The Golden Cross (30 page)

Lili closed her eyes, waiting. Silence sifted down, as thick and lovely as an Irish snowfall, and she relaxed in the knowledge that the God of her youth would not forget her. A thrill shivered through her senses, and she smiled.

Going back, Lili picked up the strings of time and hummed a hymn from her childhood, then began to sing. The sound of her voice filled the small chapel, and her heart expanded as she lifted the long-forgotten words to heaven:

Darkness rose in the church, first filling the pews, then shadowing the altar, then creeping imperceptibly up the walls as night swallowed the building. But Lili sang on, ignoring the darkness, as her heart at last warmed with the holy light she had abandoned so long ago.

F
or four days Tasman’s ships and crew prepared for departure. Along with charts and a few boxes of trinkets the captain thought useful for trading with any uncivilized peoples they might encounter, the loaders brought a prodigious amount of food into the cargo holds. Aidan soon discovered that since the Dutch navy regulated food for its men, the V.O.C. could do no less for any man willing to sail upon its ships. Each vessel was regarded as representative of the Dutch commonwealth, and therefore each ship had to offer its men a generous quality of life—which translated into food, and lots of it.

In addition to the regular meals, every crew member of Tasman’s expedition was entitled to a weekly stipend of half a pound of cheese, half a pound of butter, and a five-pound loaf of bread. Double rations were allotted to the officers; Aidan soon understood how the others could spot an officer in nothing but his breeches and boots from thirty paces away. She herself had never eaten so well.

The morning and midday meals, served in the galley below decks, would usually consist of bread and a porridge of grits. On Sundays the sailors would feast on smoked ham or mutton or bully beef with peas; on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, smoked and pickled fish with green peas and beans. On Thursday, each man would receive a ration of beef or pork. On Friday and Saturday, the cook’s menu would revert to fish and peas.

Fascinated, Aidan watched as the loaders carried the huge
crates and barrels aboard. The ship carried few goods for repair or trading, only supplies for the crew’s survival. “And we carry barely enough of that,” Van Dyck told her one afternoon as they sat in the cabin and sketched the rigging that appeared through the open doorway.

“I’ll never eat my share,” she moaned, her stomach already cramping with the thought of so much food. Several of the other seamen had teased her about picking at her food; how could she tell them that one
plate
contained more than she usually ate in a week while working at the tavern? Sailors needed the fuel so they would have the energy to run and lift and climb and carry. But on most days Aidan only had to roll with the waves and learn to hold a pencil steady as she sketched.

Before long they had settled into a workable routine. Each day when she awoke to the clanging of a bell, Aidan would sit up and immediately thrust her frizzed hair into her cap. Once Visscher had left the room (he spent very little time in it, preferring to spend his time in the captain’s cabin with the charts), Van Dyck would step outside while she performed her personal ministrations. Then she would go up on deck and watch in amazement at the crew’s industrious activity. Aidan had thought Gusta a fastidious cleaner, but the deck-swabbing, brass-polishing crewmen of the
Heemskerk
and
Zeehaen
would have put poor Gusta to shame.

She had been aboard five days when the captain announced that on the morrow, the fourteenth of August, they would set forth on their journey. A cheer rose from the men, and Aidan felt her own heart leap with excitement. Despite her sorrow over losing Orabel and her nervousness over her audacious disguise, something in her yearned to begin this adventure.

Elated with the prospect, she walked back to the cabin to seek out Heer Van Dyck’s company. But he wasn’t alone. A man in a dark doublet and trousers sat on the bunk across from her master. Aidan backed up, intending to slip out again, but the stranger turned, and Aidan’s heart leaped into her throat.
Henrick Van
Dyck!
For an instant he did not recognize her, but then a tiny flicker of shock widened his eyes.

“Sakerloot!”
Henrick turned to face his father, the corners of his mouth tight. “What have you done?”

“Nothing untoward, I assure you,” Heer Van Dyck answered. He stood over his son, his face a mask of stone. “Aidan is an artist, and I need her to help me complete my map. It cries out for one who can paint flora and fauna, and no one can paint them like Aidan can.”

“But this!” Henrick turned toward Aidan again, his face dark with disapproval. “This is wrong! This is against the rules! Surely Tasman would object if he knew he carried an imposter aboard.”

“Tasman does not need to know, and you will say nothing to anyone.” Van Dyck lifted his hand, gesturing for Aidan to come inside and close the door. When she had done so, he sat on his bunk and looked directly at his son. “Henrick, I cannot expect you to understand, but I pray you will listen and try to comprehend what I am feeling.”

“What you are
feeling?
” Disappointment and frustration emanated from Henrick’s face, and his voice betrayed the edge of anger. “What you are feeling is lunacy! Dempsey warned me that you had taken leave of your senses, but I did not want to believe him!”

“I am as sane as you are.” Van Dyck said, his eyes glittering with restless passion. “And you will listen to me, Henrick, and you will say nothing. This is my wish. As my son, you will obey it.”

Henrick did not answer, but his face had gone pale and a drop of sweat ran down his jaw.

“When your mother died,” Van Dyck began, lowering his gaze to his hands, “I thought my heart had died as well. We had raised you children, we had made a home, we had found success in the new colony. And when she left me alone, I wondered why God would allow me to go on living.”

Aidan sank to a low stool near the door, entranced by his
words. She had never heard her mentor speak of his own past, and her heart squeezed in pity for the pain that marked his face even now. So this sorrow was the root of his suffering, the source of his empathy. What then was the source of his joy?

