In The Belly Of The Bloodhound (47 page)

I hurry down the aisle to the little room holdin’ the altar boys’ robes. I put down the slumbering Jesse,

choose one of the garments, and pull it over my head. I pick Jesse back up and head for the altar, my heart thumpin’ madly in my chest—to get caught now would ruin everything.

I dash across in front of the altar and see that they have now placed the Nativity scene directly in front of it. I, quick, pull the statue of the Baby Jesus out from under his swaddling clothes, say, “I’m sorry, Jesus, but I think You’ll understand,” and I put baby Jesse in the cradle in His place. I rush the Baby Jesus statue back into the robe room and stick it under some velvet material that lies folded on a shelf.

I go back to Jesse and tuck him in carefully. He certainly is sleeping soundly. I lean down to plant a last kiss on his brow and then turn to go make myself scarce. I figure I’ll head up into the choir to watch what happens from there and

“You, there, boy. What are you doing?”

I freeze. There is a man standing there. A man in church robes. A deacon or a sexton.

“
I-I
was just giving my devotions, Sir. To the Baby Jesus,” I stammer.

“Who are you? I’ve not seen you before.” He peers at me closely.

“I’ve come in from the country, Sir. I’m Henry Hatfield. I’m with Father Philpott. To be here on this special day. The Reverend Philpott’s off having his breakfast, Sir.”

“Ah. Very well,” he says, apparently satisfied. “Well, let’s get started, shall we? Open the Gospel to Luke 2:1. Then we’ll bring out the other things.”

What other things?
I’m thinking, as I go up on the altar and open the Bible and feverishly flip through. Ah, there’s Luke…I thumb through three pages and there it is, Luke 2. As I’m doing it, I see some other boys come in and go to the robe room and put on their vestments. Hope one don’t notice his is missin.

I can hear the crowd gathering outside, and the church bells are starting to ring. The boys, now robed, come up to me and ask who I am and I say, “Henry Hatfield, in from the country to help out,” and they say, “All right.”

“We will have a Processional, of course. You—country boy—you’re the smallest. You’ll lead. Get the things.”

I’m numb with terror, but I notice one of the boys going toward a cabinet and I follow him, hoping…Yes, he reaches in and hands me this large, long silver cross. I take it.

Churchmen are beginning to come in and take their places on the altar dais. The choir is up in the balcony, tuning up. A man goes to the great organ by the altar.

“Open the doors!”

I hear the crowd begin to pour in and take their places in the pews.

“All right. To the foyer. Places, everyone!”

Places? What places?

From the way the man in the center of a small group is dressed, he must be the head man. I go and stand in front of him, desperately clutching the cross, which must be quivering in my hand.

Hands take me by the shoulders and turn me around, facing the altar. I guess they’re figurin’ me for a country rube, which, for once, is good. A bell sounds, the organ blasts out, the screen in front of me opens, somebody nudges me from behind and I start walking down the aisle, my robes swaying gently back and forth. The choir starts singing:

Ades-te fi-del-is, lae-ti tri-um-phant-es!

Ven-i-te, ven-i-te, in Beth-eth-le-hem…

I get down to where the Nativity scene is and don’t know which way to go, so I just go around on the left, figurin’ the man behind me will want to go up where the Bible is, and since the heavens don’t come crashing down and nobody yells at me and pulls me the other way, I guess I was right. I go over and stand out of the way and my breathing returns to normal. Sort of normal. I steal a look down at Jesse. He is still quietly asleep.

I chance a look over the congregation and…There! There, dressed in mourning black, is my young father and mother, on the aisle four rows back.

After the choir gets done beltin’ out the “Adeste Fidelis,” which I didn’t know then but which I sure know now, and all goes quiet, the congregation gets to its feet and the head bloke stands up and goes over to the stand that holds the Bible.

He takes a deep breath and begins to read.

“And it came to pass in those days, that a decree went out from Augustus Caesar that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, each to his own city?”

I’m standin’ there, holdin’ on to my cross for dear life and hoping this all works out.

“‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David which is called Bethlehem, to be taxed with his espoused wife, Mary, being great with child:”

Come on, Jesse, this’d be a good time to wake back up,
I’m thinking.

