My Name Is Resolute

  Wallace turned a stern countenance to me as if he were a father, or worse, a master, and said, “Do not pretend to know what I am about. It makes you unseemly. A man’s bride must not presume to know his business.” Serenity gasped, threw her hands to her mouth, and ran out, sobbing. Her sisters and mother shrieked and followed her.

  I felt chastened as if Birgitta had thumped me with her stick. My heart wrenched in its place, tears welled, and I felt shocked. “Of course not,” I said.

  He managed a smile but I could see through my own tender feelings that it strained him to do so. “First lesson. When it comes to business, you mind your tatting.”

  Why they let Wallace go through their father’s and husband’s papers, scattering them as any mouse searching for crumbs might do, I surmised was the result of years of convincing that anything a man said or did was not to be questioned. I wondered then if I would ever have the patience to bear such indignity as they, and with such peaceful countenance. Was it true what Patey had said about needing a man for business? I hoped his sharp tone was due to his concern for the family.

  Finally, he held up a sheet of paper and said, “So it is the Honorable Alexander Barrett who has claimed this house.”

  Mistress Roberts returned in time to hear his last words. Her face streaked with tears, she held a kerchief to her mouth. Her hair hung in frenzied coils, her fichu askew.

  “I don’t know how he could do this,” I said.

  “Legally,” Wallace said. “That’s how. That rascal gypsy Cole no doubt convinced both men the risk and the ship were real, took the cash, and left. Now Barrett has no other option but to foreclose to recover his losses.” He stood and straightened his coat, moving toward the door.

  “But,” Mistress Roberts asked, “could he not see we’ve lost everything if he takes this house? Where will we live? How shall we eat?”

  I said, “Could you speak to Mr. Barrett for Mistress Roberts? Or introduce her to him so she could ask for the house?”

  Wallace’s eyes searched mine. His expression told me I had overstepped yet again. He glared at me while addressing her. “I will see what I can do, Madam.”

  Mistress Roberts hugged her daughters joyfully, one after the other, praising Wallace even as he made his way out the front door. He borrowed a horse and rode back to town, leaving me there with no further words. She thanked me for bringing him there, though she caught herself in mid-sentence. “Though I am still peeved at you for taking him from my Serenity. If it weren’t for you, we should have no fear at all of losing this house.”

  I said, “I assure you with all my heart, if I could have stopped our falling in love, if I could have known, if I could have saved Serenity—”

  Serenity had returned, and now stood behind me. “Oh stop,” Serenity said. “If you believe what you say, then walk back into that woods whence you came and never return. Leave him to me where he belongs.”

  “Would you have me out on the street?” I asked, cursing the plaintive note in my voice. I had wished to remain aristocratically above begging.

  “Yes!” cried Serenity. “We are all on the street because of you, you witch.”

  “No!” cried Betsy, America, and Herbert.

  Finally, red-faced, Mistress Roberts added, “We are not as those who would throw someone out into the street. Now we are to become beggars among our friends.”

  I squared my shoulders and walked up the stairs to finish packing the trunk the Spencers had supplied me. It was full of clothing that the Robertses had purchased. In it were also my petticoat and Patience’s apron. I took those from my folded garments and bundled them into my two smaller parcels.

  One of the footmen carried my trunk down. I carried two hatboxes and my parcels. I bade farewell to a maid. She said, “How elegant, your ladyship. It’s like you was in a story falling in love with a prince. He’s ever so elegant. You shall be very happy.”

  If happiness was measured in money, I shall, I thought. I wished Donatienne were here to talk with. Will I be happy with Wallace? I wondered. His kiss, just the memory of it, sent trills rippling over me, as if I had leaped into a cold stream and a warm bed at the same time. Was not desire also the promise of a blissful marriage? “Yes, I shall, I expect,” I said, pushing from my mind the image of a yew tree and Patience beneath it.

