Sailing home, p.21
Sailing Home, page 21
Phillipe gave Aunt Belle a smile, but it melted when he turned to Marin, Jude, and Oscar. “Oh no,” he said, “I know what you three are thinking.”
“Do you?” Jude grunted.
“Yes, I think I do,” Phillipe replied.
“Then keep it to yourself,” Jude ordered. “We need to get goin’,” he said to Marin.
“Give me a few minutes,” Phillipe said, “I would like to accompany you,” and he ran up the stairs to his room.
The three sailors took the opportunity to take their leave without him.
The walk down to the harbor was a slippery task. The three sailors stumbled side by side, looking as if they had stayed too long at the pub. The air was biting cold against the face and nostrils, and the three men huddled together, heads down, locked in pace. Marin looked up first.
“There she is,” he announced.
Jude and Oscar looked up to see the three bare masts of the Magister Maris, etched into the canvas of a bright blue skyline.
“She a beautiful sight,” Jude declared.
“You have no idea,” Marin said, as he split off from the other two and began walking inland. “Opaline,” he called out.
Opaline was about forty yards off in the distance, walking toward the pier. Marin closed the distance between them as quickly as he could negotiate the slick glare ice beneath his boots.
“Where have you been?” he asked her, wrapping his arms around her. She stood inside his embrace with her arms at her side. Marin gradually released his arms from around her, and said, “Are you alright?”
Opaline nodded, and tucked her right arm under his left. “Shall we have a look at your ship?” she said.
As Marin and Opaline joined Jude and Oscar, she only glanced at Jude, but Jude’s eye remained a little longer on her. As they approached the ship, two sentries blocking the entrance to the Magister Maris met them.
“I am Captain Marin Carpenter, and I am here to inspect my ship,” he informed them.
“We have orders to wait for Mister Reynolds and Captain Fairchild, sir. They will arrive at eight a.m.”
Jude checked his pocket watch, and said, “It is eight a.m.”
“Not quite, sir,” the guard said, being altogether certain of himself. It was only a moment later that a carriage arrived and stopped at the foot of the gangplank. “It is eight a.m. now, sir,” the guard announced with resolve.
Mister Reynolds walked past Marin and company without acknowledgment. Captain Fairchild stopped to introduce himself.
“Which one of you gentlemen is Captain Carpenter?”
Marin stepped forward with a nod. Captain Fairchild saluted him and introduced himself. Marin did not return the salute, but stood firm with his hands on his hips.
“Perhaps you could introduce me to your entourage,” the naval captain pressed.
“This is my First Mate, Mister Jude Prince; this is my ship’s carpenter, Mister Oscar, and this...” and he paused before introducing Opaline.
She put her hand out to Captain Fairchild, and said, “I am Miss Opaline Downing, Captain Carpenter’s fiancée.”
Marin tried his best to not to look surprised, as his head gave a quick turn to Opaline. Jude and Oscar made no such attempt to hide their surprise, as their heads turned to one another. The captain, having shaken her hand, extended both arms out wide, as if to gather them all together.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Captain Reynolds shouted out the warning, “Be very careful, the deck is extremely slippery.” Marin’s eyes rolled skyward, and Mister Reynolds clarified, “I was speaking to the lady.”
As they came aboard, Mister Oscar could not help but notice that none of the rigging had been replaced. Most of the stays were the same worn ropes that had needed replaced before the last voyage. The sails were all tucked away such that their condition could not be inspected. The mizzenmast had a long crack running from its base to the first yardarm. Mister Prince, noticing how clean the deck was, commented that the Navy had done a fine job of shinin’ driftwood, a comment Marin found void of humor. Marin inquired as to why the three ‘Jollyboats’ the Magister Maris carried in her Waist Deck were missing. Neither Mister Reynolds nor Captain Fairchild had an answer for him. After the brief inspection above and below deck, Mister Oscar stood before his captain, and declared,
“Sir, this ship is not sea worthy, and she might fall shy of qualifying as a suitable museum piece.”
Marin admonished Oscar with a whisper into his ear, “You’re sailing a little too close to the wind, Mister Oscar.”
