Gunwitch (7 page)

“Don’t be sad, Margaret,” Ducoed said. “You have impressed the famous Rose Bainbridge, I assure you.” He saw Major Haley look at him, but he kept his eyes on Margaret. “She has a difficult time showing her approval.”

“Give your uncle a kiss, Margaret,” Janett said.

Margaret walked over to the general, who bent down so she could reach his cheek. “I know you’re not my uncle,” she said. “But you’ve been very kind.”

Ducoed glanced over his shoulder and saw Rose turning away. When Ducoed turned back to the general, the older man looked into Ducoed’s eyes, taking his time, as if searching for a hidden purpose. Ducoed let him look.

“And you,” the general said after a long minute, “take care of them all.”

Ducoed smiled as he took Margaret’s hand. Her fingers, even smaller than Janett’s, felt warm in his palm. He gave both girls’ hands a squeeze. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”

Chapter 4

Margaret

Puncher
, Lake Patrizio

1742 A.D.

Margaret Laxton stood in the bow, leaning against the forward rail as
Puncher
chugged and splashed its way across the lake. Once she had stepped on board
Puncher
, she had decided two things. First, she would spend the entire time of their short trip across the lake on deck, looking at the water and the sky and the trees of the distant shorelines. And, second, she would spend none of that time with Janett.

On their trip from England she had been confined to the tiny cabin she shared with Janett, with only brief walks on deck just after dawn and before sunset. She loved her sister, but after weeks together on the sail schooner
Maryanna Rose
, which had been packed to the brim with cargo, sailors and soldiers, followed by further weeks inside a fort filled with soldiers and grunzers, and only her sister for company and, when he could be spared from his duties, Major Haley, she felt a bit of time apart was called for. Even if that time apart encompassed only a few hours and a few square yards, she would make the most of both.

She had become fond of the little gunboat they rode as soon as she heard its name. After all, the two of them, boat and girl, shared a name. “Father’s Little Puncher” Da had called his baby Margaret in her early years, before his command took him to the Continent, then further away to New World. Also,
Puncher
looked short, squat and awkward compared to the stately beauty of
Maryanna Rose
. Margaret thought she fared much the same way beside Janett. Mother had assured Margaret time and again that she was just as pretty as Janett, or would be someday. But Margaret had now spent too many months beside her sister in the company of men to continue to believe Mother’s assurances.

Behind her she could hear Janett talking and laughing, entertaining both Mr. Thomas and Major Haley. Margaret had once asked her sister if she would ever attract so many admirers. “Of course, darling,” Janett had said. “But first we must get your hair brushed. And please do not lean against the wall like that. Stand up straight…” The next two weeks had seen Janett fussing over Margaret, dressing her and instructing her how to “properly walk”. Then, fortunately for Margaret’s sanity and the continuing love of sisters, a new suitor had come along. Master Jonathan had had eyes for Janett only, but it was Margaret who called him “my champion” for saving her. Margaret had not asked Janett that question again.

Puncher’s
course across Lake Patrizio bore west by northwest. The weeks on the
Maryanna Rose
had taught Margaret about the compass and headings and how to judge direction from the position of the sun. Over Margaret’s right shoulder the sun finally rose clear of the eastern horizon and illuminated the far shore of the lake. Though it was still miles away, she could see the morning fog lurking around the trunks of the trees, and straggling snakes of vapor retreating from the surface of the lake into the shade of the–

She paused in her thoughts and tried to remember the word Miss Rose had used.

“Bayuk,” she said out loud, surprising herself. She looked around to see if anyone had heard, but she was still alone in the bow.

Before they had cast off, she had asked the officer in charge of
Puncher
how long their trip would be. In the process she made the mistake of calling him “Captain”.

