Page 75 of Unlikely Heroes
Last night’s dinner had been a fitting send-off for theMercury’s crew. Able compared this dinner with the one before that first voyage. He looked at the faces of his crew and saw a maturing in them, even in Avon March, youngest by several years. They had seen firsthand what war could do to ships and men in the battle off Cape Finisterre. It had sobered them, but he saw no fear.
Smitty surprised him by his attention to Mrs. Munro. The widow had been voluble in her praise of Smitty’s lively conversation as he escorted her to the dinner in Grace’s carriage. “He’s a fine boy,” she said, when the fine boy was out of earshot.
Perhaps Smitty wasn’t out of earshot. At her praise, “Fine boy,” Able watched his back straighten as he rejoined the crew. “That he is,” Able answered, making sure Smitty could hear him.
Unlike this cheerful send-off, every trip to sea before now was a solitary entity for Able. He packed his duffel, then usually ate a meal in the best taproom he could afford. Able never considered himself lonely, not with all the interlopers in his brain, but there were times when he watched other officers playing cards or laughing over shared memories with their friends, that he knew he was missing something not even Sir Isaac Newton could supply.
He felt it acutely if he decided to walk through a neighborhood some blocks from the wharf of whatever naval port his ship lay at anchor. He knew it was rag manners to stare into people’s houses, but if curtains were drawn back, and if he heard laughter, he justified a quick glance at fathers and mothers with children around. After a few such solitary walks – at the risk of argument let us call them lonely walks – he didn’t go again.
Here he sat at their last dinner before sailing, Meri close by with Ben in his chair, his father seated at the other end of the table, Mrs. Munro next to the count, and all his other sons – beg pardon, the Rats – crowded together, and look, Grace and Captain Ogilvie close enough that their shoulders were probably touching. (Well, theywereall crammed close together like whelks in a basket.)
He smiled to see improved table manners, and what passed as polite conversation, even though the subject always seemed to be the sea. He didn’t mind; he loved the ocean, too. Be his ship large or small, there was no feeling like the joy of balancing on a deck as the rhythm of waves under the keel traveled from the soles of his shoes through his whole body.
He knew he would be even happier in a few hours when he enjoyed quiet time with Meri. He knew they would talk, laugh, maybe argue a little, tease each other, and make love. He knew he would never be lonely again.
When Meri turned her attention to Ben at the table, Able waited for his spectral busybodies to twit him about his emotions. They were not above amusing themselves at his expense, upon occasion. He waited, but nothing happened. He entertained the heretical notion that perhaps he did not need them as much, if at all. Had they been his champions and buffers when life was bleak? What was the meaning of all this? He took comfort in the knowledge that in this next crossing of the Channel, he might have time to think about the matter during the middle watch when the deck was his.
Dinner over, every subject discussed, Able felt a pang when his father gave his best bow to Mrs. Munro, the lady who would have been the count’s mother-in-law if the world were even slightly fair, then folded her into a gentle embrace. “SeñoraMunro, only think what good times we will have when this stupid war ends and you can be my guest in Spain.”
“I look forward to it…” She hesitated. “Son.”
Completely undone, the count bowed over her hand this time, then made his dignified way upstairs. Able took his turn, his hand in hers, as he and Meri walked her outside where Smitty and the carriage waited.
“I’ll see you in two weeks at the outside,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “My only task is to get my father to Spain. I am certain Meri will take Ben to Jasper Street for visits and crème buns.”
“We will visit,” she said, “crème buns or not. Ben is a grubby little trencherman.”
There it came, the inevitable scroll unwinding to remind Able of his bleak and desperate life at Ben’s age.No, he said to his mind.Stop.I don’t want to see what I ate and how poorly I was treated. I want to see Ben’s pleasure at food, and his delight in his Mama and Papa. Don’t trouble me with all my memories. Not tonight.In fact, how about never again?
To his astonishment, the scroll snapped shut and vanished. When he drew in his breath in surprise, Meri touched his hand, concerned. “No worries,” he whispered. “I am fine.” And he was.
He knew how late it was, and he had noticed Mrs. Munro yawning discreetly in the sitting room. Instead of joining Smitty by the carriage, Mrs. Munro took his hand and Meri’s.
“Yes, you and Ben visit me,” she said. “Grubby or not, Ben is most welcome.” She leaned toward Meri. “I might be inclined to supply crème buns, but that is the prerogative of a great grandmama, something I thought never to be.”
She squeezed their hands. “I do not command anything approaching a huge fortune. Let us say I am comfortable.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I also have no one to leave it to. May I please fix it upon you and your children?”
Trust Meri to say the right thing. “You are a dear to think of us, but we already want for nothing.” The smile she turned on Able could have guided ships at sea. “Able is an excellent provider.”
Bless you, Meri, he thought. “Mrs. Munro, The estimable Sir B who was married to Grace St. Anthony has already deeded our house to Meri,” Able said, after he raised Meri’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “On the event of my death at sea, she is to receive one thousand pounds a year. We are well enough off.”
He knew Mrs. Munro was a tenacious woman. Any lady with the courage to resume her maiden name after the death of her husband and not fret over the social consequences was not someone inclined to hang back. She did not surprise him.
“I should still like to fix five hundred pounds a year on your family,” she said firmly. “You speak of moneyafteryour death. That is well and good, grandson, but I am thinking of the niceties which all of you can enjoy after I am gone, and while you live. Kindly do not argue with me.”
He knew better; he was a Scot, too. “I won’t argue. Yes, do consider us in your will, if you wish.” He couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “Why do I have the feeling that you already have a pen poised over just such a document with your solicitor?”
She joined in his laughter. “As soon as his office opens tomorrow! As one Scot to another, you are wise beyond your years!”
One Scot to another. In that humorous moment, Able knew in his bones that he belonged to this woman whom he should have met years ago, as well as to the wife beside him, their baby she carried, and their boy Ben. To his undying delight, Able Six knew he had become one of the families he used to envy on his lonely walks. The knowledge gave him the confidence to make a request.
“On the other hand, I know something you could do right now that would prove of great benefit to the recipient and this nation,” he said. “Scotland, too.”
“Say on, Able.”
He glanced at Meri, who knew him so well. She mouthed “Davey?” and he returned the slightest nod. “Grandmama, there is a St. Brendan’s lad who has a sure touch with medicine. You met him tonight, Davey Ten.”
“I liked how the others stopped and listened when he spoke,” Mrs. Munro said. “I believe you said he is apprenticed to a pharmacist’s mate at Haslar Hospital.”
