Chapter 6

For the next two days Françoise stayed out of the way of the Captain, not wishing to cause a confrontation that she knew would most certainly arise. Despite the despicable acts he had been responsible for, the man himself just annoyed the hell out of her. He was totally unlikable and no amount of physical contact was going to change that.

* * *

The fort town of Ouidah came into view but there appeared to be no docks. The anchor hit the water with a harsh splash.

“Monsieur Rumkey!”

“Oui, monsieur?” The wiry man looked up from his work. He didn’t stop this time, instead prepared to carry on the conversation while he carried out his duties.

“Why are we stopped here?”

“As you can see, monsieur, there are no docks. We weigh anchor here and the…err… ‘cargo’ is transported to us by rowboat.”

The bustle of activity continued on the deck. The existing cargo was shifted around to make room for the ‘cargo’ they were about to accept. Cargo… it was such a cold word for humans. Françoise took a moment at the railing to look at the human cargo slowly coming into view. Huddled in a group were the slaves. If she had to guess from the number of boats there were perhaps forty to fifty people of all ages, male and female, and more adult than child. A white woman and a baby sitting on her lap drew her attention.

The slaves clumsily boarded the vessel, dazed but not confused about what was expected of them. They stood on the deck listlessly, for the moment accepting their fate. Françoise had heard stories of slave ships. It was not uncommon for vessels to lose one third of their human cargo to malnutrition, disease and insurrection. Now she could see why. Fifty humans were stored in what was nothing more than a hole. Knowing the Captain as she did, perhaps insurrection was not the correct word. It was more like mistreatment. He did not care one way or the other how they arrived at St. Domingue.

“Come on you lot!” The crack of the whip cut through her, the closeness of it screeching in her ears. “Move, or I will flay the skin off your bodies!” The Captain stood by smirking at the distress of his cargo. They did not understand the words but they understood the whip. A lesson learned with great pain and suffering.

The woman and child passed by her on their way below. She was definitely pale but she looked odd for a white woman, possessing the broad nose and slightly pronounced brow ridge of her fellow slaves, which led Françoise to believe that she was, in fact, partly black. She would have to ask the First Mate the next chance she got.

Françoise felt her anger rise, letting it settle in her eyes as she met those of the Captain. The smile slowly slipped from his face as she glared at him, showing her displeasure with a snarl.

“Monsieur Rumkey!” the Captain bellowed, “Set sail!”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Six weeks on a small vessel with nearly one hundred people on it. Françoise wondered if she would survive it.

* * *

Dale stared at the scrawling mess that sat on the sheet of paper. It looked like two chickens had danced across the page in some manic mating ritual. The quill twirled idly in her hand as she considered her options. Writing with pen and ink was a lot harder than she imagined and it was going to take some practice to avoid dropping the liberal blobs of ink in future.

She was having second thoughts about her twentieth-century dictionary for Françoise. What if it fell into someone else’s hands? What would history make of that discovery? No, it was probably better that this particular lesson be learnt verbally. Instead, she would put it towards a more cathartic use.

Ripping out the damaged page, she bent her head towards the paper and applied the nib lightly.

Day Eight

A wayward tongue stuck out of Dale’s mouth, twisting upward at the side of her lips, as she wrote…

I’m not sure what I should write here. I had a diary when I was a teenager but this journal is something completely new to me. No more talk of boyfriends or nosey mothers. Do I just report the facts or my opinion of them? I’ll play it by ear and write whatever pops into my head. Heh… that could be a dangerous thing. Maybe it’s just as well as I can barely understand my own writing at this point. I hope my penmanship improves…

Her head rose at the arrival of her lover. “Do you have that list yet, chérie?” Françoise looked over her shoulder to study the words. “That does not look like it.” She didn’t have the heart to tell the blonde that her writing was atrocious.

“I’m not used to pen and ink.”

“Hmmmm…. I can see that…”

“Stop iiiittt,” she whined. The last thing Dale wanted was her partner pointing out her shortcomings. She could manage that all by herself.

“Come…” Françoise spent the rest of the day instructing Dale in the use of the troublesome writing utensil, made all the more harder by the sway of the ship. When she felt she could adequately manipulate it, she left her to do… well, whatever she was trying to do.

As the light faded in the cabin, Dale gave up any further attempts at her journal and joined her aristocrat on the deck to watch the sun slowly sink into the sea.

* * *

“Dale, will you please stop moving around.”  Françoise had a wriggling child in her arms. Dale just refused to lie still, tossing and turning every few seconds in an effort to find a comfortable position.

“I can’t help it, Philippe. It’s way too early for me to sleep.”

“It is for me too, chérie, but I do not complain.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“I told you why we cannot have the lantern alight. Both the Captain and the First Mate told you why. Even Lucette told you why.”

“But I couldn’t…”

“…understand them, I know. A flame on a wooden ship is not good.” Françoise smiled. She could imagine the huffy look on Dale’s face, acting like a petulant child being chided by grownups.

“Well, unless you can distract me, I will continue to twist and turn. So there!” The words came out in a harsh whisper.

“Philippe, will you just kiss the woman and let the rest of us get some sleep.” Lucette’s amused voice filled the couple’s ears.

Françoise chuckled. “If that’s what you want, tantine.” Before Dale could ask, she covered the blonde’s lips with her own, kissing her vigorously and at great length.

* * *

Dale awoke to the gentle sway of the vessel. It was still taking her some time to get used to everything moving, despite nearly a week at sea. Her arms were empty, as they had been since they left Ouidah, her lover seeking solace on the deck as the sun rose. She had made a habit of getting up and opening her diary to re-read her entry from the day before. The letters were still chicken scratch but at least they weren’t dancing. It was more a slow shuffle across the page and nearly legible. She sighed. This small task was showing her the enormity of her new life. It looked like she would have to re-learn to walk before she could run.

* * *

Dale found Françoise standing at the railing staring out to sea.  The blonde handed over a couple of sea biscuits to the brunette for breakfast, now the standard fare once the fresh food ran out. Honorine was preparing some gruau as well, but these hard bricks of wheat were the basis of meals on the high seas.

“These have got to be the most tasteless things I have ever eaten!” Dale’s nose wrinkled up in distaste.

“Chérie, you say that every morning.”

“And until we reach land, I will probably continue to say it. These are hard as rock.” Dale struck the biscuit against the railing to illustrate her point. “That’s if I can get my teeth into it.”

“You can just always not eat it.”

“But I’m hungry.” A dark eyebrow rose, adding a certain amount of cockiness to the sly smile of the French woman. “Alright, alright, I know. Shut up and eat…”

“I would never say such a thing, mon cœur.” But she certainly thought it.

“It looks like it’ll be another nice day, thank goodness.” Dale looked past her partner to Violette hanging over the railing. “Those herbs don’t look like they helped.”

Françoise looked over her shoulder at the young prostitute. “What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know a lot about herbal remedies. Maybe we could try a combination.”

“Let us hope we do not make her sicker.”

“Hmmm….” Dale watched a deep frown cross Françoise’s brow. “Just ignore him.”

“I cannot. He… he…”

“He pisses you off, I know.”

“Peesses…?”

“Piss you off… make you angry. Another one of those annoying twentieth century sayings you need to learn, my love.” Dale grinned at the stormy blue eyes and the pursed lips. She was prodding her grumpy companion a little too much this morning.

“How goes your journal?” There was something in Françoise’s voice that sounded almost wistful.

“Fine. Why?”

“No reason. I was just curious.”

“You can read it if you want to.”

“Really?”

“Sure. There’s nothing in there that I don’t want you to see.” Dale looked up shyly. “You know, if you want to you can write in it too. There are plenty of pages to spare.”

“Hmmmm.” Françoise thought about it but she had given the book to Dale to use.

“Please,” she whispered. “This is our journey, so it will be our journal. I want to know all about you. Who you are. What you think. What you feel.”

The tall French woman leaned on the rail, her attention returning to the sea. “I…”

“What?” Dale could see that her lover wanted to ask something.

“You know all my secrets.” A hand lay on top of her arm and patted her gently. “But I know nothing about you.”

“Well, you met my parents.”

“Which only left more questions than answers.” Indeed, she had met Dale’s parents and knew why the woman left home, but it did not explain who she was.

“Alright. What do you want to know?” But the mischievous look in those sparkling blue eyes made her think twice about the invitation.

“Chérie, I am not going to bite. At least, not here.” She grinned. Her wife looked apprehensively out over the ocean. “Where does your family come from?”

“From Boston, but you know that.”

“Non, before… “

“You mean, in the beginning?” The dark head nodded. Dale’s eyes narrowed as her mind traveled back to her childhood, when family history became a daily ritual. The bottom line was that her mother was a first-class snob, which was ironic because it was her husband’s heritage not her own that she so jealously guarded. Her mother’s heritage was formidable in its own right but the Wincotts were thoroughbreds through and through… at least according to her mother.

“My family came to America in…in… around this time, in fact. Strange. Maybe I should look them up when we reach Boston.”

