Chapter 6

Sewallis Alan Lewrie lay sleeping in his cradle, at last, after a noisy afternoon of colic and wailing that had quite worn his young mother to a frazzle. Caroline sat at the side of the cradle, formed in the shape of a miniature dory, that a New England Loyalist joiner had made for her months before, feeling vaguely disloyal.

Women were supposed to adore children, she thought wearily. It was a given that all a young woman could wish for in this life was a brood of offspring to tend. But so far, one was more man enough to deal with, and after six weeks of maternal devotion following the boy's birth, she wasn't so sure she cared to experiencethe terror and pain again. The physician had rated her labor easy, a mere nine hours! To hold her firstborn like a tightly swaddled roast at the end of it, to peer into those grave little eyes, had not seemed worthy enough reward.

Then had come the interrupted nights, at the mercy of his cries, the shambling sham of wakefulness between precious naps, to brave his supping at her breasts with the frantic lustiness of his absent father, almost dreading the aching, until Heloise and Betty had suggested a wet nurse to spare her, to let Wyonnie tend him for a few hours.

Her body felt destroyed. Where was the lissome figure she'd had, she wondered when she bathed? There was still a heaviness, a gravid and palpable puffiness that only now was departing as she began to take rides and putter in her gardens, her kitchen and pantry. And the stretch marks which traversed her formerly alabaster flesh like fault lines, or desert tributaries of a failed river. Would Alan be repulsed by the sight of her when he returned? She could no longer claim to feel like the lithe girl she'd been—and she had yet to feel comfortable accepting a role of young matron; it was surreal.

Yet... She looked down at the puffy little face screwed up into a puckered repose. And had to fight the urge to pick him up to hold him close to her, to carry him out to the dog-run and croon to him as she sat and rocked in the clean air, instead of the humid stuffiness of the bedroom, permeated with the smells of incontinent infancy.

Sewallis Alan Lewrie had been powdered and changed, and she bent down, fearful of waking him, to inhale the aroma of his skin, and of the milky, corn-silk smells he bore like a Hungary Water. She kissed him lightly, brushed his little tuft of hair, and sat back in her straight-backed chair with a fond smile, in spite of all.

Yes, he was a darling baby (most of the time), with his father's gray blue eyes, but with her nose, her paler hair. And her mouth. It felt more than odd to feel his tiny, demanding lips at her nipples, yet it was her mouth, not Alan's.

"You take a rest, missus," Wyonnie offered, entering the room. "I watch 'im fo' awhile. Po' chile cry hisse'f right out. But, he be bettah when 'e wakes. Dot obeah-mon's yarbs get rid de colic, jus' as I tole ya. Un de corn-meal fo' dot rash'll ease 'im."

"And I expect he'll wake up hungry," Caroline grinned with a wry lift to a brow. "God save womankind, Wyonnie, from men's... hungers!"

"All de mo' reason ya naps a spell, missus," Wyonnie chuckled in reply as she sat down opposite Caroline and began to fan him.

"I will, and thank you, Wyonnie," Caroline said. She left the room on tiptoe. Darling or not, Sewallis Lewrie showed signs of a light sleeper, and she felt she'd more than earned this brief respite.

She paused in the parlor to open her stationery box and take out her letter from Alan before going to the dog-run. Even though she had devoured it fifty times at least in the week since it had arrived, it was forever new and reassuring. Hugging it to her bosom, she went out onto the dog-run terrace where a fair wind was blowing, and the air was so much cooler and fresher. She took a seat in her rocker, put up her feet on an embroidered, padded footstool, and began to read it all over again between small sips from a glass of Rhenish.

All over again, she savored his protestations of love, his fear for her and the baby's life, his anguish at being separated so long, and his inability to communicate with her. Once again, Caroline seethed with outrage at the injustice of their mail being cut off, by how base Commodore Garvey could be. She blushed as she read Alan's curses called down on Finney and Garvey, knowing that she had used similar curses directed at him in the bleakest moments of her despair during his hellish silence. Or what she'd called him during her labor, she snickered!

"Two months I fretted," she whispered. "Damn Peyton and Heloise. I know they didn't want me worried, but they could have told me their suspicions... to ease me!"

But, all was right again. Alan still loved her. And, with her harshest memories of pain and fear subsiding, she was once more as much in love with him as the first moment she saw him. And surely he would come back soon. Do something about Finney and Garvey. Hold her again. And there would be no more cause for longing and dread.

