Oceanswept (19 page)

I
slept in late the next day, avoiding Nicholas. I half expected him to bang on my door asking why I hadn’t made breakfast. But he left me alone. I lingered in bed four bells into the forenoon watch—halfway through Nicholas’s morning shift. 

After dressing myself and plaiting my hair, I went to the galley and rummaged for something to eat. Finally, it was time for me to face Nicholas. I couldn’t avoid him forever. And I didn’t really want to—I was only hoping he would come to me first. I felt I deserved that.

Nicholas was nowhere to be found on deck. I wandered back to the lower deck, finding it strange that he would be asleep during his shift. The door to his room was ajar. I peeked inside, but didn’t see him.

In turn
, I looked through all the rooms on the second deck. Nowhere. I returned to the main deck and looked for him again, squinting up at the sales to see if he was aloft in the rigging.

Still no sign of him.

It took me a few moments to realize there was one place I hadn’t looked—the bilge.

I had never even been in this ship’s bilge, but it had to have one. I found a hatch to it in the storage cabin.

I lowered myself down the ladder and cringed slightly as the putrid bilge water immersed my bare feet. Nicholas was pumping the water out, making enough noise that he didn’t hear me. I approached him slowly, not wanting to startle him.

It didn’t help.

As soon as he saw me he visibly jumped. “Bloody hell, Tessa. What are you doing here? Go upstairs.”

I grabbed the pump handle and pulled it down.

“I want to help.”

“Not down here.”

I continued to pump. Nicholas wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve then stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at me.

“Stop,” he commanded.

He was not used to his orders being ignored. I relished in his frustration. I continued pumping, my arms already shaking with exertion.

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “I don’t want your help. Go upstairs. Go…scour the deck.”

I matched his glare. “Oh, so I am allowed to do that now?”

“Do whatever you want. Just…you can’t be here.”

Using all my energy to man the pump, I spoke in short bursts. “You promised…we would talk…so let’s….talk.”

He stood by idly, hoping I would give up. I refused.

“We’ll talk later.”

“We’ll…talk…now.”

He snorted. “All right. Go ahead.”

“You’re a…conceited…dolt.”

“What? I’m a
dolt
?”

“Don’t…interrupt…me….Not finished.”

Nicholas stepped forward and halted the pump handle. “Stop. We’ll talk.”

Breathing heavily, I let go of the pump. “You’re a dolt.”

“You said that already.”

I crossed my arms. “I told you to stop interrupting me. If you want to know the truth about suitors and courting, I’ll tell you. There’s a gentleman in London, the son of a banker, actually, who was quite fond of me. It broke his heart when I moved away. He actually asked me to stay behind, promising to make me his wife.”

Nicholas looked away, his mouth pressed into an angry line.

“I refused him. Obviously. I’m here. And he’s not the only one. Perhaps the most serious…the most recent…but there have been others.”

I paused, waiting for a response. Nicholas held his tongue.

“I’m telling you this so you know that I have options. I’m telling you this so you know that I am choosing you. Because I want to be with you.”

Nicholas shook his head and sighed, finally meeting my gaze. The line of his mouth had pulled into a frown. “I acted foolishly last night. I’m acting foolishly now. You really deserve much more than this.” His gaze strayed to the bilge water lapping my ankles.

“It’s nice that you think so,” I replied. “But it would be nice if you would believe in my feelings for you.”

A smile tugged at Nicholas’s lips and his cheeks flushed pink. “I’m a dolt, Tessa. A right fool. I’m so crazy for you that I can’t think straight. I can’t even trust my own damn judgment anymore. Everything I’ve done for you has turned in to a mess.”

“This isn’t a mess,” I reassured him, looking around. I shifted my weight and water splashed at my ankles. “Well, the bilge is, but that’s all. I’ve never been happier.
You’ve
never been happier. See beyond your paranoia and just enjoy it.”

Nicholas laughed then, a healing kind of laugh that let me know everything was all right.

“I’ve been down here all morning to punish myself for how I treated you last night. I guess all I really had to do was realize I am a conceited dolt.”

I grasped the pump handle again. “May I have a little help?”

“You need to go upstairs.”

I began pumping. “You need to…learn to…honor my…decisions.”

Nicholas chuckled again, and then joined me at the pump.