Françoise smiled. Dale had so much confidence in her ability to get them to the Colonies that she didn’t hesitate to say ‘when’. So much faith in her, and it was humbling. Her mind caught up to what her lover said. “Oh, non non non non non. That is not wise.”

“Why not? A chance to see my ancestors?” Surprised eyes turned to the woman leaning on the railing. “Wouldn’t you be interested in meeting your ancestors?”

“The future meeting the present? Do you know what you are asking? Maybe it is not meant to be, chérie.”

“But then maybe it is. Why am I here, huh?” Hurt touched those blue eyes. “Oh, no… I mean, besides finding the love of my life.”

“Is that not enough?”

“It’s enough for me, my love. But still…”

“No. Leave it alone.”

“But why? Why are you so intent on stopping me?”

“I…,” Françoise hesitated. “I…”

“Why?”

“Because I am afraid it will undo all of this! Maybe this is not in God’s plan for us.” One hand ran through the long dark locks in frustration. Françoise had a bad feeling about Dale’s wish.

“But maybe it is.” Dale could see the disappointment in the stance of her partner. She had not meant to upset her. Why was she so intent on taking away this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? “Anyway…” It was time to change the subject. “They arrived in Boston around 1795 from England.  Elizabeth and Joshua Wincott. Their home still stands. In fact, we still live in it. What else…. hmmm. Joshua made his wealth in shipping.”

“Anything else?” The scant history made Françoise chuckle. “Your mother thinks she is descended from the King of England and you are barely aware of who started the empire?”

“Yeah, I know.  My mother lives in a dream world.”

“Hmmm…” So many words sat on her lips, but to air her thoughts could start an argument she didn’t want to have. Let the woman have her fantasy. Her daughter and her lover knew the truth, or what truth there was. If they reached Boston maybe she could make some discreet enquiries to satisfy Dale’s curiosity. However, contact would be discouraged. She was not one to jeopardize what she had. A lifetime married to a sadist had taught her that lesson.

“You could not trace your family back any further?”

“No…,” Dale sighed as her vision took in the expanse of water. “Strange, isn’t it? You would think there would be some evidence of Wincotts in England prior to their arrival in America.”

“Maybe their name changed.”

“I was thinking that too, but from what?”

“I do not know, chérie. Only they could answer that.”

“Hmmm…” The breeze blew the blonde tendrils hanging around her petite face. “My mother would have a fit if they turned out to be thieves or something.” Dale laughed loudly. “I would love to be there if that happened.” She sobered. “Probably not going to happen now…”

“You never know, Dale. You never know.” Silence settled over the two women, content to stand at the railing and absorb the majesty of the open sea. Long tapered fingers entwined with smaller ones, taking comfort from the simple contact. They were together and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Lucette and the girls had managed to keep out of Françoise’s way, which was curious considering the ship was slightly over one hundred feet long. But this morning she decided to make a point to seek them out. She inwardly laughed. Seek them out. She only had to take half a dozen steps. The women stood in a circle around a lone crewman sitting at an empty barrel. He was playing some game with cards and amusing his observers. They clucked and shifted around the cards like a gaggle of hens waiting to catch the first worm of the day.

The tall woman sidled up next to her friend and murmured in her ear, “What has you all so amused?”

Lucette jumped, her hand resting over her rapidly beating heart. “Do not do that! You will kill me.” The older woman closed her eyes as she tried to slow her racing body. She had not seen the woman, even out of the corner of her eye, and the unexpected arrival sent a shock through her body.

“I have not talked to you, tantine.”

“Well, you and your…wife… seemed busy, ma chérie.”

“Not too busy for you.” Françoise smiled benevolently at the smaller woman.

“Ahhh, I see. Then I could enter the Captain’s cabin whenever I choose, eh?”

“Most of the time, oui.” The smile widened to a full grin “What sort of example would we set for your girls if we were there all the time?”

“My girls?”

“Tantine…” Now that the subject had been broached, it was time for a serious discussion. “I…” Françoise gulped loudly. It was not her place to tell the madam how to run her business, but some restraint was needed to avoid conflict. “It is probably best for your girls not to…”

“Look for work?” Lucette laughed at the uncomfortable stance of the aristocrat, made even more laughable by the manly disguise she had been resorted to wearing.

“Oui. We want to avoid any more trouble.”

“Philippe, I think the Captain is more worried about you than he is about us.”

“But we do not want any fights on board.”

“You think that will happen?”

“Men and women together, and then sex as well? It is a certainty.”

“Some may not like it.”

“I am sure. That is why Dale and I have agreed to show some restraint.”

“Restraint?” Lucette chuckled long and hard. “Is that what it is called?”

“Tantine, please. We need to agree upon this.”

“It may already be too late, little one. One or two of them have already struck up a friendship.”

Françoise inwardly cursed for not keeping a closer eye on her charges. She had meant to approach Lucette about the matter earlier but she had been consumed with her own problems. Maybe it was already too late.

“All we can do is ask them to refrain from… you know.”

“Oui, I know. Even if you cannot say it.”

“I can say it… I just choose not to.”

“Fine, my little lamb.” Lucette could feel her insides curl up in warmth as Françoise’s bottom lip found its way under her front tooth. It was so endearing to see a glimpse of the shy little girl she knew hid inside.

“I can. It does not frighten me.”

“I did not say that it did.”

“Tantine. It is not something one discusses with one’s family.” A wrinkled hand came up and touched her cheek. Her head dropped a little to shift her eyes from the ones boring into her soul. “You were more of a mother than my own ever was.”

“I know, chérie, I know. We have been through a lot together, you and I. Most of it was bad but we survived it. It made us stronger. It bonded us together. It made us… a family.”

“That it did, tantine. That it did.”

* * *

Françoise’s blood was boiling.

“Why do you torment yourself like this?” Dale knew where those piercing blue eyes were focused.

“Where else do I have to go? It is either here or the cabin. I cannot help where my eyes wander.”

“Well… yeah, you can. It’s your mind and your eyes. You can tell them to go to hell if you want.” To Françoise it was like a toothache. She had to worry at it even though it was painful to do so.

“But… look at him.”

“Philippe, I don’t wish to. He’s a piece of shit and I’d rather look at my mother. That’s how bad I don’t want to look at him.”

The person in question stood arrogantly on the upper deck, looking down at the crowded deck overflowing with slaves and crew. For a short while each day the slaves were allowed to stand on deck, one small group at a time, and get some fresh air, cleansing the fetid smell out of their lungs.

Françoise studied them. While most of them were huddled against the hull, a small group of men stood apart from them. The gruel they had been fed was eagerly consumed as if it were their last meal. Maybe it was. Knowing the Captain, he could kill them just on a whim if he so desired, and what she had seen of him so far it was a distinct possibility.

The five men stood proud and tall, their skin gleaming with sweat from the enclosed confinement in the hold. They look surprisingly fit for slaves, not emaciated from months of imprisonment. Françoise wondered how they came to be on this ship because the familiarity they shared suggested they had known each other for some time. Interesting…

Her eyes moved to the woman and her child sitting away from the group. “Monsieur Rumkey!” Françoise called the First Mate away from his meal.

“Oui, monsieur? What may I do for you?”

“That woman…,” she indicated the young girl, “Why do they treat her so?”

“Because the blacks claim that she is white and the whites claim that she is black. She is neither one nor the other.”

“How so?”

“Cross-breeding, monsieur. Black mother and a white father. After two or three generations the child is almost white, not quite but almost.”

“That is a sad tale.”

“I suppose so, monsieur.”

“So what will happen to her?”

“She will be a difficult sale. There is never any dispute of ownership if the slave is black. He is black so therefore he is a slave. White people are not normally considered as slaves, therefore his ownership could be brought into question.”

“Then why capture her as a slave at all if any profit is questionable?”

“There is always the chance that someone will buy her… for other reasons.”

“Other reasons, Rumkey?” He did not answer but raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh…” Now she understood. “So the circle continues…,” she mumbled, studying the young mother breast feeding the young child while she ate her meal. At the end she tentatively stuck her finger into the gruel and finger fed the baby. It was a tender scene in the midst of such horror and degradation, tugging at Françoise’s heart strings. It was the one thing that her gender had been born to provide, and it was the one thing she could not do.

Uncertainly, her eyes turned downward to her partner. The baby had not gone unnoticed by the blonde either. A gentle smile crossed her lips at the baby’s antics. Françoise could not stop the single tear from sliding down her cool cheek.

“Don’t cry, my love.”

“I do not cry.” Her voice faltered as her hand came up to wipe away the wetness.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Fault?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Philippe.” Dale put her finger under the tucked chin and lifted it. “I know we may never have children.”

“You can have children.”

“I know, but who is going to be brave enough to father them?” Dale was pleased to see those shapely lips tip slightly. “Would you let a man come between you and me?” The smile widened. “I thought so.” She leaned in closer to the warm body next to her. “We have each other. That will be enough.”

“Oui… enough.” Françoise’s voice faded off into the wind.