“‘And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she be delivered…”

Come on, Jesse! Ah!
I see a stirring! I see a little fist poking out of the blanket and waving about!

“And she brought forth her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger:”

“Wah!” shouts Jesse, and he starts tossing his swaddling clothes aside there in his own little manger. “Wah!” Oh, and he’s got a pair of lungs on him, he has! Good boy! I know from his tone that he’s got Mrs. Little’s Thelma and Betty more on his mind than scripture, but, hey…

The priest stares in amazement. He’s a stern-faced type that looks like he don’t believe much in miracles, in spite of his line of work.

There is a common gasp from the congregation. I watch my chosen parents over in their pew.[_ Come on, little mother, come on…_]

She does. She walks timidly out into the aisle and her husband follows her.

“Whose baby is this?” bellows the priest. “Whosoever it is, come and take it up now!”

That ain’t no “it,”
I think, a trifle resentful,[_ that’s Jesse._]

The wife comes up and leans over Jesse and touches his blanket.

“Oh, look, Joseph, it’s our baby’s blanket,” she says to her husband.

“If it’s your baby, Madame; roars the priest, angry that he’s been topped in this show, “then take him up now!”

“Oh, can we, Joseph?” she asks, the tears plain on her face.

The young man nods and she leans down and takes up Jesse and wraps his blanket around him, then the family walks down the aisle and out of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, clutching their little Christmas miracle.

After the service was over, I stood with the others and handed back my silver cross, and turned to go, but I stopped when I saw the man I had first seen when I’d entered the church, who now was putting coins into the hands of the altar boys. “Good job, lads,” he said, and then pushed a coin into my fist. I looked at it. It was half a guinea, more than I ever seen in the world.

I said good-bye to the other boys and thanked them for showin’ a country bumpkin the ropes and slipped out the front entrance. On my way back to Blackfriars Bridge, I sold my robe for twelve pence, and I bought five full meat pies and a big wedge of cheese, and then slipped back into the kip.

We ate hearty that night, even as we mourned our lost member.

Oh, I kept track of Jesse over the next year or so, till I left Cheapside…From my rooftop I watched him take his first few steps, heard him say his first word, and watched him grow straight and strong. I heard his mother laugh again and I heard her sing to him. He belonged to them now and not to me, and that was all right. He was safe now, as safe as he could be in this world.

Jesse was just the best little baby…and for just a little while, he was mine.

They all knew I was a bit drained last night from telling Jesse’s story, and after I finished and had crawled back up into my kip and burrowed in with Annie and Sylvie and Rebecca, and was silently—well, maybe not so silently—crying in the dark, Hepzibah Van Pelt spoke up softly and said, “Can we sing you that song, Jacky, the Adeste Fidelis’? Will that make you feel better?”

I sit up and say, “I’d like that very much,” and they do it, and it does indeed soothe my soul. When they are done, I ask her if they would also do that Nobby Patches song. “The choir at Saint Paul’s sang that song, too, on that day.”

“Nobby Patches?” asks Hepzibah, confused. “I don’t think I know that one.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve heard you do it. It’s the one that goes…,” and I hum a bit of it.

“Ah,” she says. “‘Dona Nobis Pacem: Of course.” She taps a stick or something in the darkness and says, “All right, girls. Altos will begin, then the sopranos will pick it up after they finish the first round, and then the contraltos will come in. Ready? One, two, three…”

And the sound fills the Hold. There are only three words in this song and they are all contained in the title, but it is one of the most beautiful, soul-soothing pieces of music I have ever heard. I’m with the sopranos now, and I sing with them:

Dona nobis pacem, pacem. Dona nobis pacem…
p. It means “Give us peace,” and it does give me peace, and I put my head down and sleep.

Peace comes to the ocean, too, for when we awaken in the morning, the sea is calm.

It’s been a few hours this morning since Sin-Kay had inspection and Hughie doled out the burgoo, hot this time. There’s been no sign of Nettles since that night when the Captain whacked him one and told him, in no uncertain terms, to stay away from “those vile vessels,” which is just fine with us vessels.