C
uraçao was breathtaking. Shocking pink, yellow, and azure buildings topped with terracotta roofs decorated the streets of Willemstad, the island’s capital. Wide streets branched into quaint alleys and small manicured parks. Tented markets dotted the cobblestone courtyards, their goods proudly on display. Freshly mined salt. Textiles in every color of the rainbow. African slaves. Corn and peanuts. People of various sizes and colors, speaking different languages—Nicholas identified Dutch, Portuguese, Spanish, and indigenous—crowded the streets, creating an alchemy of exotic excitement and instant belonging.

Although it was easy to melt into Curaçao’s bustling diversity, Nicholas was on guard. He wrapped his arm firmly around my waist, and kept me as close as possible. He explained that this affluent Dutch island had little to offer in natural resources but with its natural harbors, it made an excellent trade port. It was a haven for traders of all nationalities—as well as smugglers and pirates. Although Willemstad did not offer the best prices in the Caribbean, it had absolutely everything. And that included its share of criminals.

After unloading our excess cargo onto the docks and exchanging our goods to the highest paying merchant, Nicholas led me into the trade district of Willemstad. As promised, our first stop was at a bookstore of sorts.

I browsed the inventory of books, most of them used and tattered. I caressed the leather-bound volumes of familiar favorites and thumbed through the stiff pages of foreign texts. I instinctively selected a sturdy copy of
The
Holy Bible
, something both Nicholas and I viewed as a necessity on a ship. Though I had been raised with strict religion—church every Sunday, daily prayers, and Bible study—Nicholas revered the divine in a way that only a sailor could. Maybe it had to do with the constant reminder of mortality on an unpredictable sea, but God and religion were something that no sailor looked upon lightly.

I smiled to myself when I spied a copy of
The Odyssey
and quickly snatched it up. I found a volume of Chaucer’s
The Canterbury Tales
in fair condition and added it to my pile. I selected a volume of blank pages to use as a diary and sketchpad, several quills and ink wells, and a small hymnal. Nicholas arranged the trade, shrewdly bargaining a decent price.

Next, we visited the grocer and bought a month’s worth of cooking supplies including flour, sugar, raisins, honey, molasses, dried fruit and beans, smoked beef, tea, and rum. I thought it impossible that thirty days worth of meals would come from that handful of ingredients. Nicholas assured me that we would supplement with fresh fish we caught along the way and I felt a little better.

Clothing was next. A black woman with a French accent greeted us as we entered the dress shop. She piled bolts of various fabrics before me. I breathlessly admired the China silks and French brocades, envisioning the lovely gowns they could be transformed into. I was accustomed to the finest of things in England—all my gowns were specially made—yet I had never seen so many beautiful fabrics in one place. Nicholas instructed me to select anything I wanted, and while I was naturally drawn to the finest of fabrics and laces, I attempted to be frugal. I was no longer the admiral’s daughter. I was now a renegade like Nicholas, which meant I could not afford silk.

The shopkeeper helped me select two ready-made cotton blouses and two practical linen skirts. Stockings, shoes, bonnets, gloves, undergarments, petticoats, a corset, and nightclothes completed my new wardrobe.

The shopkeeper quickly measured my proportions, then set about finishing the hems of my new garments. While we waited, Nicholas selected several items for himself and we were on our way.

We finished our shopping trip with necessary incidentals for the ketch such as a supply of holystone, canvas fabric and heavy thread for repairing the sails, ammunition for Nicholas’s pistol, and tar for sealing the deck.

“There is an inn a few blocks away where we can eat and rest up,” Nicholas said.

We had been in Curaçao for the better part of the day and I was growing weary from walking under the blaring sun. I was ecstatic to learn we would dine at an inn instead of choking down more hardtack on the ketch.

We reached the inn as the day’s shadows were lengthening. The Spanish-style building was at least three stories tall, easily the largest on the street. I admired the soaring arches and intricate details of the unique architecture. Burning torches in black metal sconces encircled the entire exterior in a ring of fire. It was glorious. The building held an air of majesty and foreign culture. Despite all of England’s cathedrals and quaint cottages, there was something more grand and beautiful in the lines of this Spanish inn. I could not peel my eyes away from the rustic wood accents and Spanish tapestries that hung on the walls as Nicholas made arrangements with the innkeeper.

“Tessa,” Nicholas called, beckoning me to come to him. He was speaking with an aging Spaniard.

“He’ll show us to our room,” Nicholas interpreted.

“Our room?”

“Aye.”

“We are not returning to the ship?”

“We deserve a night away from the ketch. Hot baths, warm food, soft bed. Hope that’s all right with you.”