“Father, you must return home with me.” Henrick placed his hand on his father’s knee. “This is foolish. Look at you! You are old, you ought to go home where Gusta can take care of you.”

“No, son.” Heer Van Dyck slowly patted his son’s hand. “There is the risk you cannot afford to take, and there is the risk you cannot afford
not
to take. This is my risk. If I am to make something of what’s left of my life, I must go on this voyage. God left me here for a reason, and I believe this is it.”

“But Father, you don’t know what difficulties lie ahead out there in the unknown!” Honest concern and fear laced Henrick’s voice. “What if it’s true what they say about giant squid and fierce whales? And there are islands inhabited solely by cannibals; I’ve heard the natives talk about ferocious people who live on the sea islands.”

“Henrick—” Van Dyck looked up at his son. “Life is not being sure, not knowing what will come next or how it will come. We guess at everything we do. We take leap after leap in the dark, and that’s the joy of living and the beauty of faith. When we grow tired, when we sit still, that’s when we begin to die.”

He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was soft and tremulous. “You are young; you are following a young man’s dreams. But the old must dream as well! I have not stopped dreaming, Henrick. I dream of stepping on the soil of a land untouched by another European. I dream of meeting people who have not yet heard of the saving grace of God. I want to be an instrument, Henrick. I want to discover the full breadth of God’s creation and use my talents to enlighten others! This is my dream, and I will follow it until I draw my dying breath.”

Henrick did not answer, but took his father’s hand and squeezed it for a long moment. Heer Van Dyck leaned forward and embraced his son, then stood back and nodded in satisfaction.
“Go with my blessing, Henrick, and know that your father loves you well. Thank you for coming to see me off. Thank you for being concerned. But know this: One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

The older man looked up and gave Aidan a smile. “I’m going out now to watch my last sunset over Batavia for a long while. When you are ready, Henrick, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to share it with you.”

Henrick did not answer, and after a poignant pause, Heer Van Dyck moved silently through the doorway and out onto the deck.

Aidan stood from her place, about to follow her teacher, but Henrick’s voice stopped her in midstride.

“He’s a foolish old man. You know that, don’t you?”

She turned slowly to face him. “I don’t think he’s foolish. And he’s not so terribly old. He’s young, very young, on the inside.”

“And I suppose all that drivel makes perfect sense to you? All that nonsense about losing sight of the shore and such?”

Aidan lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It makes sense to him. And I have never met a more certain and honorable man.” She moved closer and sank to the bunk her master had just vacated. “You won’t say anything, will you? I could still be set ashore if anyone found out about my disguise.”

“I will say nothing,” he said, his voice low and resentful. His eyes ran over her garments, taking in the breeches, the paint-splattered shirt, the braid, and the cap. “Though I cannot agree with what you are doing, this may be God’s work. This ship may be the safest place for you now.”

Aidan felt her heart leap into her throat. There must be trouble at the wharf—had other girls been found murdered? “What has happened, Henrick?”

“My sister and Dempsey Jasper hate you.”

“That’s no great revelation.” Aidan shrugged dismissively. “Why should that matter?”

Henrick leaned toward her, his eyes cold. “Because Father
respects you. Because he wants to make your name great. Rozamond is afraid of what people will think when your relationship with Father is revealed.”

Aidan took a deep, quivering breath to silence the pounding beneath her ribs. “But why would he care so much for me? I am not one of his children!”

Henrick shook his head. “Because he is a foolish old man. Because we were never able to please him. He has been searching for a fellow artist all his life, and I believe he was disappointed when he never found one in his own children.” His gaze rested upon Aidan’s face for a moment, and in those brown eyes she saw no anger, only sorrow.

“Do you hate me too?” She pressed her hand to her throat. “Have I reason to fear you?”

Setting his jaw, he shook his head, then looked out the porthole. “Not me,” he said, resignation heavy in his voice. “But I cannot say what Rozamond and her husband have conspired to do. Dempsey Jasper is careful and cunning, and I fear he has set some dark plan in motion. That is why I say the sea is probably the safest place for you … for some months to come.”

Aidan looked away, her mind reeling. Thoughts she dared not form came welling up, an ugly swarm of them. Had Dempsey Jasper anything to do with Orabel’s death? The idea seemed farfetched. Sofie had seen Orabel alive and well the morning of her death. As a gentleman, Dempsey would not be likely to venture to the taverns during daylight hours, and most married men would sooner die than be seen entering an alley with one of Lili’s girls. But someone had killed Orabel in the revealing light of day—while she was wearing Aidan’s dress. And whoever had killed Orabel in an effort to find Aidan might not hesitate to harm Lili or the other women in exchange for information.

“Have there been any other murders at the wharf?” she asked softly, a score of unasked questions buzzing in her brain. “Other than the girl who died the day we came aboard?”

Annoyance struggled with embarrassment on Henrick’s aristocratic face as he looked at Aidan. “How would I know? Such things are not published to law-abiding citizens.”

Aidan flinched, hearing the unspoken rebuke in his voice. She was from the underclass; he a gentleman’s son. Why should he know or care anything about what happened in her world?

Henrick stood and bowed formally from the waist. “If you will excuse me, I would like a final word alone with my father.” His voice resonated through the small cabin and echoed into silence. And then, as he paused by the door, he added one whispered thought: “I wish you well.”