Here Comes a Candle (4 page)

“
Never mind.
”
Oddly now, he found himself wanting to make it easy for her.
“
But how did you come to Canada?
”

“
With Fred Croston. My husband. I married him. Well,
”
she was looking back now, puzzled at herself,
“
there didn
’
t seem anything else to do, then.
”
She stopped, looking up at him hopefully, willing him to accept it as a complete explanation.

But he had another question.
“
And this man; what about him? The one in the 98th? The one you want to get away from so badly that you
’
ll trust yourself to a stranger like me.
”

Suddenly, for the first time, she smiled, and he thought, with a little shock of surprise, why, she could be beautiful.
“
Oh, but I know all about you, Mr. Penrose. What do you think Mrs. McGowan and I talked about , but her grandsons? And you were her favorite. The soul of honor, she called you, and her dear Jon.
”
For a moment, her voice had been almost teasing, then her face changed:
“
Oh, poor old Mac! How can I be thinking, about myself?
”

It was his turn to be practical.
“
Because we must, I guess.
”
Whether she had intended it or not, her reference to his grandmother had reminded him of the debt he owed her. But it was with a sensation of doubt amounting almost to panic that he heard himself saying:
“
Very well then, Mrs. Croston, if you really want to come with me,
“I’
ll see what I can arrange.
”

It was only much later, when he had got her safely installed in his own cabin on the
Madison
that he remembered she had never explained just why she was so anxious to get away from Canada.

TWO

The next few days did nothing to make Jonathan Penrose feel any happier about the responsibility he had taken on. While the Americans systematically plundered York of anything that could be remotely considered as military stores, Kate Croston lay
inert in the tiny cabin on the
Madison
with a marine on sentry duty outside.

“
Don
’
t worry,
”
Dr. Brown, to whom Jonathan confided his doubts after his grandmother
’
s bleak and hurried funeral, did his best to be reassuring.
“
The girl
’
s worn out, that
’
s all. It was no joke nursing Mrs. McGowan, I can tell you—and that consumptive husband before that. And that was an odd business, if you like. I never could understand how she came to be married to a mere sergeant. Something a bit havey-cavey about it, if you ask me.
”

“
Now you say that!
”
Jonathan exploded into anger.
“
After I
’
ve committed myself to the girl, on your advice. And for Sarah, too.
”

“
Well
”
—the old doctor refused to be roused—
“
you told me yourself you were in despair about finding someone for Sarah. Though why your Arabella can
’
t look after her ... but
”
—hastily—
“
never mind about that. To come back to Mrs. Croston: I
’
ve only known her a short time, but I swear to you, Jon, if she
’
s got anything to be ashamed of, I
’
m not the judge of people I ought to be. No, no: in a year or so you
’
ll be writing to thank me for persuading you. I
’
m sure—sure as I can be—that taking her is one of the best day
’
s work you ever did. Besides, what else can you do?
”

“
Well, that
’
s true enough,
”
said Jonathan ruefully.

When the American troops re-embarked at last, Kate was still lying dazed and passive, somewhere between sleeping and waking. She hardly noticed the tumult above decks, nor the new routine of the stormy voyage across the lake, but slept, and waked, and ate the food she was brought, and gradually began to feel again. It was not pleasant: rather like the tingling discomfort of life coming back to a numbed limb. There was so much she must remember, so horribly much she would rather forget. And as for the future
...
well, at least the die was cast. Not much use now to regret the moment of mad panic that had made her thrust herself upon
this
unknown, almost hostile American. And, so
thinking,
she slept again and woke to an unusual sound of activity above decks and a new feel to the motion of the ship.

A friendly sailor, rousing her with a cup of strong black coffee, confirmed her guess.
“
Welcome to the United States, ma
’
am. We anchored in the
night
And Mr. Penrose sends his compliments and asks how soon you can be ready to go ashore.
”
And then, perhaps sensing something a little ruthless about this message to an invalid:
“
We
’
re just east of Fort Niagara now,
”
he explained,
“
and liable to sail again any minute for Sackett
’
s Harbor, so you
’
ve no time to lose. I just hope you
’
re up to it
.
”

So did she.
“
Of course I am.
”
She drank scalding, delicious coffee and th
o
ught as she did so, that it was no wonder if British seamen were apt to desert to the American Navy.
“
Tell Mr. Penrose I
’
ll be with him in ten minutes.
”

She was almost as good as her word. There was a minute, on the steep companionway, when the rancid smell of the between-decks hit her, and she thought for a moment she would faint. Then she set her teeth, held her breath, and clawed her way up to the blessed fresh air of the deck. It smelled rawly of spring, of dampness, and growth, and of something else she could not identify. She felt her strength coming back with every deep breath.

