Sea Change (32 page)

When you live with people, and bind their wounds, those differences fall away.

When you fall in love with an American...

She wrenched her mind away from that direction because Dr. Murray was discussing Lieutenant Huntley's bladder stones, and whether an operation would be necessary.

"May I assist?"

Dr. Murray looked at her, and for a moment Charley thought she saw his lips twitch toward a smile, but it must have been a trick of the light.

"I believe, Miss Alcott, that if you assist with this procedure Mr. Huntley will never speak to me again. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, but no, I will wait until we are in Jamaica and then if I feel it is necessary I can have assistance from another surgeon."

"A male surgeon."

"There is no other kind, Miss Alcott."

Charley wisely held her tongue. There was no use in arguing with the man, and she felt she'd made tremendous progress in being allowed to assist him.

The busy days since she was taken aboard the
Caeneus
helped to keep her mind off the unknown fate awaiting her in Jamaica. Being mentored by Dr. Murray also put her under his protection in the eyes of the crew. Some of the midshipmen sniggered and whispered behind their hands when she passed them, but they never said anything when the doctor was about, for his memory was long and his chest of emetics was well-stocked. They knew better than to get on his bad side.

Assisting Dr. Murray also allowed her to care for "her" Americans, for which she would always be grateful to him. The
Caeneus
was every inch a Royal Navy ship, its decks holystoned and its brightwork gleaming. If Charley longed for the more relaxed attitudes of an American schooner and its crew's demands for "sailors rights," argued loudly and openly amongst themselves, then it was a revolutionary viewpoint she kept to herself. She was back amongst her countrymen now, and she helped these Americans best by being their doctor. Charley joined the men of the
Fancy
when they were brought abovedeck for their daily exercise, walking with them and helping to keep their spirits up. It was a treatment that worked both ways.

"Cheer up, Charley, the war cannot last forever."

"I thought I was supposed to be boosting your morale, Mr. Bryant."

Charley looked over at the weathered older man walking beside her, still in the stained and torn clothing from his last battle. She wore her own raggedy brown coat like a uniform, prideful that it had seen service with these brave Americans, her enemies, and her dearest friends. She would miss Mr. Bryant desperately. He was now a part of her world, and along with Mr. Lewis was a link to Davy Fletcher she didn't want to relinquish.

"The war is over for me, Mr. Bryant. I will, I hope, find a snug berth in Jamaica and put thoughts of life at sea behind me."

Mr. Bryant chuckled. "Too late for that, Doctor. A snug berth? You are thinking like a sailor, not like a lubber."

Charley smiled as they strolled beneath the watchful eyes of the armed marines, their red-coats making them stand out like bright birds on the deck.

"Maybe I do have more salt in my blood than I did before, Mr. Bryant."

"You can still come to Baltimore, Charley. We would always welcome you there."

Charley looked away, so Mr. Bryant would not see the moisture that suddenly made her vision hazy. She refused to shed any more tears. That part of her life was amputated, and it was time to move on.

"Thank you, Mr. Bryant. That means a great deal to me. But I think you can understand," she continued gently, "why Baltimore cannot be where I would settle."

"Aye, of course I understand that," Mr. Bryant said, clearing his throat and wiping his hand across his eyes. They kept walking, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

"I do have one request," Charley said suddenly.

Mr. Bryant looked at her.

"When you see Henry Fletcher, please tell him I asked after him, and wish him well. Now that he is the eldest Henry will be forced to take on Captain Fletcher's responsibilities to his family. I know David had every confidence in Henry."

"Indeed he did," Mr. Bryant said softly. "And David had every confidence in you as well, Charley. He would not want you to spend the rest of your life mourning him."

Charley said nothing in response to that. She did not know what the future held for her, but she knew she would always mourn her Handsome Davy. She looked over the larboard rail to the dark mass on the horizon. Jamaica was in sight, and she would say her good-byes tomorrow to her American friends.

"Try to stay off that leg as much as you can, Carville, and if it worsens, have the surgeon look at it right away."

