The Saintly Buccaneer (21 page)

“Are we going to make it?”

He looked at her in surprise. “God knows, Charity. I sure don’t.”

They said no more, for the cause they loved was at the lowest ebb. Finally they pulled into the small harbor and Charity cried, “There she is!”

He looked up to see a tall-masted ship standing off shore, and drove down to the landing. He gave a one-eyed fisherman a coin to take them out, and soon Charity was talking
animately with Captain Thomas Benteen, a tall man with a thick mop of black hair.

Dan ran his eye over the ship while Charity went right at the bargaining. “Don’t think you’ll be able to get much of a price for your vessel, Captain,” she expressed with a shrug. “She’s too slow for a privateer.”

Benteen snorted and slapped the rail with his hand. “Not fast enough! Why, she’ll do thirteen knots!”

“Not likely!”

The casual treatment of his boast angered the tall man, and he exploded, “Listen to me! This ship is staunch and she’s gentle, but she’s fast. She can do better than ten knots for twenty-four hours on end, and she ain’t never been pushed. This ship is sweet as a nut and sound as a bell ...!”

Dan left and wandered around the ship. He had made three short cruises on the
Lady
and liked the sea. There had been little to do with the army, and Washington had suggested, “Chaplain, the best favor you can do for me right now—besides your prayers, of course—is to do anything you can to get guns, food, and supplies. That young woman is doing more with the
Lady
than the whole Congress of the United States.” He had clamped his lips shut suddenly, for as everyone knew, he considered himself a servant of Congress and would permit no one to criticize it. And this despite the fact that in actuality Congress did practically nothing to help the starving troops.

He returned from his walk around the deck in time to see Charity and Benteen shaking hands. “You got yourself a sweet ship, missy,” Benteen was saying, and he looked sadly around the deck. “I’ll never get a better!”

“My father will have to agree, Captain,” Charity stated. “But he will!”

For over two hours Dan followed Charity around the ship, taking pleasure in her delight. She poked into every cranny and climbed the spars. Finally he said, “Thee is like a child
with a new toy.” Then he added ruefully, “Wish thee were as proud of me as of this ship!”

She laughed and took his hand. “You’ll love her just as much, Dan.”

“Not me. I’m a landsman.”

She looked at him soberly, saying, “I want you to do something. I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

“What?”

“I want you to join Father and me permanently on the
Lady.
” She cut off his startled protest by putting her hands across his lips. “Just listen for one minute. You’re not a sailor, Dan, but we need someone we can trust. We’re going to be taking thousands of dollars of prize cargo aboard, and it’ll be a temptation to some of the crew. You’re a strong man, Dan, and I’d feel safer if you’d come with me.”

A warmth spread through Dan, and he was pleased with her request. It was the only time she’d ever asked for help, and he replied joyously, “Why, I’d be happy to come, Charity, but I’d feel out of place. I hardly know the mizzenmast from the jib.”

“But you know guns,” she said quickly. “We’re going to arm this vessel until we can take on anything smaller than a frigate, and a good master gunner is hard to find.”

He was attracted at once, for he had spent months with Henry Knox’s command, the artillery. Much of that time he had helped them train, learning much about ordnance. He was tired of inactivity, so all day long as they drove back to town, he allowed her to persuade him. Finally that night after supper, he told her, “All right, I’ll go see if my uncle will let me transfer. And if he will, I’ll get the best gunners in Knox’s artillery to teach me all they know about cannon.”

“Oh, Dan, won’t it be wonderful!” Her green eyes glowed, catching the lantern light, and she for the first time threw herself in his arms. “We’ll get fitted out as soon as we can, and then look out, King George!”

He was suddenly speechless, for the rich curves of her
body pressed against him was unnerving. He smiled warmly, saying hopefully, “Maybe we’ll make the first voyage a honeymoon trip?”

She looked up, returning his smile. “Maybe so. You get the new
Lady
ready to fight, and I might just think about it!”

****

“I still don’t see why we have to have them here for dinner, Charles!”

Dorcas Winslow had made the same complaint steadily for a week, ever since her husband had told her that he had invited his brother Adam and the rest of the family for a meal. Now as she looked over the glittering white cloth covered with silver plates and polished crystal glasses, she made one final protest.

