Bitter Eden (41 page)

"Something happened today. It shows all over you. What was it?"

"Nothing. Just nothing. He was very unhappy and I gave him what little comfort I could. I talked to him about Poughkeepsie, that's all." She looked at him belligerently. "I promised him we would go home and do all the things he had planned to do himself. We decided that was best. Remember? You told me we were going back, so I told him."

"And that was all?"

"Yes! And I told him we'd always be there. We'd wait for him to come back. He is coming back, Stephen."

Stephen looked at her knowing and not wanting to know that Callie would wait for Peter for as long as it took. He'd never be able to touch her as long as Peter was in prison, without denying his brother the one person he still believed in.

"What is wrong with you, Stephen? You've been acting strangely since yesterday. Don't you want to go to Mrs. Pettibone's?"

Stephen breathed deeply, the path ahead already laid for him. He forced a smile and took her arm, walking fast and turning the wrong direction at the first corner.

"You d better follow me, or we won t get there at all," she giggled.

They hurried along the streets, Callie leading through a tangle of house-lined roads that all looked the same to Stephen. "This is where you used to live?" he asked.

"Yes."

"It's hard for me to picture you here. I always think of you in the fields and around the hop yard."

Callie glanced around. Black soot clung to brick and window. "It's hard for me to imagine living here now too. It is this one. That window up there is the window to our flat Papa and I used to think it was a grand place to live then. It was, while he was here." She climbed the steps to Mrs. Pettibone's house. She stopped at the top and looked back at him. "Why did you ask me if I were promised to Peter? What did you mean? Not marriage, surely. What then?"

"I meant nothing," he said lightly. "You just seemed so intense . . . different than usual. I . • . I don't know."

"I promised I would wait for him to come home. He needs us, Stephen. I wanted him to know we'd be there."

Stephen nodded, then indicated the door. "We're going to be late."

She rapped at the door only once, and Mrs. Pettibone's broad, anxious face peered out from the window at the side of the door. She flung the door wide. "Callie? Is it really you, child? All grown upl I never thought to see it, silly little goose that you were. I was afraid the world would swallow you whole. Come in. Come in, child, and make yourself at home."

Callie hugged her, then took Stephen s hand. "This is my cousin, Stephen Berean, Mrs. Pettibone."

"How do you do, Mr. Berean," she said and looked approvingly at him. She turned to Callie, unconsciously tugging at the stays of her corset as her eyebrows went

madly high on her brow, her eyes slanting back toward Stephen. "You found yourself a well-favored family, didn't you, child?"

Callie laughed as Stephen blushed. "Oh, I did indeed."

"What can I do for you then? You said in your note that you needed my help."

Callie explained what had happened to Peter, and why they were there. Mrs. Pettibone was the first person who had heard the story who did not look knowingly and eagerly for scandal. Stephen sat back and relaxed. She had his approval.

"Well, all the flats are let. If Mr. Berean wouldn't mind sleeping on the sofa, you could sleep in with me, Callie," she said. "It's the best I can do."

"It is all that is needed, and we're grateful," Stephen said quickly. "I'd be happy for the couch. I'd be thankful for it."

They had supper, and Stephen fell asleep soon after. Mrs. Pettibone went over to him and took off his boots with the expertise and tolerance of a woman with much practice and love of the nature of men. She put his legs on the sofa, then covered him with a blanket. She motioned Callie into her bedroom. "We can talk in here and not disturb him," she said, closing the door. "My, he is a handsome one! Such an awful lot of man. He's your cousin? Not too close, I hope."

Callie giggled. "Not too close, but still the dearest friend and brother I could ever have hoped for. I love him with all my heart for the kindness and affection he never fails to give."

Mrs. Pettibone made a face as she stood in front of Callie, letting out her corset. "Brother? You are still a silly goose. He does not look at you like a brother, and if you had a grain of sense you'd see that. The man is

in love with you, child. If you can't see that, then it must be your own feelings do not match his/'

Callie looked at her, her eyes wide; then she began to cry.

