The Solitary Envoy (13 page)

“That can’t be possible.”

“Have a look if you don’t believe me.”

Erica glanced into the trunk. “What is all this?”

Reggie laughed out loud. “If you don’t know, Erica, we are all in great and serious trouble.”

She looked at him, the wide beaming mouth that was so much like her father’s, the light that never dimmed in his eyes, the shock of hair that fell so charmingly over his forehead.

“Remind me why I started down this road, would you? I’ve completely forgotten.”

“Because you must. Because there is no one else who can do this.” Reggie beamed. “Because you trust me to do a perfect job of running everything until your return.”

“That last statement is true,” she replied. “You are the best brother any woman has ever had in all the world.”

“If there were time I would make you write that down and seal it with a royal warrant,” Reggie asserted. Then he caught sight of someone over Erica’s shoulder and said, “Mother, did you hear? I am the finest man on the face of the earth.”

“I did not say that.”

Mildred approached with a rustle of skirts. “Are you ready, daughter?”

“I suppose…. Mother, am I making a terrible mistake?”

Erica froze in that instant, wishing there were some way to pull back the words. Why had she given her mother such an opening? But the words were out there, and it meant that Mildred might now say what had remained unsaid for the past five months. Erica should put this foolishness behind her. Her role was to accept her place in this world and be a proper young lady, one who did not seek to stray far from home.

But instead, Mildred showed the same equanimity that had possessed her all the winter long. “Reggie, the carriage is downstairs. Be a dear and take down these trunks.”

“Of course, Mother.”

“If the coffeehouse can look after itself for a bit, I want you to accompany your sister to the docks.”

“You are not coming?”

“No. Erica and I will say our farewells here.” She indicated that Erica should join her in the parlor.

Mildred waited until Erica was seated. “You will forgive me if I do not accompany you to the ship? I do not feel up to the journey.”

“You are unwell, Mama?”

“I am fine. But seeing my daughter off to strange lands, in the hands of strange people …” Her eyes were overly bright, her tone somewhat brisk. “I think I shall be more able to handle our farewells if they take place here.”

“Of course.”

“I see you do not understand. My child … Forgive me, but in this moment I cannot call you anything else. My darling child, you are embarking on a voyage I could not contemplate making. It pains me greatly, but I recognize that you are doing what you must, and I will not stand in your way.”

“No, Mama. I appreciate your words. Truly I do.” Here was her mother’s place. Here was where she felt most comfortable, where she could maintain her semblance of a proper order in a chaotic world.

In that instant, Erica saw a great deal more. Only at the very last minute, when the barriers she had kept up for so long were not required, did she see her mother in a new light. Mildred Langston was a woman raised to expect a certain pattern to life, and it had been ripped away from her. But she was trying as hard as possible to hold on to what she saw as correct for a woman of her station—her dignity, her poise, her family, her home. Erica felt such a sudden deluge of love for her mother she could scarcely draw breath, much less frame the words, “Reggie will do a splendid job of seeing me off.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Mildred settled her hands into her lap. “My child, I would ask that you do something for me.”

“Anything.”

The swiftness of Erica’s response caught them both unawares. Mildred’s eyes misted over momentarily. “You and I are different in so many ways.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, I—” “Shush, my child, I did not mean that as a criticism. You are your father’s daughter, and I should have been willing to accept that far sooner than I did.”

“I am your daughter too.”

“Of course you are.” Mildred reached over with both her hands. “A lovely, wonderful young lady who has done so much to make us all proud. And will do so much more. Of that I am most certain.”

She wanted to thank her mother, but the words would not come.

“Which is why I want to ask a very special favor of you. Actually, I am hoping to exact a promise. Consider it a parting gift to your mother.”

Erica was forced to make do with a nod.

“I want you to promise me that you will pray each and every day.”

Erica swallowed down the sorrow and worked hard at making sense of the words.

Mildred sat and studied her and said nothing more.

“Mama …”

“Yes?”

It was very hard to say what she thought; perhaps it would be better to say nothing at all. Their lives had been spent keeping so much from one another, particularly these past months. The daughter had been busy making arrangements for a journey her mother would have never dreamed of taking. The mother had studiously avoided expressing any concerns she might have regarding the entire affair. But now, on the verge of so many endings and even more beginnings, Erica wanted nothing but truth between them.

She said, in a voice so soft she did not recognize it as her own, “I am not certain that I believe in God at all.”

To her great surprise, her mother seemed pleased with that response. “But if you are willing to pray, you will at least give our Lord a chance to speak.”

“Why would He want to speak with me?”

Mildred Langston gave her daughter a very rare smile. “Because He sees in you the same wondrous talents I find myself.”

“Oh, Mama.”

“Now, I have three volumes I want you to find room for in your valise.” Mildred became brisk again, no doubt so that she would not give in to the tears Erica found burning in her own eyes. “One is the church prayer missal. If you are unable to find words to speak, this may help guide your thoughts. Another is the Bible; do try and read a few words of this each day. And finally, a copy of
Pilgrim’s Progress
. You are, after all, a pilgrim of sorts. Perhaps you will find solace in this tale.”

“Oh, Mama, I shall miss you so.”

But her mother refused to give in to the sorrow. She maintained her cheery tone as she said, “Now perhaps you would do me the kindness of bowing your head and letting me say a few words to our God in heaven before you go.”

