A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (25 page)

Louisa looked out over the swelling waves.  The ocean was the color of graphite today, a dark gray that looked almost impenetrable from her vantage point.  The moon was just beginning to rise, the only source of light in a sky devoid of stars.  It was a strange orange color, almost red, reminiscent of warrior Mars rather than the benevolent muse of poets.  Louisa huddled into her cloak, reluctant to go below again.  She felt cooped up in her cabin, forced to deal with a restless Kit, who was tired of idleness after weeks at sea.  He took long walks on deck, thankfully taking Evie with him between feedings.  The baby liked the fresh air and slept peacefully rocked by the motion of her pacing father. 

Bridget spent a lot of time in her cabin
, having never recovered from the seasickness.  She was nauseated and weak most of the time, and barely managed to keep any food down.  She also seemed awfully sad.  Louisa wondered if she had been distressed by having to leave Virginia on such short notice.  She had to admit that she knew very little of Bridget’s life.  Valerie had mentioned that her husband drowned many years ago, and Bridget left her young daughters behind to find work in England, but Bridget hardly ever spoke of her children, and Louisa didn’t want to pry.  She had her reasons for coming to the New World with the Whitfields, no doubt. 

Louisa was surprised to see Bridget emerge from below and head toward the prow of the ship.  Her cap was whipped off by the wind, releasing
strands of her long, red hair.  Bridget didn’t bother to put it back on.  She simply stood, staring at the frightening moon, her cheeks ruddy from the brisk wind and the hair whipping in her face. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Bridget,” Louisa observed, leaning on the rail beside her. 

“‘Tis I who’s the ghost, yer ladyship,” answered Bridget quietly.

“What
do you mean?  And please, Bridget, stop calling me “your ladyship”.  Just Louisa will do.”  They’d this conversation many times, but Bridget wasn’t able to get past the title and treat Louisa as just another woman.  To her, they were servant and master.

“I must admit that I was scared to go back to England, but as the days passed
, I thought it was the good Lord’s wish that I see my girls again.  It’s been seventeen years.  I wouldn’t know them if I passed them in the street, would I?  They are married with their own children now.  But, it seems that it’s not to pass.”  Bridget never turned to look at Louisa.  She just stared out over the shimmering crimson path the moon drew on the black waters of the ocean.

“I’m sorry, Bridget, but I don’t understand what you mean.  Don’t you want to see them?”  Louisa was puzzled by the expression on Bridget’s face.

“Ye see, yer ladyship, I never told the mistress and master the truth of what happened when my husband died.  He didn’t just fall off the boat insensible with drink -- I pushed him.  He was a terrible man, my husband.  I would have never married him, had I not been pregnant.  He raped me when I was just fourteen.  I used to work at the tavern to help my mam.  We were struggling for money after my father died.” 

Bridget’s voice was flat, as if recounting the story of someone else’s life, but then again, at this point, that life
probably seemed as distant as the moon. 

“
Paddy was always a big one for the drink.  He followed me outside one night when I went to the necessary and forced himself on me.  I was still a maid, and he hurt me, but he didn’t care.  He was drunk.  I didn’t tell no one, hoping to keep it a secret, but I never went out by myself anymore when he was there.  But the Lord had other ideas, and I found myself with child.  My mam helped women get rid of unwanted babies, but she wouldn’t do it for me.  Said it was a mortal sin, and she wouldn’t condemn me to hell for eternity.  So, Paddy and I were married. 

H
e was a mean drunk.  He beat me so bad I thought I’d lose the baby, but she was born healthy and strong, as was my second daughter.  He took no interest in them, and barely had a kind word for me, even when he wasn’t drinking.  As they got older, he started to beat them too.  He could beat me black and blue, but I had to protect my girls.”

“Was there nothing you could do?  No one you could turn to?” Louisa asked, although she knew that even in modern times cases of domestic abuse often went unreported and unresolved.  Bridget simply shrugged her shoulders.

“Everyone knew, but no one would dare interfere.  He wasn’t the only one, ye know.  It was a hard life, with few comforts and joys, so the women found solace in their children and the men took comfort in drink, only most of them weren’t as vicious as Paddy.”

Bridget wiped a tear as she stared straight ahead at the endless ocean without
really seeing it.  She was lost in memories which she’d obviously kept locked up in her heart for many years and couldn’t contain any longer.  Louisa didn’t press her to continue, giving her time to compose herself.  Bridget sighed and began speaking again, her voice barely audible over the crashing of the waves against the hull.

