with his new wife, new sons, and new country.
“To be sure, he’s right. Everything will be different,” he answered.
“The sky is wonderful out here, isn’t it? Have you ever seen so many stars?” She set her back against the rail, tilting her head his way.
“Do you remember my name, David?” she asked with a smile.
“Aye.”
“Hmm.”
Sassy wench, was she flirting with him? Sassenach gentry, not likely . . . mocking him, then? He turned his eyes back to the ocean. The few clouds had disappeared, and she was right; the sky was brim full of stars. “This many stars? It’s a rare sight at home, to be sure.”
Captain Honeywell walked by, spotting her. Honeywell was a stout, thick man, his booming voice leaving little doubt as to whose word was law on the Industry. David hadn’t glimpsed his compassionate side yet, though Uncle John had assured him it lay just beneath the man’s rough exterior.
“Miss Hale, I’m sure your father will be expecting you. It’s late,” he said, aiming a stern glance at David.
“Yes, sir. I’ll go to him now.”
The captain planted his feet and stood his ground, waiting without a word until she started to walk away.
“Elisabeth?” David said, earning another glare from the man.
She stopped and turned, her face alight at the sound of her name.
The lass had been flirting then. Imagine that. “I’m verra sorry about your mother. I canna fathom the loss.”
“Why, thank you, David. Good night, Captain Honeywell.”
And then she was gone.
Breathe. Breathe and look about.
Atlantic Ocean
November 1783
“I UNDERSTAND MR. OLIVER is kind enough to include you in his daily lessons,” Wilson said, rising from the bench, reaching over to grab David’s cup and pack it, along with his own, back into their trunk. “He asked if I’d mind sharing a bit of the gospel with you boys in the mornings. I told him I’d be more than happy to.”
David grinned, recognizing at once the exchange his uncle had made on his behalf. “Well, I think they got the better end of that, Uncle John, ye’ve a talent for making the Book exciting.”
“High praise indeed,” Wilson said cheerfully, reaching out an arm to steady himself as the ship rolled heavily to one side. “But best not to raise expectations too much I’ve found, especially with young men who’ve much more on their minds than the word of the Lord. Are ye still hungry, lad?”
He was, but he knew his uncle was worried about the amount it took to fill him. They had already dipped into the supplementary provisions and they were only out a day.
“Nay, I’m good.” He grabbed the trunk and hoisted it up onto their berth.
“I’ll join you on deck at four bells then. Be careful up there, will you? The sea is rough today.”
“Aye, Uncle John.” Leaving his uncle to his Bible, he climbed the companionway ladder and walked to the mainmast. Many passengers had stayed in their berths this morning, owing to the weather. He wondered if Elisabeth suffered from seasickness.
Zounds, someone needed to kick some sense into him.
“David! You’re righ’ on time, man! Can we be getting started then?”
“Morning, Liam, Rob. Where’s Sean?”
“He’s still in his bunk, no’ taking well to the roll of the sea,” Rob said, his hand massaging the ankle of his lame leg.
“Ache?” Liam asked. “I can get—”
Rob scowled and shook his head, moving his hand, tucking the leg under his other. “It’ll just be the three of us till he wanders up,” he said, cutting Liam off. He brought the die out of his pocket, tossing them three times until they read a number from five to nine.
“Six. Shoot this time, will ye, David?”
David took the die, casting a six on his first try. “Nicks. That ship we saw last night? She was a slaver. Alex said so.”
“Thought so. She had an evil look about her,” Liam said, wrinkling his nose. “Smell as well.” He groaned when David won the next toss as well. “Ye take credit?”
“Dinna think I know ye well enough to loan ye my stash,” David said, grinning as he reached for the balance of the stake. They had found a small dowel down in the hold yesterday and had sliced it into wooden coins, distributing them evenly amongst themselves to use when wagering.
“Hmmph,” Liam said. He looked up as Wilson joined them, Sean in tow. “Rev’rend Wilson, good morning.”
“Good morning, lads. Gambling with the ship’s timber I see.”
“Jus’ waiting for ye, sir. Mr. O warned us ye’d be by.”
Wilson chuckled. “Oh? Ye needed fair warning, did ye?”
“No’ me, Rev’rend. Canna account for what Mr. O thinks I mi’ need. I’m willing enough to listen to any wisdom you’re willing to toss my way, so’s Rob here.”
“Rev’rend Otter often thought Liam’s questions rude, sir,” Rob offered.
“I welcome your questions, Liam, as well as the segue into the story of King Solomon and his gift of wisdom,” Wilson said. “But I can’t promise I can give ye an answer to all of them.”
“Fair enough, sir. And tomorrow, mind, I think a chat on charity wouldn’t come amiss. Remind your nephew here on the meaning of the word.” Liam motioned to the empty spot that had held the stash now in front of David. David rolled his eyes.
