Sea Change (33 page)

"Let me look at you," he said, holding her at arm's length. Dr. Curtis, who barely came up to Charley's shoulder, frowned up at her.

"What have they done to you, my dear? You are quite drawn and undernourished!" But then he shook his head and said, "Listen to me go on. That's not important now, my dear, what is important is taking you home, and getting you settled."

A Cannie passed Charley a fishy-smelling basket over whose rim Pirate surveyed the landscape. Another Cannie carried her satchel and the pitiful amount of worldly goods she could call her own.

Ah, but the experiences I have had are priceless!

Dr. Wilson took her arm to lead her to the open phaeton where his coachman was holding the horses, but Charley stopped him for a moment to wave back to the Americans who were watching from the rail of the
Caeneus.

"Goodbye, Mr. Bryant! You have my direction if you need assistance in Jamaica. And, Mr. Lewis, continue the treatment of that rash and it should clear in a fortnight."

The men waved at her, and Charley turned back to her godfather, who was sitting facing the rear and watching her with his eyebrows raised.

"I imagine you have quite a story to tell me, Charlotte Alcott, but it will wait until luncheon."

"Yes, Dr. Wilson."

"Oh, please call me Uncle Curtis as you did when you were a child!"

"Yes, Uncle Curtis."

The older man smiled and patted her hand. "You always were a sweet girl, Charlotte, following your father and me around the house and asking so many questions! I miss those times, and I miss Horatio."

"I miss him also," Charley said, "but finding you here, waiting for me, gives me great comfort in his absence, Uncle Curtis."

"I never married, Charlotte, so my friends' children are the closest I have come to having a family of my own. I do believe having a young lady in the house will be an invigorating tonic for this old man."

The phaeton was richly appointed and Charley realized her godfather must be quite well off, which eased her conscience. She did not want to be a burden to him, and judging from his finely tailored clothing and the carriage with matched pair, he appeared able to handle another mouth at his supper table. Charley's godfather entertained her on the drive around the harbor to Kingston, pointing out sights of interest along the way.

"....and tomorrow I will take you to Mrs. Norton, the dressmaker. She can outfit you for all the social occasions coming up, Charlotte. It will be a great pleasure to attend the routs and assemblies with such a lovely young lady on my arm!"

"I wish you would call me Charley, Uncle Curtis," she said.

"I could never do that!" He stared at her, looking nearly as scandalized as when she'd climbed out of the boat in her trousers. "Charlotte is such a pretty name! If you like, I will call you Lottie, but I could not bring myself to call my darling goddaughter by a boy's name."

Charley sighed as she felt part of herself slipping away, but in all fairness to her godfather, he was warm and welcoming where he might have shown her the door after her adventures at sea.

"I understand, Uncle. It may be best if we stick with Charlotte then."

Dr. Wilson's house was an airy enclave behind high walls covered with bougainvillea, the misty Blue Mountains hovering in the background.

A Jamaican woman with dusky skin splattered with freckles across her wide face met them at the door and introduced herself as Mrs. Mansfield, the housekeeper.

"Annabelle, do you have a frock Charlotte might borrow to wear to the dressmaker's tomorrow?"

Mrs. Mansfield looked at Charley and they both started to laugh while Dr. Wilson stood there, confused.

"Men!" the housekeeper said, shaking her head. "Dr. Wilson, this young lady is two heads taller than me and my dresses would be wide enough to fit two of her inside!"

"Oh dear," he said, realizing what the problem was. "But how can I take Charlotte to the dressmaker then?"

"Dr. Wilson, you are an important man in this town. Send Mrs. Norton a note, sir, and ask her to come here. I am sure she will be delighted to do that. In the meantime," Mrs. Mansfield said in her softly accented voice, "I imagine Miss Charlotte would like some luncheon and a chance to settle in."

"Luncheon sounds lovely, Mrs. Mansfield," Charley said, and the housekeeper smiled, showing an impressive array of white teeth. Dr. Wilson escorted Charley upstairs to her room, an open spot that had shutters cast wide to let in the air and light, and a veranda for sitting outside. The bed was hung with mosquito netting, and there was a dressing table with a brush set, and a separate bathing room. All was painted in a buttery yellow with white trim, and it looked warm and inviting.

