Page 68 of Unlikely Heroes
Meridee watched her face and saw all the anxiety and the mother’s longing. She thought of her little Ben, secure in his admittedly strange world, being raised by parents who understood him. Here she sat with two people who had no such security. She smiled at her husband, who was watching his grandmother. She knew he would look her way, because he knew when people focused on him. Here it came. He turned in her direction. She put her finger to her lips and touched his cheek.
Able leaned back then, relaxing. “Sheisburied in the pauper’s cemetery. When I earned my first prize money in the fleet, I returned to Dumfries and replaced the wooden grave marker with a right proper granite one. All it says is ‘Mary, Number 134,’ because that was all I knew.”
Mrs. Munro made a masterful attempt to control her emotions and succeeded. “D’ye think there is room to add her full name, and the…the dates?”
“There is.” Able took her hand. “When this current national crisis ends and I am released from the fleet, you and I can travel to Dumfries and do what you would like, be it removal to another place, or a different gravestone altogether.”
“We will keep your headstone, no matter what we decide about location,” Mrs. Munro said decisively. “You have tended her well.”
Chapter Thirty
Able returned to the house on Jasper Street three more times, once by himself, once with Meri and Ben, and another time with his father. During his solitary visit, he took his grandmother to the Gunwharf, where theMercurywas snugged to the dock. He had left Smitty in charge to see to the lading of victuals and naval stores. Smitty gave her a dignified smile – not for him the overwhelming enthusiasm of Tots or Whitticombe – and returned to his work.
“He’s as fine a sailing master-in-training as I could hope for,” Able told her. “Care to go aboard?”
She did, so he handed her in to Smitty and followed. She wanted to see the whole yacht, so he assigned Tots, who did the honors, while he chatted with Smitty.
“Is she shipshape and ready to sail?”
“Aye, sir,” Smitty replied. Able heard all his pride in two sparse words, and it warmed his heart. To his surprise, Smitty said more. “Is she your grandmother?”
“Aye, she is, and a fine lady,” Able said. “She’s been telling me about my mother.”
“Could you bring her to dinner, Master Six?”
“I can and I will,” he said, pleased, and took a chance. “I believe I will send you in Lady St. Anthony’s carriage to fetch her. Would you like to do that?”
Smitty’s normally stoic expression changed. He swallowed and looked away. Touched to his core, Able watch the muscles work in the lad’s face, and took another chance. “Did you know your grandmama on your mother’s side?”
Smitty nodded. “I did. I liked her,” he said. “I’ll take good care of Mrs. Munro, when I fetch her.”
“I know you will.” Able returned to business, knowing better than to prod Smitty. “Back to your onerous task, Mr. Smith,” he said, when Tots returned Mrs. Munro to the deck. “I used to nearly fall down with boredom reading through bills of lading. Be grateful this is not a frigate with pages and pages of dried cod, beans and misallocated nails to account for. TheMercury’s allocation shouldn’t turn you surly and mean.”
Smitty laughed out loud, which caused Tots to gape, his mouth open. Able frowned at him, and Tots looked away. Mrs. Munro watched the whole business with a smile of her own. Able could tell she liked the Rats.
Able spent two afternoons observing Mr. Ferrier at work in his seamanship class. He had been in awe of the quiet sailing master’s skills for years. No one knew the running of a warship better than Mr. Ferrier, and for a man with no children of his own, he had a sure touch with the young and vulnerable.
Mr. Ferrier returned the favor. They stood at the stone basin, watching the little scamps practice their sextant readings on the HMSFloaty, and the stacking and arranging of smaller kegs and crates aboard HMSFloaty Boaty. “You’ve trained them well, Able,” he said, his hands behind his back, tapping his foot to some internal rhythm, never raising his voice, as Able remembered from his conduct at sea. “It’s made my work here so simple. For that I thank you.”
“They’re happy to please, so my task was easier than you would suppose,” Able said as calmly as he could, when he really wanted to wriggle like a pup at his old sailing master’s compliment. Mr. Ferrier had that effect on seamen, be they ordinary, able-bodied, or genius. He angled to another subject that Grace St. Anthony had broached only the night before. “Grace tells me you have been of real help to her brother, Headmaster Croker. For that, I thankyou.”
“She tells me he has not been quite himself, after an earlier illness. He’s even shaky with a cane, or so I have noticed. I have the time to help, and the ability to keep him in my sights, since I am living here at St. Brendan’s.” Mr. Ferrier shook his head. “But oh, that butler. Can we not sedate him with laudanum and toss him aboard a ship bound for the Orient?”
Able laughed, recalling rumors of such a remedy aboard a frigate involving a purser. Mr. Ferrier always denied the rumors, but Able knew he was capable of it. “I fear not. Thaddeus seems adamant about allowing Atilla the Butler to continue his reign of terror.”
They walked along the stone basin after Mr. Ferrier had the Rats snub their little vessels to iron rings and restore order, before hurrying across the street for dinner. Able remembered such stone basin walks with James McGregor, at last report sailing somewhere in the Pacific. He relished the shared experiences that had changed their roles to master and almost-master, from master to student. He felt it now with Mr. Ferrier.
“Headmaster Croker has hinted that I stay on here at St. Brendan’s even after you return to classroom duties,” Mr. Ferrier said as they strolled. “He says there is much need for more instruction and you can’t do it all.”
“I hope you will consider it seriously, sir,” Able said, pleased at the notion.
“Why not? Retirement has no particular allure for me. If I had a growing family like yours, that might be different, but I was never so blessed.”
Blessed was the right word. After dinner, Able spent his evenings with Meridee and Ben in the sitting room, usually occupied by a Rat or two, especially the tender ones who gravitated to Meridee’s kindness and felt the need for a mum of their own. Beyond Smitty, Thaddeus had never assigned any more St. Brendan lads to live there. The Six home had become a welcome refuge for the headmaster’s sister Grace, and her infant, and the Six family was expanding. With Meridee’s approval, Thaddeus gave all his students the nod to take turns crossing the street to an actual home, something unfamiliar to most boys. Even if it was merely doing their homework in the Six’s dining room, it was more than everything to the Rats.
Able’s favorite moments were spent with Ben close by, reading out loud to each other, as his father watched. Meridee was never more than a glance away, mending or knitting, but more and more sitting there, eyes closed, her hands on her belly, following some internal rhythm. She said it was too soon to feel the baby moving, so he marveled all the more at her rapport with their unseen child.
When everyone slept, he could devote himself to his wife, sometimes doing nothing more than rubbing her feet, or enjoying the way she massaged his head and told him what had happened today in her world of sunken souffles, calming Pegeen when the scullery maid had her first monthly, or going to market with the redoubtable Mrs. Perry. He suspected Meri had no idea how soothing her voice was.
