Tender Fortune Read online

  "Yes, Father," she agreed meekly. Perhaps it would be better to put something on first. She was hungry and wondered if it would be bad manners to ask for something to eat. She couldn't remember when her last meal had been. She ducked below and rummaged in the sea chest, then let out a gasp of pleasure.

  It was no dress but a gown! A gown as fine as any queen had ever hoped to spread upon her back! All lavender and lace with a shift of angel down as white as a cloud! Trembling, Charity slipped the precious clothing over her body. Other than being a little tight across the bodice, it fit as though it had been stitched for her. She had never imagined such a gown, let alone touched one.

  "Don't forget the drawers," Father Brady called.

  Charity flushed crimson, fumbling; for the dainty under-things and pulling them on. He needn't have embarrassed her! She knew enough to wear drawers! She fingered a pair of white kid slippers and fine stockings, then decided against them. The owner would be furious enough about her dress being worn. What was a priest doing with such clothing? Holding the skirt up carefully from the deck, she stepped up through the hatchway.

  "Holy Mary," he said softly, then got up to offer her his hand and lead her forward to the bow. "Yer a sight, child."

  "Thank you, Father. I could find no petticoats..." She stopped, blushing. "I mean... I..."

  "The Lord provides, child. But I doubt if he worries about such frivolity as ladies' petticoats." He offered her a steaming cup of tea. "Sit yerself down and tell me yer troubles."

  "Whose gown am I wearing? 'Tis lovely enough to belong to the queen herself." Charity sipped at the tea. It was sweet and tasted heavenly. "How did it get on your boat?"

  "The sparrows of the field do not question... neither should you. 'Twas meant fer the niece of the governor of Virginia. But she'll not need it now. Keep it and welcome." He unwrapped a length of clean cloth and handed Charity bread and cheese. "We'll eat light this morning."

  "Do you mean it, Father? I'm to keep this beautiful thing?" Her eyes glowed as she stuffed the food into her mouth. "I can't thank you enough," she mumbled.

  "She had a face like a dried plum," he admitted wryly.

  "What?" Charity swallowed the last of the bread and wiped hastily at the crumbs on the front of her gown. "Forgive me, Father, I've not eaten food as good as that since I sat at my mam's table."

  Father Brady settled down on his haunches, the broad brim of his shapeless felt hat shading his eyes from the morning brightness. The lined face was compassionate, the cinnamon-brown eyes behind the spectacles kind and intelligent. "Now tell me of yer troubles, child. There's none here but the gulls and God to hear."

  "I'll start with my name... though I do feel funny to be giving my confession all bare-like."

  Father Brady chuckled and poured himself another cup of tea. "But not as bare as ye were, child, Go on wi' it."

  "Well, I'm Charity Brown, at least that's what I'm called. My mam says it's a charity to say so. She married Master Brown. He has a fine tavern at the corner of—" She broke off. "Could I have that last bit of bread if you're not going to finish it? I'm past famished!" He handed over the end of the loaf and she took a bite and chewed it eagerly." 'Tis fine bread they make in the Colonies. I thought I'd be living on roots and berries like the savages. Have you ever seen a red savage, Father?"

  "A few. They're mostly peaceable on the Tidewater. Go on."

  "Well, my trouble's my own. My mam always said my face was my fortune, but I can tell you, so far it's been a heavy cross to bear."

  "I find no fault with your face, child, praise God." His lips twitched in amusement.

  "You needn't laugh. It's no easy thing for a girl in my place, I can tell you! Every jack that came into my stepfather's tavern was looking to catch a feel. I'm a good girl, I am, no matter what some might think. And I'm not ashamed of Mam, not a bit of it." She glared at him as if to defy contradiction.

  "Honor thy father and thy mother," Father Brady murmured piously.

  "Prettier'n me, she was too, until she started to lose her teeth!" Charity took a breath and finished off the bread."'Twas a tanner that caused all the trouble, and not a full tanner neither, a journeyman he was. Come into the tavern drunk as a lord. Begging your pardon, Father. But the bastard was no gentleman, he wasn't. He tore my best dress and was fumbling for my..." She flushed crimson and looked away. "Well, I grabbed a poker and gave him a good thump on the head to teach him some manners! 'Tweren't my fault, you see. How was I to know his skull would cave in like that? I never knew a tanner to have such a soft head."