“What possessed you to do this?” she demanded, staring at him with displeasure. She was an attractive woman, a little overweight, but with fine features and beautiful hair. There was, to be sure, a selfish cast to her face, and it was accented now. It had been a long time since Charles had deliberately ignored her wishes, and she was angry.

Charles glanced at her, weighing his words. “I think it’s wise, Dorcas.”

“But
why?
”

“Because we’re Loyalists. You seem to have forgotten that.” He lifted his gaze and considered the room. “If it weren’t for Adam, we’d be in a shack or a prison somewhere—like most of our friends. I don’t think you’d like that, Dorcas.”

Charles had become a silent man since the loss of his son. His sickness had ended, or at least he had overcome it. As the months passed, Dorcas kept waiting for him to become more lively, but even as his health improved, there was a sadness in his countenance, and she could not remember too well the smiling, carefree man she had married. He had gone back to his business, leaving early and coming in rather late, so the house was not a happy place.

“Is—is there something you haven’t told me, Charles?” Dorcas lifted a hand to her throat as a sudden spasm of dread gripped her. When the rebels had taken the city, she had nearly gone mad with fear, seeing her best friends torn from their homes and either shipped to England or cast out of their homes to make their way as best they could. She now was caught by that anxiety and came to grasp her husband’s arm. “Are we in danger?”

“Why, certainly, we are!” Charles stated with a mild surprise. His broad lips turned upward in a smile, and he added, “We are enemies of this government, Dorcas, in name at least. We’ve been living on the razor’s edge. Only Adam has kept us safe.”

There was a sudden sound that made Dorcas give a nervous twitch, and he said, “They’re here—and I think you’d be wise to make yourself pleasant to my family.”

“Yes, Charles, of course,” she assured him, and she was able to compose herself as they made their way to the spacious foyer. Charles was at her side, and she smiled graciously at the guests.

“Adam, you’re looking well—and you are looking beautiful, Molly.”

Dorcas thought how unlike they were, these two half brothers. Adam was thickset and dark, while Charles had the tall figure and blonde good looks of the Winslow clan. But Molly fit perfectly with her husband, and Dorcas spoke quickly to her, “How nice of you to come.”

Molly Winslow was English by birth, with fine facial features. Her ash-blonde hair and gray eyes gave her a youthful look, and she said, “Thank you, Dorcas. We really came just to force you to see our grandson.”

Dorcas looked up at the tall figure of Nathan and his wife Julie, and a pang went through her as a thought of Paul forced itself into her mind. Nathan and Paul were almost exactly the same age, and though they did not favor each
other physically, there was something about Winslow men that could not be hidden.

To conceal the bitter thought that her own son was gone and this one lived, she looked at the baby Julie held and exclaimed, “What a beautiful child! What’s his name?”

Julie held the baby to the light. “His name is Christmas. He was born on Christmas night at Valley Forge, Mrs. Winslow.”

“Well, that’s a fine name—and a fine boy.” Charles Winslow moved to see the child clearly, and Adam, standing to one side, saw what the others missed. He loved his brother, despite the differences they had had in the past, and he knew him well. As Charles looked down on the fat baby and put out a finger for the child to seize, a sudden twitch ran across his lips, and Adam understood that the grief over Paul, his only son, was burning in him like a live coal.

Charles turned away blindly, saying in a husky voice, “Come, let’s go eat, Adam—and all of you.”

“Well, there’s more of us than you invited, Charles,” Adam began, then hesitated. Charles paused and turned to see a young couple who had been standing at the door.

Daniel Greene stepped forward and said, “I tried to talk Major Winslow out of bringing us, but—”

“I know about that, Reverend,” Charles said with a sudden smile at his brother. “He’s a hard man to say no to.”

Charity was feeling terribly uncomfortable. Daniel had taken her to see the baby, and Adam had simply swept them along. “We’ve not had an invitation from my brother for a long time, and I want you to go with us.”

“But, Major,” Daniel had protested, “thee knows about the trouble I had with their son. It would be very uncomfortable.”

