The Voyage of Promise (7 page)

T
he slave be in the capt’n’s quarters, same as always,” Jake proclaimed to the clusters of sailors who complained together all along the lines, who grumbled while they stacked barrels, and matched grievances over the chicken cages. A particularly angry clutch of seamen hunched over a bucket glowing with red-hot coals.

“Under
’is majesty’s
pertection, is wot!” Sam mocked. He plucked up a stick, whittled sharp at one end, and skewered a skinned rat. Then he elbowed his way to the hot coals. “As always—ever’ hour of ever’ day of ever’ week, she be in the capt’n’s quarters.”

“That’s cuz she be the capt’n’s woman now,” Billy growled. He held his own sizzling tidbit over the coals, turning it with an expert hand to roast both sides. “She be a slave and a curse, yet still she lives like queen o’ this ship.”

“She be queen whilst
we
be the ones wot gits the lash and chases after rats to feed our starvin’ bellies,” grumbled Sam.

“If we has to run the risks of a woman on board, then by all wot’s fair she should be ours,” insisted Billy. “ ’Specially a
slave
woman. The capt’n has no right to keep ’er locked in ’is cabin all fer ’isself!”

In actual fact, Grace was seldom with the captain, rarely alone with him, and never in his private cabin. She passed most of her days by herself in her own accommodations where she veered back and forth between despair and hope. In her hours of despair, she lay on her bunk and sobbed. In her hours of hope, she flew into a frantic frenzy, weaving together preposterous plots for finding Cabeto and getting both him and herself back home to Africa.

But the times of hope always ended when weariness overtook her. She drifted into a restless sleep, awash in impossible dreams of walking in the moonlight with her husband at her side, their little son kicking at fallen mangos as Mama Muco scolded him from the doorway… then, in her strong, husky voice, beckoned them all home for the night. Happy dreams of her life before Jasper Hathaway ripped it apart and dashed it to pieces.

Late at night, when only the brightest stars pierced the inky black blanket of sky, Grace ventured out to walk along the quarter deck in search of the North Star. Always trustworthy, it always showed steady in the same place in the night sky. Somehow, such unswerving dependability gave her hope. Sailors followed the stars. Perhaps that brightest of all stars would lead her to Cabeto.

Grace felt safe on that isolated back deck, since only she and the few officers were allowed there. She gazed out into the dark and remembered Cabeto’s eyes, so deep and searching; his ready smile and deep, rumbling laugh; the funny way his hair grew thick on one side and thin on the other.

One evening, Grace paused in her stroll and stood at the railing. She looked up at the stability of the North Star, then down into the powerful depths of the waves that churned
in the ship’s wake. A refreshing breeze blew and eased her troubled mind. She didn’t even notice Doctor Wills step up behind her.

“Jasper Hathaway is in a desperate state,” the doctor said.

Grace didn’t answer, nor did she shift her gaze from the sea.

“His old scars and healed wounds have opened up into new sores, a particular complication of scurvy. And his teeth are falling out. His mind is breaking down as well.”

Still Grace said nothing.

“Mister Hathaway is a stubborn fool. He turns his back on every remedy I suggest and calls me a charlatan who only desires to preserve the real cure for the ship’s officers.”

“Yes,” Grace said. “Mister Hathaway is a fool.”

“He asks to see you,” Doctor Wills said.

Grace sighed.

“You owe the man nothing. Yet because he is my patient,

I am duty-bound to pass his request along to you. Should you agree to see him, the captain and I shall accompany you to his quarters. But should you decide to decline his request, no one will think the less of you for it.”

Grace felt as though her body had turned to stone. See Jasper Hathaway again? Stand beside that despicable man, with the captain and the good doctor looking on, and tell him—what? That all was forgiven? Even though her son lay shattered and gone? Even though this very night her husband sailed to the ends of the earth on a slave ship of death?

The doctor laid a gentle hand on Grace’s arm. “I have done my duty by my patient,” he said. “I shall not speak of this again. If you decide to answer Mister Hathaway’s request, I insist that you let me know. If you decide otherwise, justice is well served.”

Grace couldn’t trust herself to look at Doctor Wills. Instead, she gazed up at the North Star. If it was in Mama Muco’s power, Grace knew she would be looking at that very same star and praying to God that it would guide Grace home. And Cabeto—where was he this night? Was it possible for him to look up and see the guiding star?