"Aye, Dr. Alcott," Carville said, pulling on his forelock in a show of respect the Americans would normally never bother with, but they wanted to make a point to the Cannies that Charley was their doctor and they would treat her like Queen Amphitrite if it pleased them.

She turned to Dr. Murray, who was alongside her up on deck, when a commotion from the water brought them both to the gunwale. The boat was returning with a wildly waving Mr. Andrews, calling something out to those still aboard the
Caeneus.

"It's peace, Miss Alcott, Dr. Murray, the Americans have surrendered!"

"That don't sound right," muttered Carville.

Charley suspected, too, that there was more to this than Andrews's statement, but waited until the young man came back on board.

"I just heard it from Captain Doyle," he said excitedly. "While we were cruising a treaty was signed between Britain and the Yankees!"

"America surrendered?" Charley asked.

"Well, how else would there be peace?" the youngster said.

"I suggest we wait for a full report from more experienced hands," Dr. Murray said, and Charley agreed with him.

"Oh, and I have a letter for you, Miss Alcott," Andrews said, reaching into his bag.

Charley took the letter, but before she opened it she said, "Mr. Andrews, do you know when this peace treaty was signed?"

"Back in December, the captain said, in Ghent."

Charley felt the blood drain from her head. The battle between the
Fancy
and the
Caeneus
was fought on February 20th.

"Miss Alcott? Are you quite all right?"

Dr. Murray was looking at her keenly.

"What a waste," Charley murmured. There had been no need for it. No need for the injuries and the amputations. No need for David's senseless death. The peace treaty was already signed, the war was over. There had been no need for men to die, or bleed, or get maimed for the glory of it and the gold and the love of their countries. No need at all.

Dr. Murray looked like he was about to say something, but Carville spoke up, saying stubbornly, "I still don't believe the United States surrendered."

"A peace treaty is not a surrender, Carville," Charley said. "I am sure there is more to this than we know."

Indeed, when Captain Doyle returned there was a full report. A peace treaty had been negotiated restoring Great Britain and the United States to their antebellum status.

"But what of the prisoners?" Charley asked Captain Doyle.

"A Yankee trader from France bound for Charleston put into port a few days back. That is how we got the news. The governor is not interested in having a gang of Americans roaming through Kingston, and asked if we would 'host' them for a while longer until they can ship out with their countrymen."

It was that simple. Men who two days earlier would have run each other through or blown each other to pieces, now were up on deck toasting each other's countries with carefully rationed grog. Captain Doyle wisely put a limit on the amount of alcohol served, knowing that it wouldn't take much to re-ignite the conflict on a smaller scale.

"Captain Fletcher told me I do not understand men, Mr. Bryant," Charley said in bemusement later that night. "I have to agree with him."

Mr. Bryant shrugged his shoulders. "They fought when they needed to fight. Now they're anxious to go home. We sailors are not complicated creatures, Doctor."

They were of an equal height and he looked over at her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you certain you will not come to the United States with us, Charley?"

Charley smiled at him in the dusk as the men sang patriotic songs of both countries, avoiding the more incendiary ones, such as that new ditty from Baltimore about Fort McHenry.

"No, Mr. Bryant, my life is here now. Dr. Wilson is sending a carriage for me tomorrow and I will be living with him."

Her godfather's letter was everything Charley could have hoped for. He was thrilled to have her on the island, he wanted her to come live with him, he was anxious to introduce her to Jamaican society.

Charley had not made mention of her masquerade, thinking it a story best told in person. Then Dr. Wilson could decide if she was a suitable house guest, or if he wished her to return to England.

For tonight though she would enjoy her last evening as "Dr. Alcott," at least among the Americans. Charley dined with the officers of the
Caeneus
, who asked Mr. Bryant to join them as well. The Brits put on a feast, knowing they could restock in Jamaica and not wanting to stint in front of their recent foes. The ship's livestock was sacrificed for the cause, and the officers and their American guests dined on fresh chicken and roast lamb, with a pudding that all applauded as the final course. Toasts were drunk to President Madison and to the king, and Charley was pressed with invitations to visit when she returned to England.

