The Sacred Shore (18 page)
Yet something clearly was now troubling Anne. She did not respond beyond a few murmured acknowledgments to his comments about her mother or events in the village. She had concluded her errands with a minimum of words, barely returning the market woman's warm greetings. Andrew could not help but appreciate the fact that Anne was being warmly accepted by these townsfolk. But today she seemed guarded and withdrawn.
Andrew checked his pocket watch. It was approaching midday, and he had planned to depart for Georgetown that afternoon. But with the distraction Anne was showing, perhaps he should postpone his return one more day. Catherine would worry, but certainly they would both worry more if this immediate concern was left unanswered. Andrew slid the watch back into his vest pocket and cast a tentative glance over his daughter's bonnet. Anne was a child no longer. He had observed the way the patients in Dr. Mann's outer chamber treated her, showing her similar respect as they did the doctor. He had watched the way Anne had responded, with warmth and concern and a special love for the ailing children. Andrew's heart had swelled with pride over her manner and her genuine gift of compassion. Yes, his little Anne was a child no longer.
They crossed the final street and walked down the covered plank sidewalk to the building where Anne worked. The wood bore new gilded letters announcing that this was the office of Dr. Cyril Mann, trained in the arts of medicine at London and Edinburgh. A small placard included the information that the office was closed over the noon hour from twelve o'clock until two. Anne used her own key to open the door, then stepped aside for her father to enter first. Andrew watched as she closed and locked the door behind them. She put down her basket on the bench by the window, calling out, “Dr. Mann?”
When there was no answer, Anne briskly turned from him and walked to the back room, calling once more.
When she returned, it was to announce, “He is not back. Good. Father, please sit down.”
“Anneâ”
“Sit down, Father. Please. There is something I must tell you.”
Her agitated and rather formal tone only increased his unease. But Andrew felt he had no choice except to do as she said. Indeed, she was a child no longer.
Anne stood before him, her arms crossed and hands clutching her elbows. She started to speak, then released her hold on her arms to untie her bonnet. She lifted the hat and shook her head, allowing her hair to spill down over the back of her dress. It was a gesture Andrew knew so well, one he had seen her make a myriad of times. Only today it seemed to forebode change and mystery both.
She looked down at him, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side. “Father, I wish to ask you your impressions of the doctor.” Her words came in a practiced rush, as if she had carefully planned each one.
“Well, Iâ”
“Please. I must know what you think, Father.”
“He seems to be a fine man,” Andrew replied quietly. “I do not know him well, but my impression is of a good Christian and a caring, skilled doctor.”
“He is that and more. He ⦠I ⦔ She seemed to struggle to find breath.
Andrew nodded. He could see where this was heading. He found himself wanting to smile and weep at the same time. But he forced his emotions back with a noisy swallow.
“I know this is very sudden,” she hurried on. “I know we have not known each other even two months. But we have been working together every day, and we have had opportunities to talk at lengthâabout our families, about our interests, about faith.” Anne stopped suddenly and carefully searched Andrew's face. She then said, “Cyril and I have come to love each other.”
Andrew observed the tension in his daughter's face and knew she had spent sleepless hours preparing what she would tell him. He held himself very still, granting her the time to say this at her own pace. But in truth his eyes were burning slightly, and he wanted nothing more than to take out his watch and turn back the dial. Just a few more hours. Another day or two to cherish her as the beloved daughter who had been a light to his and Catherine's life. Another week of knowing her as theirs and theirs alone. But he said nothing and made no motion except to blink very hard. Time stood still for no one. Not even a father who wished to weep bittersweet tears for a daughter who was a child no more.
“I have seen the way he is at work and at prayer. And he is a man who lives his faith.” Her words were as shaky as her breath. But she pressed on, “I ⦠I love him dearly, and I know that time will only strengthen these feelings. Cyril has asked for my hand in marriage, Father. I know he should be the one to say this, but I wanted to speak with you first and tell you that he is a good man.”
“I believe you,” Andrew murmured.
“He is a fine and caring ⦔ She paused. “You do?”
