He kissed my head. “You will ruin it, then. Do you not see, Resolute? You must affirm what you have been given to see as truth. That is the lie you must tell. You must act as if a player on a stage. He wants the world at large to believe he is no longer able to command a ship or to fight.”
With that, he drifted into quiet slumber. My hand upon his muscular chest moved up and down with his breathing. I thought upon every word just spoken between us. In the morning, we left without seeing August at all, but before we departed, I placed a note to him upon the desk at the end of the parlor.
Dearest August. May you find your health renewed soon. Perhaps the physicians may have some new cure. At any rate, please visit when you are well enough to travel.—Ever your faithful and true sister, R.
CHAPTER 34
June 22, 1765
I went to work on a gown for the Reveres’ evening with a heavy heart, hoping every moment to hear from August, fearing to learn the worst. A few mornings later, Cullah opened the door to a knock. I was standing behind him, expecting to find August in some new disguise, though I wondered that he had not given his usual birdcall first. A Redcoat soldier stood there, smiling. “Brendan!” we shouted simultaneously. My heart leaped for joy. Oh, so many nights I had lain awake wondering if he yet lived.
Brendan pulled off his hat and hugged us both. He was so tall and regal in his uniform. Gold braid glistened everywhere. He snapped to a salute. “Pa. Ma? I have brought you an even greater surprise. Wait here.”
He returned to the coach and opened the door, helping a young woman from its interior. She in turn looked back and helped a small child down, dusted him off, spoke in his ear, and held his hand as they approached, her arm upon Brendan’s arm. The woman was well dressed. Her bonnet was exquisite. Upon her face, a deep vertical scar over the left eye was covered by an eye patch of white linen upon a cord. The patch had been embroidered with cream-colored silk so that it was more a testament to how she meant to be seen than a testament that she could not see. I liked that about her right away, and I thought of Jacob, remembering what a fright he had appeared when first I met him, his grizzled eye socket unhidden for all the world to gape.
“Mother and Father,” Brendan began. Only then did I catch how clipped and precise his manner of speech had become. “I would like to introduce to you my wife, Rosalyn, and our son. He has turned three years. Quite a little man already. He’s named after the story you used to tell, Ma, about the boy who rescued all the captives from the ship lost at sea. Meet Bertram Willow MacLammond.”
“Madam? Sir?” the woman said, and curtsied most gracefully.
“Oh, la!” I cried. I fell upon the girl with hugs and kissed her cheeks. I cared not at all for scars. Cullah took her hand and bowed over it, and gave her a wisp of a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, oh,” I said again with my arm about her shoulders. “Rosalyn. Rosalyn. Why did you not write us, son, of such fine news?”
“But I did, Mother. I wrote you when I married and again when Rosalyn was ill. Then when Bertie was born. I sent another letter to tell you we were coming to visit. Now that I’m stationed in Boston proper, with all the buildup, you know, I was so excited to come I could not wait.”
“Bertie?” I said, and knelt before the laddie. “Bertie? What a fine name you own. Just like a name I used to know.” I felt such a tug, both joy and pain in my heart. The real Bertram Willow had died on that Saracen ship, in so forlorn a place. Died with my father. In telling my children fanciful stories, I had created of his name a boy full of great feats of seamanship, a heroic Ulysses. It was always one of Brendan’s favorite stories. “Well, Master Bertie,” said I, “I think after a long ride many boys might like pudding with milk on a fine afternoon such as this. What do you say?” I held out my hand to the child.
He took my hand with all the conviction as if he had known me from his birth, and said, “Yes, Mistress. Thank you kindly.”
“Why,” said Cullah with a laugh, “he’s a bonny wee gentleman already.” He smirked and added, “The letters did not get through if you didn’t pay the cursed stamp fees.”
“Come in, come in. We shall have sweets!” I called over my shoulder. “I have made pudding this day for your pa, who is mending after an accident. Follow Master Bertie and me!” I was overjoyed to spread linens on beds for them, using my best and newest.