“Best carry on, Rev’rend. He’ll talk til ye forget what ye were about,” Rob advised.
Wilson skillfully steered the banter to the story of King Solomon, two mothers, and one baby. The conversation was lively as they discussed the wisdom of Solomon and the merits of his actions, Wilson contributing only when he thought it necessary to keep the exchange on track. David kept silent, listening to the responses of the others.
“The odds were again’ the man. No woman alive would willingly see a child cut in two, her own or no’,” Liam said.
“Mayhap the King jus’ gave the bairn to the Ma tha’ spoke out the quickest?” Sean said. He spoke haltingly, pressing his lips tightly together after the words were out.
“Ye’re spilling too much sentiment inta it, Liam. There’s plenty enough women do ‘bout anything to achieve what they be after,” Rob said.
“Half a bloody baby’s an achievement?” Liam said, scoffing. “Off wi’ ye, Rob.”
“Liam does have a point,” Wilson said. “But I think we’re best served not to belabor the details and take away, instead, the message intended.”
Liam nodded, considering, then stood, grabbing Sean by the hand. The boy’s eyes had gone round, the muscles in his throat visible as he gulped convulsively. Leading him to the rail, he took off Sean’s hat and placed a hand under his chin, aiming his face to catch the cold spray of the sea.
“Aye, I’ll give ye that then, Rev’rend. In this case the message is clear,” he said, turning back to look at them. “Tomorrow, then, come with one a bit more untidy in the interpretation, then we’ll talk.”
Wilson laughed. “All right Liam, I’ll give it some thought.” He stood and announced with a wink at David that he was needed elsewhere. “Sean, ye look a wee bit green round the gills. Would ye want to join me then? Lie down in your berth for awhile?” Sean managed a nod and Liam handed him over.
Liam looked at the sun, gauging the time. “D’ye want to keep playing?”
“Nay.” Rob eyed the mast before them. “Ye think we’d see land from the perch atop the first yard?”
David grinned, thinking it a grand idea, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to him first.
“Mayhap. I’ll go first.” He started up the ropes, welcoming the pull in his muscles as he climbed.
“I’ll have ye all locked below,” one of sailors bellowed from above, “iffin you don’t keep your bloody feet on the bloody deck.”
David dropped.
“Can he do tha’?” Rob asked, squinting up at the man high in the yards.
“Dinna ken. Though Ritcher likely can, well enough,” David answered, watching the First Mate march toward them.
“JUS’ IN CASE we were feelin’ homesick, aye, Davey?” Liam said as he shoveled, mucking out the livestock hold. Ritcher had descended fast upon them, grumbling he had no use for idle hands on his deck. Rob had made his getaway timely, claiming Mr. O needed his help.
“Ye dinna want to be getting soft as a lass on the passage, do ye?”
“Och, I wasna complaining, mind ye, jus’ making conversation. And dinna be mixin’ soft lassies in wi’ the manure. It’s no’ right.”
David laughed. “We’re done here. Suppose we ought to go below so ye can rest up a bit ‘fore your class.”
“Hmmph,” Liam said. He sprinted past David and leapt into the hold, missing the ladder by a mere fraction of an inch.
“Eijit, I’m no’ nursing ye if ye break a leg,” David said, climbing down after him.
“I ‘spect not, Davey, but there’s where I gi’ ye leave to mix in the soft lassies.”
ELISABETH STOOD TO CLEAR the evening meal from the tiny table, catching her plate just before it crashed to the floor. Bracing her feet against the roll of the ship, she quickly grabbed the bowl that had held the stew, pouring the small amount left into her father’s bowl.
He’d been on her mind for days now. David.
She had recognized him immediately. He was the boy on the quay, the one she’d caught staring; the one she had stared back at. And couldn’t seem to stop staring back at.
And it wasn’t his appearance she was drawn to, though David was every bit as handsome as Liam was, if one took the time to look. And she was taking the time. Too much time, she was afraid. She’d do well to take a page out of Rhee’s book before she made a fool of herself. Rhee could be head over heels with a boy and he’d have no inkling of it.
But his face was such a study in contradictions, who could blame her for noticing?
It was a stern face; full of harsh lines. Full lips formed a mouth that often rested in a scowl, a scowl that could change in a heartbeat when it lifted and the lines rearranged themselves into the deepest dimples she’d ever seen. Heavy dark brows framed his eyes, large doe-brown eyes lushly fringed with thick lashes. And the curls he kept hidden beneath his cap . . .
“Elisabeth, be careful. You’re spilling it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Papa.” She took her cloth and wiped up the stew that had spilled. Maybe they should just eat bread. Surely it was less of a mess.
He’d smiled at something Liam had said today, and she’d been relieved that smile and brief display of dimples hadn’t been turned on her, for she suspected her knees would have turned to pudding if it had.