“List your objections and submit them to me by noon tomorrow,” Mister Reynolds said, and addressing Marin he asked, “And what progress have you made in obtaining a crew, Captain?”
“None what so ever,” Marin answered. “I have no intention of gathering a crew. If the Navy wants a crew for her voyage, the Navy can assemble one.”
“Very well, Captain,” Mister Reynolds replied, as if Marin had played into his hands. Captain Fairchild’s eyes darted back and forth between the two, as Mister Reynolds added, “We will be loading cargo tomorrow, and the ship will be off limits to anyone but Navy personnel until the day of departure, which may be delayed, since it is now the Navy which must find you a crew. We will, of course, be in touch.”
As Mister Reynolds turned and walked toward the gangplank, Captain Fairchild was slow to follow. He paused beside Marin to comment in a confidential tone, “I take it your heart is not committed to this assignment.”
“You can add my head, guts, and soul to the mix, Captain,” Marin replied.
The captain looked at Marin with a perplexed expression, but said nothing.
As they approached the gangplank, Marin saw Phillipe coming in a quick, but carefully pronounced, stride down the boardwalk. He was dressed in full bright yellow plumage: breeches, stockings, vest, waistcoat with short skirts, and a long black woolen overcoat, open full.
“You could have waited for me,” he shouted out to Marin.
When Fairchild turned a queried eye to Marin, Marin simply stated, “The ship’s mascot.”
As Mister Reynolds and Captain Fairchild got into their coach, the captain turned to Marin and saluted, and then he deliberately placed his forefinger alongside his nose as Mister Reynolds snapped the reins against the horses’ backside, and the carriage was pulled away.
“Oscar and I are going to the tavern. I’ll see you back at the house later,” Mister Prince said to Marin.
“I was hoping we could sit down and—”
“Yes, of course,” Jude interrupted Marin, “I’ll see you back at the house ...later.”
There was something half-hidden and suspicious in the tone of Jude’s voice, as well as the way Oscar’s pace gathered distance from Marin, making it quite clear Marin was not invited to join the pair. Not that he would have; Opaline had just introduced herself as his fiancée, and he was eager to have a private word with her. But of course, Phillipe would ruin the opportunity, striding alongside asking questions about the meeting with Mister Reynolds.
“So, what did he say? Are we still leaving on Sunday? Did you raise your concerns with him? Is the ship ready to go?” he asked in rapid succession.
Opaline raised her head off of Marin’s shoulder, and said, “Phillipe, ...s-h-h-h.”
Back at the house, Marin gave Aunt Belle and Phillipe a quick synopsis of the meeting, summing it up by saying,
“Something is definitely askew. I have a feeling we will be hearing from Captain Fairchild.”
Opaline emerged from the room where Phoebe lie, wringing her hands.
“Phoebe has developed a fever and is in pain. She may be close to delivering her baby, or maybe something else is happening, but regardless, I am going to need a large bowl of hot water, soap, plenty of towels and washcloths, some lard, clove, laudanum, scissors, a lantern, and some alcohol. Aunt Belle, if you could assist me. Marin and Phillipe, this could take some time and we need to keep noise and disturbance at a minimum, so ...no bickering.”
After gathering most of the needed supplies, Aunt Belle and Opaline went into Maria’s bedroom and shut the door.
“I think Opaline and I are engaged to be married,” Marin whispered to Phillipe.
“What do you mean, you think?” Phillipe whispered back.
As Jude and Oscar sat at small table in the corner of the Red Boar, each drinking a cup of what the French called, ‘Gloria’ – burnt coffee with brandy – Oscar quietly unfurled his plan to sink the Magister Maris in the harbor.
“Tonight, with no moon in the heavens and, according to the almanac, a covering of heavy clouds, I am going to come alongside the Magister in a dinghy and drill a few holes a couple o’ fingers above the water line in the fore and mid-ship holds. As they load the cargo and ballast tomorrow, she will take on water faster than they can unload and bail.”
“What is it you’ll have me do, then?” Jude asked.
“Stay clear. Your millin’ about would only cause suspicion.”
