Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (14 page)

“I am well aware of who is responsible,” Gordon said, his gaze fastened on the backs of the retreating redcoats.

“You’ve met Colonel Grudge?”

“Once. And that was enough.”

“Aye, I know what you mean.” The harbor master tapped his pipe against the hut’s corner post. “A word to the wise. Grudge was out there on your vessel for an hour and more, hunting about for something. Came back hot as a poker straight from the fire. Something about your having gold that was his by right.”

“The gold is mine,” said Gordon, “or rather the vessel’s former owners. Fair payment for goods he purchased off my ship.”

“Be that as it may, Grudge will be looking for a reason to lock you up. He was the one who ordered me to have the lieutenant down here, warning me you’d be causing all sorts of trouble. I’m thinking, now that’s what he was hoping you’d do.”

There was nothing more to be gained from standing here, so Gordon gave the harbor master a bow of military precision. “Sir, I thank you for your aid in regard to my men.”

“Think nothing of it.” He blew on the cold pipe, then stowed it in his pea coat. “Lost a vessel once in the last war. The conflict started when we was out to sea. We had no notice of the change, so headed into the docks at Calais calm as you please, where them Frenchies stole my boat and bound me and my men in chains. That was bad enough. Hate to think what it’d be like to lose a boat to my own side.” The harbor master gave Gordon a sympathetic salute. “You handled it well, Captain. Good day.”

Gordon turned to his men, who were watching him with blank amazement. He knew what they were thinking. That he had shown weakness for the first time anyone could remember. He had walked away from a fight, admitted defeat, and left the field with his tail tucked between his legs. He guessed they were within a hairsbreadth of revolt. He couldn’t control this, nor could he alter their course. He signaled for them to follow and then onward he walked, not bothering to look back. Either they came or they didn’t. The truth was, Gordon felt more defeated than ever in his entire life. And with no place to go, for they had taken his ship.

One point the harbor master had completely wrong. He’d said Gordon’s ship had been stolen by his side. Whatever reservations he might’ve had about declaring for this new land were now gone. The British had lied and they had stolen. No longer could he remain on their side or even neutral. The American Revolution was his now.

Chapter 13

To Nicole’s dismay, Pastor Collins did not return that afternoon or evening. Over a solitary dinner she overheard that one of the students had just lost a brother to the conflict, and the reverend had gone to console the family. The seminary and all the hostel guests were affected by the loss, for apparently everyone knew the family. The evening chapel was a muted, sorrowful time. That suited Nicole perfectly. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes as she continued to cry, this despite her best efforts to put behind her what had happened with Gordon. There was nothing to be done about it, she told herself over and over. Gordon had made his choice, and she hers. Her grief became mingled with that of her neighbors, until she felt as though they all wept for the same reason, for the same fallen and discouraging circumstances.

As before, her room was little more than a private cell and contained just enough space for the smallest of her trunks, a slat bed, a chair, and a candlestand. When she had closed the door on the night, Nicole stood with head bowed and fists clenched tight, determined not to let go and weep again for all that had been lost. Her home and perhaps destiny, her love—all gone before their time. Yes,
love
was the only word to describe her feelings for Gordon. She’d never seen it as clearly as she did right now, standing in this little closet of a room, feeling lost and forlorn.

Deliberately Nicole moved about to prepare herself for sleep. She blew out the candle. She then slipped into bed, pulled up the blanket to her chin, and lay there with her fists still tight across her chest. The darkness and the stone walls echoed back her muffled sobs. All was lost. Everything. And she heard no voice from heaven.

Gordon’s progress away from the harbor was accompanied by heavy remorse. His men kept a careful distance as they followed him back into the wind-lashed rain. The cobblestones shone slick and turned dangerous in the day’s dying light. He stopped one person after another, asking each in turn for the finest tavern in all of Boston. His motley band of men ended up on the seaward side of Beacon Hill, in a place with a roaring fire, burnished pewter plates, and bustling servants. Thankfully there was an open table away from the door, in as private a corner as the establishment offered. Gordon motioned his men to take their seats.

The innkeeper came over, eyeing them with a warweary gaze. “We don’t want no trouble in this place, good sirs.”

“Well, you’ll be having none from us,” Gordon replied, too overcome from the day to take offense. “We seek nothing more than a good repast and a quiet alcove.”

“You men will find both here.” Still appearing uneasy, the innkeeper added, “There’s a company of officers in the next room.”

“Your warning is well taken,” said Gordon in a low voice. “I assure you there’s no need for alarm.” He could understand the man’s concern. Weary, wet, and bearded, he and his men were strained after two weeks of hard riding. “We’ll have a round of your finest cider and whatever you’re serving that’s fresh and hot.”

Nervously the innkeeper said, “Wartime prices being what they are, you’ll naturally be wanting to pay in advance.”

Gordon saw Carter begin to rise in offense. He nodded at the bosun to sit back down, then told the innkeeper, “Most certainly.”

When the sovereigns were counted out, Gordon found there were but five left jingling in his deerskin pouch. He shoved the pouch back in his pocket and waited till the mugs of cider and bowls of fresh-baked bread were set down before them. Then he leaned in close to the little group and began straight in. “I’ll say this as clearly as I know how. Our ship is gone, our mates are press-ganged, and we’re betrayed. As far as I’m concerned, my own allegiance to Britain is over and done.”

The bosun looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You’re aiming to move to the other side?”

“That’s right. My brothers are risking their lives for what they feel is their destiny and that of their families. For years I have been drawn by their arguments and their dreams. And now the last loyalty I’ve had to Britain has just been sundered. Mind you, I have no intention of bearing arms against my former countrymen. But there’s bound to be other work I can perform for the American colonists.”

