Beyond paradise (25 page)

"What's he saying?" He squinted hard, but could make no sense of it.

Sylvie's eyes grew round, and Jacques could not tell whether she wore an expression of joyous shock or terror. "What is it?" he demanded. "What's he shouting?"

She swallowed hard, gazing at the exuberant man jumping around on the enemy deck like a fool with a spider in his breeches. Soon, he wasn't the only one leaping. "What is it?" asked Jacques.

"He says they've found gold. They've found livres. They've found jewels. Jacques . . ." she was tempted to throw her arms around his bronzed neck, "... we're rich!"

Twenty-four

Madame Davant was quick to answer the door, but very slow to extend a greeting. It wasn't fair. Her face froze into that stern expression she always wore when life and she were at a standoff. Her eyes filled with pain and rage, as though the emotions were one and the same. In truth, she had given up on life for just one weak moment as she gazed into the eyes of the messenger. "What are you doing here?" she asked the sailor, a member of Jervais's crew. "Why aren't you looking for Sylvie?"

His pained pause told her everything. But it would have taken a master of observation to notice the agony behind her hardened eyes. "Madame .. ."

"Answer my question!" she yelled, wrinkles and creases breaking out all over her forehead. "Where is my daughter?!"

Startled by her angry cry, his only reply was a wide-eyed stare.

She closed her eyes to contain herself. "Come in " she said with a great deal more dignity and acceptance. She opened the door in the most welcoming manner she could mi

Elizabeth Doyle

He was hesitant to step through the threshold, but plumed hat in hand, he did what he must. He did not compliment the home or the furnishings. He felt that would be an insult under the circumstances, and instead, simply propped himself against the kitchen wall, head bowed in regret. Madame Davant closed the door as though she had all the time in the world, and crossed the room. She'd had hope. Until this very moment, she'd told herself that things could turn out all right—it wasn't over. God could still smile upon her home and return Sylvie to health and happiness. She had bargained with Him on many a late night; she would welcome Sylvie whether she was a maiden or not. It did not matter. All she asked was that she be returned safely and never taken again. And He had not seen fit to grant that one, very reasonable, wish. Her friendship with Him was suddenly severed. "I will never forgive you," she thought hard, straining to make sure He heard her. "For this, our love is no more. And we both have only you to blame."

"What is your message?" she asked sternly of the sailor, eyeing him as though he were an intruder.

"I have a letter from my captain."

"Then why aren't I listening to it? Why are we standing here, saying nothing? Is there something wrong with your hat?" That is what he seemed to be examining.

"Uh, no ... no, madam."

"Well then?"

"I, uh ... here it is, I. .." He unrolled the parchment she had not noticed with hands she now saw were trembling. "It reads, 7 regret to inform you that I have failed'." She did not even flinch as he read on. " 7 make no excuses for my incompetence. I lost your daughter by way of my own carelessness. However, I shall not return emptyhanded. I shall stop at the next port and send a crewman to Martinique to deliver this message. But I shall continue on relentlessly to repent for my

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failure. I have ever to believe that your daughter is

still alive "This time, she flinched with the pain of hope. again in the clutches of pirates, and I will see to it that she is returned or I shall die trying. I shall follow them wherever they have sailed. My deepest condolences, Captain Jervais Tremblay'"

All she felt was relief. She pressed a handkerchief to her nose and thought to herself that it is a sad day indeed when one is relieved to hear that her daughter is only in the clutches of pirates, and not necessarily dead. Curse the world, she thought, and the powers that be. But her heart beat a kinder message. She s alive, she s alive, it said she may be alive.

The grim news had a surprising effect on the usually un-fazable Etienne. His mother had chided him, "You may yet be relieved of this marriage," as though it would please him no end. But the truth was that he felt nothing but remorse. He had assumed Jervais would bring her back. He'd been like a spoiled child, unfamiliar with heartbreak, who thought that everything would be taken care of without his help, because it was simply the way of the world that no harm should come to him or anything he treasured. When his favorite doll had been shattered by his clumsiness, his father had replaced it hastily and without complaint. Etienne had always had everything a boy could want, and a sense of insurance that it would remain that way. Nothing had ever jarred his complete trust in stability. Until now.