But no, it wasn’t his appearance that was responsible for her fascination. It was his strength. It was a quiet, inner strength, and it drew her in.
“Elisabeth, the captain said you were talking to one of the boys on deck last evening.” Her father pushed his empty bowl away, folding his well-manicured hands atop the table, calling an end to her distraction.
“Yes, Papa, I was. He’s one of the boys I met in Mr. Oliver’s group.” She went to him and straightened his cravat. He was usually so impeccably groomed; he must still be feeling poorly. “He’s on the ship without his family. He’s headed to Philadelphia to become an apprentice to a printer; I thought he might be feeling alone.” Timing the movement so she didn’t drop it, she quickly picked up his bowl and wiped it clean, storing it back with the others in their small box of kitchen ware.
Hale stood, reaching to the shelf to grab one of his books and the bottle of whisky. “Well, be that as it may, you need to remember your place. You’re aware, are you not, of the social status of an apprentice? Be sure he’s someone you have no cause to spend time with.” He carefully poured out a measure of whisky into his cup. “For that matter, most of these people you have no cause to spend time with.”
“Papa! You know Mama always said you could learn something from people in all walks of life. Why, learning a trade to support one’s self is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s quite the thing in America.” She put the last utensil away and paced back and forth in front of her father, her fingers pulling at the cloth in her hands. At the sound of it ripping, she set it aside. Calmly, she must approach him calmly, or she would be spending the next six weeks in this room. She stood in front of him, placing her hands gently over his.
“The trip is to be so long, Papa, and there are only a few people my age. I miss my friends, I miss home. No one here would cause me harm.”
Her father sighed, softening immediately. “There are many ways to invoke harm, Elisabeth. Ideas may harm. Whether employment in the trades is ‘quite the thing in America’ or not, it shall not be for you, nor for the people you choose to surround yourself with once we arrive.” He reached over to set the bottle back on the shelf. “But I’ve no wish to lock you up in these wretched circumstances. I only mean for you to remember your place. You mustn’t form any attachments on this ship, is that clear? Absolutely clear?”
It was clear. She nodded, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Papa. You know I’d never want to disappoint you. Would you like to walk on deck?”
“Oh. Well, all right, I suppose. The book will keep.” He set it and his cup in a secure spot and donned the overcoat and hat that hung from the rack at the foot of the companion ladder, taking care to straighten the white ruffles at the edge of each of his cuffs. Elisabeth threw on her cloak and followed him up the stairs.
Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, she guided him in a slow circle of the deck. Mr. Oliver stopped them as they passed, delivering news of the day’s class. She suspected Mr. Oliver was hoping she would be one of the students at his new school in Philadelphia, but even if her father allowed her to attend a school, it would depend less on the teaching skills of the schoolmaster and more on the attributes of the other students enrolled. Which was a shame, because one had only to talk a brief time with Mr. Oliver to be impressed with his depth of knowledge.
Liam, David, and Rob were just behind Mr. Oliver, and Elisabeth took care to introduce her father formally to the boys. She wasn’t quite sure she could count on him to be polite, and she held her breath as he shook each of their hands. But he made courteous inquiries about their trip so far, and Liam, not as reserved as David and Rob, actually made him laugh at one of his anecdotes. She tried not to look at David anymore than she did the others. Papa wasn’t stupid.
The wind picked up as they continued their walk and the roll of the ship made each step a little more difficult. When they reached the companionway again, Elisabeth suggested they go below.
She was anxious to be alone with her thoughts, to mull over everything David had said to her. She and Rhee used to talk for hours at a time about a boy one or the other of them might have a fancy for on any given day; analyzing and deciphering the meanings that might be read into each phrase the one in question had uttered. Eventually they’d laugh and give up, deciding that the boys were much too simple to have their words taken at anything other than face value.
Somehow, she didn’t think that was the case with David. Actually, she was quite sure there was nothing simple nor superficial about him.
Heaven help her. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself, but, mercy, he did intrigue her past reason.
November 9, 1783—Cold today. Started classes with Mr. Oliver, passes the time.
November 10, 1783—The day promises to be a fair one, although again cold. Wind strong and steady, and according to Mr. Ritcher, we are on course. Alex says the log reads nine knots with regularity, which I gather is a respectable speed. Some of the passengers have an ongoing wager on the distance traveled each day. Many still confined to their berths, unable to recover from the constant roll of the ship. Deck has been empty of passengers for the most part.
November 11, 1783—The sea has stilled some, will be a relief to many. Wind steady.
“ARE YOU KEEPING a journal, David?”
Her voice flowed over him, fluid and feminine. He closed the journal and looked up. “Morning, Elisabeth. Aye. Ma gave me this to keep a record, something I can hand her next we meet. She says someone working in the printing business best be comfortable recording events.”
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