The late afternoon heat was ebbing, and a cool wind rushed into the dog-run; Alan's nor'east Trades, which might waft him home at last. She finished her wine, folded up the letter and slipped it onto the table under the wine glass, then put her head back on the small lashed-on pad to take Wyonnie's advice about a nap. She eased the ache of her neck and shoulders with a shrug and a stretch, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and, with a wistful smile, fell asleep.

She woke in the twilight of another spectacular sundown, rummy with barely eased exhaustion, rocking forward with a start, andlistening close for her baby's waking cry, which was what she thought had stirred her. But it was a carriage.

Bay Street, a narrow sandy track, ran in front of their house, and a second, narrower sand-and-shell lane forked off southeast from the coast road, parallel to the front porch for awhile before winding south along the garden to the great house. A coach had turned in at the gate, and now stood in the lane, half hidden behind the tops of her palmetto hedge. A man was walking towards her through the gate in the "tabby" wall, and up the crushed-shell path to the front porch.

Caroline stood and peered to see who it was. The hat was laced with gold, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it was Alan returned.

"Hello, the house," a voice called. "Anyone to home, be they?"

"Good God!" she whispered in alarm, putting a hand to her mouth.

It was John Finney!

"Ah, there you be, Mistress Lewrie," Finney said, stepping upon the deep front porch and coming to her in the mouth of the dog-run. "A very good evenin' to you, Mistress." He took off his cocked hat, laid it upon his chest, and performed a deep, formal bow, one leg extended.

"Mister Finney," she replied, trembling a little with fear that he'd dare appear so boldly. "And to what do I owe this unasked visit?"

"Why, 'tis concern, good lady," Finney replied, stepping closer, and making Caroline wish to shy back, though she stood her ground. "We heard you'd birthed a fine man-child, spittin' image of his beautiful mother, so 'tis said in the town, yet never hide nor hair t'be seen of him, nor your fine self since."

Finney had a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes sparkled with secret merriment.

"Call it curiosity, Mistress Caroline," Finney went on'. "Worry about how ye fare. I'm that fond o' children, ya know, and I wish t'satisfy meself that you were recovered an' all. And t'gain a peek at the little lad, if I be so bold, now."

"He is sleeping, and it's best he's not disturbed," Caroline rejoined, losing her fear as her outrage took over, and the crease in her forehead deepened. "He is quite well, as am I, sir. But I am not yet receiving callers, Mister Finney. It's not seemly for you to be here."

"I'm not so polished as most, I'll tell ya, Mistress Caroline," Finney shrugged with a fetching smile." Tis my lack o' manners I most regret, ma'am. But I meant to assure meself o' your good health. And yer contentment I brought a few things for the little lad, d'ya see. Gewgaws from me stores. Toys and pretties. Hope ya won't begrudge a feller bein' so bold as to be offerin' a fine young lady such as yer sweet self a few trifles t' start the lad in life. 'Tis rough I come up, Mistress Caroline, an' ne'er a pretty'd I have fer my amusement. I'd not care t'see yer wee one deprived as me."

"I thank you for the sentiment, sir," Caroline allowed. "But I do not think that my son will lack for ought I could not accept any gift from you, Mister Finney."

"Been a hot one t'day, Mistress," Finney said, fanning himself with his cocked hat and stepping even closer to her. He picked up the wine bottle, peered at the label, and poured himself a glass of Rhenish, spilling a few drops on Alan's letter which was still on the table. "A glass o' somethin' cool'd be appreciated. With yer permission?"

"Ya got comp'ny, missus?" Wyonnie said, coming from the parlor side onto the dog-run. "Oh."

"Company, aye," Finney said, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs as if he owned the place. "P'raps Mistress Caroline'd be needin' another glass, woman. Fetch it."

"I will not be needing another glass, Wyonnie. And Mister Finney will be leaving," Caroline snapped. "Really, sir!"

Her eyes went to the letter, and she almost gasped aloud at the idea of Finney knowing that she'd heard from Alan. Of knowing what the Boudreaus suspected, and were investigating on the sly! Did he already know, she wondered? Was that why he'd come?

"Oh, I'll be on me way, quick as a wink," Finney promised, taking a tiny sip of the wine. "Soon's I've finished me drink. I know how it is, ma'am. I'm the great bogeyman ye've heard s'much bad about, an' you're a proper lady. But I do wish t'talk to ye, Mistress Caroline. An' seemly or no, I did bring presents fer the lit'l'un. Wot you from the Carolinas'd call an Injun's pipe o' peace. Do sit an' be mannerly, just fer a bit."

"Very well, Mister Finney," Caroline nodded, sitting down in her rocker once more, and reaching out for the letter to fold it up and put it deep in a side-pocket of her child-tending apron.

