Sea Change (14 page)

"Captain Dixon is a rich man because he uses his ships to bring Africans into Cuba and Florida. Aye, slave ships. That's what men tell you brings in the big dollars, importing black gold. There's a demand for Africans, and getting them into the United States is making many a man rich."

"Isn't the importation of slaves to the United States against the law?"

David snickered. Such a shocked expression on the doctor's face! The poor lamb had indeed strayed far from his little English village.

"How naive you are, Doctor. Making it illegal in the United States only made Florida and Cuba--and Captain Dixon--richer."

The doctor was watching him as he said this, gauging him. Alcott had a way of looking at you that made you feel like he could see clear past your bones and sinews to the core of you. Maybe he was seeing inside David those humors he carried on about.

"You don't want to be one of those rich men?"

"I don't want to earn my fortune that way, Charley. I'd rather face a line of battle than make the passage across the Atlantic with Africans packed in my hold like ballast. You should grimace, Doctor, even though you've never served aboard a slaver. I pray God you never do."

David shuddered, his liquor threatening to come back up as the memories churned in his mind. He had been young, and willing to do anything to earn his money, but that one voyage would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Do you need Miss Dixon's dowry?" the doctor said. "Is that why you are marrying her?"

"Yes." David poured himself some more rum, and tossed it back. It burned going down, but it helped keep the devils at bay. The doctor watched him still, a contemplative expression on his young face.

"You should not have to marry where you do not wish to," the boy finally said. He too had been drinking, and David suspected that he was one of those drunks who would talk more than usual and then slip silently into unconsciousness. Which was better than Henry, who tended to get silly when he drank too much. And sick. Not a good combination.

"If only life were that easy, Charley m'lad. We could do what we wanted, when we wanted. An' I am not being fair to Miss Dixon. She is a fine young lady and will make any man a good wife. I will be fortunate to marry her."

"I would like to get married some day," the lad confessed, staring into his glass.

That relieved David's mind, for he had begun to suspect--well, he was just glad to hear Charley say he wanted a woman.

The boy reached for the bottle and poured himself some more, most of it getting into the glass.

"A home, someone to love you, children..." the boy said.

"And success in business, Doctor, do not forget that. It is important to be successful in this world. Sometimes, that means making the right marriage. No matter what your own desires are."

"Right you are, Captain," Charley said with a hollow laugh. "If I wish to be successful at my profession, I must put off thoughts of marriage for now."

"Naw, don't be so hard on y'self, Charley! Someone will want you, you being a fine physi--physic--doctor an' all."

"My dear captain, I rather think my profession will be an impediment to a good marriage."

"Nonsense," David slurred. "You have a lot to offer som'un, Charley."

He sniffed.

"Do you wear cologne, Doctor?"

"Good heavens, no! Why do you ask?"

"You smell better than most of the crew. Y'notice things like that, belowdecks. Then your nose becomes numb and you don't notice anymore when someone smells bad, but y'notice when someone smells good. Women like it when a man smells good, they tol' me so." He staggered over to the table and reached for the bottle, but it was empty. He frowned. The damned lubber had drained his rum.

"I'm for my bunk, Charley. Blow out the lamp when you leave, will you? There's a good lad."

David fell across his bunk, his pillow scratchy beneath his cheek, and the cabin tilting at an odd angle.

"G'night, Charley," he muttered as the lamp was blown out.

"Good night...David," he thought he heard the doctor say, and thought he felt a whisper brush of a hand across his brow, then thought went away as he slipped into his sodden dreams and hoped there would be no nightmares tonight.

If Captain Fletcher looked rather wan this morning, Charley was wise enough to keep her opinions to herself as they rowed back in the morning sun to Santa Rosa. The midnight blue coat she wore was even warmer than her usual brown one, but Charley knew it was the finest she had and followed the captain's orders to look her best.