The high seas were not at all what Erica had expected. She had never dreamed people could be so crowded. The hold where she and the family she traveled with slept was home to 91 souls yet was smaller than her family’s cramped apartment. The ship’s crew ran to 118, yet the common sailors slept in a room half the size of their own. It was only possible because they lived in watches, two sleeping while the third worked. And yet surrounding them on all sides was the greatest emptiness Erica had ever known. She sat for hours staring out over the rail. Not because she loved the sea. She was terrified of it, the great impersonal power that swept by with nary a care for who she was or why she traveled. Yet she continued to look because it was the only way she could be alone, just for a moment, in the midst of all these people.

They journeyed through a universe of water, yet there was never enough of it aboard the ship. Her personal washing was done in a cramped little closet with a sponge and a pail of seawater. Clothes had to be washed on deck, sluiced with water drawn by buckets over the side. Her skin cracked and flaked from the salt. Her clothes rustled with every movement and scratched her roughly. By the fourth week she was always thirsty. She and all the below-decks passengers, those in the common hold, were limited to three cups of water each day. It was not enough. Her lips became blistered with the salt and thirst that were her constant companions.

The wind blew every day, yet it came from the wrong direction, straight out of the east. This meant the ship had to travel far to the north, then turn and go far south, back and forth, each leg of the voyage taking a week and more. This north-and-south travel was called tacking. First-timers like Erica learned the vernacular from those who had voyaged before, though why people who knew of the seafaring life would ever agree to make another trip was a mystery to her. They tacked until the wind blew bitter and hard as winter knives, and Erica joined the others in wearing every stitch of clothing she had brought, even in her narrow bunk. Then the ship would turn and tack south until the days grew steamy and she perspired away her precious water and was wracked by thirst. All this travel, day after day of endless sweeping waves … yet their forward progress seemed to be measured in inches, not leagues.

The ship held to a very rigid caste system. At the top was the captain. Directly below him were all the ship’s officers and the richest passengers. These fortunate few secured not just a private cabin but also the right to share the captain’s table. Erica heard tales of how these folk ate, while below decks they fared upon gruel with thin strips of salt beef twice daily. By the fourth week her teeth ached constantly, and her joints felt swollen. Even the children moved like old folks, and Erica knew she was doing the same.

But what caused her the most bewilderment was how she could travel on while her thoughts remained far behind. Here she was, setting off upon her first adventure. She had obtained exactly what she wanted. Yet her mind remained fastened upon what her mother had said, both the day they spoke in the parlor and during their farewells. Despite Abigail Cutter’s assurances, Erica had felt it necessary to have something in hand before setting out, a written confirmation that she had a place to stay and people to aid her. In truth, part of her insistence was framed around knowing what her mother would want. She hoped that by showing this prudence she would halt any objections she might otherwise make.

But Mildred had never opposed the journey. She had remained calm throughout the weeks of preparation; in fact, she had rarely spoken of it at all. She had observed carefully and listened as Erica and Reggie discussed matters over meals. She had asked the occasional question. But not once had she said that her daughter should not go. Erica had found her presence to be a surprising comfort.

Now she stood by the windward rail and watched yet another sunset dust the waves with gold. Hour by hour they plied their way farther from home and closer to England. Yet her mother’s voice echoed louder than the wind, louder than the drumming ropes and the snapping sails and the barked command of a nearby officer. She nodded to something spoken by one of her fellow travelers, yet her mother’s words were far clearer.

The ship’s bell clanged the hour for the day’s second meal, and together with the others Erica made her way across the deck. Yet her mother’s presence seemed to accompany her, even down into the hold and into the line of passengers awaiting their food. As Erica accepted her bowl of gruel and salt beef, it came to her. A thought so illogical that she questioned how it had occurred to her at all.

Perhaps her mother was praying for her.

Erica ate the gruel without tasting it, for her mind and heart remained occupied with this new marvel. Could the hardships of a journey of weeks and countless sea miles be overcome by such a simple act? Were they joined by ties that defied her own mind and strength and determination? Was this what prayer was truly all about?

Chapter 11

The ship was not scheduled to stop in Portsmouth at all. But the wind gradually shifted at their approach until it was blowing hard out of the north, and a reach up the narrow English Channel would have meant another week of tacking and fighting for each mile. Water was growing desperately short, almost as short as the passengers’ tempers. So the captain elected to first berth in Portsmouth before rounding the Dover Strait and beating upwind.

Virtually all the passengers, including the silversmith’s family, chose to alight there and take the two-day coach north to London. Erica elected to remain on board. Her papers promised that she would be delivered to the London docks, and there she would go. Why should she pay twice for the same journey?

The next day, after taking on barrels of water and fresh produce, the ship raised anchor and sailed up the narrow channel. For the first time since leaving America, the winds turned in their favor. Yet now Erica would have preferred to see the ship flail into the storm’s teeth and delay her arrival by another few days, a week, or even forever. Because no matter how hard she tried to ignore her worries, she faced them constantly. What if she failed at her mission? How could she return home and tell her family? What hope could she find for her life if she was not successful? What hope did any of them have of returning to life as it once had been?

She paced the empty deck and watched the shoreline race by. The wind was south by southeast and balmy, the summer heat kept at bay only by the sea’s constant chill. She heard a sailor’s cheery tune drift down from the bowsprits overhead. Why should they not be happy? The sun was shining and they were drawing ever closer to home.

On the third dawn after leaving Portsmouth, the skipper steered his vessel past the Southend fort and entered the Thames estuary. A cannonade boomed from the fortress walls, and the ship responded with a noisy salute of its own. The colors were dipped at the main mast, signal flags were raised and lowered, and the ship sped on toward its final destination. Erica heard one of the few remaining passengers observe that England’s defenses must still be holding to a military footing.