The Emerald Sea

  The sky had darkened to deep purple when another man entered. He paused to stomp snow from his boots and then took off a wide-brimmed black hat as he surveyed us. Vanessa, still near me, straightened up and murmured, “My goodness. Maybe there’s hope for this place after all. Wish I wasn’t wearing this frumpy old rag.”

  Compared to the other townsfolks’ grim air, this young man was like the sun bursting into our room. Dark-gold hair framed a clean- cut face that had wide-set bluish gray eyes and the warmest, most sincere smile I’d seen since entering Constancy. That smile looked almost surreal after all the scowls we’d received so far. He wasn’t much older than us either and took a minute to study each face with genuine concern. We studied him too, some more blatantly than others.

  He seemed a little self-conscious at our attention, and Vanessa whispered to me: “Is he blushing? He is. Six, it’s adorable.” I would’ve elbowed her, except she was right.

  Clasping his hands in front of him, he cleared his throat and, despite being flustered, spoke with the clear, loud voice of someone used to addressing large crowds. “Hello. And welcome. I’m so glad you’re here. In Constancy, that is. Not just the church. But I’m glad you’re here too. I’m Gideon Stewart, one of the junior ministers. From what I’ve heard about the dangers you’ve faced, the Six must love you—to save you from those dangers, I mean. Not put you through them. Anyway, I know you must all be tired and worried, but please be patient with us just a little bit longer. We’re going to do our very best to take care of you.”

  He spoke those last words with such heartfelt feeling that it was impossible not to believe them. Smiles bloomed throughout the church. Maybe things really were going to be okay.

  “Could I speak to whoever’s in charge of you?” he asked. “Your chaperone?”

  We all turned to Miss Quincy, who returned our gazes indifferently. When she shook her head and maintained her customary silence, I stepped forward. “I’ll be happy to help you, Father.”

  He turned that smile on me full force, and its radiance nearly knocked me over. “Oh, no. Not ‘Father.’ Only Uros deserves that title. You can call me Mister Stewart when we’re formal, Gideon when we’re not.”

  He led me to the alcove in the back of the church, and a few of the other girls looked as though they now wished they’d volunteered to be the unofficial leader. Maybe there was an upside to this role after all. I’d have to tell Orla, if I ever saw her again. He dragged two benches over and beckoned me to one while he took the other.

  “Now then,” he said, resting paper and a small lap desk on his knees. “I was hoping to get the names of everyone in your party—their ages, families, that sort of thing. Can you do it?”

  “Certainly.” I could tell him that, along with probably a dozen or so of each girl’s little idiosyncrasies.

  “I suppose I should know your name first.”

  “Tamsin Wright, Mist— Er, begging your pardon. Is this formal or not?”

  “Let’s say not. Gideon is fine. How old are you, Miss Wright? Er, Tamsin?”

  “Twenty.”

  “From?”

  “Osfro. Market district.”

  Gideon’s pen paused as he looked up. “The market district?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  “No, of course not.” He copied down the information, his writing neat and precise. “And what’s your family’s occupation?”

  “My father’s a day laborer, and my mother’s a laundress. I work—worked—for her.”

  He stopped again.

  “Is there a problem now?” I asked.

  “No, no. Go on, please.”

  “Let’s see. There’s Winnifred Cray. Eighteen. Also from Osfro, bridge district. Her father’s a blacksmith.”

  He hesitated a moment and then created a new entry underneath mine. But he wore a frown as he did, and I was growing increasingly perplexed. Was he judging us and our backgrounds? Even without our Glittering Court glamour, I’d expected the New World to be more welcoming of varied origins. That was this land’s great promise.

  When I saw his reaction to Damaris’s fishing family, I couldn’t hold back. “Mist— Gideon, I really think there’s a problem.”

  He leaned back, a chagrined look in his eyes. “Forgive me . . . I’m just confused.”

  “You and me both.”

  “It’s just . . .” Gideon tapped his pen against the desk as he groped for an explanation. “You speak so eloquently. I saw the clothes that were carried away, and I heard you were all on your way to be married. So, my understanding was that you were, at the very least, upper-class gentlemen’s daughters, if not minor nobility.”

  I laughed so loudly that others in the church turned and stared. “Minor nobility! Jasper and our teachers will be thrilled to hear that! It’s quite a compliment you’ve just given us.”

  His complete bewilderment restored his appeal. “So . . . you aren’t upper class? Or is it that . . . some of you are, and some of you work for them?”

  Still delighted, I shook my head. “We’ve all come from humble places. The Glittering Court just polished us up so that we’ll be more attractive to suitors in Cape Triumph.”

  “You don’t have arranged marriages you’re going off to? No betrothed? And what’s the Glittering Court?”

  I provided a brief summary of Jasper’s operation and watched as all sorts of emotions played over Gideon’s fine features. Astonishment, puzzlement, intrigue. Then, unexpectedly, concern.

  “Ah, okay. We’ll have to make it clear to the council that your organization is very structured and supervised, that marriages are certain. The idea of young and unattached women on their own . . . whose purpose is to attract men . . . it could be misunderstood by some . . .”