“I pity poor Marin,” Jude frowned, “he loves that old tub.”
“Well, it’s sink her now in the shallows, or sail her to a deep dark grave.” Mister Oscar replied, a bit too loud.
“We’re going to need more hot water,” Aunt Belle said, entering the kitchen where Marin and Phillipe sat playing chess.
“If we aren’t sailing on Sunday, shouldn’t you be preparing for your hearing?” Phillipe asked Marin.
“Excuse me,” Aunt Belle said, leaning over the table and placing her head between the two of them.
“What’s to prepare?” Marin said, getting up and grabbing an empty bucket and dipping it deep into a barrel of water. “He will tell his side, I will tell mine. This barrel is almost empty.”
“Are you going to take Opaline with you as a witness?” Phillipe asked.
“I don’t see the point. It is simply his word against mine, and the burden of proof is on him,” Marin said, pouring the water into a large cauldron hanging over the fire.
“But you did assault him,” Phillipe said.
“He was the provocateur,” Marin said, “I was simply defending Miss Downing’s honor.”
“Which is why you should take her as a witness,” Phillipe said, making his next move on the chessboard.
“We are going to need more water than that, Marin,” Aunt Belle instructed. “That cauldron should be at the ready, full of hot water until you are told otherwise.”
Marin gave Aunt Belle a single nod as he replied to Phillipe. “I won’t have Miss Downing’s character sloshed about as a subject of debate. In her absence, the Magister will have no choice but to presume the lady in question is worthy of protection against slander.”
Aunt Belle stood tense lipped with arms crossed, her eyes locked on Marin.
“I am tending to it,” he announced to her. “Phillipe, grab a bucket and help me bring in more water.”
“Marin Carpenter, you listen to me,” she scolded, one arm folded against her midriff, the other reaching out with pointed finger. “A lady’s honor is thin coinage against the riches of a family such as the Berry’s. Don’t you assume for a moment that her character will be protected by custom. Talmadge Berry and family will do everything in their power to reduce Opaline’s reputation to the status of a dockside whore, and the court is bound to listen. Let the lady speak for herself.”
“I will need someone to go outside and break up some ice and bring it to me,” Opaline called out from the bedroom.
“I’ll get the ice,” Marin responded, “Phillipe, you bring in water.”
Once Marin and Phillipe were out of doors, Opaline walked to the kitchen and said to Aunt Belle, “So, I am the one going on trial.”
“A woman’s reputation is always on trial, my dear,” Aunt Belle replied.
A few moments later, Marin came into the bedroom with a bucket full of ice. Opaline put a handful into a folded towel and placed it on Phoebe’s forehead.
“How is she?” Marin asked.
“I am concerned about her fever.”
“Should I send for Doc Myers?”
“Good Lord, no. The last person I want in the birthing room is a doctor.”
A puzzled Marin asked, “Why is that?”
“Mainly because they are not women. Male doctors tend to be careless, impatient and unnecessarily obtrusive.”
She looked down at Marin’s hands and added, “They do not even bother to wash their filthy hands ...thank you for the ice.”
Marin started for the door, but stopped and turned to her. “Opaline?” he ventured, as if he were turning to the Queen for favor.
“Not now, Marin,” she deflected.
As Marin left, Aunt Belle entered, closing the door behind her. While assisting Opaline in rolling Phoebe onto her side, she said, “You need to attend Monday’s hearing.’
“Monday is a long way off. My first priority is to the two lives lying here before me.”
“Marin’s freedom may depend upon the defense of your reputation.”
“I do not give a tinker’s dam what any of those people think of me, and if flogging my reputation results in Marin going to jail, then at least he will not have to go on this dreadful voyage,” she said, attending to Phoebe all the while.
Jude came staggering into the house slinging a half empty bottle of whiskey, looking as mad as he was drunk. He slammed the bottle on the kitchen table and roared, “Who’s goin’ ta join me in a drink?”
“S-h-h-h,” Phillipe ordered.
“Don’t cha be shushin’ me, ya little twig,” Jude shouted.
“Mister Prince, mind your tongue,” Marin admonished, “and your volume. Phoebe is not feeling well, and Opaline has asked for quite.”
