Pride of the King, The (36 page)

Lauren wound through the streets of Albany the next day, a basket on her hip, shopping for fresh meat and produce and pretending as if nothing had changed. She could see from shore the crew of the fluyt hanging on the side of the hull, making repairs and attending to their duties. It was the same as every other morning, but in Lauren’s world everything was different.

She reached up and touched her face. It was hot and sore, burning from James’ kisses. Although clean shaven, he had run his lips and whiskers over her so many times he had chaffed her skin. They were up before sunrise, dressing without words, but before he stepped out the cabin door, he pulled Lauren into his arms telling her to come back to him that night.

When she climbed back on board
The Pride of the King
that afternoon he caught her eye, holding her gaze only for a moment before returning to his work. When he looked at her it warmed her as if she were standing in the summer sun after a long winter.

He remained aloof and detached, in keeping with his role as master of a merchant vessel, but he did acknowledge Lauren with small gestures. He would give her the faintest of smiles at mealtime, assign her with duties on deck to be near him or grab her wrist for a moment as she passed by. She delighted in these quiet acts of affection, and they sustained her until the evening when they could be alone. She knew she had moments with him that no one else would ever share, and those intimacies were gifts which set them apart from every other soul on earth.

“Mr. Bologne,” said the Captain as they finished their duties one evening. “I would like a moment of privacy.” He nodded toward the stern of the fluyt where Lauren was standing. Immediately Henry stationed himself as a buffer between the crew and the Captain as he walked toward Lauren.

“You are watching the sunset?” he said leaning on the rail beside her.

“James, the crew will see us,” Lauren warned, looking behind her.

“No one will see us. Henry is standing guard, but we must talk about this, Lauren.”

The two had been meeting every night for weeks, but the secrecy was putting a strain on them.

“Even though our relationship is of no surprise to the crew, you and I have agreed not to flaunt it in front of them. We are to remain in our roles as members of
The Pride of the King
by day, but by night we must break away and be ourselves. When we have free time we cannot deny our need for intimacy. I would like to take you ashore tonight. There can be no hiding that from the ship’s company.”

“It will be awkward.”

“Yes, at first but Lauren, I am the supreme authority on this vessel. The crew must accept my choices.”

She cocked her head. “Does that go for me too?”

“Yes,” he replied softly, looking at her face as if he were memorizing it. “Now get your hat or cloak or whatever it is you women wear in the night air. We are going for a walk.”

James took Lauren on shore, and they followed a path along the river. It was one of the last warm nights before the autumn turned cool and the trees skeletal. The leaves seemed to capture the low light of sunset, making the colors more brilliant than ever. The couple did not speak until they reached a clearing where James told Lauren they would build a fire.

Bonfires dotted the shoreline up and down the Hudson; occasionally a voice could be heard across the water or a dog barking in the distance. Their fire reached to the sky, sparks soaring into the night. James sat down on the ground, his arms resting on his knees and pulled Lauren next to him.

“We used to build fires even bigger than this when I was young,” he said. “The boys and I would wrestle and dance around them like goblins.”

Lauren looked at him as he watched the light, the flames reflecting in his eyes. “I wonder what happened to them all?” he mused. “I wonder if they still live.”

“They were without homes too?” she asked.

He nodded. “I still see their faces on the street to this day. Once you have lived on the street you see them everywhere.”

“Yes, they are everywhere,” Lauren agreed. “In doorways, behind necessaries, hiding in cemeteries.”

“You have a sister, do you not?” he asked.

“I do. She is my twin, but we do not resemble each other.”

“Do you miss her?”

Lauren took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, if Simone were to see me today, she would think me coarse and depraved. She has taken vows with the Ursulines and is living a life of seclusion and safety in a convent in New Orleans.”

The fire snapped and popped, filling the silence as they stared at the golden light. In spite of the flames, the air felt damp rolling off the river, and Lauren crossed her arms.

“We weigh anchor day after tomorrow,” James announced.

“Where are we going?”

“We shall resume our normal route on the Hudson, but we will be sailing past your land.”

“We are?” she gasped, sitting up straight.

James grinned, and touched her cheek. “Does that make you happy?”

Lauren’s face was beaming. “That makes me very happy!”

“We shall walk it together tomorrow,” he said.

*                   *                  *

Preparations for departure started the next morning, but Lauren noticed Isaac was absent. She had not seen him for a long time, and it was highly unusual for the first mate to be gone the day before a departure.

As the evening came to a close, Lauren approached Samuel Claypool, the boatswain. Although the man was blind, he used his keen sense of touch and hearing. He frequently had Robert at his side to be his eyes, checking rigging and inspecting lines. He coordinated and supervised many duties on the vessel, and Lauren knew he would be the one to ask. “He’s been gone for near four days now, Ma’am. The Captain had us searchin’ everywhere--taverns, pleasure houses, even the alms house. He’s nowhere to be found.” Samuel took off his cap and scratched his bald head, his white eyeballs rolling.

“Did he say where he was going, Mr. Claypool?”

“No, Ma’am, he went drinkin’ and whorin’ with the rest of us that first night, and we lost track of the lad.”

Lauren sighed and thanked Samuel. When she spoke with James that evening in his cabin, he could add nothing more. “It will be hard to go without him. I couldn’t ask for a better first mate, but I am confident he will turn up by the time we return,” James said.

