Page 64 of Unlikely Heroes
“That cursed Treaty of Amiens between France and England sent a lot of good men home from sea on half pay,” she said. “Able was one of them.” She wiped cream off her son’s face. “Thank goodness for that, Ben, or you wouldn’t be here.”
In halting English, shepherded occasionally by Ben, the Count of Quintanar told them about his family estate, located north of Granada. He told of orange groves and fighting bulls, and beautiful women with flouncy skirts. Ben’s eyes brightened when the discussion turned topaella, a dish of saffron rice and seafood, that his great-grandfather, hisbisabuelo,enjoyed.
“Next to reading, I believe that eating is Ben’s favorite occupation,” Meridee said.
“What about his father?” Mrs. Munro wanted to know. “Is he a gourmand like his son?”
Meridee had to be honest, but she could be gentle about it. “Able is somewhat indifferent to good or bad food, Mrs. Munro. Sometimes I think it is all the same to him.” Let them surmise that years of grey meals of workhouse porridge, followed by occasional times of starvation at sea and in a French prison made Able happy to eat nearly anything, no matter how unappealing. But how sad Mrs. Munro looked! “He does love lemon curd on toast,” Meridee amended hastily. She rosied up, remembering the time he had dabbed lemon curd on her neck and licked it away. Able’s grandmama didn’t need to know that.
TheMercurypulled into Portsmouth harbor after dinner four days later, as full dark settled over the city. Mrs. Perry had brought out the trifle, with the last strawberries anyone could find in the market and the aforementioned lemon curd between the spongy layers. The occasion was the count’s birthday, which meant the addition of Headmaster Thaddeus Croker, and Mr. Ferrier, of course.
Ben had his father’s way of hearing things before anyone else did. “Someone is here,” he said, alert because Meridee had been promising him his father. “Any moment they will knock, unless it’s Papa.”
No one knocked. The door opened and Ben leaped up from the table. Meridee followed him in time to see her husband grab up his boy, tuck him close and plant a kiss on what remained of potatoes and gravy on his cheek. “Ben boy, you’re tasty,” he said, then eyed Meridee. “I’ll wager your mama is tastier.”
“No, Papa. Her face is clean,” Ben said, which made Able give her a slow wink.
He set Ben down and reached for Meridee. “I miss you more every day I am gone,” he told her after a long kiss.
“Able, we found your grandmama,” she said, when she could.
He hugged her even tighter. “I’m sure there is a good story with it,” he said before he kissed her again. “How far away is she?”
“Four doors down from Sir B’s house on Jasper Road.”
He stared at her. “You’re serious?”
“Entirely. My goodness, your Rats will think we have no manners.”
Smitty and Davey Ten stood in the doorway, grinning at their sailing master and Mam tangled up in each other. They were grimy but Ben didn’t care, holding up his arms for Tots, who had followed behind. Meridee let go of her husband and admired her boys.Why are they growing up so fast?she thought, with some chagrin. At least Avon March still seemed like the child he was, until she looked closer into his old-too-early-eyes, the eyes of war or of the workhouse.
“I’m so happy to see you back,” she told them. “There is plenty of food, but I want you to bathe before you sit at my table. I suggest across the street, where the bathing accommodations can handle the lot of you. Hurry back when you are done.”
The boys darted out the door. She smiled to hear them yelling, “Gunwharf Rats! Ho, theMercury!” as they ran across the street to St. Brendan’s. They had never exhibited such exuberance when they first arrived at St. Brendan’s, cowed and defeated.
“I’m hoping you will let me dunk myself in the washroom here,” Able asked. His arm went around her waist. “Care to join me? We know the door has a good lock.”
“It does,” she agreed. The hall was empty, Ben having returned to the trifle in the dining room. This was as good a time as any, considering the general chaos when the Rats were in residence. “Not this time.” She put her arms around his neck. “Mrs. Petty is going to have to light the kitchen fire again so we can feed the mob.”
“She doesn’t need you for that. She has Pegeen now.”
“No, she doesn’t need me, but we have guests.” She kissed him. “I have a small piece of news for you, dear man. Bend down a bit.” She whispered in his ear. He held her closer.
“I’ve been throwing up, my bodices are too tight, and I can’t stay awake long in the evenings.”
“And you’re happy about it.”
“I am.” She leaned her forehead against his chest. His uniform smelled of brine and tar, which didn’t help her unruly stomach. “Dear me. I shouldn’t sniff your uniform until I can tolerate strong odors.”
He laughed. “I’ll wash. I know you like what’s underneath. First, how is my father?”
“Go see for yourself,” she nudged him with her hip. “He loves trifle – we’ve had it twice this week, at his request. Ben has been translating for him.”
“That’s our boy.” He took her hand and walked her into the dining room.
The count stood up and embraced him. They spoke in rapid Spanish, laughed, and the count returned to his trifle. Able nodded to the others and took his smelly self through the kitchen.
When everyone had finished and before the next onslaught returned, hopefully clean, Meridee went upstairs to find clean clothes for her man. It was an easy task; he was always tidy. She found an old sweater and comfortable trousers. If the Royal Navy didn’t need theMercuryfor a week or two, she could finish the sweater she was knitting. She knew the Channel would be cold soon, the waves high and boisterous. A man standing the watch needed a good sweater.