  He blushed again, and that made me blush, realizing what he was getting at. “Oh! It’s . . . no. It’s not that.”

  “Of course it’s not,” he said quickly. “I can tell just by talking to you that you’re obviously a principled woman. A woman of good character. And that’s important to us. Which is why I’ll make sure the others understand that you and your friends aren’t . . . uh, of bad character.”

  “Thank you. Your help means a lot.” I averted my eyes, still a little embarrassed at the potential conclusion. Taking in the strange and austere church, I couldn’t help but add, “The whole town’s help does. But I feel so ignorant about your customs. I know we’re only here for a short time, but I hope we’re not making constant missteps.”

  This drew a new frown. “How long do you think you’re staying?”

  “Oh . . . well, I can’t give you an exact number of days. We just need enough time to collect ourselves, make the arrangements, and be on our way.” When he didn’t comment, I asked, “We . . . we can leave, can’t we?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course. No one wants to hold you against your will, and I know the council’s already decided it’ll help get you to Cape Triumph. But . . . you know we’re talking weeks, don’t you?”

  “I know. It takes six weeks to get to Denham.” The pitying look on his face raised my alarms. “What? Isn’t that right?”

  “It is, except . . . well, Tamsin, you need to know: It’s going to be six weeks before you can even leave Constancy.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “MAYBE FOUR WEEKS,” GIDEON AMENDED. “IF CONDITIONS look promising, but that can be dangerous.”

  I went very still. “I don’t understand.”

  “You can’t go until the worst of winter has passed. Blizzards stir up with no warning—even into early spring. You don’t want a group your size caught in that.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. Six weeks of waiting. And another six to get there. So nearly three months until we get to Cape Triumph.”

  My heart sank. That sailor on the barge had mentioned the sudden snowstorms, but it had never occurred to me
that those might delay when we could even leave for the south. I’d be cutting it so close to Merry’s arrival. I wouldn’t have a husband yet, but at least I’d be there to greet her and the Wilsons. Barely.

  Then Gideon added: “Hopefully there’ll be no delay in organizing the traveling party that’ll go with you. We don’t want you alone with those sailors, and I’m sure a number of traders here would benefit from the trip. So, there’s a chance another week or two might get added on, depending on the planning.”

  More than three months. I had no words.

  “Oh, Tamsin, don’t look that way.” Gideon took hold of my hand and gave it a small pat. “I know it’s daunting to think of waiting that long. I know it’s daunting to even be here at all! But look what you’ve survived. The angels brought you here safely—and maybe, just maybe, you’re here for a reason. I promise to help you however I can. Now. Shall we work on the list?”

  We went over the whole group, and he filled the sheet with neat lines and columns. We had just finished when the church door opened, and one of the men who’d met us on the road entered. “Do you have the information?” he asked Gideon. “The council’s about to convene.”

  Gideon jumped up. “Apologies, Cyril. I’ll be right there.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Before you go—what is the council? Do they govern here?”

  “Yes. It’s made up of the town’s ministers and a set of elected laymen. We can govern with both divine and human guidance.”

  “And you—they—are deciding what happens to us until we leave?”

  “Yes.” Gideon held up the list. “That’s why this is so useful. Some—still believing you were ladies of pampered backgrounds—worried you’d have a hard time adjusting to our simple lifestyle in the coming weeks.”

  There was that awful word again. Weeks. A crazy notion of running away and heading south alone popped into my head, but what in the world was I going to do if I was stuck on the road during a blizzard?

  On the road . . .

  “Gideon—I’m sorry to hold you up, but I have just one more question. Do you know a man named Jago Robinson?”

  Gideon placed the hat back on his head. “Jago? Do you mean Jacob Robinson?”

  “Maybe. He’s a merchant of some sort?”

  A rueful smile played at Gideon’s lips. “Well, I suppose some might think of him that way. Why do you ask?”

  “I heard he might be able to get us to Cape Triumph faster.”

  “How?” His face turned inquisitive. “I hope no one’s been telling you he’s got some potion to control the weather.”

  “Control the . . . what? No, of course not. I just heard he could help.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you.” Gideon’s tone became carefully diplomatic. “He’s not from here—just staying for the winter. We respect him as one of Uros’s children, of course, but his ways are...well, let’s just say, he’s not so concerned about missteps as you are. Trust me, Jacob Robinson isn’t going to get you to Cape Triumph. We will. Have faith.”

  Gideon told me we’d talk more later, once our arrangements were settled. When he reached the church door, he gave a polite wave of farewell to the others that was met very enthusiastically.

  “Goodbye, Mister Stewart!”

  “It was so lovely to meet you!”

  “Do you do one-on-one prayer sessions?”

  “If you need help with anything else, let me know!”

  “No, let me know!”

  As soon as he shut the door, Polly rushed to my side, the others right behind her. “Did I see him squeeze your hand?”

  “He patted it,” I said. “He was comforting me.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if he comforted me,” said Vanessa wistfully.

  Damaris regarded me with awe. “Less than an hour, and you’ve already snagged the best-looking man in town. You really do get things done.”

  “That wasn’t snagging,” I protested, trying not to roll my eyes. “And you haven’t seen any of the other men in town. Maybe some are even better looking.”