  Mistress Roberts saw me by the trunk and shouted across the drive, “And not a tender word to our guest about love or devotion, no! Just a quick order. Oh, a fine life she’ll lead, charged around like any alewife and full of child while he goes riding about the countryside.”

  I said nothing but closed my ears to her taunts, satisfied that it was justified, and partly the voice of a childish old woman who did not understand Wallace, or my love.

  In the midst of wails that reminded me of my capture by the pirates, the Roberts women and two boys were pushed outside with what clothing and sundries they could carry in their arms. The servants were also put out to try their best at finding a new position. The soldiers made sure we were not pilfering the silver or gold ware. A rider came, a messenger. The master of the guard took the note first, and then gave it to Mistress Roberts. She wept anew. “Children? My children, we have no hope. We are out. We will go to my cousin Alora’s house in Cambridge. She is fond of me, I think.”

  The coach Wallace sent for me arrived in the midst of turmoil. I asked the coachman to drive the Robertses to their cousin’s home in Cambridge. They packed themselves in it so we were crushed like candles in a box. On the way I tried to assure them that they would not perish. They would have to find a new way to live, that was all. I said what Patey had told me, adding words of my own advice, “Be clever. Watch always, see what is around you and care for each other. That is your best hope.” All I accomplished was sending them into gales of tears. I left them at the door of a modest house, three stories tall, with neat and well-kept vegetable gardens on the south and west sides, and some very surprised relatives. I knew enough of the raising of food to see that these gardens were a substantial boon for any family, and that they would fare better than many others might in their situation.

  It was late afternoon when I arrived at the shipping office near the harbor. My dear Wallace swept me into his arms with a freedom from propriety that astonished me. It felt daring, bold, as if our passion were unleashed. We ate beef pies with beer, our last meal on land for quite a while. The ship would sail on the morning’s tide at seven. After we chatted about possible food aboard the ship, I asked, “Where shall we sleep this night?”

  “Here on the bench, I suppose, with the others.” Then he laughed and said, “We’ll away to my house, have a proper supper at eight, a nice bed, and Barnes will awaken us in time to come back. On a bench? I believe you would have done it, you silly goose.”

  I said, “Oh, you were teasing? It would be no worse than some nights I have spent, and better than others.”

  The grin on his face turned to stone, just for a moment. Then he looked down at his lap and back to my face, his smile as warm as ever. “Tell me about those places. Since having disappointed the Roberts family with the prize of a rich husband for one of theirs, I have heard a great many libelous and bilious rumors regarding your past.”

  “I know nothing of their rumors but I will gladly tell you the truth. I was captive almost six years. Hardly a life of crime and thievery.”

  “Captive? As in a story? By whom? Tell me.”

  “No, not as in a story. My family was torn from our home by Saracen pirates. Then the ship was taken by English privateers. My brother made to be part of them, my father killed, my mother abandoned. My sister, Patience, and I were sold as slaves in a colony of Reformed Puritans, and then captured again.”

  “Slaves!” His eyes formed narrow slits, just as a cat, half asleep, watching, waiting. “But you are educated.”

  “I was beaten and starved so that I thought I might die. I was captured by Indians and taken to the Canadas where French nuns made me work in fields until
I was sunburned and sore, then work at a loom day in and day out for a crust of bread and a bit of thin soup. I was educated there. All that is behind me now.”

  “But, you seem—you have every appearance of aristocracy. The right hair, the perfect form and size. And you were a slave?” He said it with such revulsion I felt shame.

  I wanted to explain, to tell him what I had endured to come to the place where I was, and how enduring it had shaped me. “I was. It was terrible. This is a good time to tell you, also, that I would have it that we keep no slaves, ever. I will not own anyone but myself.”

  “As a slave, did you have to perform everything you were told to do?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did your master require you?”

  “Every sort of work. Milking goats. Washing and carrying for their lazy daughters. He made me charge his pipe.”