Everything that had happened to Grace, all of it circled around Jasper Hathaway. He would have been her husband had her parents had their way, despite his most disagreeable nature.
A snake at your feet.
That’s how her mother, Lingongo, had described him, even as she was arranging for her daughter to marry him.
Keep a stick in your hand, Grace
, Lingongo had warned,
you will need it
. It was the thought of marrying Jasper Hathaway that had forced Grace to escape from the London house, and it was the fear of his taking her back that had pushed her to Cabeto. And although everything that had happened had come about because of evil intent, she was grateful for the happy years in the village—her life with Cabeto, baby Kwate, and Mama Muco.

From bad comes good.

And then Jasper Hathaway had forced his way back into her life and destroyed everything all over again.

From the worst comes the best.

How could that be so? All Grace knew for certain was that she did not want to see the man. Certainly not in the presence of Captain Ross and Doctor Wills. What she would have to say to Mister Hathaway, she had no wish for the two of them to hear. They were kind men, but what did they know of straddling two worlds—both foreign, both hostile, both treacherous?

And yet, the thought of leaving the solitude of her cabin for the busy-ness of the main deck did hold its share of attraction. For in truth, Grace was terribly bored. From her cabin,
she could hear singing and dancing on the deck, and sometimes raucous laughter and wild cheers. She longed to watch the fun. Not to take part in it, of course; just to stand in the shadows and watch. The captain had forbidden her to do so— “unseemly,” he insisted, “not to mention needlessly dangerous.” But Grace was no child. She could take care of herself.

If I make my way back at twilight
… she thought.
If I am careful to stay hidden in the shadows
…

And now, after Doctor Wills’s words, were the captain to discover her where she was not supposed to be—well, she could simply plead a responsibility to look in on Jasper Hathaway.

The very next evening, when Mister Brandt came along the deck at sunset to light the lanterns, Grace opened the door of her cabin the same as she usually did, and she reached out her candlestick to him to light the wick of the candle. But this evening, strains of a strangely sweet music wafted through her open cabin door on the evening breeze.

“What is it that makes such music, Mister Brandt?” Grace asked.

“A fiddle,” Jonas Brandt answered. “Jake Martin plays it rather well for a thief who was almost hanged at the gallows and only just escaped from Newgate Prison, do you not agree?”

Grace did indeed. And as soon as Mister Brandt was out of sight, and her candlestick was safely settled on the table, she slipped out the door. She stole past the officers’ berths and, following the music, made her way toward the main deck. In the waning light, under the shadows of the deck lanterns, she spied a cluster of seamen hunkered down and crowded together. Jake’s fiddle almost drowned out their voices, but Grace was well acquainted with the sound of men calling out wagers. Still, no one in the group looked to be throwing dice.
Odd, that. Nor could she see any playing cards. Odder still. What were the gamblers doing?

Grace inched forward just a bit, then a bit more, taking care to stay hidden behind a stack of barrels. What she saw was a circle scratched onto the floor. In it was a huge cockroach, along with several smaller ones.

“ ’As ye a favored one?”

Grace jumped backwards and gasped.

Sam stood behind her, sniggering wickedly. “Ever see a cockroach race afore?” He downed his tot of rum, smacked his lips loudly, then wiped his filthy sleeve across his face. “Ye wants to place a bet on yer favorite, then?”

Icy fear gripped Grace and crept up her back. Frantically she searched for a way of escape.

“Do yer dear capt’n know ye come to visit wi’ yer old friends?” Sam asked.

Grace tried to push past him, but Sam would have none of it. His eyes flashed viciously and, in a near growl, he said, “ ’Ere now. Ye be fergettin’ yerself, missy.”

The fiddle fell silent, and the race was abandoned— although Chester did grab up the biggest cockroach and slip it into his pocket. Billy strode over and placed his body on one side, blocking her way, while Chester stepped up behind her so she could not turn back. Several other men moved in to fill in the gaps on either side. Every eye was on Grace.

“Ye knows wot the capt’n is doin’, don’t ye!” This was Billy speaking, and his words were an accusation, not a question. “Fattenin’ ye up, ’e is, and glossenin’ ye perty fer the slave ships. They be set to come by any day now. The capt’n… ’e be plannin’ to sell ye, ’e does. ’Eard ‘im talkin’ about it with me own two ears. Says ye’ll fetch ’im a better price than all the silk in China.”

