Read The Randolph Legacy Online
Authors: Eileen Charbonneau
The Randolph Legacy (7 page)
Dolley Madison, born into a Quaker family, had been expelled
from the Society when she’d married James Madison. If she bore any Friend ill will as a result, it was not apparent. There was much Quaker criticism of this flamboyant wife of a wartime president. But Judith recognized her as a kindred spirit in a satin Empire-waist gown, gold-embroidered headband, and ostrich plumes.
from the Society when she’d married James Madison. If she bore any Friend ill will as a result, it was not apparent. There was much Quaker criticism of this flamboyant wife of a wartime president. But Judith recognized her as a kindred spirit in a satin Empire-waist gown, gold-embroidered headband, and ostrich plumes.
“How many died?” Judith asked the president’s wife.
“Six. There were sixty wounded.”
“Perhaps we should have stayed.”
The lively blue eyes darkened with compassion. “You could not have prevented it, my dear.”
Soon after Judith had been entrusted with the Dartmoor letters, there had been a riot at the prison. The carnage had taken place in the sweet, budding month of April, the very night she met Washington sewing his sails.
“Sometimes it seems this war will never be over,” Mrs. Madison said. “The president has arranged for special couriers to deliver the letters you’ve brought, Judith, along with his assurance that surviving kinsmen will be home soon.”
Then her face lit with the legendary, winning smile that made her either
her husband’s greatest asset or the new capital city’s most notorious seductress. But Mrs. Madison’s personal courage could no longer be held in doubt since she’d saved the country’s sacred documents as the British burned Washington around her. Now she presided over her quarters at the rainbow-hued rooms of Octagon House.
her husband’s greatest asset or the new capital city’s most notorious seductress. But Mrs. Madison’s personal courage could no longer be held in doubt since she’d saved the country’s sacred documents as the British burned Washington around her. Now she presided over her quarters at the rainbow-hued rooms of Octagon House.
Fayette would love it here, Judith thought, with its bold reflective colors and fantail windows that made the house the embodiment of his philosophy of Enlightenment. She wished he were sitting beside her, Dolley Madison’s charming, male match. “You are now free to search for the family of your impressed sailor,” the president’s wife proclaimed. “I envy you!”
“Me?”
“Here, in my graciously loaned exile from the president’s house, I feed, charm, and entertain diplomats who have great power over the lives of those prisoners you serve. If the men I amuse could exchange places with the Mercer family for one day, I think they would come to realize that they have been fed and charmed enough.”
The hostess’s long-gloved hand opened the folder in her lap. “And now, let me give you a small reward for the work of your generous heart.” She handed over the paper inside. Judith read its contents. “My. How beautifully your eyes change color, my dear,” the president’s wife observed.
“Mrs. Madison. This is—”
“A list of the officers and crew of the lamented American merchant ship, the
Ida Lee.
Thirty of them were boys under the age of fifteen. All came out of the South. Their names are marked. It is still a large number, but I feel sure your sailmender is among them.”
Ida Lee.
Thirty of them were boys under the age of fifteen. All came out of the South. Their names are marked. It is still a large number, but I feel sure your sailmender is among them.”
Judith scanned the list. Jarvis, Cowper, Burnett, Jameson, Morris. All of the boys the names belonged to were dead now—as dead as the six prisoners at Dartmoor, but one. Would she be too late for him, too? She finally lifted her head, remembered her manners. “I thank thee,” she whispered.
“Let the results of my intrigue ease your sorrow. And when you find your captive’s family, come flying back to me and I will begin charming vain men of the British government to procure his release.”
A
t their small suite of rooms across the river in Alexandria, Judith’s father listened intently. “Papa, imagine how even Dolley Madison acquired such information with this city in ruins around her.”
t their small suite of rooms across the river in Alexandria, Judith’s father listened intently. “Papa, imagine how even Dolley Madison acquired such information with this city in ruins around her.”
He stroked his chin. “That makes three gifts.”
“Three?”
“Did thee not unpack thy trunk since we arrived, Judith?”
“Not all of it. We were so busy, then I was called before the president’s wife so quickly that the last few things—”
“Including thy green serge gown.”
“Have the moths gotten at the weave? Or mildew?”
“It is unharmed. But among its folded layers I found two gifts to place beside Dolley Madison’s.” He reached into a drawer and brought forth a delicate silhouette. Judith recognized herself immediately, her scissors in her hands. She was in the process of cutting the figure of Fayette flying about the lines of the mizzenmast. How had Washington fashioned this clever image without her knowledge?
“Thee taught him well,” her father said softly. “And here, look what else found its way into thy trunk.”
Eli reached into the drawer again. He placed a miniature two-masted brig into her hands. She had never seen this model. It was twice the size of the largest of Washington’s others. She could barely contain it between her hands, though it was lighter than it looked. Judith’s eyes scanned the masts, quarter galleries, and into the windowed stern lit by glowing lanterns. There she found a room furnished with miniature tapestries, chests, a table with tiny candles on top, three stout chairs around.