He had let forth a loud, raucous laugh, and she had slumped and started to turn away. He had put a big, dirty hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Don’t be glum, lass,” he had said. “It’s a common enough mistake you’re making. It might even be considered a compliment,” he added, though his expression had shown that he was not one who considered it such. “Do you think a noble captain of His Majesty’s Navy would be commanding a peppy little boat like
Puncher
?” He had leaned over the side and spat into the dirty water of the docks. “But do you know what?” he had asked, squatting on his heels so their eyes met. “The joke’s on them.” He gave her a lopsided smile and a wink. “’Cause little
Puncher
can run circles around those big, beautiful ships with their high airs captains and their prissy first mates.”

Margaret had giggled. He had looked so funny, and so proud of his
Puncher
. He reminded her of Da when he was at home and not wearing his uniform. She had liked him immediately.

The man had then told her, “On board
Puncher
, lass, I am Master Ezekiel Gallows. A
bella bambina
like yourself, though, may call me Mister Zeek and I will proudly answer. And speaking of answers,” he went on, “we will be arriving on the far side before the noon sun reaches its zenith.”

Margaret hoped the trip would take longer. She did not want to leave
Puncher
or Mister Zeek any sooner than she had to. She liked the way the boat moved over the surface of the lake, just as she had enjoyed the motions of the
Maryanna Rose
. Unlike Janett, who had spent the first days out of Bristol miserable and hungry. But this was different. Like the ocean in miniature.

“You like being on the waters?”

Margaret jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice and turned to see the native girl, Rose’s friend, stood beside her. She tried to remember the girl’s name.

The girl smiled, displaying straight, white teeth. “You may call me Chal.”

“Yes,” Margaret said, still surprised. She had heard no footsteps. And now it seemed like Chal had read her thoughts. Twice. “Yes,” she again. “I do. I mean, I like being on the water.” She remembered her manners then–or Janett’s manners, anyway–and gave a quick curtsy, pulling at her skirt just enough to display the cuffs of her trousers before letting it settle back into place. “A pleasure to meet you–Miss Chal. I’m–my name is–Margaret. Margaret Laxton.”

Chal nodded. “You may call me Chal, Margaret Laxton.”

Margaret had never really looked at the girl before. The girl had a darker skin tone than the other natives she had seen in New Venezia. Not the black of the slaves, though. Just a deep, rich red-brown. Her eyes were brown, nearly as dark as the braids of her hair that framed her face. And, Margaret noticed, the girl was young. At most only a year or two older than Janett’s seventeen years. And pretty too. Maybe, in her own way, as pretty as Janett.

Margaret felt her face become warm with embarrassment, and she turned back to look across the water again. “I’m–I’m sorry,” she forced out. “I didn’t mean to stare–to be rude.”

“You were not being rude, Margaret Laxton. Just open.”

“Janett–and Mother–would call that being rude,” Margaret said. “And you can call me Margaret. Just Margaret.”

Chal nodded again. “I am pleased that you like the waters, Margaret. We will ride the waters much over the next few days. Lakes and rivers, and the ponds and slow streams of the bayuk.”

“Are you from the bayuk?” Margaret asked.

Chal looked at her.

“I mean, is that your home? Where you were born? I’ve never met a native before,” she added. She felt her face go red again as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Both Mother and Janett had tried to teach her to be less direct. She only seemed to remember their admonishments, though,
after
she opened her big mouth. She had heard that the natives were a proud race, and easily offended. She hoped she had not offended Chal.

Chal’s laugh, this one like a small waterfall, did not sound offended. Margaret risked a look, and found Chal’s eyes waiting for hers.

“You have not offended me, Margaret,” Chal said, leaning on the rail so she could face Margaret. Then she looked past Margaret, looked across the water of the lake, in a direction not quite perpendicular to their travel, and it seemed to Margaret as if the brown eyes were focused hundreds or thousands of miles away. “I am at home in the bayuk, as I am at home wherever the waters take me, but I was born far from here. In the south.”