Grace tried to push past Billy, but he grabbed her and forced her toward Sam. “ ’Ere, she be yers,” Billy said. “Jist as ye said.”

Jonas Brandt’s lash brought Sam’s triumph to an abrupt end. What happened next, Grace didn’t know—didn’t
want
to know. She turned and ran all the way back to her cabin, slammed the door shut and pushed the table up against it. Sam and Billy were liars, both of them. She knew it was so because she knew their kind. Yet Billy’s words tugged at the edges of her mind. Why
was
Captain Ross being so nice to her? Everyone wants something. Experience had taught her as much. What did Captain Ross want from her?

The next afternoon, Grace did not go to the captain’s office for afternoon tea. Nor did she go the next afternoon, nor the afternoon after that. The following morning she was jarred by a light tapping on her door.

“Miss Grace.” It was Captain Ross. “Please permit us the honor of your company at breakfast.”

Grace sighed. She really was quite hungry. For the past two days, hard biscuits and moldy cheese had been her main fare. So, slowly, Grace opened the door.

“Come,” the captain said. “A bowl of hot oatmeal awaits you, topped with sugar and cream.”

Grace ate ravenously as Captain Ross, Nathaniel Greenway, Doctor Wills, and Jonas Brandt talked of the uncommonly fair weather. They spoke of the shipwrights’ Lenten performance of the story of Noah—they even went so far as to mimic Noah’s arguments with his wife—Ross playing the part of Noah and Brandt his wife—which set Grace to laughing in spite of herself. They talked of arriving home in time to enjoy the actual plays, what with the excellent time they were making in the fair winds. They talked of everything except what had happened on the main deck.

But Grace had to know.

“Captain Ross,” Grace interrupted, “do you plan to sell me?”

“Sell you!” the captain exclaimed. “Whatever put such a preposterous idea into your head? Nothing on earth—nothing in the heavens above or in the depths of the sea—could force me to sell you.”

“Billy said…”

“Billy! Ach, then!” Captain Ross spat. “Is it that fool that put such fears into your heart, lassie? I will put him to the lash! I will cut his rations for two weeks! I will—”

“No, no!” Grace implored. “Please, no punishments. Only tell me the truth. Why
are
you so kind to me?”

Clayton Ross fixed his eyes on Grace’s troubled face. “Why did you care for Jasper Hathaway who has done nothing but oppress and torment you?” he asked with great tenderness.

Grace said nothing.

“Not everyone acts out of malice or greed, Miss Grace. You, of all people, should know that.”

Still Grace said nothing.

“My intention was to protect you, yes,” the captain said in a voice so soft Grace had to strain to hear his words. “But I suppose it was true that I thought of myself as well. Making penance, perhaps, for my own guilt-seared conscience. Because in Billy… and in Sam… in those troubled ruffians, you see, I recognize more of my own past than I ever wish to acknowledge.”

Jonas Brandt suddenly took great interest in the design painted on his teacup. Doctor Wills paid uncommon attention to a piece of lint that settled on his breeches. Nate Greenway studied the single leather-bound book on the captain’s shelf. But it was possible to avoid looking into Grace’s eyes by paying rapt attention to such things for only so long.

“I must check on the watch officer,” Mister Brandt suddenly recalled, and he hastily excused himself.

“I must see after my patient,” recalled Doctor Wills, and he too rushed off.

“And I, uh…” Greenway shrugged and simply left without bothering to make up an excuse.

Only Captain Ross and Grace remained. They sat facing each other in awkward silence.

On the shelf on the far wall of Captain Ross’s office, between a huge whale’s tooth and a carved ivory elephant from Siam, lay the leather-bound book in which Nate Greenway had feigned such an interest. Grace had seen the book many times before, and longed to look at it. Did it tell of distant ports? London, perhaps? Such a book would while away many a long hour on this endless voyage.

“Captain,” Grace said hesitantly, “the book on your shelf… would it be possible for me to read it one day? I would treat it with the utmost care and return it to you immediately.”

“Read?” Captain Ross exclaimed. He burst out in peals of laughter.