"A letter from home, is it?" Finney asked with a twinkle. "An' do yer parents know o' the blessed event yet, ma'am?"

"I have written them, sir, but my post will not reach them for at least three months more," Caroline said, relieved he'd not seen it.

"Most tasty wine ya have, Mistress Caroline," Finney said."One o' me best imports, I declare. And does yer husband know? Sure, an' it's that proud he must be, t'be the father of a fine boy! Ye'll not have a glass with me?"

"No, thank you, Mister Finney," Caroline replied coolly, raging though she was as Finney played his cruel game with her, like a cat at a house lizard. "I must keep my wits about me."

Damme if I don't! she thought with fear.

"My son will awaken soon, and want his supper. And I must begin my own. Speaking of ... Wyonnie, do go up to the Boudreaus and inform Miss Mustin we'll dine in one hour, will you? Should Sewallis wake up, I can go in to him."

"Yes, missus," Wyonnie replied, and spun about to depart.

"Sewallis. That'd be yer own father's name, now?" Finney said.

"How do you know that, sir?" Caroline frowned, a terror growing.

"Ah, call it me curiosity again, wot killed the cat. Soon's I saw you, Mistress Caroline, I've been that curious, I have, about you. Wot yer poets call 'worshippin' from afar.' Such a fine an' handsome lady, so refined an' all, here in our scruffy little islands, like a goddess fell from heaven. Fergive me, but I've asked about. 'Twas easy, after all, ye bein' so well received at parties an' such, an' so many people as impressed as I, gossipin' about ya, an' praisin' ya to the skies."

"And did that involve ... ?" Caroline began to blurt in accusation about her intercepted letters! "... did that force you to name your new ship after me, sir? That was most rude and over-assuming on your part. I would never have given you that license, Mister Finney." She caught herself quickly, and picked another complaint, instead.

"Ships is ... ships are lovely creations, Caroline," Finney said with an almost mawkish rapture. "I but thought to name the handsomest o' my vessels for the handsomest, and finest, lady o' my acquaintance. I know I shoulda asked, but like I said, I'm new-come t'fine manners o' the quality. I was tryin' to honour you, thet's all."

"I wish you would change her name, then, sir," Caroline replied, turning to see if Wyonnie had fetched Peyton Boudreau from the great house to aid her yet. "People assume I did give my permission, and I will brook no loose talk. Naturally, I'm sure it is an honour, but it was not one of my choosing."

"Ya don't choose honours, Mistress Caroline, they just come to ya," Finney laughed softly. "An' 'tis the devil's own bad cess t'name a ship, then change it. Think of it as a foolish gesture from a man o' deep respeck ... respect for you. I thought t'cheer you, abandoned as you've been. A young wife with a child t'care for, all alone in a hard world, so far from home an' all."

"I am hardly abandoned, sir," Caroline retorted, getting to her feet. "If you' ve quite finished, I must insist you leave, sir. And I do not think it proper to take any presents from you."

She almost screamed as he seized her hands and held them harshly in rough but be-ringed bear-paw fists. "Tell ya the truth now, Caroline," he said, losing his teasing, bantering tone, and looking up at her in part triumph, part gruff shyness, "first night I saw ya, dinin' yer first night ashore, I thought I'd seen an angel from heaven. But, there ya were, with yer man, such as 'e is! A fine an' proper young lady, o' the most refined ways, wasted on a ranti-polin' rogue. Know what his nickname is, Caroline? People call 'im the 'Ram-Cat'! Now he's sailed off an' left ya joyless, with a newborn babe t'care for, an' spurned ya fer another. There's talk he won't even answer ya, now ya've had his child. Oh, I seen ... I've seen you traipsin' back from town so forlorn, achin' fer news o' him, an' niver a letter did ya get. More people gossiped, the more me heart went out t'ya."

Dear Jesus, is that why you did this to us? Caroline wanted to shout in his face. You read them! So you'd know best how to play on my fears! So you could have me? It was all she could do to keep her face composed, for fear of revealing too much.

"Tis a hard world, it is, with men like that in it, Caroline," he went on with what she thought a well-rehearsed oration. "Ye're now a widow, as much as if he died, and good riddance t'bad rubbish! Yer best shed o' thet caterwauler. But yer alone now. Now, I know 'tis maybe a bad time t'mention it, an' I niver was good with words like a proper feller o' yer upbringin'. But I worship the ground ya walk on, an' thet's the Gospel truth! Caroline, I'm a man with a whole heart, an' it's yours t'command, with thoughts for none but you, these many months past. I've means t'care for ya, t'keep ya in style an' ease! An' you can trim my rough edges as ya get t'know me better. As ya may come t'love me as much as I love you, lass. I mean t'make ya happy, me girl. I mean t'do right by ya, Caroline, as none other can."