“Yes.” Andrew forced down another swallow. “As I said, I do not know your good doctor very well. But I know you. And I know that you would take great care in whom you allowed to capture your heart.”
Her legs seemed to give way, and she sank onto the bench beside him. “Then you don't object?”
“To your marrying? No.” He hesitated, then confessed, “Well, perhaps a little bit.”
“But Father, he isâ”
“Oh, it is not because of him. It is because of you.”
Anne's mouth opened, but it took a long moment for her to form the word, “Me?”
“You are so precious to Catherine and me, I find it hard to think of you ever growing up and away from us.”
One moment she was a carefully composed young woman, the next her face seemed awash in tears. She flung herself into Andrew's arms and wept quietly. Andrew held his daughter close and traced her soft hair with one hand. She whispered to his shoulder, “Oh, Father, I was so afraid you would object.”
“I cannot.” Oh, to hold his child like this for years and years and years. But the time of holding her as his little girl had already passed. He could not mourn the loss but must look to the promises of the future. He cleared his throat and spoke and was amazed that his voice was strong and even. “I shall bless you and give you up. And if you like, upon the day you two choose, I shall wed you before God and pray that He bless your union with a daughter as fine as you.”
In the seven weeks Nicole had been gone from home, less than half the distance to Acadia had been traveled. She gripped her hands together in frustration.
The ship they had boarded at the mouth of the Mississippi was the largest she had ever seen. Now she realized it was merely a coastal vessel, one made to sail into shallow waters and take on produce from hamlets that could not afford a true harbor. The problem was that such barques kept to no set schedule, halting at every village with goods to transport. Towns hailed the barque by flying a signal flag from a tall poleâor in some of the smallest settlements the flag was hung from a rooftop or a tree. It seemed to Nicole that they had stopped at every hamlet along the entire eastern shoreline.
Seven weeks after their departure, they were only as far as Charleston. In desperation, Guy had ordered them off the boat. His intention had been to arrive in Acadia before winter, see the place for himself, and either return together or send Nicole back while ships were still able to navigate the northern port. At this rate, he declared, they might not arrive in Acadia at all this season. Nicole had been heartily relieved to see the last of that cramped little vessel.
Not that being on land proved much better. They had been in the port for three days, all seven of their group crammed into one room of a harborside inn. There were many problems. None of them spoke more than a smattering of English. Returning to Charleston had brought up all the bad memories from Nicole's half-forgotten childhood in the area. Many of the locals still viewed the Acadians with grave suspicion. The same was true for many of the arriving ships' captains and crews. From dawn to dusk Guy and Pascal scoured the waterfront, and still they could not find a ship willing to take them north.
Guy was now off buying food for the family. He had taken over the task from Nicole because she became so enraged with the market folk when they refused to sell her anything. Besides, the prices they charged for meager fruit and day-old bread were outrageous. She was certain they were cheating the family because they were Acadians. But she had no way of knowing for sure, since she spoke almost no English. All she could be certain of was that the carefully hoarded store of silver coins was steadily dwindling.
Nicole sat on the stone seawall and made a lunch from two wizened apples and a wedge of hard cheese. On any other day the view would have enthralled her. The weather was balmy, the breeze perfumed with sea salt and spices carried by a nearby ship recently arrived from some faraway land. Tall masts rose from a dozen ships and more, and the quayside was crowded with a rainbow of people. But today she was tired and she was worried. Guy's youngest child had cried most of the night, and the blanket on which she had lain, with the middle cousin tucked to one side, had not offered much cushion from the hard plank floor. Her eyelids felt gritty from lack of sleep. If only they could find a ship.
Her eye was caught by a man stepping down from a carriage. He was dressed in clothes so fine and new they seemed to sparkle in the midday sun. His tricorner hat was lined with black velvet ribbon, his cuffs were laced, and his coat buttons shone like new silver coins. All the quayside paused to watch as two servants scrambled down from the carriage roof, both burdened by great sacks of fresh produce. The man carried nothing heavier than a silver-tipped cane.
On sudden impulse, Nicole found herself hurrying over to him. “Pardon me, m'sieur. Do you speak French?”