"I hope you like your accommodations," Dr. Wilson said with a touch of shyness. Charley put her hand on his arm.

"It is everything a young lady could desire, Uncle Curtis. You have made me feel most welcome."

"You are family now, Charlotte. I want you to think of this as your home."

That would be difficult, Charley thought, after Dr. Wilson left her to freshen up before luncheon. She was overwhelmed by the amount of space that was to be hers. After months aboard ship, living in cramped quarters where every inch of room was precious, it was almost frightening to think about sleeping where the ceiling was so high, the walls so wide apart, the bed so soft.

She sat on the bed, and leaned down to sniff the pillow. It smelled of lavender and fresh air. She was used to her pillow smelling of salt, with a slight tang of mildew, and wondered if she could sleep in such a strange environment.

"Oh well, I'll adjust." Charley sighed, looking around at the luxurious appointments.

For luncheon there was fish brought to market fresh that morning, served with ackee fruit fried with oil and spices. It resembled scrambled eggs, but Charley pronounced it delicious. The bountiful fruits available, the bananas, mangoes, papaya and more, delighted her after the sea rations of the
Caeneus.
As they ate a young boy sat in a corner, pulling a rope which rotated a fan stirring the air around the diners, and the strong light coming in through the open doors was filtered through wooden shutters to make the room inviting and comfortable.

After luncheon Charley broached the subject of why she had thrown herself on the hospitality of her godfather. She gave him an abbreviated and highly edited version of her life over the past months, and watched in dismay as his face grew redder in the telling.

"This is a shocking tale, Charlotte Alcott! You should have stayed in England and written to me immediately. I would have fetched you myself!"

Charley took a sip of the light wine, feeling the need for fortification.

"I no longer had a home, Uncle Curtis. My father's illness left me with very little and we did not own our house. Where would I have lived while waiting for you?"

He looked ready to explode, but she plowed ahead.

"You have not seen me for years, Uncle, and you do not know the life I was living. I could not stay in Little Abbott, not without my father. It was a good life, but it had its difficulties and I would have been lost waiting there for someone to rescue me."

She brushed the hair back off of her forehead, an automatic gesture for someone who could not look as if there was a feminine fringe of curls framing "his" face.

"My father raised me as best he could after my mother died, and trained me as his apprentice. Dressing me as this way, as 'Charley,' helped him, and helped me as well. I love my work, Uncle Curtis. I practice medicine because it is my life, and because I can do some good for people."

"But, my dear child, the things you have seen and done! This is no life for a gently bred young lady! Medicine is a dirty business, and surgery in particular is a task fit only for craftsmen capable of removing bits and pieces. You might as well be an itinerant bonesetter as a surgeon."

"The surgeons I worked with were honorable and skilled, and my own father practiced surgery when it was necessary."

"Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, Horatio had no choice but to lower himself that way. No, that was not the life you were meant for, Charlotte Alcott!" He softened his voice. "I know you are used to keeping busy, and you wish to be helpful, and I understand that. But give me the opportunity to show you what you have been missing as a young lady. You may find you like it, and I expect once you meet an eligible young man or two these silly ideas about practicing medicine will no longer be an issue."

For that was what it was all really about. Dr. Wilson made it clear that his duty to her dead parents meant marrying her off to a suitable man, and a suitable man certainly did not want a woman used to treating the pox and administering clysters to strangers.

"But what if I do not find a suitable man to marry, Uncle? My unconventional past could make this difficult. And I am honest enough to know that my looks will not drive men to compose odes to my features."

She didn't feel she needed to add that her status as a non-virgin wouldn't help in the marriage market.

He looked dismayed at her blunt self-assessment, but drummed his fingers on the table as he thought.

"Let us see what happens this year, Charlotte. Will you grant me that much? A year to see if we can find you a situation that suits you?" He reached across the table and patted her hand, wincing at the roughness of her skin. "I do not want you to be unhappy here, Charlotte, far from it. But you must give yourself a chance. And please, give me a chance as well. If you indulge me on this it would make me quite happy."

