The Saintly Buccaneer (3 page)

“He’s gone,” the doctor said. He took the thin hands, folded them over the boy’s chest, and dropped the blanket over the worn face. He pulled Charity to her feet and led her out of the space. She almost stumbled over a sleeping man, but Dr. Williams caught her with a surprising strength and helped her to the only open space in the room—a small cubicle where he kept his meager supplies and slept when he could on a cot made of saplings and rawhide. She was so blinded by tears she could see nothing, but suddenly felt Dr. Williams jerk to an abrupt halt. “Why, General Washington—I didn’t know you were here.”

Charity brushed the tears from her eyes and looked up to see two men standing in the open space. One was a thin man wearing a blue uniform greatcoat with black facing and silk scarf; the other, a very large man, over six feet. Charity looked at him with startled interest.

The general had a large nose, gray eyes, and deep pockmarks on his long face. He had very large hands, she saw, giving an impression of tremendous strength, though his eyes and voice betrayed a great weariness.

“How many, Doctor?”

“Well, not as bad as it might be—but we just this moment lost Billy.”

“Billy Sills?” The gray eyes fell, and the big man stood there silently. Finally he raised his head, and Charity saw the pain etched across his face. “He was from my state. I know his parents, Colonel Hamilton. They are fine people.”

This, she gathered, was Alexander Hamilton, the general’s most trusted aide. “It’s hard, Your Excellency.” His voice was sharp and clipped, but he seemed almost boyish with violet eyes and lashes long and thick like a girl’s. “It never gets easy, does it?”

Dr. Williams interjected, “This is Miss Charity Alden, Your Excellency. She came to see her brother—but she’s been a great source of encouragement to all the men.”

“We are in your debt, Miss Alden,” the general returned, his gray eyes weighing her. As he took her hand in his, hers seemed lost in the massive grip. For a moment she felt the power of the man; then he released her hand, saying, “I hope your brother is doing well?”

“Not very well, sir.” She bit her lip and added, “One of your Virginia men has taken us in—Nathan Winslow.”

“That’s Adam’s son, isn’t it?” Hamilton asked.

“Yes. I had to send Adam on a mission.” Turning to Charity, Washington nodded, “Miss Alden, I pray that our merciful God will spare your brother. And we are grateful for your kindness to our poor men. Let me help you.”

She put her arms into the coat he held for her, then said as she turned to go, “I’m—sorry about Billy.”

“I’m sorry, too—for all of them.”

She left the hospital quickly, and as she made her way back to the cabin, she wondered why the boy’s death had affected her so deeply. The presence of Washington had taken the pain away momentarily, but now it swept back as the whining wind that purled around the evergreens and sent scuds of new snow everywhere reminded her of his cries.

What if Curtis should die like Billy?

The question came again and again, and by the time she got to the hut, she was so filled with fear for him that she did not even feel the cold.

Julie was sitting beside Curtis as she entered, and looking up she said, “He’s been asking for you, Charity. See if you can get him to take a little broth.”

“Why, sure I can, can’t I, Curtis?” she asked with a forced heartiness. Taking the cup from Julie, she sat down and began to cajole him into swallowing a little of the broth. “I could always make you eat, couldn’t I? Remember when you had measles, and I took care of you?”

A faint smile touched his pale lips. “I remember. Gave you the measles, didn’t I?” he answered weakly.

“You sure did! Take another swallow—that’s good! Now another....”

He ate a little of the broth, then lay back wearily while she fussed over him. He had developed an alarming cough which would, on occasion, seize him in a frightful manner. It was as if a giant hand suddenly closed on him, shaking him from side to side and racking him until his breath was spent. It was getting worse, more frequent, and after a bout that made Charity want to cry out at his agony, he fell into a drugged and unhealthy sleep.

The two women did what they could, then sat down and talked as the stub of a candle sputtered in its own tallow. Charity was too exhausted by the death of Billy Sills and the tension over Curtis to say much, but Julie’s voice had a soothing effect. Charity put her head back, closed her eyes, and listened as the young woman spoke of things other than disease and death.