The bloodied whip hung in her limp hand. “Please, my husband, she can stand no more.”

“Again,” he whispered.

“But…”

“Again!” he yelled. “I will tell you when she has had enough.”

Reluctantly, the whip sliced through the air, landing on the screaming whore’s back. Françoise cast her gaze at her husband, visibly repulsed by his look of gratification at the poor woman’s suffering.

“Are you okay?” Françoise’s reverie was disrupted by a hand on her arm.

“There you are young pup.” Honorine grumpily shoved two rough-hewn bowls at them, nearly dropping them when the two women were slow to respond. The cook turned on her heel and walked away without another word, drawing quiet chuckles from behind her back.

Dale was content to just hold the warm bowl in her cold hands, allowing the heat to seep into joints that hadn’t felt warmth for some time. “What I wouldn’t give to feel warm again. An hour. Just one hour.” Her finger dipped into the lumpy mixture, catching a piece on the pad and slipping it into her mouth. “Hey… that’s not bad.”

“Oui, honey and a touch of…”

“… cinnamon, if I’m not mistaken. How does she do that?”

“Do not complain, chérie. Be thankful that she is a good cook.”

“I am…,” Dale’s eyes dropped to the biscuit. “…believe me I am.” Greedily, she ate the porridge, enjoying the feel of the hot food sliding down her throat to settle warmly in her stomach. It was just what she needed. But she made the mistake of looking up from her meal at the woman and child, cowering in the corner to find some warmth. Dale again looked at her bowl, her appetite gone on the wind.

“Where are you going?” Her spoon was half-way to her mouth when her wife walked away. Porridge dropped spasmodically from the hovering spoon back into the bowl as she watched her wife kneel in front of the white woman.

“Hello there,” Dale whispered as she hunkered down on the deck. Suspiciousness and apprehension emanated from the young woman eyeing her. Carefully, she handed over her bowl to the mother, nodding and pushing the bowl into shaking hands. “For you and your child.” Green eyes studied the baby. Dale couldn’t help but smile at the cute little boy. “Awwww, aren’t you adorable.” Her voice was soft and soothing, drawing a shy smile from the young child. “Yes, you are.” Cautiously she extended a finger for the baby to grab, her eyes alternating between the baby and the mother. “I mean no harm.” The young child held on tightly, giggling as Dale jiggled her finger up and down.

“Monsieur!” The harsh guttural sound from the Captain cut through the air.

Françoise looked up from watching her partner play with the baby. The scowl on the Captain’s face delivered a message stronger than if he had yelled at her. “Dale. Enough.”

As much as Dale wanted to stay, she obeyed her husband without question, returning to his side quickly. Once she was out of range, the mother placed the child on the deck and began to eat the porridge, occasionally dipping her finger into it to feed the boy.

“I do not think our Captain is amused, chérie.”

“Well, it was my porridge to do with as I wished. No child should go hungry.”

It was a noble sentiment. “Still… it will be better not to do that again.”

Dale knew that she was being scrutinized by the Captain, and probably not in a nice way. He had given her frank looks ever since she had boarded the vessel, and even standing next to her husband had not changed that look. “He gives me the creeps.”

“The… creeps?”

“When he looks at me it’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes.”

“He probably is.” Françoise directed her gaze at the Captain, telling him in no uncertain terms that her woman was taken. And she was not inclined to share her… with anyone. “She is mine, old man,” she muttered, drawing a quiet chuckle from her companion. But his eyes turned to the mother and child.

“Captain! This was my wife’s doing, not the slave’s.”

“Do not assume to know what I am thinking, monsieur.” He trundled down the stairs to stand face to face with the troublemaker. “These are my slaves, monsieur. They are none of your business.”

“Your slaves, Captain?”

“Do no play this game with me, monsieur. I would suggest you tell that harlot of yours…” The words died in his throat as two large hands encircled his windpipe, slowly squeezing the life out of him.

“Let us pray you do not utter those words again… Captain.” She shook him violently. “My wife was showing a little kindness, nothing more.”

Rumkey approached quickly, trying to pull Françoise off the squat man. “Please, monsieur. Stop! You are going to kill him!”

“Anyone who insults my wife deserves nothing less…” Flashes of blue fire leapt from her eyes, seeking out the source of her ire.

“Philippe… please.” That soft melodic voice was a soothing balm.

“But… he called you…”

“Then it’s just as well I don’t understand French, isn’t it?”

“But I do, and I will not tolerate anyone calling you…”

“No, I don’t want to know. Now, let him go.”

The swarthy Captain had vainly tried to claw at the two hands slowly throttling the air out of him. Anger and indignation lent strength to those fingers, digging into soft flesh in search of his life. Just when he thought he would meet his Maker, the pressure lessened until the hands were removed. “You have made a dangerous enemy, monsieur. Give me a reason why I do not toss you overboard.”

“For one, Captain, I know you will miss all that coin if we do not arrive at St. Domingue.” Françoise knew she had hit his Achilles heel with that comment. He was an avaricious bastard, of that she was sure.

“But I have to decide whether it is worth the coin I will lose to be rid of you.” Françoise did not flinch at the threat. It was a hollow one, and she knew it.

“Philippe. Is there a problem?” Sébastien’s arrival was timed to perfection.

“I do not know, my friend. Is there a problem, Captain?” She smiled wickedly at the beet-red face of her tormenter. When no sound came out, she spoke on his behalf. “Non, Sébastien. It looks like the Captain and I have reached an agreement.” Her demeanor turned serious. “And that includes no retribution against the woman and child. Understood?”

The captain stomped off, angry that he had to back down in front of his crew. Françoise took a deep breath. “Thank you, Sébastien. I think the Captain saw my point of view.”

“I do not think it was wise, Philippe.”

“Non. It was not wise.” She shook her head. “This was to be a nice quiet voyage.”

“You cannot help that pig of a man’s manners.”

“True. I think I will not be getting any sleep from now on.” She was exhausted now. Another four weeks of little sleep and she will be cranky as all hell.

“All you have to do is ask, Philippe.” The gentle giant patted Françoise on the shoulder, buffeting it hard and sending her off balance. “Sorry…”

“Do not apologize, my friend. It is nice to know that I have a strong arm at my side if the need arises.” She looked past him to Lucette and her group. The older woman was studying the blacksmith with interested eyes. “Now… I think you may like to join the ladies.” His eyes slipped over his shoulder to the gaggle of women, his lips tilting up to a smile as he found Lucette.

“Excusez-moi.”

“Of course.”

“You better stop that.”

“Pardon?”

“Playing matchmaker are we?”

“I would do no such thing.” Françoise tried to sound indignant but failed miserably. How could Dale do it so perfectly?

“Monsieur. I do not think the Captain is happy with you.”

Françoise thought that was a gross understatement. In his present mood she could easily be keel-hauled in the blink of an eye. “Non, he is not, Rumkey.”

“So, should I start calling you ‘Captain’ now?” he chuckled, laughing even harder when she sputtered at the comment.

“I am just trying to protect the innocent, Rumkey.”

“Innocent?”

“My wife, and the mother and her child. They did nothing wrong, Rumkey, except accept what my wife gave them, nothing more. I do not trust him to keep his word.”

The First Mate said nothing, and in doing so silently agreed with her. But he would never voice his thoughts about the Captain. He was not in a position to do so.

“And I will never be the Captain!” she said vehemently. “That is mutiny, Rumkey. I may not know much about the sea but I do know that.”

“Aye, Monsieur Théroux. But you have the Captain worried.”

“Well, tell him he has nothing to worry about. I have no interest in his position. I am only interested in protecting what is mine.”

“And the mother and child? Are you claiming them?” He waited amusedly while she gulped loudly.

“Of course not, monsieur, I have enough trouble with my wife. Why would I increase my aggravation?”

“No reason, monsieur. No reason at all.”

“However…” Françoise couldn’t help but put a provision on her statement. “If he feels a need to vent his anger on someone…”

“Do not worry, monsieur. I will seek you out if he crosses the line.”

Crosses the line… Françoise now knew at what point Rumkey would intervene, and it wouldn’t be before a lash or two had been given. Realistically, she shouldn’t intervene either. She had overstepped her position as a passenger a number of times, so the Captain was within his rights to throw her overboard. But she wouldn’t go willingly if he ever tried. The only thing in her favor was the enticement of money at the end of the voyage.

* * *

The two women took refuge in their cabin, determined to leave their troubles behind them, at least for a short while. After the disturbance earlier, Dale had agreed to a system with Lucette. Hanging from the door handle was a piece of cloth, their arranged signal for the room being… occupied, designed to save some embarrassment to whoever got caught.

Françoise finally figured out the little pieces of wood she obtained back at Nantes, kicking one wedge in place under the door. If anyone tried to disturb them he would have to make a new door.

“Now, come.” Françoise pulled the blonde gently until they were lying together on the bunk. “Let us use what little time we have.”

“I told you about that.”

“But we have the… the… rag you put on the door.”

“The ‘do not disturb’ sign?”