And, she had to admit to herself, where her eyes were usually a murky shade of gray, this coat made them look even brighter, and a deeper hue. She refused to think about why that mattered to her as she stood beside Black Davy Fletcher on the beach.

"All is well here, Captain, and Mr. Bryant returned about an hour ago," Henry Fletcher reported. "
Señor
Martinez should arrive soon."

"Very good," David Fletcher said, and winced at a shout from one of the men back at the camp.

"I have coffee, if you would like a cup, Captain. Doctor?" Henry added innocently.

"Coffee would be wonderful, Mr. Fletcher," Charley said. She didn't know when her morning beverage of choice had changed from proper English tea to hearty American coffee, but she found herself looking forward to the dark brew. Perhaps she was turning into one of those coffee addicts she read about. It would make for an interesting study if she had the time to do the research in Jamaica, known for its excellent coffee plantations.

Apparently, others had noticed as well.

"We will turn you into an American yet, with your love of coffee." Captain Fletcher ventured a small smile, one that looked like it didn't strain too many muscles in his head. "And might I add, Doctor, that you look your part today. Every inch the smartly turned out sawbones. Did I not tell you that clothes make the man?"

"I cannot argue with that, Captain. Ah, here's our coffee."

Henry and Mr. Bryant came over to them, carrying mugs. Charley took hers and left the three men to discuss their business. She had risen early and bathed again, luxuriating in the fresh water, and now she went to check on the status of her laundered clothes.

As she wandered among the men they greeted her cheerfully, some mentioning various ailments she'd treated for them. She paused to extract a splinter from Jenkins's foot, refilled her coffee cup and returned to Captain Fletcher, who was calling her name.

"
Señor
Martinez is coming over the hill," he said, gesturing to the east.

Charley shaded her eyes, watching a convoy of mules and porters threading their way down to the beach. In the lead was a rotund man dressed in white, a planter's hat shading his head from the sun that already promised a day heavy with heat and humidity.

"Is Mr. Martinez the mayor of the village you mentioned?"

"He's the one who controls the commerce, the 'headman.' The mayor's just the figurehead."

Her eyebrows lifted.

"It's a good arrangement. The government can't scratch its ass without approval from Havana or Madrid. This way is more effective."

Señor
Martinez dismounted from his mule, grimacing at the effort, and wiped his face with a red kerchief before waddling down to the beach. David Fletcher met him halfway, and the two men shook hands and exchanged greetings in Spanish. Charley heard her name mentioned and came over. The fat man's face lit up like a full moon, and he shook her hand with enthusiasm. She looked at Captain Fletcher, even as
Señor
Martinez continued to speak animatedly while waving his hands about.

"Captain?"

"I'm not sure. He has some kind of medical issue he wants to address with you, but I can't understand all the words. I will tell him that you will meet with him after we are done with business."

He looked at her with a gleam in his eye.

"Taking you along may have been a better idea than I suspected, Doctor. But if you don't mind, I'll get his money before you do anything that may prove fatal."

"I am encouraged that you have such confidence in me, Captain."

"As I said, I will get the money first."

Señor
Martinez barked out an order and one of the servants rushed to a mule and brought back a folding chair, which he opened in the shade. Martinez carefully lowered himself into it. The servant came back with a camp table that was opened, spread with a white cloth, and an array of pastries emerged like magic from a hamper.

Martinez invited the doctor and the captain to join him in his morning snack, offering wine as well. Charley opted for more coffee, and Jenkins brought over stools for the doctor and the captain as they conducted business with the headman.

Mr. Bryant had made most of the arrangements the evening before, so it was more a matter of money exchanging hands and pleasantries exchanged over pastries. Charley was happy to leave them to it, and had to resist moaning in ecstasy as she bit into a chocolate filled puff that melted in her mouth.

"I have found your weakness, Doctor. You have a sweet tooth," Captain Fletcher said as
Señor
Martinez lumbered off to consult with his head muleteer.

"Guilty as charged," Charley said, licking rich cream off the tip of her finger. "Will you try to lure me to America with chocolate now?"