He wanted Sylvie. He may not have realized just how much he adored the blue-eyed sprite until she was stolen. When she'd disappeared, he'd thought of her as that shattered doll, and had sent Jervais off to make everything right again. But things were changing. People were not doing as good a job of taking care of him as they once had, and Etienne

Elizabeth Doyle

suspected he knew the reason why. He was becoming a man. It was what his mother had tried to tell him, if only he'd had the sense to listen. He had to learn how to replace his own dolls, to take it upon himself to ensure the predictability he had come to trust in life. What he felt for Sylvie was not love as others might define it. But it was the closest approximation of which he was capable. He wanted her to live in his house, and he had trusted her to become a fixture in his life. He could feel nothing stronger than that because when he looked back on his life, he had no memory of feelings stronger than that. And emotions take practice.

"Mother," he said, threatening to startle the poor woman into a faint, "hire me a ship. I am crossing the Atlantic in search of Sylvie."

Twenty-five

"Look at all this gold," said Sylvie, letting it run through her fingers like water. "I have never seen so much in all of my life."

Jacques was fluffing the bed in their new cabin aboard their new ship. It had been a filthy room with a terrible stench left over from the last resident, but they had been sweeping and perfuming all afternoon, and it was improving. They had brought with them the red-and-white-checkered blanket from their old cabin, in an attempt to transfer the peaceful hominess of their earlier dwelling. "It'll be enough," he said, trying not to sound too excited. In truth, if they made it to France without another attack, they could live the rest of their lives in luxury and never have to rob again. It was too much to hope for. It was dangerous even to think of it.

"Our ship must have been the last in a very long line of attacks," she reasoned. "They must have robbed dozens to get all this gold. Imagine being defeated by a crew as small as ours, after all they'd endured!"

"They were probably tired," he said, stretching out on the

Elizabeth Doyle

soft bed filled with feathers that slid around like water beneath him. "Or maybe we're just an especially fearsome crew."

"I'd venture the tired theory," she grinned. And he returned her grin with agreement. "May I send some of this home to my family?" she asked. "I mean, just think of it. This is more than they would have received in ten years' allowance from my marriage to Etienne."

"You can do what you like with your portion, I imagine."

Sylvie bit her lip excitedly. Her life was not going at all as planned, but far from being ruined, it seemed to be unfolding in its own strangely logical manner. She would just close her eyes to the future and wait to see what happened next. It was all she could do. "We have some real food now," she reminded him. "If we were on dry land, I'd say it was just about time for supper. Won't you join me?" She abandoned her trunk ftill of gold for another appealing treasure—a jug of fresh water and a barrel full of wine.

Jacques was propped on one elbow, watching her rather dreamily. He was filled with such adoration and such a crippling sense of inadequacy.

"Will you eat?" she asked, scooping some rice onto a plate.

He nodded, but his heavy sigh told of his murky thoughts.

"Now, I hope you've taken some food and wine to the prisoners," she scolded him. "After all, it isn't as though you've never robbed a ship. I understand locking them in the brig for our safety, but you mustn't punish them."

He raised an eyebrow with amusement. "I mustn't?"

"Of course not!"

"Didn't they, uh ..." He scratched his stiff neck. "Didn't they try to kill me?"

"And you tried to kill them right back," she reminded him. "They've done nothing you haven't done at one time or another, and if you don't go take them some food and assure

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them they won't be hurt, I'm going to get a Bible and start reading it to you."

"Good luck finding a Bible on a pirate ship," he smirked.

