The Saintly Buccaneer (44 page)

“Yes! And my sweetheart’s got a wound, too. Not his hand—but he’s got one. And I’ll tell you a secret—I don’t mind a bit. As a matter of fact, I’m so crazy in love with him, I wouldn’t care if he had both his arms cut off! And neither will the girls. When that arm heals, you’ll get a shiny steel hook, and when you go to church with your new white uniform on, and the girls see that hook, they’ll start whispering, like girls do! And one of them will say, ‘That’s Tommy Hooks, the one who fought on
The Gallant Lady!
He lost his hand—see that hook! He’s a hero!’ And then they’ll fairly jostle each other to get to sit next to you! Oh, won’t you be something, though!”

Winslow saw the boy swallow; then with his face working to keep back the tears, he had suddenly seized Charity’s hand and kissed it.

“Oh, getting a little practice, are you, Tommy?” She had laughed, and as she turned Winslow saw the worship in the boy’s eyes.

“Why, Captain!” she exclaimed, “how are you today?”

“First rate,” he smiled. “Are you about ready to leave?” he asked Charity.

“In a few minutes.”

After they left the cabin, they walked to the rail and stood looking down at the waves lapping against the ship.

“I heard what you said to Tommy,” Paul began, breaking the silence.

“About the girls? Well, he needs some encouragement.”

“Not about that—though that was wonderful—but the way you handled it. You always know just what to say to the men to make them forget their loss. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Why, what did you hear?”

“I heard you tell him about your sweetheart—the one with the scar that you—how did you put it. Let me see ...” He put his finger on the scar on his cheek and said, as if he was having trouble remembering, “I think it’s something like:
I’m so crazy in love with him, I wouldn’t care if he had both his arms cut off!
”

Charity stared at him and her face flushed a fiery red. “You—you had no business eavesdropping!”

“That’s one of my minor sins,” he replied, taking her hand in his. Then he sobered. “Charity, do you love me?”

She looked at him quietly, finally whispering, “You know I do, Paul!”

“I love you, too. And I’ll say as much for you as you said for me—nothing can change what I feel for you. If you lost your beauty, I’d still love that girl that’s inside.”

They stood there looking into each other’s eyes, searching, probing the depths. After a while, he dropped her hand and leaned on the rail. “I want to tell you something. It’s about Enoch.”

He told her how the man had died, and how it had made him call out to God. “It’s been different since then, Charity,” he concluded. His eyes were happy and he added, “I’m not what I ought to be—and I’m not what I’m going to be; but
I’m not the man I used to be—that Paul Winslow has died somewhere.”

“Paul! I’m so happy!” She forgot all about protocol, and there in the bright sunlight, threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly. Then she drew back, her face rosy. “There! That’s the kind of woman I am—no propriety at all! Will I make a captain’s wife?”

“I hope you never change!” he smiled. “And you have to marry me, because I’ve got to go home and tell my family I’ve become a shouting Methodist! It will shame Mother frightfully.”

She laughed at his rueful face. “Oh, Paul, it won’t be hard. She’s been worried about Anne marrying Dan and dressing up in gray and becoming a quiet Quaker woman. Now she’ll be so busy trying to keep you from acting like an enthusiast, she’ll have no time to worry about Anne!”

“I hope so. Father—I think he’ll come around. He’s been hit on all sides with the Gospel.”

“So the House of Winslow is coming to the Lord!”

“Yes.”

They stood silently for a moment, each lost in thought. Paul was the first to speak as he remembered his invitation for the evening meal. “Rommey and Burns are coming to supper tonight. I want you to be there to help me. I feel terrible about them. I owe both a great debt, but look what I’ve done to them.”

She agreed, and that night she took all the strain out of the meeting.

When they were all seated, she looked across the table at Angus and said, “I have a treat for you, Lieutenant Burns. We have a cook who comes from your country—and he’s made a special dish for you.”

“For me? What is it?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Charity replied. Then she turned to Rommey. “Captain Rommey, I’ll be blunt with you.”