Fletcher chuckled. "It is always good to be prepared when one goes into negotiations or into battle, Doctor. Be forewarned, I will keep your weakness in mind and may use it against you, especially if I capture a pastry chef!"

"Alas, I would truly be lost then," she said, smiling at Fletcher. He looked at her, an arrested expression on his face, then slightly shook his head and said something to
Señor
Martinez, who'd returned with a substantial leather pouch.

Whatever
Señor
Martinez said in reply made the captain frown.

"Trouble?"

"There are more British ships patrolling," he said, and didn't say anything more.

Martinez sat back, looking satisfied with himself, ate another cake, and gestured at Charley, asking a question.

"
Señor
Martinez has a medical problem, and since the last doctor on the island died, he would like to have you treat him."

"Of course, I will do what I can, Captain. What is the nature of his malady?"

The two men talked and the headman frowned, looking from Fletcher to Charley, then shrugged resignedly.

"He says he has to show you in private."

Martinez grunted and pushed himself to his feet, then led them off into the bushes. Before Charley could say anything, Martinez spoke to Captain Fletcher.

"As best as I can determine, Doctor, he wants to show you his buttocks. I'll just step awa--"

"Oh, no you don't, Captain!" Charley grabbed his arm to keep him from fleeing. "I need you to stand right here and translate!"

"But--"

The headman dropped his trousers, turned around, and as promised, showed them his buttocks. They were hairy. And wide. Then he bent over to give them a better view.

"Good Lord!"

"Indeed, Captain. It is a wonder he was able to sit on that mule!"

"That is one of the ugliest things I have ever seen."

Charley looked at him.

"That's a bold statement. I have seen your crew, remember. But I don't blame you for saying that. Piles aren't a pretty sight, but this is a particularly severe case."

She maneuvered the hunched over official so that he presented more into the direct sunlight, and Captain Fletcher winced and took a step away.

"Please ask him how often he moves his bowels, Captain, whether it is once a day, or less often."

"You are joking."

"Just ask him."

"You are going to owe me for this, Dr. Alcott!"

"Deduct it from my nonexistent pay!" she snapped back at him, straightening up from her examination of the headman's hindquarters.

Captain Fletcher glared at her, but then turned to
Señor
Martinez, cleared his throat and asked his question, while looking off at a bunch of coconuts hanging in a cluster.

Martinez wasn't shy at all about sharing his medical information, and expounded at great length while waving his hands in the air and pausing to point at his arse. Captain Fletcher listened stoically, hardly wincing at all, then said to Charley, "Once every few days."

"That is all he said?"

"The rest is detail I will work to forget as soon as I have a bottle of rum in my hands."

Charley frowned at him. He was a worse assistant than Miller.

"Tell
Señor
Martinez I will prepare an ointment for him that he is to use twice a day, morning and night, reapplying it after he moves his bowels. Don't glare at me, Captain, just tell him! And add that he's not to strain when he sits on the stool, and that sitting in a warm--not hot!--bath with soothing salts may help."

Fletcher glared at her anyway, but then translated while Martinez nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Also tell the gentleman he is to increase the amount of fruit in his diet, especially at breakfast--papaya, guava, oranges, mango, and more juices and lemonade. That should help him. If I were staying here longer, I would use a ligature on some of those. With no one nearby to monitor his progress, we will use ointment and diet changes and hope for the best."

Again, her translator went to work, and again, Martinez nodded like a plump marionette before seizing Charley's hand and shaking it vigorously, all the while keeping up a voluble stream of Spanish. Both Charley and Captain Fletcher did their best to pretend this wasn't happening while
Señor
Martinez's trousers were down around his ankles.

"He says he is most grateful, Doctor, and if there's anything at all you need on the island, to let him know."

Charley would like to have explored Santa Rosa further to see if there were plants she could use, but she knew Captain Fletcher was anxious to be under weigh, and she had to prepare the ointment.