Charley lowered her eyes from his sincere gaze. She was ashamed at her temper, and chastised herself. Her godfather welcomed her and she threw his gifts back in his face.

"That does not seem at all unreasonable, when you put it that way, Uncle Curtis. I will do my best to fit in here, as you wish."

When Mrs. Norton arrived to make Charley's wardrobe, she didn't give the trousers a second glance. A slim, red-haired woman of indeterminate years, Mrs. Norton also did not affect a French accent, as so many dressmakers did. Most importantly, she listened to Charley's concerns.

"These styles, Mrs. Norton, constrict the movement of my arms. I cannot be comfortable in such a fashion."

"We can do with a different sleeve, Miss Alcott. Perhaps something in a bodice
a l'enfant
? It is fortunate that the fashion now is for fuller sleeves. But I must insist on the carnation pink, Miss Alcott. It is a color that suits you and will bring out the shine in your hair. In addition, it is a color quite in fashion!"

"Heaven forbid I should scare away a man by not being fashionable enough," Charley muttered, turning on the stool where she'd been ordered to stand. She shivered in the cool morning air, since she was wearing nothing but a hastily purchased chemise.

"Think of my reputation, if not your own, Miss Alcott."

Charley looked down at the kneeling seamstress to see if she was making a jest. She appeared in deadly earnest and Charley relented. She didn't want to make a fool of herself in public, and Mrs. Norton's reputation was formed by how people viewed her creations.

Besides, rather than be critical of Charley's unconventional looks, as she'd always feared a dressmaker would be, Mrs. Norton was blunt in her assessment.

"You will do quite nicely in my gowns, Miss Alcott," the seamstress said as she rose to her feet and walked around the young woman. "You have a long and lean form, which is all the style right now. Also, your bosom is not overly large."

"That is a good thing?"

"It is when one wishes to be fashionable. I sell restricting corsets to women who long for a silhouette such as yours."

Charley shuddered at the thought of binding her breasts again. That was one thing she did not miss from her days masquerading as a man. Encouraged by the dressmaker's assessment of her form, Charley went further and insisted that some of her everyday dresses be cut to be worn without a corset. After years of being bound tighter than a sausage she was reveling in the freedom to go about unfettered. If one was "blessed" with a small bosom and slight hips, it made sense to take advantage of what nature bestowed.

When Mrs. Norton returned the next day with two finished dresses, Charley smiled to herself as Mrs. Norton turned her this way and that, taking in a stitch or pulling at a seam. She'd been afraid of wearing women's clothing, afraid of looking foolish. But once she realized how much more comfortable a lady's muslins and silks would be in this tropical climate than the heavy coats, waistcoats, cravats and boots worn by the gentlemen, she was quite pleased to play the part of a young lady of fashion.

If she had to be perfectly honest with herself, Charley would say that after all these years of masquerading as her father's son, and as Dr. Alcott, she was reveling in being a girl. She smoothed her hand over her arm, loving the feel of silky fabrics against her skin, light fabrics that moved with the breezes. Mrs. Norton explained how different colors added to her appearance, what colors to avoid, and how a strategically placed bow or ruffle could highlight one feature or disguise another. It was an art that was all new to her, but fortunately, she had good guides in Mrs. Norton and in Tilly, the maid engaged for her by Mrs. Mansfield.

In the privacy of her room Charley practiced sitting properly, like a lady, her legs no longer sprawled open like a man's. It was a harder task than she expected, remembering not to stride, but to stroll, not to sit any which way, but with ankles together and back not touching the chair.

There were moments she missed the freedom of her man's attire, and at other moments, too many of them, she wondered what David would have thought to see her dressed so.

But those thoughts brought tears, so she tried to lock them away.

At night there was no escaping her memories in her lonely bed. She had never known how much she missed the touch of another human being before she fell into Black Davy's arms. The pain rolled over her in waves in the dark and she clutched her pillow to her chest waiting for the heartache to ease, the tears to cease.