“The… what?” Françoise thought about that. It was certainly no sign but the message was the same. “Oui. We are safe… for now.”

“But….”

“Non, mon amour.” The brunette placed a chaste kiss on her lover’s available neck. “Now…,” another kiss, “…you…” and another, slowly working her way down to an enticing collarbone, “…are…” gentle suction attached her lips to the pulse point, “…mine.” With the final word Françoise gently bit down, tasting the salty sweetness of love.

“I certainly am.” The words were exhaled on a sigh as the French woman claimed what was hers. She was right. They would have precious little time together on this voyage. Carpe diem…

* * *

Françoise sat at the Captain’s desk, her head bent over the empty page of the journal. She looked up from her work to observe her sleeping lover and smiled. It was at moments like these that she looked her most innocent… and most youthful. The French woman knew Dale’s real age but looking at her now she so could easily pass for someone seven or eight years younger. A snort escaped her. Cradle snatcher…

The nib dipped into the ink pot before being gently tapped on the edge…

Day Sixteen

I have once again made the Captain mad. Dale gave one of the slaves some porridge and he objected. I know he is within his rights to do so but he seems to want them to suffer as much as possible. It is in his nature. It…

Françoise stopped suddenly. She had intended to write, ‘it broke my heart to see my wife playing with the baby’, but Dale would read it and be upset. The feather idly wandered over her cheek as she thought.

It… he reminds me of Le comte and I think that is why he irks me so. Maybe that is why I spoil his plans at every turn. I now have the control. I am able to be the mistress of my own destiny. I can be me.

Françoise slumped back in the chair shocked. She re-read what she had written and the disclosure was very revealing indeed. Now it all made sense and she felt liberated. It didn’t solve the problem of the Captain’s behavior but at least she now understood her own actions. She smiled. And, of course, it was the right thing to do…

She wrote for a little while longer, trying to put her own perspective on the events she knew Dale would enter in her own inimitable style later. A quiet moan drew her away from her musings to the bed, her partner rolling over restlessly. The blanket fell away, exposing the soft flesh she had feasted on earlier. Her eyes flickered to the door, anxiously waiting for someone to enter at a moment’s notice.

Françoise stood and moved to the trunk, reaching for the key around her neck. Inside she found the bolt of linen that Dale had used for her underpants and tore off a piece. Sparingly, she spilled some of the precious water out of one of the water bottles onto the cloth, lathering it up with one of Dale’s bars of soap.

On the bunk lay the woman she loved with all her heart, naked and innocent as the day she was born. But in Françoise’s mind Dale’s innocence was a matter of perspective. In the height of passion the woman was anything but innocent, a sex-crazed she devil that would devour her at a moment’s notice. That brought another smile to her face. Who would have thought Dale was a sensual nymph?

The first time she saw her in the mirror the little blonde was in every sense of the word ‘innocent’. Looking no more than a child, the woman stared as if seeing sex for the first time then hid herself away from it. But it was the hunger that brought her back time and again.

“Hey,” the soft lilting voice struck a chord within Françoise’s heart. No, it was that intangible thing that tied their souls together… it was love.

“Hello.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just watching you.”

“Why? Have I got something nasty growing on me or something?”

“Not at all. Everything is where it should be, chérie.” Françoise approached the bunk, raising the damp cloth as she did so.

“What’s that for?”

“Just lay still, ma chérie, and let me pamper you.”

“Pamper? Oooo, that sounds interesting…” The moment the cloth hit her skin she reacted. “Shit! That’s cold!”

“Sorry… I had no hot water.” But Françoise continued to slide the soapy cloth over the skin. “Do you wish me to stop?” she whispered.

“Hell no!” The goose bumps eventually subsided, replaced by a subtle warmth where the cloth had touched her. It was a slow seduction wrapped up in loving care. Dale watched her lover work, sliding the cloth over every inch of skin in an effort to remove the sweat and the smell. It was a touching scene. “Why?”

“Why?” Deep blue eyes narrowed as the skin around them crinkled up in warmth. “Because I love you.”

Dale allowed her hand to reach for the shadowed face above her, cupping the firm chin gently. “And I love you too.” A sly smile touched her lips. “Will you marry me?”

Françoise threw back her head and laughed. “Really?”

“It’s my turn to ask. I think it’s only fair.”

The brunette finally finished her job and pulled up the discarded blanket around the shivering body. “I think it is time to get dressed.”

“So, is that a ‘no’?”

“How could you say that, chérie?”

“Because you didn’t answer my question?” Dale was miffed at her lover’s silence.

“Of course I will marry you. Have we not already agreed upon this?”

“Yeah, I suppose we have. But… but it was a question I had to ask.”

Françoise could hear the disappointment in her voice. She dropped the cloth on the table and returned to Dale’s side, dropping to one knee before taking the cool hand in her own. “I love you, Dale. Now and forever. Yes, I will marry you, whether it be here or in another life.” Reverently, she placed a kiss on the back of the blonde’s hand. Unnoticed, a single tear rolled down Dale’s cheek as she listened to the romantic declaration.

“Now…” The French woman stood, extending her hand to help her wife up from the bed. “… Get yourself dressed before you are discovered…,” her eyes shifted down the naked body in front of her, “… or you freeze to death.”

But Dale’s dressing was interrupted by the sight of the brunette stripping off her own clothes and wiping the cloth over her own body.

“What?”

“Cold, is it?” An impish smile touched Dale’s lips. “Those goose bumps are lucky bastards…,” she mumbled.

“Pardon? Did you say something?”

“Oh, no. How about you change your clothes while you’re at it, huh? And while you’re digging around in that trunk, can you toss me a new set as well?” They had reluctantly worn the same clothes for days on end in an effort to preserve both water and apparel, but enough was enough. She felt disgustingly dirty. Maybe she could bat her eyelashes and get someone to fetch some water from over the side. Fresh water from their supplies would never be given for the mere washing of clothes. It was moments like these that the twentieth century beckoned to her. What she would give for a washing machine and hot running water.

* * *

The two women emerged into the bright light of day. So far they had been lucky with the weather, most days full of bright sunshine and fair winds. The afternoon sun was slowly sinking in the west and preparation of the evening meal had started. A metal brazier stood precariously on the slow rolling ship, its hungry fire slowly being fed until it was deemed ready for cooking. The ship’s cook lifted the heavy pot on top and began adding the day’s rations to it.

Françoise couldn’t help but wince at what was in store for the crew and the poor slaves, glad that their own grumpy cook could at least make something edible. But Honorine’s turn would not come until later. The wiry old woman had finally decided to experiment with her cooking, adding small pinches of the aromatic spices she had bought in Algiers. It took a little getting used to, but now the French woman quite enjoyed the subtle changes in flavor and texture.

Only the other day Honorine attempted to make some bread rolls from their meager supplies, adding something to it that was new.

“Hmmm…,.” Dale’s lips smacked together “Sultanas.”

“Sool-tan-aaah”

“Yes. Dried grapes. Sultanas. Yum.”

“Yuuuummmm???”

“Yummy. Tasty. Nice.”

“Oui, yuuummmmeeeeeeeee…” She inwardly chuckled. Living with Dale was turning out to be quite an adventure. Françoise looked at the bread and sighed. Maybe she could open an inn and have Honorine weave her magic for the customers. That’s if she didn’t kill the woman first.

Françoise tore off a piece of the bread and surreptitiously handed it to Rumkey, delighted to see his eyes light up as the food touched his taste buds. “Oh, c'est très bon."

“I thought you would like it. Would you like some more?”

“Oh, oui monsieur.”

Françoise broke the roll in two and handed it over. Rumkey shoved the whole piece into his mouth, giving the woman a wink and went back to his work. She laughed out loud, drawing a warm glance from the First Mate. Damn, she liked the man.

* * *

Françoise’s thoughts returned to the present, her vision filled with the endless sea, her nose filled with the aroma of salt water and her mind filled with boredom.

“We have got to get you a hobby.” Dale’s melodic voice now filled her ears. Now that she could listen to for some time, but the salt and the sea she had had enough of.

“I seem to recall you said that before.”

“Yeah, but that hobby is only available at certain times. Maybe you could borrow one of Monsieur Barbineau’s books.”

“There is a book or two in the bottom of the trunk, Dale, but I am not inclined to read them.”

“How about you swap them then?”

“Swap?”

“Exchange. You give one to Monsieur Barbineau and he gives you one of his in return. You know, borrow them. Just until you have read it and then you can return it to him.”

“Hmmmm…” She had always wanted to read Marivaux again. It was worth thinking about. Alain had kept to himself most of the time but from time to time Françoise felt she had drawn the shy young man out for conversation. She realized that his snobbishness was more a defense against his shyness rather than true elitism, if his furtive glances at Rosalie were anything to go by.

“It’s a shame he doesn’t have any English ones. I could use something to read.”

“Well, chérie, if you would learn to speak French it would not be a problem.”

“And if my teacher would take the time, it wouldn’t be a problem either.” Dale grinned cheekily at her partner.

