Pride of the King, The (43 page)

She continued to work the soil late into the morning, cutting long straight rows for seed. The routine and monotony of the labor were soothing, and it gave her a chance to reflect on Polly’s words. Over and over, they repeated in her head, “As long as I can remember he has been in my life.”

Lauren would drag the hoe across the soil, pick it up and drag it back again repeating, “As long as I can remember he has been in my life.” Soon it was not Polly’s voice she was listening to but her own.
As long as I can remember he has been in my life.

Suddenly, she realized what she had been repeating over and over. For almost as long as she could remember, James had been in
her
life, James St. Clare, her constant companion, not always visible but ever enduring. He had always been there, waiting for her, watching over her. It had been him all along. James, the one constant in her lonely world holding the keys to the only home she had ever sought,
The Pride of the King
.

She reached up, wiped tears from her eyes and walked under an oak tree, dropping down underneath it. As the tears drained the poison out of her, the pain in her belly disappeared. Lauren began to shake her head and laugh.
How could I have been so stupid? At last, I have my direction.
Suddenly, there was no more fear and anxiety. For the first time in her life, she knew where to find her home, and she could chart her course.

Lauren sat under the tree for what seemed like hours, lost in thought, reveling in her epiphany until she heard Mrs. Quill calling for her. Picking up her skirts, she ran back to the inn feeling as light and as happy as she had ever felt. After seeing off the last of the overnight guests, she returned to the garden to till once again until the sun set.

She was pulling the hoe back and forth rhythmically lost in the work, when suddenly she remembered the river. It had been months since she had gazed on the waterway, and the sunset promised to be beautiful that evening, yet it was growing late. Dismissing the idea, she went back to her work, this time stopping for only a moment to push back her tangled hair and adjust her hat.

After a short time, she looked again at the trees and shrubbery that concealed the Hudson. The river seemed to beckon to her. She resumed her hoeing until she heard dogs barking in the distance. She wondered what roused them. The river pulled at her once more, and she tossed her hoe to the ground walking over to the bluff.

Deer had trampled a path down the embankment and Lauren stepped in, pushing back branches and thorny vines. The thick brush pulled at her skirt and tore at her hair, but she fought back determined to see the river. Flooded with anticipation, her heart began to pound, and she walked faster and faster. Soon she began to run, stumbling on roots, madly pushing back branches and foliage. She could see a break in the trees and burst out of the woods. There was the river valley opening at her feet. She could breathe at last, and the fresh river air filled her lungs. The sunlight was blinding and the blue of the water stunning as she stood on the bluff panting, absorbing the beauty of the expanse. She reached up to shade her eyes looking upriver and spied something glimmering on the water. Her stomach jumped. It was the full, white sails of a vessel, its rigging straining in the breeze. Impatiently Lauren pushed the hair from her eyes to get a better look. Her heart lurched. It was
The Pride of the King
.

“Oh!” she cried. “Oh! Up here!” she called, waving madly.

She began to slide and stumble down the path along the bluff, calling and gesturing. The ground was uneven and several times, she tumbled and slid onto her backside, springing up again waving wildly with delight. “Hello! Look up here!”

The fluyt glided on in silence until one of the crew on the masthead spotted Lauren’s frenzied display and shouted, “Ahoy there!”

St. Clare looked up from the stern toward the riverbank. In a flash, he ran to the bow. Grasping a line in one hand, he thrust the other hand high into the air calling, “Hello!” In his joy and elation, he called to her again without realizing his words. “Lauren! Lauren St. Clare!”

The crew burst into action, a flurry of excitement guiding the vessel toward shore. Lauren continued to scurry and slide down the embankment until she reached the shoreline, where she danced about waving and laughing.

Before the fluyt had even reached the Boar’s Head landing, St. Clare was overboard wading waist deep in the water to Lauren. She too, ran into the river where they met and embraced with such fervor it almost toppled them over. James kissed Lauren and swung her around, overcome with joy. Scooping her up, he waded to shore where he put her on her feet and embraced her, pushing the hair from her face, running his lips greedily over her forehead, cheeks and neck. Lauren was breathless with happiness. Her search was over. At last, she was where she belonged. She had found her home.

Chapter 46

That night James whispered words to Lauren in the darkness, words spoken softly as he brushed near her ear. He told her that he loved her. These words did not come easily for James but were born of true devotion and tenderness. When she returned words of love to him, he experienced at last the most supremely joyful and fulfilling of human experiences.

With
her
love, Lauren found contentment. She could rest knowing that she was at last home. After searching for years, sleeping in windmills, churchyards, bordellos and townhouses, Lauren found her home. In the end it was a vessel, a home without roots, with one person that never settled anywhere. The fluyt and the man who piloted her never stopped moving. They were eternal gypsies like her, changing course and forever seeking new horizons. The home and the man suited her completely.

The crew was elated seeing Lauren again and delighted to hear of the marriage. They gathered around her as family gathers around a loved one that has been too long from the fold, bombarding her with questions, teasing her like schoolboys, vying for her attention.

James indulged them for a while then announced, “It is time for supper, Mr. Bologne. Can you and Robert cook something better than dried peas and biscuits?”

“That I can, Cap’n. Be more than happy to!” Henry boomed.

Ben Groot stepped forward bending over Lauren’s hand, offering best wishes. It never ceased to amaze her that someone of such gigantic and cumbersome proportions could be so delicate and genteel.

Then for the first time, Lauren saw the new first mate, Josef Duerr. James had known the man for many years and spoke highly of him as a sailor and a person. Lauren watched them talk on deck. Duerr was a man of later years, thick necked with short gray hair and leathery skin. When he tipped his hat to Lauren, she noticed one of his arms hanging limply at his side, shriveled and small. No further explanation was needed why he was part of
The Pride of the King
.