  "And the man died?" Father Brady's voice was curiously distorted.

  "Dead as a coffin nail." She frowned. "I prayed for his soul, of course. But it was more his fault than mine, you can see that, can't you?" Charity held out her cup for more tea. "Is that sugar in the tea? It really strengthens a body, certain." She settled back and sniffed the heady brew. "Ummm, good. Thank you, Father. Well, when I went before the judge, he didn't believe a word I said. Just looked me up and down and said, 'No wench that looks like you could possibly be a virgin!'"

  Father Brady choked on his tea, spraying a mouthful into the fire, and doubled over in spasms of coughing. Charity slapped his back sharply.

  "Are you all right?"

  He cleared his throat and made a croaking sound of affirmation, then took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. "'Tis nothing, I'll be fine. An old illness, nothing more."

  "I'll not be laughed at by my own confessor!" she threatened. "You'd not think it funny if you were in my shoes, I can tell you." Charity folded her arms over her chest and continued. "Being I couldn't be what I said, then I couldn't have been defendin' meself. The old bastard sentenced me to transportation for murder."

  "So you're an escaped bond servant?"

  "I am not! I'm Charity Brown, and I'm going to be a lady!"

  Brady regarded her closely as she explained her plans to pass herself off as a woman of quality. God's teeth! In or out of that gown, she was a real beauty! The heart-shaped face without a single scar or blemish, the even white teeth, the tiny waist and full high bosom... She could have graced the courts of Europe. Only her low speech gave her away. He wondered if she were the by-blow of some nobleman. She had the pluck and determination of one born to the aristocracy.

  "So if you could see your way through to give me a bit of help, Father..." Charity frowned. "Are you listening?"

  "To every word." He cleared his throat. "If I understand you correctly, yer asking me, a man of God, to aid in this deception. You want me to help pass you as quality so you can land a rich husband."

  Charity squirmed. It sounded worse when he said it. She dropped to her knees and held out her hands. "I'd do any penance you give me. I don't mean to cheat or steal. I'd be a good wife, a nurse and companion to some old man. An' he don't have to be rich, least not too rich; a country squire would do just fine. I want my babes to have fresh milk and all they can eat, without dodging slops in the street. I'm a good girl, an' I'd be a good wife," she promised.

  "None of that now," Father Brady grumbled. "Get up off yer knees. Ye look foolish. I'll admit I hate to send you back to be punished fer runnin' away, but wouldn't a farmer do just as well?"

  "No, he wouldn't! First time the cows took sick or the rain took the wheat, me and mine would be hurtin'. A man's luck sours, he begins to knock his wife and kids around. Me face is all I got, Father. I'd sooner take my chances with a man what's got enough set aside fer a rainy day." She settled to the deck and spread the lavender skirt around her. "I could use your help, but I'll do it with or without you."

  "And if they catch ye?"

  "I'll run away again, and again... till I get free or they hang me." Her gray-green eyes were hard. "'Twould be an act of Christian charity to help me." Her dimple quivered and she grinned impishly. "My death will be on your conscience."

  He sighed. "Ye leave me little choice, child. Fer the good of yer soul and mine..."

  Charit
y swallowed hard.

  "I'll take ye to a friend of mine. She's a great lady. Ye can tell her yer tale. Whether she'll believe it or no, I cannot say. But if she decides to help, I could leave ye in no better hands."

  "Oh, thank you, Father. I'll say a hundred Hail Marys for me sins."

  "That ye will, me girl. One hundred Hail Marys on your knees, and another hundred Our Fathers fer the soul of that poor tanner you pokered," he added sternly.

  "My knees will be raw!" she protested.

  "You've had me best offer. Take it or leave it." Squaring her shoulders, Charity thrust out a hand. "It's a bargain," she said. "Though I'll wager my prayers will not, move the lecher a step out of hell!"

  Chapter 2

  Charity lay on her stomach in the bow of the sloop, chin propped on her hands, lazily watching a mother wild duck and her five ducklings. Father Brady had been gone since dusk the day before. He'd forbidden her to leave the sloop; so far, Charity had obeyed.