“Mm
m,” I moaned happily, anticipating those delights.

“If you’d rather return to the ketch…” he teased.

“Not after you just promised me a hot bath.”

We followed the innkeeper up a flight of stairs to a corner room. He opened the door widely and welcomed us. “
Bienvenido
.”

Nicholas conversed with him in Spanish, then handed the man a silver coin.

“He’ll send maids to fill the tub,” Nicholas translated as he closed the door.

“I did not know you spoke Spanish.”

He unloaded the armful of packages onto a table near the door. “Aye. I’m basically fluent in Spanish and French. Dutch and Portuguese? I can get by if I need.”

“
Whoa,” I murmured under my breath, although I did not know whether I was responding to Nicholas’s lingual abilities or to the beautiful room around me.

The spacious room was bathed in the warm candlelight of several ornate candelabra. I slowly caressed a beautiful side table carved from dark wood. Polished teak floors gleamed beneath my dirty bare feet. A raised, arched ceiling rose gracefully overhead. My fingers danced over the pitted texture of the stucco walls. Two oversized beds with thickly quilted linens flanked an arched doorway leading to a small balcony. I peeked behind a wicker partition to see the bathing and vanity area. I had never been more excited to see a tin bathing tub, a washing bowl, and a portrait-sized mirror.

My mouth fell open as I stared at all the luxuries around me.

Nicholas chuckled softly as he took my hand and pulled me to sit with him on the bed.

“You are an admiral’s daughter—I
know
you have seen this kind of comfort before.”

I threw myself on the bed, swimming in the soft covers. “I think I’d forgotten. Besides, look at the architecture. It is amazing. I have never seen anything like it.”

I sat up at the sound of a soft tap at the door. Nicholas let in two maids, each with steaming buckets of water. We wandered to the balcony while the ladies filled the bath.

The lights of Willemstad twinkled in the early gloaming. Vendors were closing their shops, locking away their goods, and preparing for the night. The laughter of drunken men spilled through the streets and ladies of the night called to them. In the distance, I could see the masts of the ships moored in the harbor and the churning blackness that was the ocean beyond.

“What was it like, coming into port?” I asked Nicholas, thinking of all the revelry below.

“Always exciting. We’d celebrate for days. The boys would get drunk beyond belief. Not I. I learned early on to stay sober and stop by at the gaming houses with the lushes—bettered my odds,” he winked at me.

My thoughts drifted again to the women selling themselves in the streets below. “Did you ever…have anyone special?”

“Of my many conquests, you mean?” He nudged me playfully.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You need not answer.”

“See? Sometimes you just need to know.”

I nodded, expecting Nicholas to chastise me for my question. To my surprise, he answered me.

“Plenty of sailors are like that. Doesn’t sit right with me, though. I never felt that gettin’ sloshed and mingling with ladies of the night was the right thing to do. That’s what happened to my mother. Never felt right about things like that.”

“What do you mean that’s what happened to your mother?”

Nicholas continued to stare at the activities below. He smiled faintly, but his eyes were sad.

“She was the daughter of a Negro slave and a white landowner. Her father’s position saved her from slavery, but not from prostitution. Every night, the same thing. Even when it made her sick, she didn’t stop. I imagine she thought it was the only way to survive. She could’ve managed another way, gone back to her father, something. I was an orphan before she was dead.” He sighed and added quietly, “She had it all wrong.”

“Your father?” It was far too rude of me to ask such things, but he was so open, so willing to tell me. I’d never been so honest in conversation before.

He shrugged. “A customer she knew for one night.”

“I am sorry,” I whispered, not sure how to react to these revelations.

“Don’t be. She made a choice. She had options. But she wanted to set out on her own. And that meant making certain…sacrifices. She was a strong woman, a good woman, but stupid. She does not deserve pity.” His vitriol surprised me. I couldn’t help but pity this woman. How could he be so unforgiving towards his own mother?

“So what do you know about your father?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Not much. Mum said he was an Irish sailor. Fair-haired, blue-eyed, tall, and handsome. Said he was kind. And that is all I know. Not even a name.”

“So Holladay is your mother’s name.”

“Yes. Her name was Sophronia. Sophronia Holladay.”

“It’s a lovely name.”

He grunted softly in response.

I was astonished by Nicholas’s confidence. In my world, no one would reveal such a story for fear of recrimination. If ever a scandal like this became public, the most one could hope for was to be pitied. Nicholas took no shame in his past and accepted no pity. I was proud for him.