 
“I looked at him one day and just knew that I couldn’t take it anymore.  We’d been married for nearly ten years, and they’d been ten years of pure misery.  I prayed day and night that something would change, but nothing ever did.  So I decided that if God wouldn’t help me, I would just have to help myself.

Paddy went out in his fishing boat every day ‘cept Sunday; usually well before dawn.  He was still drunk from the night before, so he hardly caught anything; just slept off the drink and came home empty-handed.  We barely had enough to eat at the best of times.  Well, one morning I went out with him.  He barely even noticed I was there.  He let me row while he fell asleep in the bottom of the boat, happy to be left alone.  I rowed out to where I knew the water got deeper and pushed him overboard.  He just went straight down like a stone.  Never even tried to sa
ve himself.  He was so far gone; he didn’t notice he was drowning.  I waited a few minutes, then jumped in myself and swam back to shore.  I was at home with my girls before the sun even came up that morning.  They found his boat later that day, and the body washed up a few days after.”  Bridget finally tore her eyes away from the horizon and looked at Louisa.  There was apprehension in her eyes, but also relief.  That was probably the first time she’d ever spoken of her crime to anyone, and her confession must have brought her some peace.

“Bridget, you did what you had to do to protect your children.  Do you still blame yourself?”  Louisa was shocked to see that this sweet, kind woman was capable of such courage.  She didn’t approve of murder, but in an age when there was no law to protect women, sometimes women had to take matters into their own hands.

“I left shortly after the funeral.  I’d committed murder, and I wasn’t fit to raise my girls anymore.  Exile was to be my punishment.  My mother raised my children while I went to England in search of work.  I didn’t deserve to be their mother, but I could try to give them a better life by working hard and sending everything home.  I thought for a moment that maybe I might see them one last time, but that’s not to be.”  Bridget wrapped her cloak tighter around her thin form. She looked so forlorn just standing there, her hair flapping in the wind.

“Bridget, we’ll gladly give you time to go see your children.  My husband will arrange for a carriage to take you
to home.  You can take presents for your grandchildren and spend some time getting to know them.  You’ve earned forgiveness for your sins.  It’s been so long.  You’ve paid for your crime.”

Bridget just smiled sadly and shook her head. 
“‘Twould seem I haven’t, yer ladyship.  I’ll never live long enough to see the shores of Ireland.  I’m dying, you see.”

“I know you’ve been unwell, but you’ll get better.  We’ll
find a good physician once we’re back in England.”  Louisa studied Bridget’s face.  It glowed white in the moonlight, her eyes tinged by dark circles, and her frame almost skeletal beneath her cloak.  She’d been rosy-cheeked and plump when Louisa first came to know her, but now she looked like a corpse.

Bridget shook her head, finally looking at Louisa.  “I don’t think I’ll last until we reach England.  I’ve been ill for some time, but I’m in the final stages now.  I’ve seen this before.  My gran had the same symptoms.  I was just a girl then, but I remember.  I found a tumor in my breast nearly eight months ago.  I
hoped it might just go away, but these things never do, do they?  It’s gotten bigger over time, and now the cancer has spread.  I stopped getting my menses some time ago, but now I bleed all the time and there’s pain in my lower belly and back.  That’s how it was for my gran.  The cancer moved through her female parts, devouring her from the inside.  It won’t be long now, yer ladyship.  I’m only sorry to burden ye with my problems.  My only regret is that there’s no Catholic priest on board to give me last rites.  That would bring me comfort.”  Bridget sighed, suddenly smiling up at Louisa.

“Thank you for letting me talk.  I must admit that I feel better having unburdened myself.  At least I confessed before dying.  Good night, yer ladyship.  Don’t fret on my behalf.  Sometimes death is a blessing.”  With that, Bridget left the deck, leaving Louisa even sadder than she already was.

The coat hung well past Frederick Taylor’s knees and the sleeves needed to be rolled up, but at least it provided some much-needed warmth.  Good thing Christopher had left it behind when he made off for England with Louisa.  He was much taller than Fred; wider in the shoulders and narrower in the waist, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they?

Fred Taylor slung a basket over his arm and headed for the woods.  He’d been in the seventeenth century for nearly six weeks now
, and the experience had been truly eye-opening.  He’d been in the past many times since he’d invented the time-travel device, but he’d never stayed longer than a few days.  The forays into the past had been exciting and educational, the times and locales chosen with precision and hindsight. 