“Judith—” Her father called her out of her fascination. “Thee has not yet observed the figurehead of thy worthy vessel.”
A white-haired mermaid modestly attired in green serge scales and seaweed led the vessel, holding the twined flags of France and the United States and a tricolor ribbon pronouncing her name:
Survivor.
Survivor.
F
ayette
had
wished for something to take Washington’s mind off their time with Judith Mercer. But a gale out of the Gulf of Mexico was not ideal. He strapped the injured in their sick-bay berths as the
Standard
pitched again. There was no use in trying to stop the several leaks from the gundeck. The pots would overturn in the next swell. Sick, injured, and caretakers alike, would have to dry out later.
ayette
had
wished for something to take Washington’s mind off their time with Judith Mercer. But a gale out of the Gulf of Mexico was not ideal. He strapped the injured in their sick-bay berths as the
Standard
pitched again. There was no use in trying to stop the several leaks from the gundeck. The pots would overturn in the next swell. Sick, injured, and caretakers alike, would have to dry out later.
The latest ship’s-surgeon, not yet bestowed with his sea legs, was himself ill, but working his way around to all their patients. Perhaps now he could slip below, Fayette thought, to check for flooding in their hold cabin, to make sure Washington was secure.
He’d only reached the stairwell before a drenched midshipman
grabbed his shoulder. He was on his first tour, this one. Stephenson. Small, about the size Washington had been after Trafalgar. Stephenson had attached himself to a bigger, boastful boy. The two had become inseparable. Until now.
grabbed his shoulder. He was on his first tour, this one. Stephenson. Small, about the size Washington had been after Trafalgar. Stephenson had attached himself to a bigger, boastful boy. The two had become inseparable. Until now.
Young Stephenson’s eyes were swollen. “Mr. Fayette, you used to be captain of the mizzenmast,” he yelled. Though two decks removed from the waves’ roar, yelling was necessary. “I would count it as a great favor if you would cast your word on bringing Jamie down!”
“Down from where?”
“He’s on the yard above the mizzen sail, sir. While we were bringing in the sheet, his ripped. He lost his balance. Now he’s caught, as in some devil’s grip. He’s not let us near. Kicked me back. Sent Mr. Truxum down bleeding.”
Fayette glanced down the stairwell. He saw the gleam of water in the hold. How much? Only a few inches, surely. Washington was secured high in his hammock, he told himself, sleeping through the storm as he’d slept through many others. Still, a pang of concern stung. Fayette turned from the hold, followed Stephenson topside.
One look at the midshipman wedged between the yard and mast confirmed Fayette’s first instincts. “The grip he’s in is one of his own fear,” he told Stephenson.
A fork of lightning hit the main skysail. Its accompanying thunderclap dislodged the midshipman. “Aw, then, Jamie,” Fayette heard the boy sigh before his friend took a desperate hold of the tattered, flying sail. The wind and rain battered him against the mast. But his grip held.
“Merde.”
Fayette yanked off his coat and boots. With them, years seemed to peel away. He laughed at the incredulous faces of the topmen, at Stephenson’s openmouthed stare.
Fayette yanked off his coat and boots. With them, years seemed to peel away. He laughed at the incredulous faces of the topmen, at Stephenson’s openmouthed stare.
“I only meant for you to call him down, Mr. Fayette!”
“There’s no hearing in this wind.”
Fayette passed the battered men who had tried to haul the midshipman down before him, and began to climb the ropes. This was foolish. He was an old man, they were laughing at him. And he was risking Washington’s life as well as his own, he realized, the sharp pang returning. But Stephenson was now helpless, dangling. And the ropes felt good again under his feet.
Fayette glanced down, not at the deck—he knew better—but at his legs. Pale. Pale from tromping below in boots, as pale as Washington’s when he had borne his lashes at the gratings. Boots, of course—that’s why his legs were so pale, long ago. Washington had been used to wearing boots.
Fayette reached the fighting top. He rested, looking up through the rain. Still twenty feet to the boy.
He began composing a letter to Judith Mercer in his mind as he resumed his climb, telling her of his epiphany, directing her where to look on the
Ida Lee
’s list of officers and seamen for their Washington.
Ida Lee
’s list of officers and seamen for their Washington.
He thought of kissing her. He hadn’t meant to. Saint Michael, the sweet, wounded beauty of her! What would it be like to be a man to love a woman like Judith Mercer for a lifetime, as Washington would?
He reached out to the dangling boy. The midshipman turned slowly, like a hanged man. His eyes were closed.
“Jamie?”
They flickered open.
“It’s me, Fayette.”
“The Frenchman?”
“That’s right. It is time to go down.”
“Good.”