Often the two had sat into the night, and Charity had listened as Julie told her of her meeting and marriage with Nathan. The story was so incredible that at first she had suspected the young woman was one of the most creative
liars she’d ever met, but others in the camp had confirmed the story.

Julie had fled her home after her father’s death to escape the rapacious attentions of her uncle. In desperation, she had disguised herself as a man, and Nathan had saved her from freezing to death on a wharf in Boston. Through a strange set of circumstances, she had joined the Continental Army as an aide to Colonel Henry Knox. Nathan, his attention occupied by a young woman he was courting, had never suspected her secret. He and his cousin, Paul Winslow, were engaged in such fierce competition for Abigail Howland that Nathan was blind to all else. Soon after Julie’s secret finally got out, Nathan was made painfully aware of Abigail’s deceit.

“I caught him as he was dropped, Charity,” Julie had laughed as she recounted the story. “He was easy pickings.”

But this, Charity discovered, was not true. The love of Nathan for Julie—and hers for him—was of a storybook quality, and the warmth in Julie’s eyes when she spoke of her young husband spoke volumes.

Now as they sat there in the cold room, the hoarse breathing of Curtis was very loud in the quietness. Julie finally stopped speaking, and for a long time there was no other sound. In the dim light Charity saw that Julie’s lips were moving, and she knew the girl was praying; it was something Charity had noted and been troubled about. Now the death of the boy was a fresh wound in her spirit, and she finally began to speak, telling her friend how it had been. She ended by saying, “It was so—
hard!
So awful, Julie!” Then she plunged in and added, “Julie—he said he didn’t know God. Do you think he’s in...?”

Julie sat there for what seemed a long time; then she began to speak. At first it seemed to Charity the young woman had not heard what Charity had asked, for she said nothing about Billy or his death. She talked about God, about His love for man—and most of all she spoke of Jesus Christ and how He died on a cross to save all men. Her voice went on and
Charity sat there listening. Finally Julie picked up her worn black Bible from the table by her side and, leaning over close to catch the feeble rays of the candle, read slowly: “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus died to save sinners, of whom I am chief.”

Then she looked up, the tears shining in her eyes in the yellow light. “Charity, never question the love of God! No matter what you see in this world, remember that God sent His only Son, and Jesus died a terrible death on a cross. He died because He loves us all—you—and me—and Billy—and Curtis.”

Charity swallowed, fighting back the sobs that rose to her throat. “But what about Billy?”

“I don’t know, Charity,” she answered quietly. “I
do
know that he will meet a loving God—and I never lose hope.”

“I wanted to help Billy—but I couldn’t!”

“I know, Charity.” Julie put her hand on Charity’s. “I think if you want to be able to help others—like Curtis and Billy—you’ve got to find your own peace with the Lord. Would you like that?”

Somehow the thought frightened Charity, and she said quickly, “Oh, I couldn’t!” And she begged in a faltering voice, “Won’t
you
help him, Julie? Please!”

The silence ran on and Charity saw that the other girl was praying. Finally Julie looked up and smiled. “Of course I will, Charity.”

****

Three days later Curtis died. During those three days Charity was helpless. She took care of her brother’s physical needs, but the presence of death was over the hut. Nathan came back, and he would sit for long hours beside Curtis, often with Julie by his side.

Julie would read the Bible aloud as she sat beside the dying boy, and once she said, “Maybe he doesn’t understand it,
Charity, but the scripture says, ‘The entrance of thy word giveth light.’ ”

From time to time Curtis would rouse, always a little weaker, but he seemed to live on the prayers of the couple who was always there. He would hold on to Charity’s hand, speaking of their early days, but he grew restless, his eyes searching for something, and only when Julie or Nathan would come and sit beside him would he relax.

On the day before he died, Julie was reading from the Gospel of John, late in the afternoon. Charity sat on the floor, her head leaning against the cot, and she heard the words:

“Does that mean me?” Curtis’s voice interrupted the reading, and when Charity lifted her head, she saw that he had pulled himself up and was staring at Julie with a strange hope in his eyes. “Can I be saved, Julie?”