She heard James say, “Mr. Duerr we will only be here for supper. Tonight we take the post road to Hooksett. The “
Pride”
should join us there in three days.”

Lauren looked at James and smiled. It pleased her that he had set aside time for the two of them.

After supper, they went to the Boar’s Head to gather Lauren’s belongings and to speak with Mrs. Quill.

“So you are up and leaving me!” the matron barked. “After all I have done for you!” Mrs. Quill acted slighted, muttering and complaining, but it was all a ruse, she was truly happy for the girl.

As James saddled two mares for the journey, Lauren and Mrs. Quill faced each other for the last time. The matron pursed her lips then said begrudgingly, “Papist or not, you will always have a home here.”

“I will be back, Mrs. Quill. I’m sure that I forgot something,” Lauren murmured. She reached out and embraced the woman then crossed the threshold out into the twilight. Mrs. Quill watched them as they mounted and rode off in the dim light of sunset on the post road.

“Yet another person disappearing from the Boar’s Head,” she grumbled to Ogden. Sighing, she climbed the stairs to the inn.

Mrs. Quill felt suddenly very tired and went straight to her chair by the fire. As she sat down, she noticed something hanging from the wooden mantel. Leaning to get a closer look, the matron smiled broadly at Lauren‘s final joke. Taking the rosary from the mantel, she chuckled and said, “Damned Papist.”

*            *            *

Lauren and James devoted three days to finally living as one. They understood that the intimacy they had known in the past had been fraught with secrets and dishonesty, but now they could start fresh and explore one another completely.  

Lauren told James everything. She talked of her friendship with Cornelius, her love for Isi and her sincere affection for the crew of the
Pride
of the King
. Curiosity about her past consumed him, and he would listen to her reminisce endlessly. They would sit for hours in the common room of the inn by the fire talking. Elbows on his knees, James would ask Lauren about her home in New Orleans, her life in Kaskaskia and her escapades on Duke Street. He devoured every word she said, trying to make up for their lost time together.

James was more reticent to speak of himself, but he did try. Lauren knew that he would give as much to her as he could, but asking him to drop his reserve and reveal everything was unrealistic and unkind. He frequently did not understand his own feelings and actions, so it seemed pointless and cruel to press him further. He seldom spoke of his own experiences but when he did share, Lauren carefully disguised her keen interest with casual questions then quiet reflection. She was grateful for any little thing that he revealed to her and satisfied just knowing that he loved her.

“
I
am an exception to a rule, James,” Lauren announced rather abruptly one evening over supper.

He looked up from his meal, still chewing. “Why?”

“I am a wife that has fallen in love with her husband.”

He studied her eyes with the hint of a smile on his lips. “It is a most agreeable business arrangement. Is it not?” After a moments reflection he went on, “For your safety, I do not want our marriage to be a public affair, Lauren. I know the crew is aware of it, but I would prefer that no one else in the organization know.”

Lauren nodded and murmured, “I understand.”

The three-day holiday was like a dream for them both. They went for long walks along the river; they slept late in the morning and lay together in the afternoon. They dined alone in the evening by the fire, and held each other close throughout the night. In those few days of intimacy, they forged a bond of love that would last a lifetime.  

On the third night at supper, Lauren slumped back in her chair and said, “I don’t want to go back tomorrow.”

James sighed and put his fork down slowly. He had been quiet over supper, and Lauren assumed that he too was disappointed their holiday was ending. He sighed and said, “I didn’t want to tell you this, but I am afraid we must leave the inn after we dine tonight.”

“What! Why?” Lauren cried.

“Ben Groot was here earlier with a message for me. There has been an incident in the Romany community to the north.”

“The Blascos?”

James looked down. “Yes, and others.”

“What happened?”

He signaled the innkeeper to bring another glass of rum, which he tossed back in one swallow. Grimacing he said, “The British cleaned out the camp three nights ago. There are many dead, many injured and many have scattered into the woods. They are defenseless and alone in a land under siege. We must find them.”

Lauren stared at James, “When do we go?”

“No, you will not be going, Lauren.”

“What! You know that I will be at your side from now on.”

“Do not argue with me on this,” he warned. “I cannot take you up there. You will stay here with Mrs. Quill.”

Lauren leaned in and said, “So we have come full circle, have we? We are back to where we were before you put out to sea. I survived all these years alone. I stand a much better chance of surviving if you are near me.”

“A very convincing argument but the answer is still, no.”

“When you depart I will simply set off to the north on my own.”

St. Clare’s jaw tightened, but Lauren was determined.

She continued. “I cannot and will not forget that the Blascos risked their lives for me at Fort St. Frederic and that two of them died by my side on Lake Champlain. I am a member of The Pride of the King as well.” She nodded her head vigorously. “I will go, James St. Clare whether I have your blessing or not!”

He sat back in his chair and was silent while Lauren waited for an answer. The air was thick with tension. “Alright,” he said. “Pack your things. We must make haste.”

*              *           *

St. Clare met briefly with his first mate familiarizing the man with last minute details before he left him in command. At a post outside Albany, Lauren made a trade for a buckskin shift and plaited her hair down her back. Practicality and speed were of the utmost importance and heavy skirts with tight bodices would encumber her on an overland trek.

The fluyt got underway quickly that morning and dropped anchor at the mouth of the creek, which flowed to the gunsmith community. Hidden on the bank was their canoe. Immediately Lauren and James waded through the water, pulled it out from its hiding place and started paddling up the creek. The air was thick and stale as they canoed all day back to the remote locale, bugs buzzing around their heads and stinging them relentlessly. Occasionally James would hand Lauren some dried meat encouraging her to eat while they paddled. It was exhausting and difficult ignoring her weary arms as they paddled deeper and deeper into the interior at breakneck speed.