Read Online The Nine Lives of Charlotte Taylor by Sally Armstrong - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sally Armstrong
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distillations of the tropics. Charlotte stands near the fo’c’sle. She can see Commodore Walker in busy conversation on the quarterdeck and beyond him and the little
Achilles
’s wake the hills of Jamaica. How beautiful, she thinks, as its landscape diminishes to a glittering emerald. A young man climbing the fo’c’sle stops partway up to greet her with a smile.
“Morning, madam.”
“Good morning.”
He is perhaps twenty, his blond hair curling out from under his cap, his blue jacket and bright white shirt a match for his eyes.
“Captain would like to know if you’re well, madam, or have need of anything.” The Scots lilt is most pronounced.
“I’m very well, thank you. Who are you?”
“Able seaman Will MacCulloch, madam.”
“Are you already an able seaman, Will?”
“I’m recognized as exceptionally able, madam, and hope soon to be third mate. When Rockwell moves on, as I’m certain he will.”
“I
am
impressed.”
“Thank you, madam.”
“What are we doing now, Will?”
“We’re just putting on sail, madam.” They look together to the yardarm, where sailors are still unfurling canvas. “From here we’ll tack through this channel until we turn north into the Gulf current. It’ll take us straight along the coast of America. Though first we must sail east to pass Cuba.”
“I’ve heard of Cuba. Is it not an island?”
“It is, madam. A Caribbean island.”
“Will we round it this morning?”
Will laughs. “No, madam. It’s a great big island, but it’s no ower muckle. We’ll sail a day to round it, though we’re already near its eastern end. Then we’ll need to stay close inshore to catch the wind and that’s when we must look out the sharpest for pirates.”
“You can’t frighten me, Will. I’ve encountered them already.”
“On your voyage over? I hadn’t heard.”
“Oh yes. Our captain told them we had smallpox aboard and tipped some things like bodies into the sea to convince them.”
“It sounds an unlikely trick, if I may say so.”
“Well, it worked.” Charlotte tries not to picture Tommy’s face, exposed to the sun.
“Well, we also have to be on the lookout for fierce storms, which blow here in the summer months,” Will says. “If one strikes, we must beat for shore, sure enough. These schooners are wonderful ships, fast indeed. But they’ll heel over quick enough in the wrong sea.”
The
Achilles
tacks toward the open water. She looks at Will and inserts a note of nonchalance in her voice. “Do you know this place where the commodore lives in this Nepisiguit?”
“It’s na a wee cabin, I can tell ye. The captain’s built a fine flourishing business there. He does mostly fish and lumber in the fair seasons and shipbuilding in the winter. He lives verra well at Alston Point.” He laughs. “We
all
live well when we’re there.”
Charlotte studies Will’s face. “A paradise, then?”
“Well, it’s faroff from proper civilized places. The northeast, it’s terrible big, madam. A body that lives year-round in those parts might think winter eats up much of the year.”
A faroff place, Charlotte repeats to herself. She looks up at the billowing sails—there are six now and the schooner heels a little to starboard as the wind catches her and pushes her toward the open sea. The gulls screech and wheel about the bow with excitement of their own. A place far away from proper civilized places, she thinks. A place where a person could shed a past.
Will knows he’s found a listener and he climbs the rest of the way to stand by her.
“An’ s’truith, a lot of them that settle in those parts are a strong-minded breed, an’ so they must be, if they don’t want to freeze to death or starve when the food runs out. It’s not a place for lads without the likes of the commodore to set things up for us. But if you don’t freeze or starve, to some tastes it’s a beautiful place. There’s money to be made and land to be had.”
“Is
Achilles
’s wake the hills of Jamaica. How beautiful, she thinks, as its landscape diminishes to a glittering emerald. A young man climbing the fo’c’sle stops partway up to greet her with a smile.
“Morning, madam.”
“Good morning.”
He is perhaps twenty, his blond hair curling out from under his cap, his blue jacket and bright white shirt a match for his eyes.
“Captain would like to know if you’re well, madam, or have need of anything.” The Scots lilt is most pronounced.
“I’m very well, thank you. Who are you?”
“Able seaman Will MacCulloch, madam.”
“Are you already an able seaman, Will?”
“I’m recognized as exceptionally able, madam, and hope soon to be third mate. When Rockwell moves on, as I’m certain he will.”
“I
am
impressed.”
“Thank you, madam.”
“What are we doing now, Will?”
“We’re just putting on sail, madam.” They look together to the yardarm, where sailors are still unfurling canvas. “From here we’ll tack through this channel until we turn north into the Gulf current. It’ll take us straight along the coast of America. Though first we must sail east to pass Cuba.”
“I’ve heard of Cuba. Is it not an island?”
“It is, madam. A Caribbean island.”
“Will we round it this morning?”
Will laughs. “No, madam. It’s a great big island, but it’s no ower muckle. We’ll sail a day to round it, though we’re already near its eastern end. Then we’ll need to stay close inshore to catch the wind and that’s when we must look out the sharpest for pirates.”
“You can’t frighten me, Will. I’ve encountered them already.”
“On your voyage over? I hadn’t heard.”
“Oh yes. Our captain told them we had smallpox aboard and tipped some things like bodies into the sea to convince them.”
“It sounds an unlikely trick, if I may say so.”
“Well, it worked.” Charlotte tries not to picture Tommy’s face, exposed to the sun.
“Well, we also have to be on the lookout for fierce storms, which blow here in the summer months,” Will says. “If one strikes, we must beat for shore, sure enough. These schooners are wonderful ships, fast indeed. But they’ll heel over quick enough in the wrong sea.”
The
Achilles
tacks toward the open water. She looks at Will and inserts a note of nonchalance in her voice. “Do you know this place where the commodore lives in this Nepisiguit?”
“It’s na a wee cabin, I can tell ye. The captain’s built a fine flourishing business there. He does mostly fish and lumber in the fair seasons and shipbuilding in the winter. He lives verra well at Alston Point.” He laughs. “We
all
live well when we’re there.”
Charlotte studies Will’s face. “A paradise, then?”
“Well, it’s faroff from proper civilized places. The northeast, it’s terrible big, madam. A body that lives year-round in those parts might think winter eats up much of the year.”
A faroff place, Charlotte repeats to herself. She looks up at the billowing sails—there are six now and the schooner heels a little to starboard as the wind catches her and pushes her toward the open sea. The gulls screech and wheel about the bow with excitement of their own. A place far away from proper civilized places, she thinks. A place where a person could shed a past.
Will knows he’s found a listener and he climbs the rest of the way to stand by her.
“An’ s’truith, a lot of them that settle in those parts are a strong-minded breed, an’ so they must be, if they don’t want to freeze to death or starve when the food runs out. It’s not a place for lads without the likes of the commodore to set things up for us. But if you don’t freeze or starve, to some tastes it’s a beautiful place. There’s money to be made and land to be had.”
“Is
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