“Oui, I am guilty.” But she wouldn’t say why. Teaching Dale French always left her with a headache, the American accent painfully grinding over her fair language. “But if we reach America…”

“When we reach America,” Dale corrected.

“When we reach America there will be no need.” Françoise thought about that for a moment. “You accent will be different there too, chérie. Most people still speak English.”

“I speak English.” Dale was confused.

“Non. English… from England.”

Ahhhh… British not American. Dale didn’t think she was capable of changing her accent at this point. American was all she knew and probably all she would know to the end of her days. “Well, how about you teach me some French anyway just to pass the time.”

“Good.” But Françoise’s mind cringed at the thought. St. Domingue couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

Françoise immersed herself in Marivaux, her eyes gliding over every syllable with loving care. In the background hovered the sound of voices murmuring, laughing and arguing. The weather had finally turned foul, a steady drizzle stopping them from spending time on the deck. She sat on the floor, resting her back against the stern. She chose this particular spot so that the light from the windows would illuminate the crowded pages of her book.

A lantern swung precariously from the rafter, a monotonous squeaking annoying her as the swell gently rocked the ship. She looked up from her reading to observe the activity in the cabin. Dale’s head was bent over her journal, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth as she wrote. A frown crossed those adorable features a second before the quill shifted angrily across the page.

Lucette and her girls, Sébastien and Alain were playing parlor games in the center of the room. It had taken some prodding to get the young man to join their group and it wasn’t until she promised to introduce him to Rosalie that he relented. Ahhh… you soft-hearted woman. As she watched the group, the young man in question threw back his head and laughed at something Rosalie had said. You were right all along.

There was a loud cough and her eyes swept back to her lover who was eyeing her suspiciously.

I was right, was I not?

Do you have to be so smug about it?

But… I was right about them.

Yes! Yes. You were right. They are perfect for each other.

Who needed to speak? Their eyes conveyed so much more than mere words. Her eyes dipped to the book once more and she lost herself in Marivaux for a while longer.

* * *

The weather returned to the warm sunny days they had been used to.

“Monsieur Rumkey!”

“Oui, monsieur?” The little man trotted over to her side.

“How far do we have to go?” She was hoping he would say tomorrow, but that was more wishful thinking on her part than actual fact.

“I cannot be exact, monsieur.”

“I know that… my friend.” She tried the words and liked it. Obviously the First Mate did too because he graced her with a full-sledged smile, showing his wide array of well worn, slightly discolored teeth.

“The Captain keeps his own counsel most of the time but if I had to guess…” He thought for a moment. Françoise saw his eyes turn out to sea and narrow, as if trying to remember how many days they had sailed already.

“Twenty-five days, Rumkey.” She laughed at his look of surprise.

He wandered off towards the wheel to talk to his compatriot. Moments later he returned. “According to the Captain, we are over half-way monsieur. Perhaps, with fair winds, ten to twelve more days and we should arrive at St. Domingue.”

Ten more days. Surely she could survive ten more days. Dale’s French was progressing slowly and painfully. Could her ears survive that long? Perhaps a diversion was needed. At that moment there was a shift in the wind and the ship, sending a crewman into a female slave and taking both of them over the side.

“Un homme à la mer!” Rumkey had surprising strength in his voice as he hollered for aid.

As Françoise stood by Dale sprung into action, grabbing an empty barrel and flinging it over the side into the water, watching as it bobbed in the swell. But the two bodies in the water were too far away to grab hold. The sailor clumsily dog paddled towards the floating wood while the slave’s panicky movements warned of an impending death.

Without thought Dale jumped overboard, drawing an agonized cry from Françoise. The tall woman ran to the railing, eagerly searching the dark green depths below the hull. “Dale!” The word tore from her throat in a garbled scream. She was unaware that she had used a name that was for the height of passion, not the light of day. Oh, chérie, what have you done? Where are you? As tempted as she was to jump right in after her, she knew she couldn’t swim. If her wife didn’t surface soon she may do that anyway just to join her in the hereafter.

A blonde head bobbed to the surface and headed towards the struggling woman.

“Turn this ship around!” Angrily she approached the helmsman, reaching for the wheel herself. “Turn around. We have to rescue them!”

“How many times do I have to remind you that this is my ship, monsieur?”

“The same amount of times it will take for you to do the right thing… Captain. Now… TURN… THE… SHIP…AROUND!”

He thought for a moment, weighing up the benefits of continuing the voyage or rescuing the people silly enough to fall overboard.

“Do not even think about it, Captain,” she growled. Her hand hovered over the rapier hanging at her side, ready to draw it and beat him into submission if needed.

“He is right, Cap’n. We have a bare minimum crew as it is. Losing one of the men will result in prolonging the voyage. And as far as the slave–”

“Rumkey, when I want your opinion I will ask for it.” With some resignation he replied, “Alright, prepare to pick them up.”

The First Mate was already in motion, barking orders quickly and efficiently. The passengers backed away as the crew literally fell over themselves to perform the maneuver.

Once the Captain had agreed, Françoise wasted no time in returning to the railing. “Oh Dale, do not leave me. Not now…” There was a hint of fear in that voice.

* * *

For the tenth time Dale cursed herself. What an idiot she had been to leap over the side. Still, she was the woman’s best chance of survival she knew that, thankful for all those swimming lessons she had been bullied into by her mother. But it wasn’t easy. The pull of the tide and the weight of her dress added to her difficulties, forcing her to dig deep for the determination to reach her victim. Stroke by stroke she inched towards the rapidly tiring woman who was barely able to keep herself above water. Finally she succumbed, forcing the blonde to dive deep to find her. The water darkened as swam down, her arms burning with each stroke. It was getting colder, biting deep in her aching bones. Just when she was about to give up her hand touched something. It was a hand but its coolness sent a shiver through her frame.

Her lungs were about to burst when she broke the water’s surface, her mouth gasping in relief as the fresh air replaced her depleted supply. Dale had to tug hard to bring the woman to the surface, the effort sending her under the water for a moment. She kicked hard to dislodge the wet cloth from around her legs. Exhaustion was calling to her, enticing her with an easier solution to the problem. Succumb…, it whispered. It is easier this way…

It would have been so easy to listen to the seductive words but she took a moment to look up to see the ship circling to return to them. Although she couldn’t make out the figures leaning over the railing she knew one of them was Françoise, begging her to live. She took heed of that silent plea and began to move her arms, one trying to pull the water and the other hanging onto the limp form she had so foolishly jumped in to rescue.

By the time she had reached the bobbing keg what energy she had had run out. The sailor had watched the rescue without so much as a word of encouragement. He held onto the wood possessively and it took a stern look on her part for him to relinquish part of it to her.

Dale just couldn’t lift the unconscious body onto the floating buoy. It was too much. Mentally she would have swum back to the ship but physically she could barely keep herself afloat. The world faded out for a time until shouting voices cut through the haze in her mind, alerting her to the ship’s arrival. It was strange. One moment she had seen the ship turn, the next it was on top of her. Exhaustion was playing tricks with her mind.

“Dale!” That word. That voice. It called to a part deep in her and she dragged her eyes skyward. “Dale! Mon Dieu, Dale!” It was a balm to her soul and food for her strength.

The sailor was already climbing the ladder to safety. “I don’t think I can make it up the ladder.” Moments later a rope appeared next to her, a loop dangling on the end. Dale tied it around the woman’s ankle, giving it a firm tug when it was secure. Slowly, the woman was lifted out of the water upside down, the water draining from her lungs as she rose to the railing. It was nerve wracking as she waited for the rope to return, her mind continuing to play tricks on her. Will they sail off without her? Will the sharks get her before she is rescued? She was not stupid. She understood that the thoughts were ridiculous but her logical mind was not working at the time. Instead, it had been replaced by a hysterical facsimile that was intent on thinking of every possible nasty thing that could happen to her.

“Dale!” The low, husky voice called to her.

“Yeah?”

“Put your foot in the loop, sweetheart.”

“’kay,” was all she could manage, accomplishing the task without thought.

Again she faded out, not acknowledging reality until Françoise talked to her. “Dale… Are you alright? Speak to me.”

“Yeah, just tired I guess.” The blonde looked around for the woman she saved. “What about the woman?” She looked up into concerned blue eyes.

“She is dead, mon cœur.”

“No… no, not now.” Dale pushed her partner aside, scrambling over to the still body. She felt for a pulse but there was none. “Don’t do this to me…” she muttered as she commenced CPR. The gasps were audible when she put her mouth over the slave’s mouth, blowing air into the vacant lungs time and again. She moved to the woman’s chest and began cardiac compression, drawing a wave of mumbling and whispering.

“Chérie, what are you doing? You are making a spectacle…”

“No… trust me.”

“But …”

“Philippe…” She took a second to look up. “Trust me.”

“Fine.” Françoise stepped back and let her lover do whatever she thought was right.