Julie said quietly, “Why, Curtis, Jesus
died
to save you. There’s nothing God longs for more than to see us trust Him for salvation.”

He lay back down and the silence ran on. There was an ache in Charity’s throat, and she clenched her fists together until they hurt. Then she heard him say, “Would you help me, Julie?”

Julie sat there reading scripture after scripture, pausing to answer his questions, and finally she said, “I think you’re ready to put your faith in Jesus, Curtis.” She put the Bible down and got awkwardly to her knees, saying, “I’m in poor shape for this, but God is waiting. Let’s pray—and you simply
tell the Lord you have sinned, and that you want Jesus in your heart—”

She began to pray, and Charity went to kneel beside her, both of them bending over the thin form of Curtis. Charity never knew what happened. She found herself weeping uncontrollably, and with that, a sudden desire to pray. She tried, but there was something within her resisting.

Finally she looked up to see Julie struggling to get up. “Give me a hand, Charity,” she gasped. As she was pulled to her feet, she laughed freely, tears running down her cheeks—but there was a light of joy in her eyes. “Your brother is in the family of God, Charity! Look at him!”

Curtis had tears in his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips as he exclaimed “Bless the Lord! Bless the Lord!” over and over again.

Julie put her arms around Charity. “It’ll be your time one day. God has promised me that!”

Charity could not speak, but the peace that had come to the thin face of Curtis brought joy to her own heart.

Curtis died in his sleep the next day. He had awakened at dawn, and his eyes were clear as he held up his arms to kiss his sister for the last time. He gave a few messages for family and friends, said his farewell to Nathan and Julie, then looked at Charity, a quiet smile on his lips. “I’ll be waiting for you.” As he closed his eyes, Charity knew with a startling clarity and an aching heart that her brother would never open them again—not on this earth.

CHAPTER THREE

BACK TO BOSTON

“Charity, I wish you’d change your mind.” Nathan had come inside, slamming the door against the blast of freezing air that rattled the entire shack. His eyebrows were crusted white with ice, and there was a worried look in his eyes as he moved to where Charity sat beside Julie. “If this snow keeps up, you’ll never make it through.”

“I’ll be all right, Nathan.”

“Just wait until tomorrow, please, Charity,” Julie whispered. Her voice was weak, and pain was dulling her eyes. Ever since Curtis’s death, she had seemed to weaken, taking to her bed with a fever. Charity had grown to love the Winslows, but a plan had formed in her mind, and she smiled and leaned over to kiss Julie, saying, “Don’t fret yourself about me, Julie Winslow.” She felt the girl’s arms close round her neck, and allowed herself to be held, then drew back and forced a smile, saying with artificial conviviality, “Now, you just take care of yourself and that big boy—if you’re good, maybe I’ll have a surprise for you!”

She pulled away, snatched up the small bundle containing her clothes, and dashed outside. The freezing cold bit at her lungs, causing her to catch her breath as the wind whipped tiny crystals of snow into her eyes.

“Everything’s ready, Charity,” Nathan informed her, motioning to the waiting buggy. “We had to do a little carpentry work to make the coffin fit, but it’s all secure.”

“Thank you, Nathan.” Charity forced herself to walk
toward the buggy, which had been stripped to accommodate the pine coffin that bore Curtis’s body. When she had announced her intention of taking her brother back to be buried in the family plot, there had been incredulous looks on every face. But no persuasion could change her mind, so Nathan had made provisions for her trip. The back seat of the buggy had been ripped out, and an extension built on the floor, so that the coffin protruded past the rear wheels, and was tied down with ropes. The canvas top had been roughly sewn together to make a shelter over the front seat, providing at least some protection from the stormy weather. Most important, the wheels had been removed and a pair of runners thrust under a crudely built undercarriage, transforming the buggy into a sleigh. “If the snow gets deep,” Nathan had told her, “you’ll have a better chance with a sled than a buggy.”

“Looks shipshape, Nathan,” Charity stated, tilting her head back to smile up into his face. “Now, you listen to me! I’m going to make a record trip to Boston, and I’ll be back here with a good doctor and supplies quicker than you can think!”