She needed it. Jonathan Penrose was pacing the deck, his eye anxiously on the telltale flag that told where the wind lay.
“
You
’
re better? Good.
”
It was rather a command than a question.
“
The boat
’
s waiting for us. No time to be lost, I
’
m afraid, if you
’
re coming with me.
”

She felt a flash of anger. What else could she do? But she was in his hands.
“
Yes, please. Unless you have changed your mind.
”

“
Of course not.
”
He managed to sound almost as if he meant it.
“
This way then.
”

Following him across the busy deck, she fought resentment. Had he no thought for what this moment must mean to her? She was leaving everything she had ever known—for an enemy country. But then—she picked her way carefully over a pile of ropes—he had not asked her to come. Why should he think about her? She gathered up her skirts with a firm hand, grateful to Fred Croston, who had shown her how to use the bosun
’
s chair without making an exhibition of herself.

Firm, friendly hands—not Jonathan
’
s—helped her into the little boat. At last she had time to look about her. The day was overcast, with even a hint of late snow in the piled-up clouds, but as they pulled away from the ship the sun broke through for a moment to light up the wooded shore they were approaching. Where, before, all had been flat monochrome, she now saw great splashes of color, the brown of last autumn
’
s oak leaves contrasting with the deep green of pine and fir.

“
I reckon you find that a mighty handsome sight, ma
’
am,
”
said the very young man who commanded the boat.
“
You ain
’
t got woods like that in the old country, I guess.
”
He spoke with the same nasal twang as the other sailors, and she found herself surprised, for the first time, at her companion
’
s lack of accent.

“
It
’
s beautiful.
”
She
forbore
to say that the woods, in fact, looked very much like the ones on the other side of the lake, in Canada.
“
And it
’
s spring!
”

“
Yes, ma
’
am. There ain
’
t much to touch our American spring, I guess. What do you
thin
k of it?
”

“
It
’
s beautiful,
”
she said again, not quite sure to what his question referred, but grateful for his interest.
“
It
’
s come on so fast.
”
While she had been below decks rain and wind had washed away the last patches of snow, and now, as the boat drew nearer to the shore, she could see touches of brilliant green in the clearing where they were to land.

“
Spring comes fast when it comes,
”
said the young sailor.
“
But I reckon you
’
ll have a rough journey of it, Mr. Penrose.
”

“
I
’
m afraid so.
”
How different his voice was.
“
This is the worst time of year,
”
he explained to her.
“
No snow for sleighing, and the roads still waterlogged. If you can call them roads.
”

“
Perfectly good corduroy,
”
said the sailor.

“
Corduroy?
”
Kate had never heard the phrase.

“
They
’
re made of logs.
”
The sailor was glad to explain it to her.
“
Laid crossways. Well, stands to reason you won
’
t get too smooth a ride.
”

“
Goodness gracious, I should rather think not.
”
And then, beginning to be aware of how sensitive these Americans were about any criticism of their country:
“
But what a miracle to have roads at all over all these miles of wilderness. How far is it to Boston, Mr. Penrose?
”

“
Quite a way, I
’
m afraid. We
’
ll be lucky if we get there under three weeks, now it
’
s thawed.
”

“
Three weeks!
”
Her voice went higher than she meant. She brought it down a tone.
“
I had no idea. Stupid of me. I should have realized
...”

“
I suppose I should have warned you.
”
No need to add that it was too late now.

“
It
’
s not that. I just hope I won
’
t be a terrible trouble to you.
”

“
Nothing of the kind.
”
Impossible to tell whether he meant it.
“
Well, here we are. This is the landing for Fort Niagara,
”
he explained.
“
But we
’
re not going there. It
’
s out of our way.
”

“
Welcome to American soil, Mrs. Croston.
”
The young American had lost his heart to her on sight and made a point of helping her ashore. He held her hand for a moment.
“
I reckon you
’
re pretty average glad to have got safe away from that bloodthirsty Regent of yours.
”

“
Oh—thank you.
”
She had hardly looked on her adventures, or, for the matter of that, on the Prince Regent in this light, but felt a great surge of gratitude for his interest.