Dale continued for several minutes without success. “Come on… come on.” She was getting frustrated and she was losing hope. “Live, damn it!” She pounded the black skin in anger, sending everyone a step back from her. The body twitched in reaction, drawing Dale closer. “Come on…” Shaking fingers sought out the carotid pulse and although it was faint, it was present. The woman was alive. The chest began to rise and fall slowly, gathering strength with each breath.

Dale fell back onto her ass, her arms draped over her knees. “Mon Dieu!” There were gasps of wonder and murmurs of distrust.

“No, I am not a witch or something.” Her eyes sought out her lover. “In my time it’s common knowledge.” She looked at the Captain and saw the frown on his face. “Stop complaining. I saved your precious cargo.”

“Now, Captain, I think it is time to continue our journey.”

He gazed menacingly at the tall young man facing him as if deciding what action to take, finally turning on his heel and walking to the wheel. “Heading west, northwest.”

As soon as he left Françoise’s attention turned to her partner. “How could you do that?”

“I had to…”

“No, you did not. You could have…” She couldn’t say the word.

“Died? Don’t think that didn’t cross my mind a time or two in the water.”

“It would have killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have been too happy about it either.”

“It is not funny, chérie.”

“No,” Dale murmured. “No, it’s not. It’s deadly serious.” A cold hand reached up to cup the French woman’s face.

“Come.” Françoise helped her partner up, feeling the shivering through the cool skin. “Let us get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Any excuse, huh?” The only thing holding Dale together was the quips. Anything more serious and she would fall apart.

* * *

There was an audible sigh of relief as they reached the cabin. While it was still cool there was no biting wind to cut through her wet clothes. Dale was cold, aching and tired and in desperate need of warmth and a bed.

Françoise offered the clothes off her own body, still warm with her body heat. She rummaged through the trunk for a change of clothes when the door flung open. The aristocrat’s first reaction was to cross her arms over her chest until she realized that Lucette was alone.

“Your wife has caused quite a stir.”

“I am sure, tantine.” She continued to find her clothes, her hand resting on a knitted shawl. Barely in anything at all Françoise ignored her nakedness for the sake of her wife’s comfort, striding across the floor to wrap the shawl around shaking shoulders. “Into bed, chérie.” As the woman did so, Françoise pulled up the blankets to her chin, briskly rubbing the quivering body underneath.

“It may mean trouble.”

“Let them think what they want. That is unimportant right now.”

“Unimportant to you, but it may start a revolt.” Lucette’s concern laced her words.

“What’s… g-g-g-o-ing… o-o-n-n-n?” Dale was hard pressed to stop her teeth chattering.

“Lucette is worried about your ‘miracle’.”

“Miracle? Hah!” Dale paused as the saliva dried up in her mouth. “It was just a normal procedure.”

“Normal for 200 years in the future, mon cœur, but here it is considered witchcraft.”

“Well, tell Lucette it’s not.” And that was all the blonde said, leaving her lover to fill in the details.

“Dale says…,” Françoise prayed that she had understood correctly, “…that where she comes from it is common practice to know such matters. She lived near water. Why would they not know how to… to…” What was the word she was looking for? “…save a life?”

“Little one, I know that she is not some sort of demon, but there are others on this ship who do not know her as I do. The Captain could use this as a reason to rid himself of you… perhaps even all of us.” There was real fear in those dark eyes.

“He can try.” There was utter conviction in those two words… and a promise. Françoise would die first before the Captain would get his way. As she dressed, the brunette continued, “Talk to Monsieur Rumkey and explain everything. He is a level-headed fellow and a friend. I am sure he will try to reassure the crew.” Long, elegant fingers wrapped around the older woman’s wrist with surprising strength. “Do not worry, tantine. It is done and we will have to live with whatever comes next. I will not let anything happen to you or your girls.” That was a big promise but it was one Françoise felt she had to make.

“How fares she?” Lucette eyed the blonde in the bed.

“Cold… very cold.”

“Hmmm. I will ask Honorine and see if she can find something to warm her.” A sly smile settled on the woman’s face. “And no bed warmer either. Hmmm… it seems that is a task for you, my dear.” The smile widened as a blush kissed Françoise’s face. “Now, in you get and stir the woman’s blood.”

“Tantine!” How was it that the woman always made her feel like ten years old? Such talk between them always brought out the innocence in her. As Lucette started to leave, Françoise called out. “And keep a close watch on the Captain. I do not trust him. He may try to take advantage of my absence.”

“Oui. Until later.”

“Oui.” After the madam left Françoise made her way to the bunk, perching herself on the edge of it as she looked down at her wife. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Just cold and tired.”

“I can help.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” But Dale didn’t budge, all effort gone out the window with her strength.

“Do you want to move over?”

“No. Do you?” One elegant eyebrow rose. “Alright, alright. You may have to push me though.” Despite her body saying to the contrary, Dale’s mind managed to move her lethargic body over to the wall, allowing Françoise to crawl in beside her.

“Come here,” the French woman murmured, pleased with the immediate response of her partner. Her arms encircled the cool body, her hands rubbing briskly up and down her back. “Foolishness,” she whispered, planting a loving kiss on her cold cheek.

“Yeah, yeah… I… know…” Dale finally gave in to the exhaustion, her eyes drooping quickly as she fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

“Françoise.” The comforting voice broke through the haze in her head.

“Oui.” Sluggishly the brunette awoke, her eyes taking moments to come into focus. “Oh…” It was too late. Had it been anyone else but Lucette who had woken her the deception would have been discovered.

“Never mind, little one. How is she?”

Françoise’s hand swept over her lover’s brow. “She is a little warm.”

“Here. All we could manage was some herbal tea. The brazier will not be used until the evening meal.”

 “I am sure she will enjoy it, even if it is cold.” The aristocrat shook her sleeping partner gently. “Hey…,” she crooned soothingly. “Lucette has brought something warm to drink.”

“Hmmm…” Her scratchy throat begged for the soothing liquid to ease the soreness, but her body was still lethargic. Was she so out of shape that a small swim in the ocean had drained her completely?

“You are hot, chérie.”

“Well, that explains why I’m having trouble sitting up.” With Françoise’s aid, Dale sat up in the bunk, leaning forward as her partner slipped in behind her. As she leaned back against the soft fabric of Françoise’s shirt, she sighed. “Ohhh, that is soooo much better.” But it was more the pillow rather than the position she was lying in.

“I…errr… ‘ope…. you… well.” Lucette’s broken English accompanied the cup of liquid.

“Merci, madame.” The blonde’s voice sounded sore and irritated much like her throat. “Damn,” she muttered. “Not a cold now.”

Slowly the French woman fed her little American the herbal tea under the watchful eye of the brothel madam. Dale chuckled after the last drop passed her lips.

“What is so funny?”

“I was just thinking how funny it is that we three are together. An aristocrat, a brothel madam and a furniture restorer. Three classes of people making up a family. Strange.”

“Oui, strange.” And yet it seemed right. It took the lowest class to show Françoise the true meaning of friendship. In the ruling class there was no such thing as friends, each vying for a position in the political hierarchy that would benefit themselves. It was a game she was not prepared to play.

“What did she say?”

“She was pointing out that we find friends in the unlikeliest of places, tantine.” Françoise smiled sweetly at the woman who had become her mother.

“Oui, that is so true. Who would have thought I could find an aristocrat worth talking to?” She grinned wickedly and held up her hands as Françoise pretended to throw the cup at her. “But it has been worth it, little one. Oui… it has been a pleasure to know you.”

Françoise could feel the tear welling in her eye. She was not going to shed it. “I just wish…”

“Non, Françoise. You were a victim as were we. There is no blame to give… or take.” Lucette’s head tilted sideways and jokingly asked, “Are you really an aristo? You certainly do not act like one.”

“Only a minor one, tantine.” Françoise held up her index finger and thumb and pinched them together. “It is the ones with a little power that are the most dangerous of all.”

“And yet you did not become one of them.”

“Non. Being sold by one’s parents to a madman killed any thirst for power I may have had. Slavery can cross all boundaries of class distinction, tantine. Even the daughter of a nobleman can become a slave and understand its subtleties.”

“See? There is another good thing to come out of this horror. I would never be friends with a snobby elitist.”

“Tantine!”

“What, my sweet?”

“You know what ‘snobby elitist’ means?” Françoise leaned back against the wooden wall. “It surprises me that you know the words at all.”

“Ahh, mon bébé. Occasionally the men who come to my establishment talk as well. They tell me what they would not say to their wives.”

“You have become un confesseur as well?”

“Oui, but I do not give absolution, only comfort.” Lucette laughed at the shocked look on the young woman’s face. “It was not always about sex in my establish…” She stopped suddenly, realizing that her situation had changed.

“Of course it was, otherwise why would they be there in the first place? But I know what you mean. Everything will be fine, tantine. If you wish to return I will arrange it.” But sorrow tainted those words. Her family would be half a world away if the old woman decided to return to France.

“Do you ever wonder what happened to your real family?”

“They lost the right to be my family the day they sold me.”

“It was an arranged marriage.”