"Ah, here's one." His smile melted as she retrieved what actually appeared to be the holy scriptures from a bedside desk. "Now, let's see. Ah, he's marked a lot of passages. Good for him." She cast Jacques a friendly but highly disapproving glance. "And you wanted to let him starve. Now, let's see what he's marked. Ah, 'And when the scribes and Pharisees saw him eat with publicans and sinners, they said unto his disciples, How is it that he eateth and drinketh with publicans and sinners? When Jesus heard it, he saith unto them, They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick'. Appropriate verse for a pirate, don't you think? Let's see what else." She flipped through pages, ignoring his twisted expression. '"Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you! For so did their fathers to the false prophets. Woe unto you that are rich! For ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you that are full! For ye shall hunger.' Hmm. He must have underlined this before they stole all that gold. Ahh, here's one just for you. 'Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: Condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.'"

"Sylvie," he moaned, trying to lift the book from her hands, but she snatched it away in time. "They were going to kill us all. If we'd been the ones captured, they wouldn't have been bringing us wine in the brig, to be sure."

She turned her nose haughtily to another page and read, "For if ye love them which love you, what thank have ye? For sinners also love those that love them."

"Fine—enough!" he cried good-heartedly, "Stop reading—I'll do anything."

Elizabeth Doyle

"Don't forget the meat," she grinned, handing him several slabs.

Jacques returned her smile. This was what he loved or .. . liked about her. He just hoped he wouldn't bump into any of the other men on his way to feeding the prisoners. He glanced uncomfortably at the jug of wine Sylvie thrust at him. That is, on his way to feeding them and giving them the very best wine on the ship. "I'll be right back," he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek. As soon as he was gone, she touched the place he had kissed her. His lips had been so soft and the force behind them so strong. She lowered her fluttering eyes. A mere peck on the cheek from him was more exciting than she believed a night of lovemaking could be with any other man.

Jacques moved through the hallway, laughing at himself for the delicate way in which he was stepping. He really didn't want to be caught. Silly as it seemed, he just wasn't prepared for an argument with his shipmates. He didn't want to have to tell them what he was doing—or worse, why he was doing it. They would say Sylvie had bewitched him, and he might not be able to deny it. He found the men chained in the brig, noting that these lower cabins had been used many times before. He could tell by the wear of the wall chains and by the number of locks on each door—his captured villains were no strangers to keeping others chained in their brig. It must have been humiliating for them to find themselves locked in their own cruel dungeon. Dirty and angry-faced, they watched him as he intruded upon their privacy. He'd no doubt they were discussing escape plans and how much they despised their captors.

He was tempted to remind them that they were the ones who'd attacked, and that his men had done nothing to provoke them. But instead, he just chewed casually on his cheek and did what Sylvie would have done. He let bygones be by-

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gones and said, "Anyone hungry?" Naturally, they were too angry to answer. So he divided up the food, placing a slab of beef and a lump of rice on the floor next to each pirate. He handed the jug of wine to one and said, "Pass it around."

The men gazed upon him with great suspicion, as though he may have poisoned the food. Not one of them made a move to start eating. As Jacques had been in their place many times before, he guessed their thoughts and said, "It isn't poisoned. It's your own food. My wife said I should bring it to you, because she's a good person. I know it's hard for the rest of us to understand." And then he left, locking the door securely behind him. Somehow he knew that if he could hear, he would now hear whispering, cheering, or eating noises on the other side of that door. It made him smile. He didn't know why, but somehow, he felt truly warmed by the knowledge that he stopped someone's suffering in some small way. Even though it was someone he didn't like.

In fact, he felt rather proud when he returned to Sylvie. "I did it," he announced, standing very tall in the doorway. Sylvie barely responded. She was finishing her setup of the little homemade dining table, constructed of two nightstands shoved together, and cast him only a quick smile. She'd had no doubt that he would do it. She barely felt the need to reply. And somehow, that made him feel even better about himself. "Well, sit," she said. "I have this set up almost like a real dining table."

He sauntered to one of the lanterns and put it out, leaving only one dim light to cast a romantic atmosphere upon their dining. "It looks lovely," he said, noting that she had even put out a silver bowl to resemble the traditional surtout, though it contained no toothpicks.