Chris waitedoutside the newly appointed governor’s office with one of his Marines for over an hour, wondering what had happened in the interim that had changed his “emergency” meeting to one that could wait.
Finally, a slender young man who identified himself as a Mr. Williams, Governor MacCarthy’s secretary, ushered him into the office. He signaled to the young Marine to wait for him and followed the man inside.
Sir Charles sat at his desk with a dismantled flintlock Baker rifle which he was studying as if the parts held all the answers to life’s biggest questions.
Chris’s life had depended (on more than one occasion) on his trusty set of Navy pistols, so he had no interest in the Army’s currently preferred rifle. When he was boarding an enemy ship, the last thing he needed was long-range accuracy.
So instead of pretending interest in what the governor was studying, Chris gave a discreet cough.
Sir Charles MacCarthy, recently returned as governor of Sierra Leone and this time of the Gold Coast as well, lifted his head and said, “I see you’ve managed to talk Miss Berry into leg-shackling herself to a lowly Navy swab.”
Chris would have been hard put to know how to safely respond to that comment had not the governor risen and joined him on the other side of his desk. Governor MacCarthy clapped him hard on the back. “Congratulations on marrying one of the finest women in Freetown. I’ve dealt with Miss Berry, her father, and her late mother many times about the mission schools. Damned fine job they do, with damned little help from the Crown.”
“Um, we’re still only engaged, sir. We’ll probably marry next year when we return to England.” Chris hoped to hell he sounded more convincing than he felt.
“Why wait, man?” Sir Charles’s booming voice probably carried all the way down the street to the vicarage. He leaned close with a deadly serious look and advised, “We military men never know how long we have.” He gave Chris a sharp jab in the side with his elbow. “Shouldn’t postpone life’s pleasures. Eh?”
Chris gritted his teeth and determined to batten down the wildly flapping, out-of-control sail their conversation had become. “What was it you needed my immediate help with? How can I help?”
He could tell by the glint in the governor’s eye that the subject of Rachel had merely been shelved for the time being, but he launched into an enthusiastic description of a fantastical idea he had for more work for the ever-expanding group of unemployed young, liberated men the Royal Navy kept delivering to Freetown. “Fishing, Halloren. The business of fishing is what we need to encourage them to choose.”
Chris reflected on what he’d seen of the sizable fishing fleet of flatboats and dugout canoes anchored off the quay. “There’s already a large number of fishermen. Adding more might cause them to fish out the nearby waters.”
“Exactly. You are an astute man, Halloren.” He paused for a broad smile and flourish of his Irish charm. “That’s where you come in.”
Chris had no idea what the man was talking about. “I’m a sailor, not a fisherman, Sir Charles. I don’t even know how to properly tie on a piece of bait. My brothers always took care of the messy details.”
“But presumably youdoknow how to sail?”
“Of course.”
“Then it’s settled. I want you to take a few weeks, maybe bring along one of your ship’s carpenters, and teach the lads how to rig those boats with masts and sails so they don’t have to fish only in the places they can paddle to.”
Chris’s head hurt at all the details - the cajoling and convincing, the training, and all the materials he’d need to do the job. He remembered how the British Parliament had ordered the Royal Navy to help feed the released slaves and then provided a bare minimum allotment of rice.
“Of course, I’ll understand if you’d prefer to spend that time getting ready to wed Miss Berry before you return to England next year.”
The bastard was using Chris’s fear of matrimony to trap him into doing his bidding.
11
Rachel sat on a stool in a beam of sunlight in the center of the bed chamber she shared with Tenneh. The young woman hovered anxiously behind her neck while Rachel held up her heavy fall of hair. “Be careful to cut only from underneath, at the base of my neck.”
“But, what if I make a mistake?” Tenneh’s voice warbled in fear.
Rachel half-turned and patted her hand. “You won’t make a mistake. You’re using my mother’s sewing scissors. Just assume she’ll be guiding your hands.”
Rachel, who had not had her hair trimmed since her adoptive mother’s death the year before, crossed her fingers and apologized to the absent Miriam for using her precious scissors for something other than sewing. She’d placed a linen cloth on the floor to catch the falling hair and keep it safe. She had a very special use for the thick, curly strands.
Stunned at the magical gift from the sea Christopher had given her at the picnic when her father had unexpectedly announced their engagement, Rachel had cast about since Sunday for something she could give him in return. The smooth, colorful river pebble he’d given her rested securely at the bottom of her sewing basket along with the one from her birth mother.
When she heard the slicing and felt the gentle tug of the scissors at her hair, a single tear rolled down her cheek, followed by a chorus of others. The give and take she’d shared with Christopher in the short time she’d known him was unsettling. It felt as if she’d opened up in ways that shrieked “forbidden.”
She never would have believed how good and right it would feel to be held and kissed by any man, let alone an honorable man like Captain Halloren. She swung between feelings that this was a natural thing to those of shame for surrendering to passion. Why could she not focus instead on her calling, the mission studies she’d dreamed of for so long?
In spite of all she’d been taught about prayer and contemplation, she still did not know how to resolve the two paths within her heart. Maybe after seeing Dr. Peregrine at his apothecary that afternoon, she’d take a detour through the fruit orchard to sit beneath the cool shade of one of the fragrant trees, suck on her mother’s river stone, and see if she could reach out to her for advice.
James Drake had beenwith Chris for a long time. He’d been his valet through many Royal Navy adventures ever since he’d become a second lieutenant. His father had sent Drake to him without warning. He’d just shown up one morning when he’d been serving aboard a ship anchored off Mahon on the Spanish island of Minorca.
