“The two of you have been discussing something as simple as the rest of my life for nearly two hours?” Rachel shot both of them incredulous looks.
“Well, we, I mean I, had hoped, if all goes as well between you as I expect, you could return with him when he sails back to London next year.”
Rachel leapt to her feet and began to pace the small open area in her father’s study.The sharp intake of breath from Christopher when she launched into her angry turns around the room felt like a sharp knife of guilt slicing between her shoulder blades, but she had to let him, and her father, know what was in her heart.
Chris held his breath,afraid to speak and break the spell of Rachel in high dudgeon. Her heart-shaped face and stubborn little chin flushed with emotion resembled nothing so much as a fiery African sunset in the glowing lantern light. She interrupted her angry circling of the study to rush past him and lean on her father’s desk. The Vicar Berry sat up straighter and edged his chair back a bit.
“This is my country, and you are my father.” She leaned against the desk for a moment, breathing heavily, her breasts heaving beneath her modest linen bodice. “You want me to leave my mothers here in Africa? The woman who bore me lies at the bottom of the ocean out there.” She pointed in the direction of the harbor. “And the only mother I’ve known for most of my life lies in the vicarage cemetery.” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the kitchen garden.
“Please don’t ask me to leave you alone. Who will care for you? And who will carry on Mother’s work with the mission school when I’m gone?”
She straightened and turned her head from the vicar to him. “How can the two of you ask me to walk away from my life and the only home I’ve ever known to live on a cold, green island for the rest of my days?”
When her father, probably assuming as he did that she was finished, began to speak, she pounded her fist against the desk. Chris was seriously considering excusing himself from what was clearly a serious family disagreement and slipping out of the study until father and daughter had managed to calm themselves. He continued to linger, though, because he was taking secret pleasure in what anger did to Rachel’s already beautiful face.
“No, Father—if you will listen to me plead my case, you will see why I must stay.” She took a few moments to draw in some breaths, and that was her undoing. Her father deftly jumped into the void.
“Of course this is your home. This will always be your home.” A subtle, calculating gleam entered the vicar’s gaze. “You’ve done a wonderful job following in your mother’s footsteps with the school here.” He paused and smiled before adding, “Everyone at the Mission Society agrees you are a wonderful teacher. They are ready to accept you into their training school in London. Perhaps once you’ve had your training, you’ll be called to come back here and teach.”
Anger still roiled in her hazy blue eyes, but Chris could see a flicker of interest there. He relaxed his grip on the arm of his chair, and took a deep breath to propose an alternate solution to her dilemma
“Miss Berry, I know how much your mission work means to you, but honoring your father’s wishes by taking you back to England aboard my ship poses many problems. I understand why you’d be hesitant to agree to marriage, but consider, if you will, perhaps a temporary engagement that would protect your reputation both here and in England. And once you’re safely back with your father’s relatives in England, you could decide to, um, break the engagement.”
Both Rachel and her father stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. After their silence wore on for minutes, he felt compelled to add, “You don’t have to agree to my idea tonight. Take some time to think about it.”
Even he resented the sly way her father had manipulated her by revealing his high card at the last minute. He could have told her about the Society’s offer earlier, but he’d saved the news for the precise moment when she was about to dash his hopes for her to sail safely to London, away from her life in Africa.
Her next words stung Chris. “What if Captain Halloren discovers I wouldn’t be a suitable wife after he spends a year ‘calling’ on me?”
“Rachel Berry, you will apologize to Captain Halloren. Now.” Her father had risen from behind his desk to his full height and towered over her.
She lowered her eyes. When she faced Chris and raised them again, tears threatened to spill over. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean what I said.” She sniffed. “I would not blame you if you found me wholly unsuitable after my unladylike behavior toward my father.”
Chris had to steel his nerves not to roll his eyes at her barely veiled attempt to talk him out of courting her. In that moment he also realized he had a huge problem. Less than a year remained for him to convince this fiery young woman to fall in love with him.
Rachel closedthe study door behind her and leaned back with a thud. She needed to find Mrs Chelly and have her take a tray of stew and maize cakes to Christopher and her father in the study, since the sewing circle ladies were sharing supper in the large dining room.
She closed her eyes for a moment and reached out to her African mother with her thoughts. Anyone passing her in the hallway would assume she’d stopped for a short prayer. She was sure she’d one day burn in hell for pretending to be pious, but her meditations had little to do with the strictly structured prayers of the Anglican Church her father taught in his Bible classes. Since the time she was a child, she’d fancied she could reach her mother in her mind for advice.
And then one day, an ethereal-featured creature had appeared in the middle of her meditation. She looked a lot like the woman Rachel recalled as her mother, but not quite. The eyes were the same, but the rest of the woman’s face was a bit different. And her hands…her hands were not the same. Her mother’s hands, like Rachel’s, were long, slender, and tapered. The mysterious wraith’s fingers were short, with blunt nails. The streaks of silver in her hair made no sense either. Why would her mother appear to her as having aged when in reality, she’d been dead all these years?
7
Chris met Captain Bellingham and Lieutenant Bourne at the bottom of the steep steps that led to the courtroom of Freetown’s Mixed Prize Commission for what he hoped would be the last time before they were free to head back out to patrol along the coast.
Too much time spent waiting in harbor towns always made Chris a little uneasy. He’d learned long ago that the best way for his ship and crew to stay safe was to be out on the ocean. The longer they were in Freetown, the more likely his men were to contract the pox from unwise liaisons, or worse, get into fights with local residents. And then he’d have to beg and grovel with the local authorities for their release, or, God forbid, the governor.
Captain Arnaud Bellingham doffed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’m hoping they decide today whether or not we can take theNova Resolucaioout to one of the islands in the river and careen her to make sure she’s got a sound keel before we head back out again.” He slapped his hat back on and slewed a bleak look at the top of the steep stairs of the government building where the Prize Court convened. “Young Lt. Jenkins has done a great job of getting her shipshape above decks, but I can’t commit to the hours it would take to careen her if the court goes against us.”
TheResolucaio, another Portuguese ship, had had two-hundred slaves in her hold when Arnaud had come upon her anchored and waiting to take on additional captives, outside the Rio Pongas estuary. The captain and first mate had gone upriver with the canoes to the barracoon where the remaining slaves awaited transport.
Arnaud said the crew left on the ship had tried to throw captives overboard until his men had drawn their weapons. After that, all of them had tossed down their knives and guns and had raised their hands into the air in the sign of surrender.
Chris had determined to remain with his fellow captain to listen to what the judges had to say which might affect squadron practices going forward. It was wise to stay abreast of the rules, which had a tendency to change on a regular basis, depending on the mood of the judges in Freetown, as well as the Admiralty commission back in London.
Rachel timedher arrival in the mission kitchen to coincide with the end of Mrs Chelly’s morning chores, before she began preparing large pots of soup or stew to provide meals for the rest of the day, or large, round loaves of bread in the outdoor ovens. Their cook always prepared extra food in case they had to accommodate the arrival of additional released slaves, or mission school students who would stay over for the noon meal.
Rachel strode into the kitchen hut where Tenneh stood at a table chopping okra into neatly piled green mounds, but Mrs Chelly was nowhere to be seen. The girl’s long, dark hair was piled on top of her head with a bright orange wrap wound around her curls. She smiled and motioned with her head toward the rear of the kitchen. Rachel nodded in acknowledgment and headed outside.