“
We go this way.
”
Jonathan had been watching the exchange with a slightly doubtful amusement. It was no part of his intention to have to set up as chaperon to his young companion, and, indeed, it had been a source of self-congratulation to him that she was such a quiet little thing and unlikely
t
o attract much attention.

Now, watching the sailor press her hand in farewell and wish her a pleasant journey at rather excessive length, he was not so sure.
“
Come, Mrs. Croston, we
’
ve no time to waste.
”
His tone as he cut short the interview sounded repressive even to him, and he tried to make amends as he took her arm to guide her up the rough track that led away from the lake.
“
I hope you don
’
t too much mind our famous American curiosity?
”

“
They
’
re wonderfully kind.
”
She had expected hostility from the American crew of the
Madison,
and had met nothing but an oddly frank, friendly curiosity. Now, as they reached the turn of the track, a sailor who had just finished unloading stores from the boat ran to catch them up.

“
Excuse me, ma
’
am.
”
He sketched a salute.
“
But
you
’
re the first English lady I ever set eyes on. Tell me, do they really eat babies there?
”

“
Good heavens, no!
”
Impossible to resent the simple inquiry. But a relief just the same when he smiled broadly, said,
“
I reckoned it was just a tall story,
”
and turned away. And yet his going left
her feeling alone as never before. Fantastic to be walking along this wild trail with a total stranger.

“
It
’
s no distance.
”
Jonathan Penrose might have read her thoughts.
“
We
’
re going to the house where I left my wagon. The Masons are old friends of mine.
”

And indeed Hugh Mason and his wife Janet greeted them with warm relief and a volley of friendly questions.
“
And now, I suppose, you
’
ll want to be on your way at once,
”
said Hugh Mason, when the first explanations were over.

“
As soon as we can. Yes, I
’
m afraid so. It
’
s taken so long
...
Arabella will be wondering—
”

“
She
’
s bound to be.
”
He had a quick look of curiosity and, she thought, sympathy for Kate.
“
Well, your wagon
’
s all ready; your horse has been eating me out of house and home; you should be able to pick up the stage tomorrow, with luck. Lord, it
’
s good to see you, Jon. Do you know, I was worried about you.
”

Janet Mason whisked Kate off to the surprising comfort of her upstairs bedroom.
“
Hugh says there is no need to live like savages, just because we have come to the west,
”
she explained.
“
Of course, the first years, when we were still in the log cabin, were something else again.
”
She watched as Kate took off her heavy blanket coat and combed out soft brown curls.
“
So you
’
re going to have charge of poor Sarah
.”
And then, abruptly:
“
What
’
s Jonathan told you about Arabella?
”

“
Why, hardly anything. Do you know her?
”

“
Gimini, yes. Hugh and Jonathan have been friends since Harvard. Jonathan met her then, you know, on a visit to Washington. He adored her for years, quite hopelessly, it seemed. She was a southern beauty, with
the world at her feet, and poor Jon was almost penniless.
”

“
Was he?
”

“
Oh dear, yes. His father and grandfather lost everything between them, taking different sides in the War of Independence. Really, it was the most romantic thing. Jonathan went to sea, and made a fortune in the Western trade. They go around Cape Horn, and buy furs from the Indians way up in the northwest country, and then maybe a cargo of sandalwood from an island miles from anywhere, and so to China, for days of bargaining and a fortune in tea and willow pattern ware at the end of it. You must get Jon to tell you about it some time. Anyway, he was soon captaining his own ship, and then, fantastically rich. He got back from, I don
’
t remember, maybe his third trip, and went straight to Richmond, to Arabella. And there she was, beautiful as ever, proud as ever, and—single. That was a whirlwind courtship if ever there was one. He worships the ground she treads on. Well, you can see for yourself how impatient he is to get home. And that reminds me, I should be do
w
nstairs getting something for you to eat. Only—I thought I should tell you
...”

“
Yes?
”

“
Well,
”
she hesitated. And then, in a rush:
“
Of course, I
’
ve not seen her for years, but Arabella
’
s a beauty, the golden kind you have in England. She was the loveliest thing you ever saw when they were married
.
But— now—well, there it is: she
’
s not so young as she used to be. She must be all of twenty-eight
.
And from what I
’
ve heard she don
’
t much like competition. Just look at all the trouble they
’
ve had finding someone to look after that poor child. I
’
m sure that
’
s it partly. It
’
s lucky you
’
re small and dark.
”

“
And plain.
”
Kate rose from the glass, the flush in her cheeks suddenly making nonsense of her words.
“
Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Mason.
”