Adam had simply overruled. “I want you to come.” Molly had remained quiet, but Adam had told her when they were alone, “I’m afraid for Charles and Dorcas. Paul is dead, and they’re not accepting it. I hope there’s no bitterness in them against Daniel, but if there is, I want them both to face up
to it—because a bitterness that isn’t voiced eats at a man like a cancer.”

But now Charity’s eyes met those of Dorcas Winslow, and both of them were speechless. Each was thinking of their last meeting. Besides this, Charity’s thoughts went back to the traumatic scene she’d had with their son, and the memory of it was suddenly raw and fresh.

Dorcas, however, merely said, “We’re happy to have you all. I’m sorry our daughter Anne is away. Come in, please.”

The moment of discomfort was broken as they made their way down the hall, and Dorcas busied herself seating the guests. She paused only when Charles’s mother, Martha, a small, arthritic figure, came into the dining room, walking carefully, as if she were terribly afraid that her fragile bones would break.

“Why, Martha, how are you?” Adam went to her at once, and Charity gazed with interest at the sight. She had learned enough of the Winslow family history to know that the relationship between the two had not always been so pleasant. Martha Jakes had married Miles Winslow, and Adam, Miles’s son by another woman, had not been a favorite. She had managed to sway her husband’s favor from Adam to the son born to her and Miles, so that Charles had been the favorite.

But there was no trace of rancor in Adam Winslow, though the woman who had mistreated him so shamefully was now sickly and at his mercy. He must have sensed that it was gall to her to know that she was safe only because he made it possible. He took her thin hand carefully, and put the other on her frail shoulder, saying, “It’s good to see you again, Martha.”

How different these Winslows are!
Charity thought as she watched.
I’ve heard that Charles was a bounder in his youth, and his son was a rotter—but there is such gentleness in Adam and Nathan. There must be a streak of wildness in the Winslow breed!

The old woman ducked her head, thinking perhaps of the hard treatment she’d inflicted on Adam when she was
younger and he was helpless; and when she raised her face, a trace of tears glinted in her faded eyes. “Thank you, Adam. That’s—that’s like you.”

Charles did not miss this, and laid his hand on Adam’s burly shoulder. “It is like you, Adam.” Then a flash of rare humor struck him and he laughed. “You and Mother weren’t quite so friendly when you and I blew father’s black Winslow chickens to bits—along with her prize rug! Remember that awful cannon you made?”

The memory brought a smile to Adam’s broad face, and he replied ruefully, “I’ve never forgotten it. Father was so proud of those chickens.”

“Well, never mind,” Charles laughed. “They survived—or some of them did—we’re having their offspring for supper! Come along now.”

The meal went well after that, and Charity sat quietly beside Daniel, eating the delicious food, but not missing a word. Adam did most of the talking, mostly about the boyhood he had shared with Charles.

There was something in Charles’s face that puzzled Charity. He was a handsome man, thin from sickness, and his face hollowed from the illness that had almost destroyed him. He was, she saw, toying with his food, thinking of other things. Finally he said, “I remember when you and Molly came back from Whitefield’s meeting, Adam. You’d been converted.” He paused and asked quietly, “Have you changed your mind?”

“In what way, Charles?”

“Well, so many are carried away with these ‘revivals,’ but after it’s over the people don’t seem to have been changed.”

Adam reached over and took Molly’s hand as he asked, “How about you, Molly? Are you still a servant of the Lord?”

Molly answered simply, “Ever since that moment when we took Christ as Savior and Lord, we’ve wanted nothing else, Charles.”

The simplicity of the answer and the light in the eyes of
the couple seemed to fascinate Charles, and he stared long at them, saying at last, “I see that you are happy.”

Adam longed to speak a word to his brother about his soul, but it didn’t seem the right time, so he refrained from saying anything. But he felt Molly squeeze his hand and knew that she would be praying for Charles. She was an intercessor of power, awesome in her efforts when she called on God for someone.

The rest of the meal was pleasant, and the visit in the long drawing room was equally so. But just before they left, a casual remark brought a sense of discomfort to the group.

They had carefully avoided any talk of politics, for the Tory in Charles and the Patriot in Adam would never mix. But a chance remark by Daniel in response to something Charles said brought the comfortable atmosphere to an end.