  Winnifred crossed her arms. “Doesn’t matter how good-looking any of them are if they don’t have enough gold.”

  “I don’t even think it’d matter if any of them had the gold. What would they use it for?” Maria pointed at her gray dress. “To buy more of these atrocities?”

  “That’s unfair,” said Joan. Most everyone had drifted over now. “For one thing, it’s two sizes too big for you. And plain or not, the quality’s good. It’s nicer than what I used to have back home.”

  “When you were an innkeeper’s daughter! Did you come all this way to sweep floors again? Because I didn’t come all this way to peel potatoes, and I know Tamsin didn’t come to wash clothes.” Maria turned to me. “What did he say? Are they going to help us get to Cape Triumph?”

  “Yes.” I tried to smile under the weight of those expectant gazes. “They’ll take us. But we’ll have to stay here while they ready everything, so get used to that dress.”

  Faces lit up, and I had to walk away, lest someone ask for details on the timing. I couldn’t dash that optimism . . . yet. Because even though none of them had to rendezvous with a child, a three-month wait wasn’t going to go over well, and I had a feeling they’d look to me to fix things. That, or they’d blame me for them. The problem was that I was stuck right now. We all were. And I could hardly figure out a solution for our situation when I didn’t even know what that situation was.

  Trust me, Jacob Robinson isn’t going to get you to Cape Triumph. We will. Have faith.

  It was well into evening when our answers finally came. Five men of varying ages filed into the church, a few I recognized from earlier. Gideon came too, entering last. Even though he wore gray, it didn’t seem to cast the same pall about him as it did the others. Maybe it was just the power of his good looks. Or maybe it was that cloud of optimism he seemed to walk in.

  The oldest of the men, perhaps in his fifties, stepped to the forefront. He had iron-colored muttonchops and a heavy brow. “My name is Samuel Cole, one of the senior ministers here. We stand committed to do our duty under Uros to shelter you from both the elements and the uncouth sailors who traveled with you. We’re offering them aid too, though they’ll be living in a camp on the outside of town and assisting us with some of our harder building projects in exchange for their keep. And of course, they will have to obey our laws. As will you. Because of your age and gender, you will become dependents in our households and be expected to keep all customs and rules there too.”

  Damaris caught my eye at that, expressing a wariness I shared. I gave a small shrug, uncertain of just what those ambiguous words might truly mean. By colonial law, they couldn’t require us to convert to their beliefs, as we were all members—some more in name than practice—of the orthodox faith. So what else did “customs” entail? Just the wardrobe change?

  “I’m eighteen,” interjected Maria. “I don’t need a guardian.”

  “In Grashond, unmarried women don’t reach independence until twenty-one. That’s in our charter and is nonnegotiable.” Samuel scanned the room, searching for objection. None came. “Several of our households have generously agreed to take you in, and many more than that have donated your modest attire. You came here under the shadow of pride and ostentation, and that will not be indulged during your stay.”

  “Sir, if I may, what happened to the clothing you took?” asked Winnifred.

  “It and the rest of your cargo have been secured for the time being,” another man answered. “You’ll have no need of it while you’re here. Most will be returned when you depart, though some will remain behind as a donation to pay us back for our help.”

  “Donation indeed,” muttered Damaris under her breath.

  It would be a wonder if Jasper had anything left by the time we reached him. I stepped forward. “Not a
ll of our possessions are, ah, ostentatious, sir. I have paper in my trunk I’d like to get, so that I can write letters home.”

  Samuel frowned. “It’s best if you stay away from all of that entirely. You will have plenty of other tasks to occupy your time.” He nodded to a wiry man in glasses. “Naturally, you’ll assist your hosting family with chores, but you’ll also have additional community tasks. Roger Sackett, one of our magistrates, has your assignments.”

  Roger unrolled a piece of paper, and for one surreal moment, I had a flashback to Mistress Masterson revealing the exam results. Girls gathered in anticipation, waiting to hear their fates. But, oh, what different fates these were.

  “Polly Abernathy. You will board with Davis Lee’s family. During the day, you will help to maintain his general store’s cleanliness and keep accurate records.”

  “That’s lucky,” Vanessa murmured.

  Polly’s father had been a minor wool merchant, and she’d done much of his accounting. I’d heard that she’d scored perfectly on her arithmetic exams, and from her relieved look, she had no problem revisiting her old life.

  “Winnifred Cray. You will board with Samuel Cole and help our blacksmith, Edward Fast, with tasks in his shop: cleaning the forges, bringing in fuel, and those sorts of things.”

  Winnifred appeared just as surprised as Polly—though not quite as pleasantly. She and her siblings had performed that type of labor for their father, and she’d complained about it a number of times on the voyage. It was hard, dirty work.

  But as Roger went on, I realized with a growing horror that it was no coincidence that girls were getting work assignments matching their backgrounds. The council had divvied us up based on the list I’d given to Gideon.

  “Maria Thompson. You’ll board with my family and assist in food preparation for those households that have a particularly heavy burden when it comes to cooking—widowers, those with large numbers of children, the ill.”