“Oh?” Her manner amused him, and despite the gloom
that shadowed his eyes, he smiled. “What form is this bluntness to take?”

“A personal remark.” Charity told him frankly, mystifying him further. “I have stolen the heart of your prospective son-in- law,” she stated calmly.

Paul, who had taken a sip of wine, suddenly choked on it, shocked at her words. “Charity!” he exclaimed, “for heaven’s sake!”

She gave him an impatient look, saying, “Oh, Paul, did you think we’d manage to get married without his finding out about it? Be sensible.”

“I don’t know what to say to you,” Rommey returned, wonder in his eyes.

“Well, I know what to say to you. You’re a man of sense, Captain, and I tell you to your face that Blanche and Paul would have been perfectly miserable if they had married—and I suspect that you’ve been aware of that.”

Rommey nodded. “I have thought it would be difficult. She’s a willful girl—and Mr. Winslow has proven to be quite a rugged type. It would have been like fire and gunpowder.”

“Of course it would!” Charity declared emphatically. Rommey smiled at her and remarked, “I must say, however, that the same problem seems to be in your future, Miss Alden; for you are a very
forceful
young lady yourself.”

“Yes, but Paul loves me—and when two people love each other as we do, they’ll make a marriage work.”

At that moment the door opened and a small, sandy-haired man brought a dish in and with a single glance went straight to where Lieutenant Burns sat. He put the bowl down and said, “Sir, I trust you’ll find this a bit of home.”

“Haggis!” Burns nearly shouted when he lifted the lid. He looked up with his eyes gleaming and a huge smile. “Oh, man, how did you do it?”

“It’s a bit of what we brought from the Indies, sir.”

“What is it?” Winslow asked.

“It’s a dish made from a sheep’s head, Captain,” Angus explained happily. “Would ye care for a leetle bite?”

“No!” Paul responded quickly, restraining a shudder. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you, Mr. Burns!”

The cook brought food for the rest and the supper went well, and just before Charity left, she reached out and shook hands with Captain Rommey. An impish light touched her green eyes, and she said, “I couldn’t give you a sheep’s head to make peace with you, Captain; but I think I deserve your thanks for taking Paul off your hands.”

“Well... thank you, Miss Alden,” he answered. “Perhaps you’re right—and I can tell you that Blanche is such a nationalist, she’d never marry an American. But it will be a comfort to me in prison to know that I won’t have to adjust myself to a Yankee son-in-law.”

She stared at him, saying soberly, “I do have one gift for you, sir—but you can’t have it until we land. Then I think you’ll feel better.”

“No man feels better about prison—but I am grateful for your kindness, Miss Alden. Captain Paul Winslow is a lucky man!”

“What gift are you going to give the captain?” Paul asked as soon as they were alone.

“I’ll let you know when we’re almost home,” she promised. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him thoroughly. “And I know what I want for a wedding present.”

“Something expensive?” he smiled. “I’m a poor officer.”

“You’ll find out when we get home.”

He teased her for several days, but she would never tell him. Finally they were on deck one evening and he said, “We’ll be home tomorrow or the day after. Tell me what you want for a wedding present.”

So she told him.

Two days later the ships reached the coast, and to Dan Greene’s surprise, he received a written order from his captain.

Greene obeyed, but as the
Lady
sailed away, he scratched his head, wondering, “What’s that woman doing to Paul now?”

Rommey and Burns were soon standing on the deck of the
Lady.
They looked up to see Charity and Paul coming across the deck.

“Captain, it’s time for you to have your present.”

“Indeed?” Rommey asked politely. The dark future of a prison had dimmed his eyes, and he could not say more.

“I hope you appreciate your gift, Captain,” Paul said with a smile. “It’s what Charity asked for her wedding present.”

“Her wedding present? How could that—?”

Charity looked earnestly at Rommey, stating quietly, “I want a
whole
husband, Captain. Paul was so consumed with guilt over you and Mr. Burns that I don’t think I could have stood living with it—nor could he.”

