Moonlight Rebel (3 page)

Krystyna sighed. Well, at least some people there were brave enough to stand up for what they believed in. Maybe she'd even find her stay interesting. Maybe. But she doubted it.

As the days threaded into one another, she began to feel that landing in America couldn't possibly be as odious as she had once felt. Anything was preferable to being trapped on that damnable ship. She had always loved being outside and felt utterly smothered in the cabin. Furthermore, her father wasn't responding well to the voyage. He ate little and took to his bed a great deal.

Krystyna felt isolated and alone. For some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that death was stalking them. She told herself it was just her overactive imagination feeding on their unfortunate circumstances and their gloomy surroundings. It was hard to have bright thoughts amid all this dreariness.

Still, uneasiness seeped into her very soul. And the few times she ventured out on deck with her father and caught the tall, thin first mate watching them; it increased markedly. Something in his eyes frightened her. He seemed to see right through her.

She couldn't wait until the journey was over.

Chapter Three

It seemed like an eternity, but finally, after more than a month and a half of oppressive dankness, of confinement, of poor food, vermin, and no bathing facilities, the cargo ship drew near to the Virginia harbor. Krystyna could have cried with relief when she heard the muffled call of, "Land, ho!" from the crow's nest. Ambivalent feelings immediately erupted within her. Elation laced icy fingers through her depression. There was relief that they had safely completed a long, horrible journey. But the realization that another was to begin was quick on its heels. A journey to be taken a world away from her roots, her home. One into the unknown. All the feelings she had had on the dock in Poland began to resurface.

As she leaped off her cot and started for the cabin door, her father called after her. "Your cap!"

Impatience dancing through her, Krystyna stopped to pick up the gray woolen cap from the floor. Quickly, she stuffed waves of dark hair under it. The infernal cap. She was going to relish tossing it into the fire as soon as she could. It represented part of the lie she was living, part of the bondage imposed by the ship.

"All right?" She turned toward her father for his approval.

Stefan waved a weary hand as he remained seated on the narrow cot. "All right." And perhaps, he prayed, just perhaps, it will be.

Krystyna didn't wait for him as she raced up the narrow steps. Topside, she spun in all directions. Where was it? Where was the land the sailor in the crow's nest had sighted?

Squinting, she could make out a thin strip of something enshrouded in mist far out on the horizon. It was hardly more than a glimmer.

So this is it,
she thought, leaning against the damp, splintered railing. This was "the promised land." This was America.

She felt no joy.

Instead, a pang of fear clawed at the pit of her stomach. America. Halfway around the world. Far from her world. Relief at no longer being buried alive in the damp, rotting little cabin began to slip away. How long would she have to stay on those shores before she could go home again? The question throbbed in her temples, hot and demanding.

How long?

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped. Her father's patient smile cracked a hole in her dark mood. "It will seem strange for a while," he said, reading her thoughts in the expression on her face, "but we'll get used to it. Jan writes that the people here have strange ways, but they're warm and friendly."

Krystyna nodded, not believing a word he said. The only warmth she'd known was back home. Here there would be nothing but isolation and desolation.

She looked at her father's worn face. Biting the inside of her
cheek, she forced a half-smile to her face. "We have each other
and that's all that counts." She stepped away from the railing. "I'll get our things ready." She went back to their cabin for the last time.

She would have thought that her heart would have been lighter on leaving the ship. She had dreamed of nothing else but land all these weeks at sea. But it was her own land she had thought of, not some hellish wilderness where manners meant nothing and the word savage could be applied to men of two colors. She lingered for a moment, looking around at the cabin. Small, with only two narrow bunks and a table that sat one, yet despite the constant dank smell of wet wood, it had been both her refuge and her prison. Here she had dwelled on her present condition. That had occupied all her thoughts. Anything would be better than this, she had thought. But it is human nature to forget the pain of the past. What was over was in part already forgotten. Instead of relief, she felt apprehension at what lay ahead, at what was to be.