“Do you miss your home?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, I do.” Chal sighed. Margaret felt a slight breeze brush across her face, even over the wind of their progress, as if the air of the lake sighed with Chal. “It has been a long time since the waters brought me north.”

“Why don’t you go home then?”

Chal’s smile looked rueful to Margaret, but still lit up her face. “Because there is still too much of the world I have not seen.”

“Chal.” Miss Rose’s gruff voice called from behind them.

Chal turned around, facing aft. Margaret did not turn around. She was not sure she could face Miss Rose’s impassive gaze again. Not just yet. Chal nodded to something Margaret did not hear, then she placed a hand on Margaret’s arm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Margaret, but I have been told I am talking too much.”

Now Margaret turned to give a quick glare at Miss Rose. Then she turned around again. “Janett tells me the same thing,” she said.

As Chal walked away, her laughter faded into the soft pattering of the spray from
Puncher’s
wake.

* * *

Margaret eyed the narrow, flat-bottomed boat warily. Though the bow was up on dry land, where Major Haley waited for her to step into the boat, the stern was in the water. One of the soldiers, wearing his red uniform, sat in the stern, his oar held across his knees.

“Just step in, Miss,” the man said. “I’ll keep her steady for you.”

“Between Corporal Higgs and myself,” Major Haley said, “it will be like entering a carriage.” Margaret’s expression must have betrayed her thoughts on that comparison. “I thought you liked rowboats,” he added.

“This isn’t a rowboat,” Margaret said.

“That’s right,” Mr. Thomas said from where he stood nearby, overseeing the loading of the other boats. “It’s a pirogue. Even better than a canoe, I have been told, for the waters of this swamp.”

Pirogue or canoe or misshapen rowboat, Margaret thought it looked too overloaded to safely accommodate herself, Janett, Corporal Higgs and Major Haley. And the bench she would be sharing with Janett made the cramped cabin of the
Maryanna Rose
look palatial by comparison.

“I would feel safer, I think,” Margaret said, “if Janett were to be in a different boat. Pirogue.”

“The two of you girls hardly make any load at all,” Mr. Thomas said, walking over. “You’ll be perfectly safe.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “Trust me.”

Margaret looked up into Mr. Thomas’ eyes, and he smiled down at her. “You’re sure that Janett cannot be in her own pirogue?” she asked.

Mr. Thomas laughed, his hands still on her shoulders. “Now I see,” he said, “that it’s not only the safety of our crafts that concerns you.”

“Stop being a pest, Margaret,” Janett said, and pushed past Margaret and Mr. Thomas. “Here, I’ll get on and show you it’s completely safe. Major Haley, if you would give me a hand?”

“It would be my honor,” the major said. He put his hands on Janett’s waist, then lifted her easily into the pirogue.

“Thank you, Major,” Janett said, her face showing a slight flush. She positioned herself on the plank of wood that served as a support and a bench, and made a show of arranging her skirts to take up only half the available space.

Mr. Thomas’ grip on Margaret’s shoulders tightened for just a second as they watched this display, then he took his hands away. Margaret rolled her eyes. Janett always had that effect on men. They fell over one another to help her sister into carriages, out of carriages, through doors–even to walk, sit, and stand. And they got jealous if they did not reach her first. On the boat, and in the fort, Janett had scarcely had to raise her hand unaided. Margaret thought it was a wonder men let Janett breath on her own–though she now recalled there had been one or two who had taken it into their heads that Janett needed their assistance with that, as well. Da, and then Mother in Da’s absence, had put a stop to that.

“See?” Janett said. “There is plenty of room for you, Margaret.”

Margaret looked at the other three pirogues pulled up on the bank of the river. Mister Zeek and
Puncher
had headed back across the lake as soon as Mr. Thomas and the soldiers had unloaded the crates and barrels to the lakeshore. Then the men had split the supplies across all of the pirogues that had been waiting for them. “What about Miss Rose and Chal’s? Could I ride with them?”