True Treasure: Real - Life History Mystery (18 page)

“Ladies first,” Bennett held open the flap for her to enter their home for the next six months. Inside, it was tall enough to stand. The men had moved a double bed from the ship, all made up with sheets, pillows, and comforter. Mosquito netting hung from its frame. In the center of the room was a table big enough for four, a desk with an oil lamp, and her easel which was facing the front entrance. Her trunks with her clothes, ran along the right wall. They’d brought an armoire up from the ship for her to hang her clothes, along with a mirrored front. Their wash basin, Bennett’s razor, mug and soaps, were all neatly arranged on the wall next to where they entered.

“It is like the cabin!” Mary exclaimed as she clapped her hands with delight. “It is better than I ever imagined.” Beneath her feet she realized was the big
Oriental rug from the ship’s dining room. “Oh Bennett, it is perfect.”

She gave him a hug and a kiss, and he rewarded her with a hug, kiss, and a smile.

“I am glad you approve.”

“I do. It’s perfect for our first home.”

“Look.” Bennett went to the area by the bed where she noticed cloth on a rope. “If you would like privacy, you can draw this curtain so.”

“How clever. You have thought of everything.”

“Is there anything else you would require from the ship?”

“I cannot think of a thing.”

Mary’s eyes were lit with excitement, “I did see some plants that are good for eating growing along the path and in the forest. Do you mind if I take Charles with me and pick some to show the cook? I want to help, and since this land is so much like my home on the mainland, I want to do what I can.” Mary kept chattering away without waiting for a response from Bennett, “Do you think I could draw portraits for the men of their loved ones back home? If they have a drawing that is getting old, or perhaps I could do a rough sketch from a description. You and I have each other, but they have no one. It will give me something to do to occupy my time, when I am not out gathering food stuffs.”

“I think using your skill for their happiness would be very generous of you and much appreciated by the men. I will have Lieutenant Sedgwig make appointments for the men to sit for you.”

***

Charles sat with Mary at the table which had been moved and set outside under the cedar tree for her to do her sketches.

“Mrs.?”

“Yes Charles?”

“Could you do a sketch for me?”

“Of course.” Mary said. Charles moved from his seat which was a piece of a log that he had moved to use as a chair, and went to sit in the seat across from Mary.

“Would you like a landscape? Or the Tower of London or some other reminder of home?”

“No, ma’am, I would like you to draw my mother. She died when I was just a babe. I know you don’t know what she looked like, but I imagine she had my color hair, and I’d like to think she was pretty. Not too pretty, but just enough. I like to think she loved me, and had a gentle spirit. Do you think you could draw something like that? I know it would not be real, but something of her to remind me I did have a mother, maybe even one that loved me.”

Mary brought her hand up to her face to compose herself. Sometimes she forgot how young Charles was. He and the others who served the officers were just boys. She wanted so badly to reach out and hug him, but that would just embarrass him in front of the men.

“Of course I can. What a brilliant idea.”

Mary picked up her charcoal. Charles had a heart shaped face, so she said as she worked, “I imagine your mother would have had the same shape to her face as you, and beautiful dark golden hair like a princess. She would have worn it up, perhaps with some baby’s breath tied in. I see blue eyes, like yours.” She sketched into the mother’s arms an infant swaddled in a blue cloth, her arm wrapped securely around her bundle. The other arm coming up from under with the thumb brushing gently against the smiling baby’s face. She sketched a loving glaze in the mother’s eyes by widening the pupils and raising the lower lids slightly. She gave an upward tilt to the lips, yes, she was smiling at her babe. She quickly colored in the sketch, adding contrasts to suggest depth and shading in highlights to the mother's hair and the baby's skin. The day was so dry, her paints dried quickly. Finally she was satisfied enough with the results to show Charles. “Will this do?” She turned around the tiny portrait for him to inspect.

Charles just looked. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Mary held it out, “Here, this is yours.” Charles slowly reached out to take the painting. “You and your mother.”

Charles wiped at his eyes with the back of his other hand. “Thank you.” He took the tiny picture and held it gently as if it were fine china that would break at the slightest touch.

He took the picture and moved back to the stump next to her.

One of the sailors, who was missing a few teeth, sat in the chair Charles had just vacated. “I’d like a picture of m
e mum. Here is an old one.” The man reached in his pocket and took out a scratched mini portrait from out of the lid of a snuff box.

“Would you like it the size of your box?”

“Yes ma’am, sos it’ll fit and not get wet.”

Mary held out her hand for the box and traced its shape onto her paper.

She took the little picture and examined it then weighted it down on the table with a rock so it wouldn’t blow away with a stray breeze.

She quickly sketched the shape of the large woman, putting a prettier expression on her face, not quite as stern. “What was her favorite color dress?”

“She had a dark blue she was fond of, with a piece of white lace here.” The sailor held up his gnarled fist to his neck and moved it down, indicating the lace fell a little from the neckline.

Mary nodded, “I am familiar with the style, very pretty.”

The sailor smiled showing a toothless gap. “Me mum was a solid woman,” he said proudly. “Strong as two men. She raised us bairns to be strong. God bless me mum.”

He watched intently, leaning forward on the little table as the lines she drew on her pad formed the outline of a woman. As the table tilted slightly from his weight, he pulled back, and changed position on his chair as if he was more wobbly on dry non-shifting land than on the rocking deck of the ship.

“Me mum’s name was Mary, same as yours.” He stated proudly.

Mary looked up briefly and smiled. Dipping her brush in a light green, painting in the first layer of the skin, causing the man to frown.

She spoke explaining her process. “Skin has undertones of green, grays, and pinks. If you do not paint them first, the skin will not have any depth. Skin is translucent, see through to a point. Do not worry Mr.—”

The sailor started realizing slowly that she was pausing for his name.