Her hands became still as she stopped folding the clothes into their solitary trunk, gold hidden in its bottom. She listened to the sounds of the men above. There had been little to do but listen and think during her journey. She had known the crew's routine by the noises that were generated, had recognized the distinct sounds of the ship. What she heard now were different sounds.

They were landing.

Endless miles away from everything she had ever known. Impulsively, she pulled her mother's sampler out of the depths of the trunk and tucked it inside her blouse. She needed to feel a piece of home next to her.

She closed the lid and secured the straps that encircled the trunk. There was no hanging back now. She had to face reality. Whatever that was here. Krystyna squared her shoulders. It was time to get on with life. You have never been a coward, she reminded herself. This is not the time to start.

Her father opened the door to the cabin. It startled her. She swung around, anxious. Stefan sensed her thoughts, felt her anguish. They were of the same blood. He knew she, too, was experiencing what he was feeling at this moment. He took her hand and silently squeezed it.

Together they emerged on the deck. Shades of gray were swallowing the light as darkness approached. The sails flapped loosely in the near calm wind, and the sea, for once smooth, seemed like glass as the ship creaked its way into port.

Krystyna felt the ship grind against the dock. They were here. But no laughter bubbled in her throat. She was afraid of what lay ahead. No matter what sort of a face she presented to the world, she was afraid.

The captain came up behind them. When his presence went unnoticed, he cleared his throat. Getting the attention he desired, he delivered his statement in a voice that sounded like gravel hitting a stone wall. "Well, this is the end of your journey. You gave me no cause for complaint. If ever you need to go back—"

Back, oh yes, Krystyna thought. Take us back. Now.

" — I come into the harbor about once every six months. We
can work something out."

Count Stefan nodded gravely. "I hope that we will be in need of your services soon." A sheepish look came to his face, and Krystyna thought that, just for a moment, he looked youthful again. "Can you tell me what day of the month this is? I'm afraid I have lost track. My brother was to be here on the twenty-seventh."

"If he was, then he had a long wait ahead of him. We're off schedule." The captain shrugged carelessly. "It's the thirty-first"

Krystyna saw her father's expression grow grave. She was about to slip her arm through his, then thought better of it. A more manly gesture would be to put a hand on his shoulder. Even though the trip was over, she would go on with her charade until they were alone again. One never knew.

"We can hire a carriage," she suggested.

Stefan turned toward her, and she saw the helpless frustration in his gray eyes. "But I'm not sure where the plantation is or how to get to it."

"Surely someone—" Krystyna began.

"Begging your pardon, sir, was someone to meet you?"

The voice came from behind them. Krystyna turned abruptly, startled by the intrusion. The tall first mate stood so close to her that she felt his breath against her skin. The look in his eyes frightened her, but she thought probably everyone in this strange place would frighten her.

Stefan was immediately suspicious of the man's offer to help. But he had to trust someone sometime, and he needed to reach Jan as soon as possible. After a moment's debate, he nodded. "My brother. But I fear that he was not able to wait for us to arrive."

The redheaded man gave them an easy smile that lazily curled about his thin lips. "Shouldn't be any problem. I've a friend who's meeting me at the harbor. He lives just down the road and can see the ships come in. If the price is right, I'm sure he can arrange for you and your son to get to wherever it is you want to go."

"That is very kind of you." The Count's words were measured and formal.

The thin shoulders shrugged beneath the heavy woolen jacket that had seen better years. "Can't have new folks stranded in the middle of the night. Hard enough being strangers without being lost, too. I'll come for you before I leave." He turned and walked away.

Stefan stared after him in silence, wondering if he had been wrong to trust the man. Lately, he was afraid to trust anyone. It was a horrid way to live. In truth, it was like living inside the hand of death, waiting for the fingers to tighten and close. It would have been trying for anyone, and at his age, it was almost impossible to bear.