Fred could adjust to the primitive conditions and the general ignorance of the population in
colonial Virginia, but what he couldn’t deal with was the mind-numbing boredom that he had to endure.  The idleness was torture.  In his twenty-first century life, he filled his days with work, research, his beloved chess club, and the numerous football and rugby matches that were the closest thing he had to a religion.  Here, there was absolutely nothing to fill the days with.  He’d found some books in the house, but they weren’t enough to keep him occupied.  Since he wasn’t a part of the family or one of the servants, no one knew exactly how to treat him, so they were civil and pleasant, but distant and guarded.  The only people who took the time to really talk to him were Mrs. Dolly and Minnie.  Minnie was a sweet girl of fifteen, who reminded him of the girls of his youth.  Her ruddy complexion and good-natured disposition were a welcome break from little Louisa’s sullen moodiness and Annabel’s chilly aloofness. 

Mrs. Dolly – or Barbara, as Fred thought of her – had been a surprise.  She was somewhat shocked when he showed up in the kitchen offering to help, but came around quickly, always eager for a nice chat.  She was the kind of woman
whom Fred Taylor always felt comfortable with -- down to earth and uncomplicated.  She’d come to the colony with her husband early on, but was widowed within the year and found employment with the Whitfields.  She never complained about her lot in life and accepted things with stoic reserve so lacking in the women of the future.  Fred looked forward to their talks, and insisted on taking his meals in the kitchen with Barbara and Minnie. 

The lack of supplies in the colony, although potentially catastrophic, provided him with something to do.  Fred Taylor took it upon himself to help as much as he could.  After all, the whole situation with Finn had been entirely his fault.  You’d think he would have learned by now not to leave dangerous items lying about, but alas, he
’d bungled things up yet again.  Fred desperately hoped that Valerie and her husband would recover the lad, but in the meantime, he would do what he could to assist at home.  He spent countless hours in the woods gathering mushrooms and berries.  He wasn’t much for hunting, but he was well-versed in the flora and fauna of North America and intended to make the most of the situation.  Barbara had been worried about the possibility of eating something poisonous, but Fred assured her that he knew which varieties were safe. 

He made it a point to go looking for peanut bushes as well.  Virginia was one of the leading peanut suppliers of North America, so there had to be bushes in the area.  It took several days, but Fred located several bushes not too far from the house.  He went out with a spade and a basket every day
; digging for hours until his basket was full.  He would show Barbara how to roast the peanuts and use them in cooking.  They would be an additional source of protein, along with the mushrooms, which could be added to soups and stews.  Fred strung the mushrooms on lengths of thread, which he hung up to dry in the kitchen and shed. 

Fred found a sturdy stick and began his gathering for the day.  He’d spent the last two weeks collecting peanuts, so picking mushrooms was a welcome break.  He used the stick to move aside fallen leaves and bracken, looking for hidden caches of mushrooms.  Barbara had given him two oatcakes and some cider to have for lunch.  It wasn’t much, but everything was rationed these days, especially since Charles took over.  The young man obviously had a knack for management and took his
responsibilities very seriously.   He treated Fred’s activities with suspicion at first, but quickly came to realize that the old man was only trying to help and encouraged his efforts. 

Once the basket was half-full, Fred found a tree stump to sit on and took out his meager meal.  Barbara had been very kind to him.  Fred had known many women in his seventy-two years, but not many of them had been kind.  Some were needy, some demanding, and some very ambitious, but not many were kind.  When he was a young man
, he thought that in time he would meet the right girl and settle down, but it never happened for him.  He’d had a brief romance at university and then a long, dry spell that lasted into his early thirties.  There’d been a few women then, but Fred found that he was much happier after the relationships ended. 

Things were always promising at the beginning, but eventually the lovely, sweet girls always turned into overly-emotional monsters who tried to devour him with their needs, and put limitations on everything he found pleasing in life.  Their emotions were simply beyond his comprehension.  Fred found that he liked peace and quiet, a well-ordered routine, and his own space.  He wasn’t much for sex either.  He wasn’t driven by lust like a lot of his university friends, and the act of love left him more repulsed than sated. 

Now, at the twilight of his life, he was completely alone, with no wife to look after him, and no children or grandchildren to love.  Looking back, he wished he had tried harder
to find someone who suited his needs, but it was too late for all that.  In truth, he wished he’d found someone like Barbara.  She was a woman who was capable and practical; comfortable with her place in life, and not given to bursts of erratic emotion.  She would have made him a fine wife, had he met her in a different life and a different place.  He would miss her when he left.