Mrs. Pettibone sat on the bed beside her and put her arms around her. "Tell me what it is, Callie. You're not still frightened by all men, are you? Tell me what it is."

"It's Peter," Callie sniffed.

"You are in love with him?"

"No . . . no . . . yes. Oh, Mrs. Pettibone, I love Stephen. I love them both. I don't know what I mean. I'd die for Peter ... I would if I could help him. He's so kind and so good. I'd do anything." Callie stopped talking. She stared at the wall, and her face softened. "But it's Stephen who makes me feel alive. I love him. I . . ."

"I understand, child; you needn't say more. But you've never told him?"

Callie began to cry again, slow, pain-filled tears. "No, and now I can't. I promised Peter I'd wait until he was free, and I will do that, Mrs. Pettibone. He needs someone."

"But must it be you, Callie?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

Callie and Mrs. Pettibone talked far into the night, Callie telling her everything she could remember about her life with the Bereans. She talked about Peter and Rosalind and Jamie and Stephen.

Mrs. Pettibone sighed as it became obvious Callie was too tired to talk anymore. "If it isn't tomorrow that they transfer Peter to the hulks, you can stay here as long as Stephen doesn't mind sleeping on the sofa." She looked sadly at Callie. "You've had a difficult life, Callie. I wish I could say something to you that would make it all right and proper as it should be. But, you

love that man sleeping in the other room, and he loves you, child. Whatever you decide, don't lose sight of that. It's a rare gift, Callie, and it doesn't come often.''

"I won't. As soon as Peter is free . . ."

Mrs. Pettibone looked down. "Yes, then," she said as she climbed into her bed beside Callie.

The hulks were blackened relics of naval man-of-war ships no longer being used. They were moored in the Thames as prison ships during their last days. Peter was taken aboard the hulk Justitia early the following morning.

There were guards and warders everywhere. As Peter passed over the gangplank one of the guards came up to him immediately, roughly searching through his clothes for money or anything of value. The first guard passed over the silver-buckled belt he wore. The second did not.

Peter was then led below with the other prisoners. Many knew what was coming. Some had been here before. Their perpetually sullen faces and leaden eyes drooped as they walked along. Peter followed in the line not knowing where he was being taken or what would happen.

All of the men were stripped of their clothing, then washed down with an ablution to kill the pests that lived happily on so many of them.

As this took place, one of the guards read from a manual. "No person other than convicts and their guards shall be permitted on board ship."

Peter was scrubbed, shoved, and pushed from one area to another. He was given over to another warder, who cut his hair off.

"Visitors may stand on the designated platform by the side of the hulk. Prisoners may be spoken to only in the presence of an officer," the guard said, clearly

marking the lines whereby the men now being processed would be cut off almost entirely from the normal world.

Peter was given the prison garb that would mark him as something less than human and make him open to any brutality any guard wished to inflict upon him.

"Any articles of value or money given to a prisoner will be handed over to the chief mate. All letters written or received by a convict will be opened by the captain to be sent or not at his discretion," the guard droned on.

Peter was taken finally to a room from which he had been hearing the ominous sounds of hammered metal ever since he had come aboard. He knew it would happen, but knowing is nothing like having it done. Irons were placed on his legs held fast by rivets driven well. It would require a tool to take them off again, if indeed they would ever come off. The last rivet was like the closing of a door to Peter, blocking out the possibility of light ever coming through.

To avoid Hell, children are taught the "awful doctrine of man's depravity." Peter stood looking at the warder who had just fastened the leg irons on him. The man looked back and thought Peter arrogant. Another prisoner who would have to be taught the hard road to repentance. As they stood staring at one another, each thought he knew what was meant by the depravity of man. One man on wholesome ground thinking he looked in on depravity, and the other in Hell thinking he looked out on it A child's lesson, learned by men and understood by none.

Callie and Stephen arrived at Newgate later in the morning and were told that Peter had been taken aboard the Justitia. They reached the hulk just in time to see him, part of a chain gang, being led up the quay amid jeering urchins, at his first day of hard la-

bor. It was a routine he'd follow every one of the twenty-one days he'd be aboard the Justitia.