  “I know something of what a slave is to do. He made you do what to his pipe?”

  “So he could smoke it.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes, quite often. I met one fine man there. Reverend Johansen. He was ever good to me. He spoke to me so kindly. I was glad of his friendship but of course when we were carried away to the Canadas, he could help me no longer. He died recently.”

  “I see. What other men were there?”

  “Even though the house was so tiny, people stayed overnight often. We had to sleep one upon the other. Lukas Newham claimed to love my sister but he was false. Some others were gentlefolk. Even my master, though I hated him and he beat me, was so kind to his children. You should have seen him when Lonnie fell into the fire. Birgitta beat me, too. They went to the wilderness to form their own town. That is where the Indians took us. They made us walk for over a month.”

  “Indians took you? Barbaric! What did they do to you?”

  “Often they carried us. They were not so terrible as you might think.”

  “I dare not think of it, dear one.” He took a long, last drink, finishing off his tankard of beer. “This is very sad news, indeed. Very sad.”

  I laid my smallest bundle on the table before me. Upon it, tied so that I could reach it quickly, were the two letters, one to me and one to Mr. Roberts. “But I am alive, Wallace. And I love you. That is all that matters, now.”

  “What is that you have, Miss Talbot, my dear? Did you write me a love letter?”

  “No, though I should have liked to had I thought of it. These contain two addresses of the solicitors in Jamaica to whom I shall apply for my estate.”

  “Apply? Why must you apply for it? Let me see them. I am already so distressed hearing your tale that I can hardly bear more. Why did you not bring them to me so that I could take care of this for you? You know you have no head for business. May I?”

  “Of course,” I said, and pulled them both from the bundle. “I merely wanted to have the office names so that when we get there I might find them.”

  As he read, his face lost its warmth and he pursed his lips. He made a fist with one hand and read the letter again.

  “It is rather complicated,” I began.

  He raised his hand to quiet me. “Wait here,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Business. I must check into this. Wait here for my return.” He dropped two shillings on the table as payment for our repast.

  “Yes, of course,” I said, watching the coins twirl in ever shrinking circles, closing, closing, until they collapsed, one upon the other.

  “Wait for me, here,” he repeated. He stood and adjusted his hat.

  “All right. I will wait for you, Wallace.” Then he was gone.

  An hour wore past, then another. Finally the publican himself told me to either order food and drink or wait by the door. I had one look at the two women standing by the door, speaking to each man who arrived or left, and told the man I would have another beef pastry, and that Wallace would pay for it when he returned any moment. I asked him to see if Wallace’s coach still waited outside, for I might wait at his home.

  “No coach,” he called from the doorway, and went back to his stew pot and kegs.

  I listened as a watchman called out the hours. At midnight, the inn was empty and the publican came again, this time not so politely, saying, “Time you was making your way on the street.”

  “I cannot,” I said. “I promised Mr. Spencer I would wait right here. He will return any moment. I believe I hear his horse now.”

  “You has been put out. Are you blind as well as thick? And I be putting you out again. G’out there and find a brick to stand on. You be ’ant g’ang to fetch that half a crown what left earlier.”

  I pulled myself up. “You shall not address me in so vulgar a manner. I am betrothed to Wallace Spencer of the Boston and Virginia Spencers.”

  “I’ll address yer ladyship anyhow I be want to do. Out with you, wench.”

  He raised his hand to strike me, and I took up my parcel and bundle. Wallace had put our trunks in the harbormaster’s office, but my petticoat and apron with hidden treasures I kept by my side always. Whether the man might have struck me, I would not know, but I was cast out the door into shadows and smells that turned the world back into my deepest and most hideous nightmares.

  People clutching each other passed by me, the smell of drink hard on them. Where there were two men they were singing. Where there was a man and a woman, they performed coarse teasing and fondling of each other before my eyes.

  At long last the watchman returned, and I called to him.