“What’s wrong with her, then?” Jude snarled in a more subdued voice.
Aunt Belle came gusting into the kitchen and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table, thrusting it Jude’s face.
“Take your bottle and your gut full of whiskey and leave this house, ya drunken sot,” she said, as loud as one could whisper.
Jude stepped back as if he’s seen a snake. “I’d like ta see Phoebe,” he requested in a civil tone.
“She is not taking visitors at the moment,” Aunt Belle sniped, and left the kitchen with the bottle of whiskey still in her hand.
Jude ran all ten fingers through his hair. “Captain, what’s ailin’ Phoebe?” he asked.
“Opaline isn’t sure,” Marin said.
“Opaline? Where’s the doctor?”
Marin left the question hanging in mid-air.
“Where’s the doctor?” Jude repeated, his voice rising again. “Ya haven’t sent for a doctor?”
“Jude...” Marin began.
“I’m goin’ for a doctor,” Jude said, rushing out of the kitchen. “If anything happens to that little girl...” he warned, closing off the comment with a slam of the front door behind him.
About half an hour later, three wagons pulled up in front of the house, loaded with the equipment and supplies Opaline had ordered in Providence. Marin and Phillipe went out to help the other three deliverymen unload the wares. Each of the wagons had ‘Pritchart’s of Newport’ printed on the sides.
“I take it that all these items came from Pritchart’s,” Marin said to one the men. The man pointed to the lettering on the side of his wagon. “I thought they were to be delivered on Monday,” Marin said.
“What’s the difference?” the man answered, pulling an item off of the wagon.
The commotion of bringing the first load of equipment into the house, brought Opaline outside.
“What is all the disturbance?” she asked Marin.
“The good folks from Pritchart’s are delivering the equipment you ordered from Bernard’s. Isn’t that sweet of them?” Marin jibed.
“And not a moment too soon,” she countered. “Can we stack everything in the parlor for now?”
Marin directed the men into the parlor. As they were beginning to unload the third wagon, Jude and Doctor Myers walked up to the house, passing by Marin and Phillipe without a word. Marin followed them into the house, running past them and standing in front of Maria’s closed bedroom door.
“You’re not to go barging in there,” Marin stated.
“Out of the way, Captain,” Jude said, in a cool, but firm voice.
“Don’t test me, Mister Prince,” Marin said.
Doctor Myers squeezed between them and called through the door, “Miss Opaline, it is Doctor Myers. May I have a word?”
The door opened a crack, and Opaline placed one eye in the aperture.
“I have come to offer my assistance,” he said.
“Very well, wash your hands,” she instructed.
The doctor looked at his hands. “They aren’t dirty,” he responded.
“Doctor Myers, if you wish to assist me, you must first wash your hands,” she said firmly, and closed the door.
“Why would she think my hands are soiled?” he wondered aloud. “Where can I wash my hands?” he asked Marin.
Marin led him to the small room off of the kitchen, and fetched him some hot water and a bar of lye soap. After the doctor had dried his hands, Marin and Jude washed their hands as well.
Returning to the bedroom, the doctor rapped upon the door. As Opaline opened the door, the doctor held up his hands, flipping them palm to back, and said, “All clean, may we enter now?”
Marin and Jude held up their hands as well.
“Doctor, you may enter. Marin, Jude, I see no need for either of you to be present.” She let the doctor pass and closed the door.
“We washed our hands for nothin’,” Jude said, “and why so secret about what’s goin’ on in there?”
“We probably wouldn’t understand if she told us,” Marin answered.
The doctor was but two steps through the door when his first criticism was hurled. “Why is she lying on her left side? She should be on her back.”
“Doctor,” Opaline began, with impatient tone, then grabbing a deep breath of calm, she explained. “First of all, she is more comfortable in that position. Secondly, lying on her left side increases the amount of blood flow between mother and baby. It also helps to stabilize her breathing. But at the moment, I have a far greater concern.” Leaning over and pressing her ear against Phoebe’s bulging bare stomach, she said in a grave and sober voice, “I am afraid I cannot detect the baby’s heartbeat.”