His words were optimistic, but Lauren saw him pour several fingers of brandy and toss it back quickly. As infatuated as Lauren was with James, there was a side to him she could not penetrate. He was guarded and reserved in almost every way. They spent their first weeks together quelling their passion, but as time passed Lauren longed for more intimacy, an intimacy that can only come with the knowledge of another person's heart. They spoke of many things, taking their discoveries as far as they were able, but there was an emotional reluctance in James she could not breach. He seemed unable to give of himself fully, always holding something back. She sensed an undercurrent of mystery in the man which she thought may stem from his untamed youth, but there was another possibility which she did not want to admit. It was the possibility that James still loved his wife.

The Pride of the King
weighed anchor the next day in a rain shower. Clouds rolled overhead all day, drenching the crew, and then the sun would break through long enough for another shower to gather. Lauren stayed below most of time taking inventory with Henry and organizing food in the hold and in the galley. Once again there were large crates of firearms to work around, but Lauren knew it would only be a short duration before the cargo was gone. The “
Pride”
never carried weapons or powder too long in case a customs inspector boarded her.

Midday Ben Groot called down the companionway for Lauren. She was to see the Captain. She brushed her hands on her apron, lifted her skirts and climbed up on deck. It had stopped raining, but the sky was still cloudy and the deck wet. St. Clare was at the helm. He lifted his chin in the direction of the shore and said, “Stand by. We are almost there.”

Lauren looked starboard at the thick mass of trees on a point, then jumped off the poop deck, picked up her skirts and ran to the bow of the fluyt. Leaning forward, she held onto the rigging and waited. She could hear the rush of water as the fluyt sliced through the river. The sails snapped smartly in the wind, and the
Pride
groaned as she rounded the bend. Suddenly, the sun broke through the clouds illuminating a brilliantly colored riverbank running steeply upward into a cliff.

“There she is!” James shouted.

As Lauren’s eyes traveled up the slope her lips parted and she gasped. Several of the crew members stopped their work, hypnotized by the sun splashing the riverbank thick with yellow, red and orange leaves.

“For the love of God,” one of them uttered looking at the sight.

In summer the bluff would have been majestic, but in autumn the cliffs were breathtaking. The entire precipice was a wall of colors from the maple, birch and sumac. The jagged rocks interrupted the leaves with their sharp protrusions and a small water fall tumbled and trickled off the bluff. Shadows from the fast-moving clouds sailed across the treetops like a cutter in a tempest.

She did not hear James call to the crew to drop anchor. Lauren heard nothing. She was completely mesmerized. It wasn’t until Robert told her the Captain was ready to take her to shore that she realized the fluyt was at a standstill. St. Clare rowed the two of them to shore and hopped out, reaching for Lauren‘s hand. Holding her skirts high, she jumped from the boat onto shore and they started up the bluff on a deer path. The ground was wet and greasy from the rain, and Lauren’s hem was soaked, but she didn’t notice. She was far too enthusiastic about seeing her land.

The terrain was steep and on several occasions James had to pull Lauren up, but they made it to the top stopping by the waterfall. “This is your water source,” he explained. “There is a stream that runs through your property.”

They walked along the bluff until they found a clearing which gave them an unobstructed view of the Hudson and the fluyt waiting below.

“I had no idea it was going to be like this,” said Lauren.

“True, it is remote,” St. Clare admitted.

“I am not talking about that,” said Lauren. “It is by far the most beautiful place I have ever seen.”

James was pleased. “Down that way is Edith Quill’s place. She runs
The Boar‘s Head.
It’s the only tavern around here. She is a tough old bird but loveable.”

“So there is a road nearby?”

“Yes, it sits back from the bluff, running from Newbury to Hampsted. We could get supplies in for you that way or build you a quay on the river.”

Lauren gasped. It was daunting to think of hauling supplies up that bluff. “When we get back I would like to see the deed for my land,” she said.

“We will have to get it from Heloise and Cornelius.”

Lauren’s eyes opened wide with surprise, and James chuckled. “It is in Cornelius’ name. They do this for most of my properties. I pay them for their trouble. This way they appear wealthy, and I remain anonymous.”

The sound of thunder rolled through the valley. The clouds were forming quickly, and James took Lauren’s arm. “Come we must hurry. It is dangerous up here.”

He stopped before they started down and said, “We will discuss your deed shortly with Heloise because our next stop is at the Van den Berg manor to see the Benchs.

Chapter 39

“I have instructed Heloise to have a dressmaker to the house. Of course you will look like a pauper to them,” James announced before leaving the cabin the next morning. “I will drop you off and return in one week.”

Lauren was beside herself with excitement. A coach was waiting for her at the landing, and it took her on the post road to the Van den Berg Manor. The house overlooked the river and reminded Lauren of the homes of Kaskaskia, but on a much grander scale. It was a two story stone residence with access to the main level by two stairways in the front of the house. A
galerie
wrapped around the home just like the residences of the Illinois Country and several outbuildings dotted the landscape, including a tavern farther down the post road.

Several hounds met the coach broadcasting the arrival of Lauren to the inhabitants of the manor. A black servant stepped out of the house opening the door of the coach and pulled down the steps. It amused Lauren to see grand manners and gestures once more. It was reminiscent of Duke Street, and she knew that only an estate of this magnitude would suit Heloise and Cornelius.

The servant escorted Lauren up the wooden staircase and through the front door. She reached up to pull the pins from her straw hat and looked around. The front door opened onto a long hall, with rooms lining either side of the entry and a grand staircase leading to the second floor. The wood floor was polished to a high shine and several small end tables lined the walls with mirrors and fresh flowers.

Lauren untied the ribbons under her chin and was removing her hat as Cornelius came around the corner. “My God, Darling! What has happened to you!” he exclaimed, arms outstretched as he approached her.