“THEY SOLD ME!!” Françoise’s voice screamed her anger, causing the woman in her arms to jump. “I was nothing more than chattel to them.” She finally had the chance to let it all go, to cry to the heavens the injustice of her life.

“They needed the money, Françoise.”

“And that gave them the right to sell me to that man as a trophy?”

“But your father was in danger of losing his title.”

“Non! My MOTHER was in danger of losing his title. ‘Baron’ meant more to her than it ever did to him. She shamelessly manipulated him. And my brother? Oh no, he was too important to sell. But their daughter… she was only worth what gold Le Comte would pay them.” Françoise’s face reddened with indignation. “They sold me like some prize stallion.”

“Hey… hey….” Dale tried to calm the agitated woman behind her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” the brunette muttered. But Dale could see in Lucette’s eyes that nothing was something… something really big.

“Nothing has you screaming in my ear?”

“Please…” That was all she said to the blonde. ‘Please’. But it was full of unspoken words. It was not a conversation for now.

Françoise breathed deeply, allowing her senses to settle. She knew her hands were shaking, even without looking at them. “So how does it fare on deck?”

Lucette gracefully accepted the change of subject, not pushing the issue with her. It was a touchy subject and would be for some time. “I talked to Rumkey. He will do his best.”

“And the Captain?”

“He wanders around muttering to himself. I am not sure what he is thinking.”

“Never mind about him. I will take care of it if the need arises.” Françoise tugged Dale closer to her. “How is the other woman?”

“The slaves are uneasy around her, thinking she has been bewitched. They do not trust her but they have left her alone.” The older woman hesitated. “It may have been better for her to have drowned, young one. Her life may not be worth living.”

“It is not worth living now.” Françoise muttered. “I agree, but Dale is who she is. She did not want to see the woman die if she could help her. And for that, I praise her. She has a generous heart and a loving spirit.” Rich blue eyes shone with admiration and love for the woman so close nearby.

“Ahhh, love overlooks many things, Françoise. It is a wonderful thing to see in you, my friend.” Lucette shuffled her feet. “Now I will leave you two alone to rest.”

“Before you go, how are your girls?”

“Violette is feeling better with the herbs you gave her. Angelique, Lisette and Edith are teaching us the games they learned from the crew. Dice, cards, check-ers and something called knoo-nuke-knucklebones, I think. Sabine has struck up a friendship with one of the sailors. Céleste has taken up reading one of Monsieur Barbineau’s books. Sandrine is sneaking around. I think she needs watching. And Rosalie? Since you introduced her to Monsieur Barbineau, her eyes have not wandered anywhere else.”

“Ahhh, lovesick fools.” While idle fingers gently caressed Dale, Françoise’s mind thought. “Perhaps Sandrine will need a word of warning. Friendship is one thing, but plying her trade on board is not wise.”

“If you think so...”

“Tantine, if it were common knowledge that the women were amenable to earning some coin, fights could break out. Jealousy and possessiveness are powerful tools to a man’s libido. We cannot afford any more trouble.”

“Take heed of your own words, Françoise.”

“I know, tantine. The Captain… well, he irks me so.” That was an understatement. Just the sight of the man raised her blood pressure. The knowing smile of Lucette told her that she fooled no one.

“Now rest, my child. I will return later with dinner.” The older woman winked as she opened the door and left.

Chapter 7

The sounds of the scratch of the quill and whoosh of the vessel in the wash of a wave were hypnotic.

Scratch, scratch…. Whoosh…. Scratch… whoosh.

It was a gentle rhythm that, by now, had become a way of life. Françoise read back over her entry, recalling the few nervous days she had just been through.

Day Twenty-Nine

Dale’s foolish saving of the slave came back to haunt her, as I suspected it would. The fever has finally left her and she has been sleeping for the last two days. I think our God must be pleased with us because she is getting better every moment. I am trying to keep her in bed but I think my time is gone. She is eager to breathe the sea air for herself.

Françoise had added a bit more, but decided to scribe it in French…

I do not know if love is as wonderful as everyone claims. I was nearly sick with worry as she tossed and turned in a fevered state. Every mutter and moan was as if it came from my own lips. Seeing her sick made me sick as well. If love is God’s gift then why does he make us suffer so?

Françoise dipped the quill into the half-empty bottle of ink and continued her musing in English.

It was amusing to see Lucette and her girls fussing around her, and I am sure that Dale appreciated the sentiment. Sébastien, as a favor to Lucette, would bring in the evening meal for both of us. Maybe he is what tantine needs. Someone to finally share her remaining years with. I hope I am right. Even Rumkey expressed his concern over her health. It seems my instincts were right about him also.

There have been strange noises coming from the storage room. Moaning and groaning and the occasional woman’s whimper. I know what that sound is but I am hoping that I am wrong. Lucette asked her girls about it but they deny it. Maybe one of them is lying. I cannot accuse without knowing who. Tantine has asked again for restraint and I will have to trust her to carry it through.

A knot of wood in the wall has disappeared, leaving a hole through to the next room. As quickly as it appeared it was gone. Someone was watching us... and I think I know who…

Françoise’s eyes turned to the frame perched in the corner behind the trunk. What she wouldn’t give to be back in Dale’s time. Her illness had scared her, making her painfully aware of how fragile life was out on the high seas. At least back in Boston there was a warm bed, hot food and that delightful steaming waterfall Dale called a shower. Although she had no need before, she was sure that a doctor could be found if Dale took a turn for the worse.

Her eyes lovingly slid over the mahogany, studying the ridges and whirls of the intricate carving on display. She had always liked that piece, not fully understanding the attraction until a few weeks ago.

“Hey…” Dale’s voice was hoarse from ill use, but she knew that would change in the days to come. “What are you up to?”

“Just writing, mon cœur.”

“About me, I suppose.”

“Noooo…”

“Yeessssss. There’s no point in lying to me, my love.”

“Fine. I am writing about you.”

“And cursing me too, I bet.”

“How could you think such a thing, my love?  I do not curse strangers and I barely know you.”

“I thought we had gone through all of this.”

“It was about your ancestors, not about you.”

“So?”

“So, what do you hide from me?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide, and to prove it just ask me.”

Françoise put down her quill and dusted the page, allowing it to dry while she moved herself behind Dale, her back resting against the wall and the young blonde resting against her chest. It was a position that they both had adopted easily and with great enthusiasm. “Tell me all.”

“The whole thing?”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I don’t think I can remember everything. How about the highlights?”

“High… light?”

“Grrrrrrr…” The language barrier was starting to annoy her. “I will give you the short version.”

“As you wish.” The rumble of the deep voice tickled Dale’s back, as well as the chuckle that accompanied it.

“Do you want the story or not?”

“Oui, I do.”

“I was born in Boston twenty-seven years ago and raised in our family home. But you already know that. I have an older brother, Marcus, and he has two lovely sons.” Dale looked over her shoulder. “At least the family name will continue.”

“Did you not say to your mother about you being the last in the line?”

“It was a threat. She pisses me off sometimes.”

“Noo!”

“No more sarcasm, thank you very much.” Dale yanked a dark lock hard in annoyance. “Marcus had a falling out with mother and she disowned him. She was expecting me to be the breeding cow to supply an heir to the fortune.”

“Ahhh.” It seemed family expectations had not changed in two hundred years.

“Exactly. Now she’s going have to go crawling to him and accept him back into the fold. That’s why she was trying so hard to keep me. Eating crow is not on her menu… ever.”

“Americans eat that kind of bird?”

“Oh Lord… My mother finds it hard to apologize. According to her she is never wrong.”

“What about your father?”

“Daddy?” Dale’s lips twitched. She was going to miss him most of all. “He’s a sweet man who has a harpy for a wife.”

“Tsk tsk, such a thing to say about your mother.”

“Are you saying that I’m wrong?”

“Not at all, but to hear you say it is…is… surprising.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. You have seen first-hand what she’s like. That’s why I live in my own place. Boy, that started World War Three.”

“World… War… Three?” Françoise held her breath. “World… War?”

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t happen for another hundred years. And it’s not literally the whole world, just the major countries.” But Françoise was not convinced. “What I mean is that there was major trouble between her and me. It went on and on and she threatened to cut me off as well. If it wasn’t for daddy, I would have been living in a one-room hellhole.”

Françoise was getting lost quickly, but she at least understood part of it. Dale’s overbearing mother had tried to force her to conform and she wouldn’t. At least she had a choice.

“He arranged for the purchase of the loft you found me living in. He paid for it. But otherwise I support myself. I didn’t want her claiming any hold over my independence.”

“And you did… what you say? Furniture…?”

“A furniture restorer. Do you know that if it wasn’t for my job we would have never met?”

“How so?”

“I was looking for used furniture in a basement and found the mirror frame. It was something… I don’t know… it just called to me, you know?”

“Just like when I looked up and saw you in the mirror. It was… strange. I just opened my eyes and you were there, looking at me… through me… into me. You had grabbed my soul with one look, chérie.”

