the Swan,” he declared.
“We must drink a toast.”
“I don’t drink strong spirits.” Her voice was quick and nervous.
“Then I assure you, we’ll only serve weak ones,” Ryan said. A warning look from his mother stopped him from going on.
“Have you any Cochituate water?” she inquired.
“No, I don’t have any Co-kit-tuate water,” he said, unable to resist mimicking her prissy accent.
“This is a sea voyage, not a temperance crusade.”
He and Journey helped the ladies to their seats around the captain’s table.
Once they were under way, formal meals like tonight’s supper would be rare, so Ryan intended to enjoy this one, Miss Peabody notwithstanding.
As Journey poured wine from the decanter, Fayette caught his eye.
“I
best get to the galley,” the maid said, fixing him with a censorious glare.
“I don’t hold with no wine-drinking.”
Journey set his hands on his hips.
“Girl, you’ve known me all my life. Don’t be looking at me like I got some disease.”
“Maybe you do. Journey-boy,” Fayette said in a tone Ryan recognized from his boyhood.
“You all uppity now.”
The moment could have crackled with tension, but Journey laughed easily.
“No, ma’am, I’m like any other man.”
“Hmph.” She made a fuss over spreading Lily’s napkin in her lap.
“Uppity.”
‘ “All men are, Fayette,” Lily said.
“Every last one of them.”
Ryan knew, when news of Journey’s freedom had reached Albion, some of the field hands had threatened to revolt. The very idea that one of their own was now living as a free man had inflamed them. Lily, newly widowed and ready to set sail for England, had postponed her trip in order to quell the hot tempers and improve living conditions for the workers.
Isadora Peabody watched the exchange, her face draining to a pasty white.
Lily laid her hand over Isadora’s.
“You’ll have to excuse us, my dear. We’re family, every last one of us, and we shouldn’t be performing like this in front of company.”
“Oh, dear. I’m not company. I’m an ‘idler,” ” Miss Peabody declared.
For some reason, everyone laughed, and the tension eased as Fayette took Journey aside and the two of them went up on deck.
“He is your steward,” Lily said.
“Do you think he should stay?”
‘ “Let them go. Mama. There are things they can speak of only to one another.”
“They’ve not seen each other in a great while. What can she possibly tell him?”
He sighed, feeling Miss Peabody’s gaze on him. “Mama, I’ve always considered myself a blood brother to Journey, but I’ve never lived in that skin.
Fayette has.” Ryan ached for the man who had been his only steady friend since they were boys. He ached for Delilah, the wife Journey missed so much that sometimes Ryan heard him weeping at night, fiercely, sobbing between his clenched teeth. But when morning came.
Journey always faced the day with ready strength, boldly committed to their enterprise.
If this present voyage went well. Journey would be reunited with Delilah and their children inside a year. It was the only thing that mattered in Ryan’s life.
The Doctor and Timothy Datty arrived with supper on a two-handled platter.
The last meal before setting sail was always lavish—roasted turkey, warm fresh bread, leeks and carrots and a good red wine from the Langue-doc.
They spoke of the heading they would take out of Boston harbor; of Lily’s long tour of the Continent; of fabled Rio and of the aunt Ryan had never met.
Or rather, Ryan and his mother spoke while Isadora listened with rapt attention. Aunt Rose had married a Brazilian coffee planter and lived in a lofty castle as grand as any storybook fortress. She and Lily had not seen one another in twenty years.
After supper. Lily excused herself to retire for the night. Ryan accompanied her and Isadora out into the companionway. Isadora hesitated in the low arched doorway and cast a glance through the hatchway
“We must drink a toast.”
“I don’t drink strong spirits.” Her voice was quick and nervous.
“Then I assure you, we’ll only serve weak ones,” Ryan said. A warning look from his mother stopped him from going on.
“Have you any Cochituate water?” she inquired.
“No, I don’t have any Co-kit-tuate water,” he said, unable to resist mimicking her prissy accent.
“This is a sea voyage, not a temperance crusade.”
He and Journey helped the ladies to their seats around the captain’s table.
Once they were under way, formal meals like tonight’s supper would be rare, so Ryan intended to enjoy this one, Miss Peabody notwithstanding.
As Journey poured wine from the decanter, Fayette caught his eye.
“I
best get to the galley,” the maid said, fixing him with a censorious glare.
“I don’t hold with no wine-drinking.”
Journey set his hands on his hips.
“Girl, you’ve known me all my life. Don’t be looking at me like I got some disease.”
“Maybe you do. Journey-boy,” Fayette said in a tone Ryan recognized from his boyhood.
“You all uppity now.”
The moment could have crackled with tension, but Journey laughed easily.
“No, ma’am, I’m like any other man.”
“Hmph.” She made a fuss over spreading Lily’s napkin in her lap.
“Uppity.”
‘ “All men are, Fayette,” Lily said.
“Every last one of them.”
Ryan knew, when news of Journey’s freedom had reached Albion, some of the field hands had threatened to revolt. The very idea that one of their own was now living as a free man had inflamed them. Lily, newly widowed and ready to set sail for England, had postponed her trip in order to quell the hot tempers and improve living conditions for the workers.
Isadora Peabody watched the exchange, her face draining to a pasty white.
Lily laid her hand over Isadora’s.
“You’ll have to excuse us, my dear. We’re family, every last one of us, and we shouldn’t be performing like this in front of company.”
“Oh, dear. I’m not company. I’m an ‘idler,” ” Miss Peabody declared.
For some reason, everyone laughed, and the tension eased as Fayette took Journey aside and the two of them went up on deck.
“He is your steward,” Lily said.
“Do you think he should stay?”
‘ “Let them go. Mama. There are things they can speak of only to one another.”
“They’ve not seen each other in a great while. What can she possibly tell him?”
He sighed, feeling Miss Peabody’s gaze on him. “Mama, I’ve always considered myself a blood brother to Journey, but I’ve never lived in that skin.
Fayette has.” Ryan ached for the man who had been his only steady friend since they were boys. He ached for Delilah, the wife Journey missed so much that sometimes Ryan heard him weeping at night, fiercely, sobbing between his clenched teeth. But when morning came.
Journey always faced the day with ready strength, boldly committed to their enterprise.
If this present voyage went well. Journey would be reunited with Delilah and their children inside a year. It was the only thing that mattered in Ryan’s life.
The Doctor and Timothy Datty arrived with supper on a two-handled platter.
The last meal before setting sail was always lavish—roasted turkey, warm fresh bread, leeks and carrots and a good red wine from the Langue-doc.
They spoke of the heading they would take out of Boston harbor; of Lily’s long tour of the Continent; of fabled Rio and of the aunt Ryan had never met.
Or rather, Ryan and his mother spoke while Isadora listened with rapt attention. Aunt Rose had married a Brazilian coffee planter and lived in a lofty castle as grand as any storybook fortress. She and Lily had not seen one another in twenty years.
After supper. Lily excused herself to retire for the night. Ryan accompanied her and Isadora out into the companionway. Isadora hesitated in the low arched doorway and cast a glance through the hatchway
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