  “Get off with ye!” he shouted. “I got no truck with hoors.”

  “Please, sir, I beg. Find a magistrate for me. A wagoner. Or take me with you to someplace safe. I need to board the Aegean by five in the morning, there to wait for my betrothed husband.”

  “Fah! Betrothed cuckled worm!” he said and held his lantern over my face.

  I tried to still my fears and plead to him with my eyes. “I was to await him here where we ate supper, but he has been detained. Please help me, sir.”

  “Ye ain’t a doxy. No, I can see ye ain’t. And right here? Awaiting his lordship? With no carriage or trap? What kind o’ folk are ye? Be ye fair?”

  “Fair? I suppose some have called me thus.”

  “And if I take ye to the ship ye’ll do mischief to her sails and her crew, and toss ’em over for changelings and selkies.”

  I smiled. I knew whereof he spoke. “I meant other than what you speak, sir. I have fair hair and skin, but I hold no enchantments, only hopes. I want to get home to the island of Jamaica. My beloved promised me that I should be allowed to see her before we marry and he has arranged us both passage on the Aegean. She sails at dawn.”

  “That she does. All right. Blast me but I believe ye. Follow me.”

  I supposed later that I had been a fool. That this stranger could have led me anywhere he chose to be ravished and murdered in a thousand different ways. I trusted him for no reason I could name then or later and, gratefully, I ended up at the harbormaster’s office where a sleepy clerk gave me his seat. I reached into my pocket for a penny for the watchman’s effort, but he refused it.

  “I still be not certain ye’re real. I will take nothing from ye, miss, which might bring me a pot o’ trouble until I can get rid of it.”

  “Your kindness has saved me,” I said, and leaning toward him, I kissed his whiskery cheek.

  He huffed and puffed like a teakettle, then went out the door, turning first to the right, then left, and went whistling on his way.

  A hand jostled me awake, my head banging the wall behind me as I opened my eyes. “Miss? Are you boarding?”

  “Yes,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Yes. Is Mr. Spencer here? We are to board the Aegean.”

  “You’ll have to wait here for him, then,” the man said. “Just better stay awake.”

  Five came and the sun rose at half past. Six came and I could see a great ship in its mooring, gangways crawling with men loading her as fast as any could. My h
eart beat the time, minutes, minutes, seconds more. The loading seemed to slow. Panic filled my soul. I took my parcels in my arms and hurried down the dock. A stern, loud-voiced man stood at the nearest gangplank, writing things on a paper held on a small wooden board. “Passenger?” he barked at me.

  “Yes, sir. My name is Miss Talbot of Two Crowns Plantation, Jamaica. I am traveling escorted by Mr. Wallace Spencer.”

  He looked over his papers. “Spencer? That name is removed. Talbot? No passenger by that name.”

  “What do you mean, removed? Please, sir, look again.”

  “We have five passengers. No Talbot. Spencer was registered as ‘gentleman and wife’ here but fare is rescinded. Have ye the fare?”

  “How much is it?”

  “Fifteen pounds ten will get you there without starving.”

  I gasped. I had less than a third of it in coin. I thought of the pearls. The brooch. Home. “I could get it if you will wait for me. I will find a jeweler.”

  “We sail with the tide, come hell or high water.”

  “Would you buy pearls? Trade them for the fare?”

  “Mayhap. I’d have to see ’em. Who’s going with you?”

  “No one.”

  “No unescorted women. If you wasn’t a whore afore you got here, you’d be one by time you made the bay in Kingston. This is no place for you. Go on home now.” He proceeded to go down his list and call orders to people who could not have heard him, ignoring me as if I were just another plank of wood before him.

  I dashed toward the office. There I spied my trunk outside the door. A paper tag fluttered from one of the locks. I took it up to see my name there, with Aegean under it, a black waxy X marked through the entire thing. My pleas to the harbormaster to take my pearls brought me nothing. I turned from him in tears.