“Yeah, I’m just figuring that out now. I was wondering why you were chasing me.”

“Chasing?  Oh, no no no. You came to me, if I recall.”

“That was because you were screaming like a banshee half the night.”

“It drew your attention, did it not?”

“You were going to wake up the neighbors!” Dale was not going to tell her that the building she lived in was deserted at night. It was a small commercial block that was open during the day, her loft once being a dance studio. Occasionally, someone worked late and a light was on, but generally at night it was just her and the security guard who patrolled the building.

A large hand came up and covered her mouth. “Now, about this furniture….”

The low words were whispered into her ear, tickling her senses. Dale could feel her body respond to the nearness of her partner, swirling through her like potent liquor. “It was something I was always interested in. Old furniture. Chairs, tables…,” her lips tilted upwards, “…armoires.”

“What is it?”

“I was searching for an armoire when I found the mirror by accident.” Dale let her head drop back onto Françoise’s shoulder. “Anyway, I went to a private school. I think that’s where my love for old furniture was nurtured. It began at home, but mother was not encouraging. I was to get married and produce an heir. That was my only reason for living according to her.”

“And your father?”

“He was the one who sent me away to boarding school. I’m sure he was also the one who put in a good word to my first job after college. He never said anything but I knew it was him.”

“See? Perhaps if we return, he will protect you.”

“Us… protect us. He knows what you mean to me.”

“Perhaps. We still have a journey to complete.” Françoise did not want to express the concerns she still had about the voyage. It was better that Dale lived in hope of returning to her home.

“So I worked in a museum in the back room, but the politics drove me out.”

“It was owned by the government?”

“Noo… but the lying and back-stabbing was the same. People were trying to get into a better position in the company at the expense of the work. It broke my heart to see such beautiful pieces being sacrificed like that. So, I bought the loft and set up my own business.”

“Like Lucette?”

“Well no, I was not selling myself to the highest bidder.” She tilted up her head to see a grin on the French woman’s face. Dale lightly pinched the available thigh, forcing her pillow to jump. “No, I would find old pieces of furniture and restore them. Oil and polish them to their former state. Just the small stuff for families. I had yet to find a major piece that would set me up.”

“Set… up?”

“For me to gain a reputation as a quality restorer I needed to find that one piece that would put my name into the papers. Unfortunately, I’m still waiting…”

“It is a shame that the mirror will not allow us to transport such things.”

“But, I found something much more valuable.” She snuggled into the embrace, willing those arms to tighten around her. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“It is enough… for now.”

* * *

Dale emerged into the sunlight for the first time in a week, and it was heaven. Françoise hovered nearby as she made her way to the railing. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders as the sea spray hit her pale face. It was wet, it was cool… and it was wonderful. Standing there looking out to sea she knew she had survived. She would live for another day.

“And how is she?” Lucette and her girls surrounded the duo, smiling and fussing around the two of them.

“Good as new.” When Dale answered Françoise blinked once and then blinked again. “Don’t look so surprised.” Maybe all the hours of grinding syllables and guttural vowels had paid off.

“You understood that?”

“A bit, yeah, but it would be the first thing I would ask in her position.”

“Ahh.” The French woman sighed, sadly accepting that there were still more hours of painful lessons to go. She looked over the heads of the hovering crowd to survey the scene. The Captain stared at her with a visage that never seemed to change. The crew was busy attending to their normal duties swabbing decks, coiling ropes, helping the cook for the evening meal. Rumkey raised his hand and nodded jovially and Françoise returned the gesture. At least Dale’s arrival had not disturbed the running of the ship.

Her eyes turned cautiously towards the slaves, not sure what reception their arrival had been given. What greeted her even surprised her normal stoic personality. Instead of the fear and suspicion she expected, the slaves actually seem pleased to see her or, more to the point, Dale. Their eyes were fixed on her partner with something akin to awe. What had changed their minds?

“Why are they looking at me like that?” Françoise’s muscles tensed at the sudden arrival of the blonde. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hmmm.” Françoise smiled warmly at her lover before turning her eyes once again to the assembled slaves congregating on the far side of the deck.

“I hate to say it but God, they smell awful!” Even the gentle breeze couldn’t dissipate it. “I know it’s not their fault, Philippe, but keeping them in that enclosed space is just plain cruel.”

“We do not smell much better, chérie.”

“Speak for yourself!” Dale tried to sound indignant but on this occasion she didn’t succeed. “Yeah, I know. I want my shower!” Haunting memories filtered back to her loft and the time they had spent in said shower.

“You know my mind, mon cœur.” Despite the fact that Dale’s mother was intent on seeing her in jail and separated from her daughter, they were wonderful days free of worry and strife. Playful days. Loving days. Perfect days.

“Monsieur Rumkey.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Do you know why they stare at my wife so?”

“I do not know, monsieur. While you were in the cabin they talked amongst themselves for quite some time.”

“They must have come up with some explanation about what had happened to satisfy them.” Françoise watched as the slaves murmured amongst themselves. “As long as it is not hostile…”

“I can live with that.”

“What about the woman?” It had not registered that Dale had answered her, her mind intent on finding its own explanation that it could accept.

“As well as could be expected for a slave, monsieur.”

Even though the woman sat on the edge of the group she had not be ostracized, unlike the white woman and child. The baby was restlessly crying, being held in the limp arms of his mother.

“What about them?” A dark head nodded towards the mother and child sitting apart from the group. “She does not look well.” Françoise narrowed her eyes and could see a bruise or two around her face and neck.

“She… ahhh…”

“Never mind. I can see for myself.” Angry azure eyes looked up to the upper deck, glittering shards of deep blue ice piercing the Captain as he gleefully grinned at her.

“I am sorry, monsieur.” The First Mate shuffled his feet, knowing that he had failed in his duty to inform her.

“It is fine, Rumkey. I should never have put you in that position. Your duty is to the Captain, even if he is undeserving of the title.”

“The journey will be over soon.” He returned to his duties, expecting that his answer would solve everything.

“Dale…” Françoise turned her attention to her wife but she was gone. “Dale! Come back!” The smaller woman had crossed the deck to stand in front of the slaves. The French woman couldn’t see her face but the expression on the group she was facing was interesting. Some looked with interest, a few with awe, but the majority looked at her with respect. Dale touched the head of the woman she had saved, as if she were blessing her, before moving over to the mother and child to do the same thing.

“What are you doing?”

Dale sauntered back to stand at her husband’s side. “I figured it out. They think I’m some kind of shaman, a priest, a witchdoctor.”

“And touching the head?”

“Maybe if it looked like they were in my favor they might be accepted by the rest of the group.”

“That is a dangerous game you play, chérie.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. But what am I supposed to do?”

“I see that you have recovered, madam.” The Captain had sneaked up behind and stood perilously close to invading their personal space.

“Madame…” But Françoise knew he deliberately used the word to irritate her. “Yes, she is now well again…” No thanks to you, you son of a mule.

“Maybe we should dine together in the Captain’s cabin, qu'en pensez-vous?” His muddy eyes skimmed over Dale like slippery seaweed, leaving behind a slimy trail wherever his eyes touched her body.

“It is our cabin for the duration of this voyage, Captain, and I am afraid that we are already overcrowded. One more would just not be possible.” Françoise’s reply garnered no response as the Captain’s eyes were riveted on the blonde. She could see Dale’s body react to the obvious ogling, the blonde tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders in an effort to cover up even further.

“I will have to see what arrangements can be made for an intimate supper.” The Captain turned to Françoise, standing nose to nose with the woman. His eyes narrowed as he studied the face so close to him.

“Yes, Captain?” This close Françoise could feel the heat of his gaze. It took all her willpower not to squirm under his study of her. “Do you wish to say something?”

“I am just curious that you do not seem to suffer from the same curse as the rest of us, monsieur.”

“Curse?” Françoise could feel her voice starting to slide upwards, so she stopped at the one word.

His hand came up and touched the smooth skin of her chin. “I beg your pardon!” Françoise smacked away the brazen hand. When she could stand it no longer she took a step back, glad to feel the gentle breeze between them.

“No beard… monsieur.” But his eyes couldn’t stop dropping to her chest before continuing the journey to the crotch of her pants. “A very hairless… man, monsieur.”

Françoise wanted to tell her wife ‘I told you so’ but any contact would be interpreted as an admission of guilt. “It runs in my family, Captain. I tried growing a beard once but my wife did not appreciate the bristles.” The look of skepticism told her she hadn’t convinced him… yet. “Why do I need to explain myself to you?”

“I could say that I am the Captain…”

“You always say that you are the Captain, monsieur, and I grow weary of hearing it.” Dale’s hand touched her arm, trying to calm her.

“… and everything aboard this vessel is my business.”

“Very well then, but this will be the end of it. My wife does not like the bristles because it interferes with her pleasure.” Françoise did not wait for his reaction, instead steering Dale towards their cabin. She could imagine it though, his face contorted into a mixture of stunned silence and unbridled lust. Maybe a visual demonstration was needed.

Continued in Part 7

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