Terrified as she was, held prisoner with easy force no matter her attempts to pull away, his words held her pinioned like a rabbit might be hypnotized by a rattlesnake's weavings. Yet, Finney's plaint of love, presented in such a clumsy, lugubrious and teary-eyed way, was amusing to her, as if she were watching an incredibly poor player in a French farce hawking up high-flown sentiment. She could not stifle a giggle escaping her lips, nor a smile of cruel humour.

"Ah, she's smilin', she is!" Finney cajoled, misinterpreting. "S'prised ya may be, bein' spooned s'soon, by a rough 'un such as me. But yer thinkin' on it, aren't ya now? Now yer babe's bom, yer able t'get out an' about more, we could spend time with each other, let ya get accustomed t'the idea. Accustomed t'me, dearest Caroline, an' ..."

"Let go of me, sir," she hissed back, pronouncing each word in arch contempt. "Let go of me and leave this house and never come here again!" Even as she said it, she knew she should have played along to delude him until Alan could come back, until Mr. Boudreau could gather enough evidence to hang this rogue. But her grievance against Finney was too great, and her utter revulsion too quick to contain longer.

"There's fine things I could buy ya, things I wish flay at yer feet. Me town house, where ya'd be the finest lady ..." he pleaded.

"Never!" she shouted back, struggling against his grip. "I am a married woman, most happily married, sir! Your suit is not only rude and unseemly, it's odious to me! Let me go, sir! Now!"

She was amazed that he did, in shock perhaps, release her hands to sit back in stupefied hurt, all his hopes confounded. She turned and sprinted for the side door to the parlour, slamming it shut behind her and dropping the latchbar. She rushed to her bedroom, scything herself for being a fool, for not being able to play him along until he was ruined. She massaged her wrists where he'd held her, and felt soiled. She heard a noise and froze.

Dear God, the latchstring, she cringed! It wasn't pulled, and he could get in! The key-lock she hadn't thought to turn ...!

She opened her chifforobe and took out a large walnut box, and set it on the bed. Peyton Boudreau had wished to give her some pistols the week before, after Alan's letter had come, and she had accepted, never thinking things would become so desperate. This pair were twin-barreled, heavy as fireplace and-irons, but already loaded.

"Dear God, save us!" she whispered as she heard the latchbar rise and fall with a creak, heard the squeak of door hinges. "Where's Wyonnie? Why haven't they come?" In desperation, she picked up the first pistol and drew back both hammers to full-cock, then did the same with the second. She took a deep breath to steady herself, thinking of earlier times in North Carolina, and flipped up the frizzens on the pans to check her primings, as her brothers had shown her.

"Caroline," Finney said, no longer mocking, no longer pleading. She whirled, the pistols hidden behind her skirts, behind her thighs, and came to the door of the bedroom, to deny him entrance, taking one moment to assure herself that her son was still safe.

"No further, Mister Finney!" she warned him. "There're people..."

"Me coachman Liam's got yer nigger wench, so we got all the time in the world, girl," Finney smirked. "An' I know fer a fack yer Betty Mustin's off t'dine with others, so that won't wash, either. Listen t'me good, now, an' heed me," he said, advancing on her slowly. "Yer fine man left ya t'founder, you an' the babe, Caroline. An' he ain't niver comin' back t'ya. His sort don't. They takes their pleasure, then when things get 'inconvenient' for 'em, why divil a care do they have fer the poor, sad objeck o' their lusts. Twenty pound, an' out o' the parish, girl, 'fore the magistrate sics 'is hounds on ya! I had me a sister. She went thet way. All starry-eyed over a feller. Thought he'd do right by her, that rich man's boy, but back she come, half dead from havin' his git, and rooned fer life, an' us too poor t'help her, d'ya see. Now, wot ya want with a life like that, when I kin offer ya ..." he crooned, slowly advancing upon her.

"No closer!" Caroline swore, raising the first pistol. "Out of my house, now!"

Finney checked for one brief moment of open-mouthed surprise, then put his hands on his hips, flaring out the skirts of his coat and rocked on the balls of his feet.

"Oh, 'tis a crackin' great barker ya got there, miss," Finney chuckled. "Girl as delicate an' refined as yer sweet self has no business messin' with such brutes. That's a man's thing, girl. Put that down, now, an' let's be easy with each other."

Sewallis Alan Lewrie took that moment to wake up and begin to fret and wail.

