Carter began again to tell the true story of Jonah, complete with annotation, but the other two drifted far off to the recesses of their minds till they were gone entirely. By the end of the tale, Waters lay sleeping in the sunshine, and Chard seemed as if he had not heard a word of the sermon for the stories in his own head.
In such discourse and observation they spent their days and nights, regaling one another with tales of the sea, and it would have been a happy life had such remained their intercourse, tho every paradise has its dangers as surely crawled the serpent in the garden of Adam and Eve. To mark the second anniversary of their departure from England, Mr. Chard and Mr. Waters concocted another batch of their brew, and Mr. Carter made waste to a sea turkle and stewed it in a great vat with the berries and nuts that shewed their heads in early June. A splendid party was thrown, two days and two nights of drink and feast and merrymaking. Even Mr. Carter had his cup. “To the new world,” he cried out on the second evening just before passing out on the strand next to the dozing Mr. Waters, who slept with his head on the dog’s belly. Seeing his boon companions in Morpheus’s snare, Chard roared out to the wide Atlantic. “I’m afire,” he cried. “Imagine, John, hot on a night in June. We aren’t in England anymore.”
She pulled back her long hair and wiped the perspiration from her neck as she watched him strip of all clothes and wade into the surf. “Come, boy, and keep me company. Cool yourself. No need to worry, old Chard won’t bite.” Seeing no consent, he strode from the water and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her across the sand and into the ocean that rose to their knees. The half-moon threw light upon the waves, silvering them in their rise and fall. Palm wine scented his every breath as he whispered to her. “I shall not hurt you, John Long.” He drew her toward him, gathered her hair in his free hand and bared her neck. “I have been too long without company,” he said, and pressed his lips against her nape. She trembled at the strength in his grip and felt him stiffen against her. “No more unnatural with a boy. I am so fond of you—”
“I am no boy,” Jane said, the wine pulsing in her temples. “But a woman hid these two long years.” Taking his hand, she guided him to her secret proof, and a wide grin split his beard in twain.
“Boy, woman, what are thou?” He fondled her and said, “More’s the better, for what we are about to—”
She clamped her mouth against his to stop his words and begin all else.
Thus love in idleness was born, and they kept the matter secret between themselves the next morning and in the weeks to come, sneaking away from the others when they could to enjoy each other’s passion in dark places, and careful when the others were near to put on the weeds of boy and master. At first, Jane thought him Janus-faced and most mercurial but soon came to realize that he was but playacting around Carter and Waters, merely feigning to treat her more severely than heretofore. The gruff commands to clean or cook or fetch were but his way of shewing that nothing passed between them, for he would wink or smile at her the moment their backs were turned. Entwined in a private Eden, he played most sweetly, whispering his love, tracing the curve of her naked hip with the tips of his fingers, cooing as a dove, laying his bushy head upon her breast like a little boy lost. The more Chard plied her with tenderness when alone, the more he bellowed like a tyrant when all gathered, and truth be told, the difference thrilled her and strengthened the bond of their shared confidence.
As surely as every good thing must end, their secret could not last. Thinking themselves most alone and far from their camping grounds, Jane and Edward lay side by side on a sandy strand, bared to the sun, their sport ended and sweet fatigue overtaken them. Eyes closed, she dreamt of their rescue, sailing off to Virginia and marrying Chard to start a family there. But a shadow broke across their forms and startled her with its coolness. Looking up she saw at once it was a man, the sun bursting in a corona behind his head, and she did not know his name until he spoke hers. Waters, out looking for cahows, had chanced upon them. “Is it John?” he asked. “Long John Long?”
She curled to a ball to hide and cover her nakedness. “It is Jane,” she said, “and please sir, I entreat you turn your eye.”
“Do mine own eyes lie? Zounds, a woman, is she? I have not seen a woman so since the whores of Woolwich.” He plucked a shell from the sand and threw it at Chard, striking him on the leg. “And you, Edward, like mine own brother, only more selfish. How long have you kept this to yourself, you mottled dog?”