The first mate wasn't long in getting back to them. Jovial, gregarious, he kept up a steady stream of conversation as he retrieved their trunk for them and brought it down the gangplank. Krystyna felt guilty for not trusting him, yet she couldn't quite let herself be pulled in by his warm, friendly voice. He looked up at her as he set the trunk down on the dock, and his bold gaze alarmed her.

He knows, she thought suddenly. Somehow, he knew who she was, what she was. She would wager her soul on it.

She couldn't wait to be rid of him.

Krystyna walked quickly behind her father. There was a great deal of hustling on the docks. The sounds and smells were completely foreign to her, and the low-hanging fog made everything wet with its mist. The scents of wet wool, wood, rotting food, and sweat were everywhere, making it hard for her to breathe. Her first taste of America was even worse than she had anticipated.

Although he knew it was futile to hope, Stefan searched the fog-enshrouded dock area for his brother's face. He finally turned away, disappointed. Jan wasn't there, and no one had come in his place. Only sailors. What had gone wrong?

Krystyna looked at her father as they stood on the dock. She could see that he was concerned and strongly anxious. It never occurred to her to think that he might be frightened as well. Fear was an emotion she attributed to herself and other people. She considered her father to be a little above the realm of normal people, always brave and strong, never at a loss for a course of action. She adored him.

She slipped her hand into his, unmindful of the first mate and the others on the dock. She needed to draw on his strength and to feel protected by his presence.

"Looks like your brother couldn't make it." The first mate's voice broke their moment of privacy. His eyes searched the area as he spoke.

"He doesn't work for himself. His time is not his own." Still,
Stefan looked around again, hoping against hope.

But it was the first mate, not Stefan, who was rewarded with a familiar face. "Ah, here's my friend now. We'll take care of you."

He pointed off into the distance, and out in the shadows, Krystyna thought she could see the form of a man sitting on top of a coverless wagon. She watched him approach as she wondered at the mate’s choice of words.

"We'll take care of you," he repeated, and she thought she detected a bit of an accent. A Polish accent. But if that were true, wouldn't he have approached them sooner, on the ship, and made himself known? She told herself that she was just homesick and searching for someone from home. The crew members hadn't been Polish, and there was no reason to believe that this man was either. It was just her imagination.

Krystyna looked toward her father. His florid face was pensive. He doesn't trust this man either, she thought. With mounting apprehension, she looked around for the captain, who had been making transactions not too far away from them only a few moments ago. But he was gone.

Having kept his word to Kosciusko and delivered them safely to their destination, the captain felt his job was done.

He left, giving the two passengers no more thought than he would his cargo. His responsibility there was over as well. What he needed now was to make his way to the tavern and sample his first brew and his first woman in weeks. There was no room in his mind for any other details.

As the man in the wagon approached and came clearly into view, illuminated by the full moon that broke through a hole in the misty haze which engulfed the harbor, Krystyna found herself repelled by what she saw. And what she smelled. The man had not bathed in months, she guessed. Even in the cramped quarters aboard ship, she had managed to bathe, albeit taking great pains to do so. How could anyone allow himself to get into such a state? she wondered as she looked at the man's unkempt clothing. He was wearing what appeared to be the tanned skins of animals. He looked like a savage to her.

Krystyna glanced uncertainly toward her father and missed the wink that went between the man in the wagon and Peter, the mate. The former patted his breast pocket reassuringly.

Suddenly, the first mate took both Krystyna and her father by the arm and boldly escorted them toward the wagon. He grabbed Krystyna firmly by the waist and deposited her into the back. With a leer on his lips he took no trouble to hide, his hands slid down to her legs as be made a show of tucking them further into the corner.

"See here!" the Count began indignantly as Krystyna shrank back from the man's touch. It brought back the revulsion she had felt the evening Andrej had tried to force himself on her. Instinct drove her away that time too. She looked at Peter with growing distrust and fear.