Dr. Murray was largely silent throughout the evening, but that was not unusual. He drank sparingly, watching the other men celebrating. Charley had been laughing at one of Lieutenant Huntley's jokes about Jamaican cooking and looked up to see Dr. Murray's gaze resting upon her. The knock on her cabin door later that night as she packed also was not unusual, given that she was often enough called out to help with the sick.

"Dr. Murray!" She smiled at her mentor when she opened the cabin door. "I am glad you came by, as I have not yet had a chance to thank you for all you have done for me."

"Mmmph," Dr. Murray said, a sound signifying much and nothing, as Charley knew it was part of his repertoire when dealing with the ill. But he looked oddly uncomfortable.

"May I come in?"

"Dr. Murray, is something wrong?"

He entered and stood in his cabin with his hands clasped behind his back, peering at her intently. His eyes had gold flecks in the green and brown, she thought suddenly. Odd that she was only noticing that now.

"I have come here tonight to ask you to marry me, Miss Alcott."

Charley stared at him, and blinked her eyes. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat, rocking back nervously on his feet, his hands still clasped behind his broad back. Charley was sure she had never seen the phlegmatic surgeon so discomfited.

"Yes, Miss Alcott. I would like you to do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage. I believe we would suit each other well, and circumstances in my life--and the end of the war--lead me to think I should take a wife now. You are not like other young ladies I have met. You are sensible and intelligent and, as I said, we would suit one another."

Charley knew she was staring, but she couldn't help herself. The gruff Scotsman never gave her any leeway in his sick bay, and his views on women practicing surgery and medicine seemed to be engraved in the granite he resembled. She had to admit that he wasn't an unhandsome man, being a couple of inches taller than her, and solid through the shoulders and arms from years of setting bones and performing amputations.

But he wasn't Black Davy Fletcher.

"You do me great honor, Dr. Murray--" she said gently, then paused. "I do not even know your given name, Doctor."

"Alexander."

"You do me great honor, Alexander, and I am touched by your offer of marriage, but I do not believe we would suit. Not in that way."

He looked at her with the intensity he brought to his medical practice, reading signs and symptoms in her face and stance.

"There was someone aboard the
Fancy
who was special to you, wasn't there?"

"Oh yes," Charley said, swallowing. "Someone special. But he is gone now."

Dr. Murray only nodded, then said, "I suspected that was the case."

He cleared his throat again.

"If you change your mind, or find that you need my assistance, you may call upon me anytime while I am in Jamaica. However, I hope to leave for England as soon as I can book passage."

He turned to leave, but Charley stopped him with a hand on his arm. When he looked back at her, eyebrows raised, she leaned over and kissed him on his stubbled cheek.

"I will always treasure your proposal of marriage. It does mean a great deal to me."

He said nothing more, but as he was leaving Charley had to ask.

"Dr. Murray, how old are you?"

He looked back, and this time there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.

"I am thirty-four years old. Practicing medicine ages one before one's time, a thought you might well keep in mind, Miss Alcott."

Charley smiled at him. "Goodnight, Dr. Murray."

"Goodnight, Miss Alcott."

Dr. Curtis Wilson was anxiously pacing as Charley climbed out of the
Caeneus's
boat at Port Royal. The face beneath the planter's hat was wrinkled and weathered from the tropical sun beating down on them. From the slightly yellow cast of his face, Charley suspected her godfather suffered from malaria as well. He appeared startled when one of the midshipmen disembarking pointed to Charley as the young lady he awaited.

But when he opened his arms, his soft eyes sheened with emotion, Charley felt she'd finally found that safe berth she sought.

"Oh, my dear Charlotte, you look just like your mother!"

Charley smiled to herself as she leaned down and was enfolded in an embrace that smelled of tobacco and chinchona bark. Dr. Wilson was being kind, for Charley knew from her mirror that all she'd inherited from her petite and dainty mother were her eyes. It was good though to be with someone who knew her family, even with memories dimmed by time and sentiment.