"See there, Caroline?" Finney japed. "Even yer babe knows yer doin' wrong. Put that down, girl. Tend yer babe. I'll pour us some wine, an' we'll sit an' get acquainted."

"I said get out, Mister Finney!" Caroline shouted.

"Caroline, darlin' girl," Finney cooed, stepping closer with no sign of fear, arms out as though to cosset her out of a pet. "My..."

She pulled the trigger of the right-hand barrel, and the heavypistol leapt and bucked in her hand near enough to tear away from her!

"Jaysis!" Finney yelped, and backpedaled quickly six paces to the door. There was a fresh hole in the left breast of his coat, level with his heart, having passed through front and back as it had been held out away from his body!

"That was not a lucky shot, Mister Finney," Caroline glowered as she took aim with the gun, going for his groin with one eye shut "My brothers Burgess and Governour taught me to shoot before they went off with their Volunteer Regiment to fight for their King."

"You... you bitch!" he fumed. He started to rush forward, but she fired the left-hand barrel, and he stopped short, turning pale as a corpse's belly as the lead ball stung the flesh between his thighs, inches below his genitals! And before he could rise or even speak, Caroline brought up the second pistol in her left hand.

"No more teasing, sir! The next one's for your black heart!" she shouted over her baby's screams. "Get out of here, you Beau-Nasty bogtrotter! Run, you son of a whore! Buy yourself a fetching drab in town and pledge your love to her. Go roll in the muck like the Irish hog you are, sir. But I warn you, if you do not leave my house this instant, you'll be a dead bogtrotter, as God is my judge!"

Teeth almost chattering in her head, hand sweaty and slick on the curved butt of the pistol, and her vision tunneling, she was just about at the end of her tether. But the twin barrels never wavered. And then, thankfully, there came the sound of running feet thudding through her garden and onto the stone of the dog-run, drawn by her shots!

"What the devil?" Peyton Boudreau shouted, dashing inside with a smallsword in one hand, and a bell-mouthed coachman's shotgun in the other. His freedman black major-domo was behind him with a musket, and Daniel, Wyonnie's husband, backed them up with a cutlass. "You dog, sir! I'D have the bailiffs on you, damme'f I won't, sir!"

"For visiting a lady o' my acquaintance, Boudreau?" Finney attempted to bluster.

"For frightenin' a lady enough to have her shoot you," Peyton sneered in reply, something at which he was awfully good. "Trying to rape a married lady, were you, you scurrilous ill-bred scum? Damme, that'll make a merry tune for the town criers tomorrow! That'll be a fine topic for a broadside sheet to be handed about in every tavern! 'Calico Jack,' not only spurned, but nigh debollocked by a woman defending herself with a pistol, haw haw! Get out of here!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Finney shot back.

"I would," Caroline vowed. "I will, I promise you."

"Ephraim, take his sword. Pat him down for a knife or pistol," Boudreau instructed his major-domo, pressing the muzzle of the shotgun to Finney's breast. 'Tell your brute outside to let go Daniel's wife, or I'll have your heart's blood. Do it, or it's your life, sir, and worm no more to me than gnat's piss, at this moment, I most heartily assure you, haw! Come near my house again, come near Mistress Lewrie one more time, anywhere on New Providence, and you're a dead man. Do you even dare to ride past my property, I'll shoot you dead in the road as I would a rabid cur, sir! That all of it, Ephraim? Good. Now begone! Hear me?

"Begone, you son of a bitch, haw haw!"

With Finney disarmed, Caroline at last lowered the pistol and carefully rode the hammers forward one at a time, almost blind to the task through tears of relief, her hands now trembling like sparrows' wings. Now that the threat was ended, she was in horror of what she had almost done. She'd never aimed at anything but stationary gourds or bottles in her life, and here she'd almost taken a man's life!

She wanted to throw up, to scream, to fall to the floor and let her shuddering wails loose at last. But, now that Finney was being herded out the door and off the property, she went instead to her baby to pick him up and try to comfort him as he squalled in terror. She held him snug to her chest and shoulder, patting his back and stroking him, dandling him up and down as she paced the bedroom in a small circle, and commanding herself not to faint as long as he needed her, much as she wished for a ladylike spell of the vapors.

"There, there, little man," she wept, trying to smile for him. "There, there. It's all over. Bad man's gone, and won't be coming to hurt you. Momma's here, and she won't ever let anyone scare you ever again, Sewallis! Swear to God, baby, swear to God! And your daddy'll be home soon. Your daddy's coming, and he'll make everything better, you'll see!"

And pray God, make it soon, she thought as she paced.