Dolley and Clarissa and I confer under the Stage, and we all agree that it is time to go. We also decide that this day should be spent drilling the girls in what parts they are to play in the breakout, so that no mistakes, no stumbles, no false moves are made when so much depends on things going just right.

We call the girls down by divisions and go over with them their parts in the Plan.

“When you hear me call out, ‘Plan A…Ready!’ Cloris and Frances will go to the Rat Hole and take down the boards. Bea and Barbara will go to the Powder Hole and open it. Abby and Helen will be wearing the wires around their waists and will go to the gate and wire it shut. When the Powder Hole is opened, Dorothea and Ruth will pull out the fuse and lay it out straight on the deck. Annie and Sylvie will each take one of the short-fused bags and put them up on the aft Balcony for me and Clarissa to throw if we have to go to Plan B. Wilhelmina will light two candles—one she will place near,[_ but not too near,_] the end of the fuse. The other, she will place on the aft Balcony near the short-fused bags. Lissette will reach in the Powder Hole and start passing the water bottles out to—no, no, Lissette, just the water, not the wine—to Priscilla, who will pile them next to the Rat Hole. Connie, you will prepare Elspeth, and Martha, you will take charge of getting my seabag out. All will gather under the Stage and wait for the next signal. Everybody got that?”

Seeing nods all around, I continue.

“When you hear me shout, ‘Plan A…Go!’ Dolley will go through the Rat Hole first. She will have my shiv and a file and she will open the outer storeroom door. She will then proceed up the passageway and out onto the deck, followed by Katy and the Dianas—Chrissy, Hermione, Minerva, Rose—who will take care of any of the crew who might not have fallen for our diversion, and then they’ll stand guard as the rest of you get in the boat.”

I turn to the two experienced sailors. “Hyacinth, you’ll be next out. Run to the boat first and pull back the canvas. Make sure Hughie gets the boat down and helps you get the sail up. Then Cathy, you jump in and take the tiller and be ready to steer away from the ship as soon as all are in the boat.” More nods.

“So that we avoid confusion at the Rat Hole, after Cathy, the rest will go through in the same order as you did Sin-Kay’s inspection line. That means Rebecca will be next, then Ruth, and so on, all except for Dorothea. Each of you who are not in charge of something else, grab a bottle of water as you go through. Remember, if you meet a member of the crew, break the bottle on whatever hard thing is close to you and ram the jagged edge up under his chin.

“Dorothea, you will be the last through the Hole. You will light the fuse. Leave as soon as it catches, and start counting in your head, one one hundred, two one hundred, three one hundred, and so on till you reach fifty. By that time you’ll be in the boat and then you’ll call out the numbers loud and clear so we’ll be able to hear them up on deck. Let nothing distract you from that, Dorothea. It’s so very important.”

Dorothea takes a breath and nods. I put my hand on her shoulder. “Brave girls, all of you.

“We’ll go right after breakfast when the hooks come down. Make sure you eat every bit of food and drink all the water. When you get up tomorrow, put on your dresses and shoes and stockings, too, as you will need protection from the sun when we get out on the water. But when the time comes to jump in the boat, knot your skirts up around your waists so they will not get in your way. Are we all clear?”

There are nods all around. Clarissa nods, too, looking straight at me. I know, and she knows, too, that she has one of the more difficult parts to play in this game. All will be in danger, but she will be in danger alone.

“Good. Now let’s crack out our last bottles of wine, have some of those fine soda crackers, and enjoy our last snack here in the banquet room of the Hotel Bloodhound. What say ye?”

That afternoon, we have each of the girls come before Dolley and Clarissa and me, down under the Stage, to have them recite to us[_ exactly_] what their role is when we break out. All of them know that tomorrow is probably the day, but we remind them that you never know what might turn up—the storm might return, they might not put the hooks down tomorrow, a lot of things—but I know that since I am going out tonight to complete the disabling of the other boat, tomorrow must be the day.

When Rebecca comes up before us, she pouts and says she wishes she had something more adventurous to do than just carry out a water bottle and jump into a boat.

“There will be adventures enough when all this happens, believe me, Rebecca,” I say. Her eyes are shining, feverish with excitement over the coming breakout.[_ Hmm…_] Maybe a little too feverish.