“He did nothing wrong, Miss Alden.”

“Perhaps not—but he has grieved over what he feels was a wrong. So I asked him for something for a very selfish reason. I want a whole man, not one who’s eating himself alive over guilt.”

Rommey looked puzzled. He shook his head, saying, “I don’t understand.”

“Why, I asked him for your freedom, Captain—and he agreed.”

Both men stared at her. “But he can’t do that!” Rommey exclaimed. “He has no authority!”

“But he’s not English! He’s an American!”

“What difference does that make?”

“You English have traditions that are hundreds of years old,” she answered simply. “There’s a rule for everything. But
in America, why, we’re
making
our traditions right now. So, Paul has said that both of you can go free.”

“Well, not
quite
free,” Paul broke in quickly. “I want your paroles—that you’ll not serve against America again.”

Burns replied instantly, “That’s very generous, Captain.” He gave a half-sour look at his superior and remarked, “Now that the French have broken the blockade, there won’t
be
any action against America in a short time.”

Rommey nodded slowly. He walked to the rail, stared out at the coast line, saying nothing for a long time. A gull was crying in the wind, and the sails flapped in the brisk breeze.

Finally he turned and there was relief on his stern face. “Mr. Burns is right. You have won.” Then he went to Charity and reached for her hands. “You are a lovely woman—and Mr. Paul Winslow will have his hands full with you. But I am in your debt.” He looked up at the sails, then shook his head with a light of gratitude in his eyes. “Miss Alden—this is a very fine ship. But to me
you
will always be the gallant lady!”

He stepped back, and Angus took her hands. “It’s a bonny girl ye are! And that man is nae deservin’ o’ ye.” The haggis seemed to have thickened the burr of his speech, and there was a fond light in his eyes as he took Paul’s hand. “I’m not going to over-thank you, Paul.”

“I hope not. It was Charity’s gift.”

“I beg to differ.” Angus Burns lifted his head and said, “It was God’s will! As ye should nae be forgettin’, Mr. Paul Winslow!”

“I’ll remember, Angus.”

Burns shook his head and looked at them, a canny light in his eyes. “The trouble the guid Lord went to—just to make America free! Every man carryin’ a musket, and here He has to knock you on the head and have the British make a fine officer out o’ ye—so that ye can save the day for Washington!” He lifted his hands and exclaimed, “Marvelous are His ways—but the guid Lord has found a strong man of war in ye, Paul Winslow. God bless ye both!”

They got into a small boat that Winslow had made available to put them on board a British ship anchored off shore, and Angus shouted as the boat moved away from
The Gallant Lady:
“It was God’s will! Remember!”

The two of them watched until the small craft was out of sight, and then Charity questioned him anxiously, “Paul, will you be in trouble? for letting prisoners go, I mean?”

“A fine time you picked to think of that!”

“You won’t be. Adam will tell His Excellency, and that will fix it.”

He stared at her and shook his head. “It’s a good thing you’re such a beauty! At least I’ll have something to look at when I get home after all the trouble you’re going to get me into.”

She smiled and asked demurely, “Am I beautiful? You must tell me more often—every day!”

“I’ll be too busy winning the war!”

“Will it last long?” she wondered.

“There’s no way for England to win now.” He put his arm around her and they looked at the shore. “It took a French Navy to pull the English out—but our country is going to be all right. And we won’t be just a loose collection of colonies. One nation will arise, Charity. And our children will be
Americans
—not Englishmen!”

She lifted her face to gaze at him, her eyes shining. “And we’ll be a part of it? Together?”

“Together, Charity—on the Lord’s side,” he murmured, kissing her softly. Then they turned and looked again at the land—at America that was to come.

GILBERT MORRIS spent ten years as a pastor before becoming Professor of English at Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. A prolific writer, he has had over 25 scholarly articles and 200 poems published in various periodicals, and over the past years has had more than 180 novels published. His family includes three grown children. He and his wife live in Gulf Shores, Alabama.