“Jonah Barwick, ma’am.”

She smiled, “Mr. Barwick. She will look lovely when I am done with her.”

When Mary cut out and handed the finished painting to the man, he looked at it admiringly, “I don’t know how you did it, even though I watched. Your painting is a miracle, and to think ye did it for me, just ta be nice.” He shook his head, I owe you a debt, someday Miss, I’ll do something for you. I swear by God, I will.”

Mary smiled at him, “You do now. You keep my husband safe, and that is a debt I can never repay to
you
.”

He got up smiling, looking at the painting he had now carefully pressed into the top of his round snuff tin. He whistled as he left and went back to his work.

***

“It is such a small thing,” Mary said as she climbed under the covers that evening.

“Excuse me?” Bennett said as he washed up at the basin.

“The paintings I have been doing for the men. It is half to keep me busy and my mind off our predicament, but the pictures make them so happy.”

“Of course. Away from loved ones. Trips home are rare enough for a man at sea. To have a fine painting of the quality you do, would cost these men too dearly back home. They could not afford the work.”

Mary waved her hand dismissing the compliment. “Charles wanted one of his mother. He's an orphan and has no memory of who she was.”

“So what did you do?” Bennett asked as he dried off on a towel. He came over to the bed.

“I imagined what she would look like and drew her holding him as a babe. It was the only thing I could think to do.”

He continued to undress as he talked, “You have given them a piece of their loved ones. Home. We hold onto our memories, but there is always the fear we will forget what our loved ones look like. To face fear and death every day a soldier needs reminding of what he is fighting for, and what he is willing to die for.”

Bennett slid into bed next to Mary. “You've given them courage to face what may come. That is
not
a small thing.”

Mary stroked and lightly kissed him on the shoulder. “What is on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“We will find and bleed the trees for sap and make pitch. It is also important to stockpile wood in one of the caves to keep it dry for burning. Randall and I will plan attack and defense plans. We will have an inspection of necessary repairs that can be done to the ship while we are here. We also need to send our best swimmers in daily to scrape the hull of barnacles and the worms that destroy the wood.” Bennett scratched his chin and continued, “I am thinking of instituting swimming and diving lessons for the men that cannot swim. It may be necessary for their survival if our ship is fired upon while near an island.” He reached over and took Mary in his arms where she rested her head on his chest. “At sea you go down with the ship, but here, there is a chance of survival so it could be a good skill to develop.”

“Bennett? This is all
very
interesting, but you do realize we are alone…” Mary stroked her hand across his chest.

Bennett got up, turned down the lamp, returned to bed and gave his full attention to pleasing his wife.

***

A Few Months Later on Shark Island

Mary woke up and went to dress before the nausea hit her again. Over the last few days nothing she ate agreed with her system. She went to put on her brown day dress, but no matter how she pulled, she could not get the hooks to close. She took it off and put on her white blouse, which pulled terribly across the top, and her gray skirt which closed by manner of a leather string.

The nausea hit soon after so she walked briskly to the privy out back. There was nothing in her stomach to come up. When the wave passed she walked back to the tent just as the sun was fully above the horizon.

“How long have we been here?” Mary asked of Bennett when he returned to check on her.

“Are you any better today? Should I have the doctor check on you?” he looked concerned. He brought a goblet of water to the bed, and put it on the small table when she shook her head no.

“We have been here a little past three months.”

Bennett sat on the edge of the bed as Mary lounged propped up by the pillows, with a bowl nearby. Mary reached out for Bennett’s hand.

“You look pale. I think it is time we asked the doctor to see you.”

Mary smiled. “He cannot help.” She stroked Bennett’s hand and placed it palm down on her belly.

“I think I am with child.”

Bennett’s eyes lit up. “How can you be sure?”

Mary laughed. “I am sick all the time and my dresses no longer close. I am sure.”

“What should we do?”

Mary looked at Bennett with wide eyes and laughed, “I do not know. I have never been in this condition before. I saw Mama pregnant, and by now I have a brother or a sister, but what to do between now and then, I really have no thought.”

“No need to panic,” Bennett said as Mary laughed again.

“I have never seen you look so flustered,” Mary said as she fell into a burst of giggles, which abruptly stopped as she grabbed for the bowl. “I am sorry Bennett, but I am going to be sick again,” which was followed by the sound of her retching.

“I will get the doctor,” Bennett called out as he left the tent at a brisk pace.

***

“I think my wife is with child what shall we do?” Bennett asked Mr. Geary the ship’s barber and surgeon. He had broad mutton chops, a bald pate, and round glasses. His sleeves were rolled up onto his meaty biceps.

“Pardon me, captain, but not any sailors I know have given birth—on account of them being men.” He wiped his brow. “Now if someone needed a limb amputated, a tooth pulled, even a shot hole plugged, or even a nice close shave, I am your man.” He wiped his brow again, took off his glasses, and worked his handkerchief over the glass before putting them back on. He continued talking as he fiddled with his glasses.

“But sir, I do not think I have ever even looked closely at a woman’s nether regions in the daylight. You see, I have never married, so the women I have had experiences with charged dearly by the minute, so there was not much time left for looking. But the birthing process happens the same for women or pups. When the babe is ready to come the babe will come, and if you want me there to do the catching and cutting the cord, I will, but I think this is one where nature will take its course. If not, you might be better off asking if one of the sailors has any ranching experience. They’d have more experience with the birth process, and might be more help. Cows and women might be closer in the way they give birth. Not that I am saying your wife is
like
a cow, she is more like a pretty filly, just that...well I think mayhaps I should not talk anymore.”