One of the sailors growled at her in what was probably English, but she did not understand. Nor did she care. Her mother would have been horrified to think that Nicole had approached a strange man by herself. She did not care about that either. Heart pounding, all she could think, could hope, was that here stood a man in a powdered wig and clothes worth a king's ransom. A man of culture and education who might perhaps speak her language.
He waved the seaman back and replied in French with an English accent, “I speak a little. But you must talk slowly.”
With her hopes racing ahead so, it was difficult to hold her impatience. But Nicole forced herself to form the words carefully. “My family and I search for a vessel to carry us north.”
One of the seamen shifted his load and spoke up. The man waved him to silence and said, “Where north?”
“To Acadia, m'sieur. The city of Halifax.”
He closed the distance between them with such speed that Nicole was hard pressed not to bolt. He studied her face with an intensity that frightened her. But all he said was, “You are Acadian?”
Nicole hesitated. She had been taught from an early age to value the truth more highly than silver. But she had also heard all her life how the British hated the Acadian people. So she finally answered, “French, m'sieur. We are French. From the province of Louisiana.”
His face showed great disappointment. “And your name?”
Again she paused, knowing full well that Acadian names were as distinct as their heritage. But the second slur of the truth came more easily. “I travel with the family of my uncle, Monsieur Guy.”
“I see.” It was strange to interpret how the news affected him. The creases about his eyes and mouth deepened. “Well, it was too much to hope for, I suppose.”
“M'sieur?”
“Nothing. You say you are traveling to Acadia?”
“Yes. We have relatives there. We wish to acquire land for farming.”
“Land, land. Everyone is wanting land,” he muttered. “How did you come to be here?”
“We traveled by coastal barque from New Orleans. It has taken us nearly two months to come this far.” She could not keep the entreaty from her voice. “We must arrive before the autumn storms. Please, m'sieur, can you help us?”
The man inspected her searchingly. Then he slapped the cane on the side of his trousers. “Very well. Yes. I can offer you berths. How many are you?”
“Seven, m'sieur.” She could scarcely believe her good fortune. She rushed on, “But three of them are very small, and we can all stay together in one cabin. Or on deck, we don't mind at all. We will take up no space, none.”
“Slowly. You must speak more slowly.”
Nicole took as great a breath as her pounding heart would allow and repeated what she had said.
The man waved her words away. “You can discuss that with the captain. He wishes to depart with the tide. How long will you be?”
“A few minutes only!” She reached for his sleeve, stopped herself in time. “Oh, m'sieur, a thousand, thousand thanks! I will go and fetch the family.”
“Yes, and hurry.”
“Of course, m'sieur!” She was already racing away. “I will fly!”
Charles paced the ship's foredeck and tried to ignore the stifling heat. Confined to twelve paces east, twelve west, back and forth, his enclosure circumscribed by blue as far as he could see. The sun beat upon the ship and the sea like a hammer striking an anvil. The sails hung from the masts like forlorn flags. Every hour Captain Dillon sent the crew aloft to douse the canvas with water so as to catch the slightest bit of wind. Even so, the ship lay motionless, trapped in a prison of unbounded heat and sun and water.
The captain had rigged a sail for cover amidships for the sailors and passengers. But the shade offered little comfort, for there was no breeze to disperse the sun's fierce power. There had been none for three days. And every day the crew's muttering had grown stronger.
Charles was surprised the captain did not see fit to silence his men. Captain Kedrick Dillon was a taciturn fellow, as were many of his kind. He was also a strict disciplinarian, maintaining a taut and generally harmonious ship without use of the myriad of punishments available to a master at sea. He had said nothing when Charles had requested that berths be granted to the stranded French familyâafter all, Charles had paid well for the ship's exclusive use. And one look at the young lady's vibrant beauty had been enough for Captain Dillon to order a place where the family could be isolated from his men. So that morning, when the decks had been hollystoned and washed, and the crew then had gathered in tight clusters and cast dark glances about the ship, Charles had been surprised that the captain had not shouted at them to disperse and get about their business.