Carter turned to the others in triumph. “Didn’t I say the captain would never run from a fight? He was just regrouping, waiting to fight another day.”

“No fighting, if I can help it,” Gordon repeated.

But the bosun wasn’t finished. “The sign of a wise commander, if ever I saw one.” Carter turned back to him and said, “I’m your man, Captain.”

“I can’t hold any of you men to your oaths,” Gordon

continued. “You’re free to go as you will. This is my personal battle.”

“The whole way back, we’ve been talking,” a gunner’s mate said with a rumbling voice. “That was good land going for the asking out there.”

“Land we couldn’t dream of owning back in the old country,” another agreed.

It was a hard thing for Gordon to say, yet the option had to be laid out here and now. “You men could just go now,” he said. “The horses are yours for the claiming. It’s the least I can do, since there are no monies left for your back wages. If or when all this is over, I promise I’ll do my best to see that the shipowners do you right. But for now, a horse and your liberty papers are all I can offer.”

Following this were quick signs around the table, looks read by those who had together weathered storms and countless miles on windswept decks. Then the bosun answered, “We’re with you one and all, Skipper. A fairer hand we’ve never seen. Just give us your word that when this is over you’ll do what you can to help us get our own land.”

“You have my solemn word,” said Gordon, emotion making his voice sound strangled to his own ears. “And my earnest thanks as well.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the gunner’s mate said, “but what will become of Miss Nicole?”

Gordon felt the cold, wet wind blow hard across his heart once more. “If only I knew the answer to that, I would walk from here a contented man.”

Chapter 14

“If I am not imposing, Reverend, may I have a word with you?”

Pastor Collins lifted his head from the text he held in one hand, and with the other, he pulled off his roundrimmed reading glasses. He studied the young woman standing before him. Pale and timorous, she wasn’t her usual confident self, but instead held a haunted darkness. He cleared his throat and nodded to her, waving his glasses toward the seat opposite his own.

“You could never be imposing.” He smiled at his own poor choice of words. “No, you are always imposing, but as to a charge of being an imposition, that never, my dear.”

Nicole seemed to find it hard to smile in response.

“Please, sit down. I can see that something is disturbing you deeply. If a listening ear will be of any help, I offer both.”

Nicole didn’t sit at ease. Her back stayed arched away from the chair’s wooden back, and her hands twisted nervously in the folds of her gown.

The pastor laid his book to the side, placed his glasses on the small pine table at his elbow, and leaned slightly forward. “Have you received more bad news?”

Nicole shook her head. “No, nothing. Nothing more.” The words brought no relief to her eyes.

“But you are worried, yes?”

Her eyes dropped, and for a moment she didn’t speak. When she did raise her head once again, she looked directly into his eyes. “I carry worries of the heart.”

He gave only a nod in reply and watched Nicole toy with the lace of her sleeve. The pastor reached for his glasses. “I’m not sure that I am the one to give counsel on such matters. Perhaps the spiritual heart. But the human heart . . .”

She looked up. “Perhaps . . . perhaps they are one and the same,” Nicole offered.

He couldn’t help but smile as he replied, “Yes, that may be true.”

Nicole leaned back. “I came here to Massachusetts with quite different expectations,” she began, then bit her lip. “You know I expected to take up residence at my uncle’s estate. My estate, actually. He had given it to me, to administer the property for the good of those who needed its bounty. But now those plans, those dreams, are not to be realized. I don’t know what I am to do, what plans I should make. Or can make. It’s all so puzzling. And the war—I fear I will be hemmed in and unable even to return back to my home, whether south or north or to England. I feel trapped, helpless. Worse than that, I feel useless.”

“And with reason, I believe,” said Pastor Collins.

“I don’t understand why God did not allow me to take up this good work as intended. It’s not that it wasn’t needed. In fact, it will be even more necessary for the surrounding communities in the days to come if this . . . this insanity of war continues.” Nicole shook her head. “Why did He allow me to pursue this purpose if He deemed it to be the wrong course? Surely my uncle’s estate would have benefited many.”

“My dear child, you have asked some valid questions, but you must also bear in mind that God is not the only force active in our troubled world. Since the entrance of sin, God has granted permission—for a time only, mind you—for the evil one to also have claim to this earth on which we dwell.”

“Of course,” said Nicole. “I have not forgotten.”

“So you see that it was not just
your
plan for good that was thwarted, but God’s plan as well.”

“You mean—?”

“I mean that your uncle Charles could have been quite in step with God’s plan for the Harrow estate. You could have been in step with God’s plan too in your seeking to carry out your uncle’s intent. But the evil one—he seeks only to alter, to destroy, to engage all of the power at his disposal to keep God’s plans from being fulfilled. He stops at nothing and uses anyone willing to be his tool.”

Nicole’s “I see” was barely a whisper.

“But one is not to despair over setbacks or inconveniences. God is not blind. Nor powerless. He has other ways, other means. Though the devil often appears to be the victor, he is not. Only momentarily at seeming advantage. But the tide will turn. God has other ways to accomplish His purposes. He has not been blindsided, of that you can be certain.”

He leaned back in his chair and joined his hands over his ample girth. His eyes took on a sparkle that Nicole hadn’t noticed before. “Quite frankly,” he said, “I find it invigorating. Better than a game of chess. Satan moves. God checks. God moves. Satan counters. It sometimes looks like checkmate, but it never is. Not for the enemy of our soul. God always outplays him. Always.”

“So you are saying—”

“
Wait
, my dear. Wait to see what God’s next move might be.”

“You’re saying God always rectifies?”