Fayette heard a rip. He glanced up at the canvas sail. Shredding. Not along a seam line, not along any of the stitches his Washington had made. But along a sun-bleached, weak part of the canvas. A stiff wind pulled the boy out of his reach. Fayette waited. Patiently. When had he learned to be so patient? If he had been this patient at twenty, the Chartres angel would still have his head.
W
ashington woke with a start, choking. Drowning—he was drowning! He yanked his head up, coughed. He’d fallen out of his hammock, that’s all. A storm, above, causing the flooding. Sitting up, he tasted salt water and blood. He touched under his nose, winced. There. A small cut. Nothing. It was nothing.
ashington woke with a start, choking. Drowning—he was drowning! He yanked his head up, coughed. He’d fallen out of his hammock, that’s all. A storm, above, causing the flooding. Sitting up, he tasted salt water and blood. He touched under his nose, winced. There. A small cut. Nothing. It was nothing.
Washington wondered what hour it was. No bells sounded to tell him, not in a storm. Where was Fayette? He glanced at the wall, the shelves. Their books, his ships, were safe.
Washington felt for the key strung around his neck. If he placed it in the door’s lock, would the rest of the sea come tumbling in? Perhaps a multitude of water rats drawn by the smell of fresh blood? Would they be too many to kill with his knife?
Stop it.
Fayette said his vivid imagination had the power of both life and death. They would laugh about this wild leap of his mind when Fayette returned. The pumps would suck out the water and they would drink a little grog to warm themselves again.
Fayette said his vivid imagination had the power of both life and death. They would laugh about this wild leap of his mind when Fayette returned. The pumps would suck out the water and they would drink a little grog to warm themselves again.
He was so cold.
He should get out of the water. He should clean himself, find dry clothes, climb into Fayette’s chair, whose seat was still above the flood. But he crawled to a far wall, sat back against it, staring at the door, shivering. He let the blood flow into his mouth and wondered why he felt so helpless and afraid.
T
he boy Jamie was bigger than Washington had been ten years ago, and heavier. Fayette questioned if he were cutting both their lives away as he sliced at the canvas. But when the midshipman fell against him, Fayette felt the boy take a firm hold at his shoulder. He was not deadweight, at least.
he boy Jamie was bigger than Washington had been ten years ago, and heavier. Fayette questioned if he were cutting both their lives away as he sliced at the canvas. But when the midshipman fell against him, Fayette felt the boy take a firm hold at his shoulder. He was not deadweight, at least.
“There, good,” Fayette assured him. “Now, together we descend to the fighting top. We’ll ride out this fine storm there, yes?”
Jamie looked down. His hand slipped from Fayette’s shoulder.
Fayette barely had time to grab Jamie’s wrist as he fainted. He was an anchor now, one that made Fayette feel as though the tendons in his shoulder were bursting. Still, he held on, for they were swinging over the hard, unforgiving main deck of the
Standard.
“There now,” Fayette crooned down at the boy.
Standard.
“There now,” Fayette crooned down at the boy.
The wind answered, blowing them over the small square of the fighting top. His tortured hand released. He heard the sound of the boy’s
body
landing on the top deck. Fayette smiled.
Agood landing. Not even any broken bones,
he thought.
It will not be so difficult to bring this young one back to life. Not so difficult as ten years ago.
body
landing on the top deck. Fayette smiled.
Agood landing. Not even any broken bones,
he thought.
It will not be so difficult to bring this young one back to life. Not so difficult as ten years ago.
The boy lying on the top deck dissolved from his sight. Then the ship itself was gone. In their place were green hills. They were like the rolls of the ocean, seen from the top of the mizzenmast. Fayette’s vision was as clear as his eyes had given him in his prime. He heard Judith’s voice, exclaiming both joy and pain as she gazed over the same green mountains. Washington stood behind her, unseen. How different he looked, standing. How handsome his
petit général
was, Fayette thought, his eyes misting. Or perhaps it was misting there, in the rolling waves of the valleys below.
petit général
was, Fayette thought, his eyes misting. Or perhaps it was misting there, in the rolling waves of the valleys below.
He reached out to them. Judith stumbled.
“Take your lady’s burden,” Fayette instructed Washington impatiently.
Judith laughed, raising her shining eyes to Fayette’s. She shook her head. “Go on, Fayette,” she told him, before she threw her head back and a wild, ecstatic sound burst from her. He’d never heard anything like it.
Other books
Nobody's Angel by Clark, Jack
The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks by Josh Lanyon
Snatched by Unknown
Doctors of Philosophy by Muriel Spark
Pixie’s Prisoner by Lacey Savage
Red Delicious Death by Sheila Connolly
4 Cupids Curse by Kathi Daley
MayanCraving by A.S. Fenichel
Through the Darkness by Marcia Talley
Tonight the Streets Are Ours by Leila Sales