Stephen and Callie waited in London until Peter returned to the hulk and the officer aboard said Callie could mount the platform to speak to him.

Peter didn't want to see her, or rather he didn't want her to see him with his head shaved, his legs in irons, and in the prison garb. But he came and stood on deck as he was ordered. He had learned quickly that disobedience was punished quickly and severely. He did as he was told, but he didn't look at her. His eyes remained downcast.

"You're wasting your time with this one, miss," the officer said. "He'll not talk to you. He's a hard one." He gave Peter a shove. "Come on, if you'll not speak to her, get below."

Peter looked up then, the deep humiliation written on his face, but that was as it should be, the officer thought, satisfied. The first function of a prison ship and the penal colonies was humiliation. The criminal spirit had to be broken before a man could sincerely repent. For men to be saved they first had to recognize they were sinners, unfit to be thought of as men. Humiliation and the erasure of pride were primary, all-important steps to this recognition. Conversion would surely follow.

"Callie," was all he said, and she knew he wanted something of her so he could remember that someone would be there for him even when he couldn't see her and when it was hard to believe there would ever be anything better than what he lived through now. She took off the paisley scarf Mrs. Pettibone had given her. "May I give this to him?"

The officer nodded, shrugged, and took it from her. He turned it over in his hand, then gave it to Peter.

He buried his face in the scarf, then turned to go as the guard tapped him on the arm.

"Peter . . ."

"Yes?"

Til wait."

He nodded.

"The May house, Peter. Remember it."

"The May house," he repeated and looked at the brightly colored scarf in his hand.

Chapter 30

Callie and Stephen returned to Mrs. Pettibone's apartment. They couldn't face going back to Kent that night. Meg would be waiting for news, hoping it would be good news just once. Neither Callie nor Stephen wanted to remember the day or talk about it.

They kept their minds on other things. They had been in England long enough. It had been planned as a visit home, but it had been one long nightmare from which none of them seemed able to awaken.

When the morning dawned, nothing had changed but that they could no longer put off returning to Kent and to Meg.

The house was quiet with an unhealthy stillness over it. Natalie was slowly recuperating from her miscarriage. Physically she would be completely recovered soon, but the family no longer tried to hide from the fact that mentally Natalie was not normal in any sense. Her peculiarities grew deeper and more serious. It had begun when she cut herself off from Meg. There had been an argument over Jamie, when Nat-

alie insisted Jamie stay in her room. She had ordered the nurse to move his crib and playthings.to her bedroom.

When Meg had come upstairs, Jamie's crib was beside Natalie's bed. She had called the nurse and ordered her to take Jamie back to his nursery. "Why, neither of you would get a decent night's rest, and you need your rest if you're to get well, Natalie," Meg had said, turning her attention to her angry daughter.

"I want him here— with me."

"In the morning, darling. He'll be brought to you first thing."

"You're not going to keep me away from him. I won't have it, Mother. I am not a child any longer. I am a married woman with a child. I know what I want and how to get it. Don't get in my way. Do you understand? I won't stand for my baby being kept from me."

"Yes, dear, you'll see Jamie; but the nursery is the place for a child. You know that, Nattie. You planned your own nursery—remember? Now, do lie back and rest, dear. The sooner you do as the doctor asks, the sooner you will be well again. Then you can take Jamie for nice long walks and play with him as much as you like."

Natalie had done as she was asked that day, and Meg had been much encouraged. She became a model patient, and was soon on her feet again. From that time on, however, it quickly became apparent that her reliance on Meg was broken. She did as she wished and what she wished was to spend every waking hour with Jamie.

Callie first realized something was wrong with Natalie's sudden devotion to the child after one of her trips to visit Peter.

"Oh, what do you have in the package?" Natalie asked as soon as she saw it lying on Callie's bed.

"It's a ball for Jamie. Peter asked that I get him something as a gift from his papa."