  Overhead, the sky was a glorious azure laced with spun sugar clouds. Charity had never imagined such a sky, or such quiet. She'd spent her entire life surrounded by people. London was a pandemonium of sound; people shouting, dogs barking, horse-drawn wagons creaking along. Until the past two nights, had she ever slept without the ever-present lullaby of babies crying? Even on the ship there'd been wailing infants... Here there was nothing but the lap of waves, a sighing of wind through the trees, and a song of chirping frogs.

  The silence could have been terrifying, but it wasn't. It was part of her rebirth, a symbol of her newfound freedom. A country woman would be used to frogs and buzzing insects. A squire's wife would expect to have her rest undisturbed by drunken revels. Charity the Lady would not only adjust to the quiet, she would learn to love it... if it killed her!

  What she wasn't prepared to love was boredom. There was nothing to do on the sloop, no one to talk to. What if he never returned? What then? What if Father Brady had deceived her, if he had gone to summon the authorities? She rolled over onto her back and watched an osprey circling far overhead. What if...? The what ifs were driving her crazy.

  She stood up and began to undo the buttons on the dress. If she didn't do something, she'd lose her mind. Pulling the gown over her head, and then the shift, she dove into the water. It felt warmer than the bay. Opening her eyes under water, she swam down until she could touch the clean, sandy bottom. Slowly she rose to the surface and swam around the sloop. Something brushed against her knee and she stifled a cry of surprise. Quickly she scrambled back up the rope onto the deck. Whatever it was, it wasn't getting a second chance at her!

  Charity knelt and wrung out her heavy mane of hair, running her fingers through it and letting the soft breeze dry it. Her arms were beginning to show the effects of wind and water. Still damp, she put on her clothes. It wouldn't do to sunburn, at least not her tender parts. She wished she had something other than the lavender gown to put on. It would be ruined. Such fabric was never meant to be worn on an open boat.

  A shout from the woods whirled her around. Bushes parted and Father Brady's hat pushed through. He waved and called her name. She waved back. "Stay there! I'll be right out," he yelled.

  He pulled a small wooden boat from the reeds and began to row toward her. Charity's eyes flicked the woods line for some sign of life. Nothing moved. Perhaps he had been telling the truth. Surely, if he'd brought the sheriff, there'd be no need for him to hide in the trees. She clearly had nowhere to run.

  Father Brady grinned and pulled at the oars. For an old man, he had strength aplenty in his arms. Charity's doubts melted away. Strange priest he might be, but he'd proven himself a true friend!

  "Did ye think I'd forgotten ye, now?" he teased, bringing the dory alongside the sloop. He looped a trailing line fast and scrambled aboard spryly. "I had to find us transportation."

  Charity blushed prettily. "I didn't think you'd forgotten me. But I did wonder if you'd gone for the watch. I'm not used to doin' nothing for such a stretch."

  His eyes took in the still damp hair. "If yer to be a lady, Charity Brown, ye'll have to be keepin' yer clothes on."

  "There was none here but the ducks to see!"

  "Perhaps, perhaps. But ye don't know that fer certain. Suppose there were redmen in the forest?" He adjusted the spectacles on his nose. "They've been known to kidnap women and children. They carry them off and adopt them into the tribe. A fine savage squaw ye'd make!"

  She eyed the trees nervously. "Are we in danger then?"

  "Have ye ever been out of it?" He laughed and motioned toward the bobbing dory. "Come now, time's awastin'. I've horses waitin' beyond the trees. I'll be takin' ye to me friend's plantation. I've more to do with me time than to nursemaid a sassy girl, ye know."

  Charity was strangely silent as Father Brady rowed toward land. Horses, he'd said. Surely he didn't expect her to ride one of the great smelly beasts. She'd been nearly stomped by a runaway team when she was little. They'd terrified her ever since, always tossing their heads and showing huge yellow teeth. She shuddered at the thought, and prayed for a wagon at least.

  Stickers tore at her hair and stockings as they pushed through the thick undergrowth. The thin kid slippers he'd insisted she wear were small protection against the sticks and briars.

  An explosion under her feet brought a cry as Charity fell backward into a pile of leaves. A half-dozen shapes flapped upward. "Oh!" Her heart was beating hard enough to burst through the walls of her chest.

  Father Brady laughed." 'Twas only a covey of quail. Harmless little birds."

  "Birds!" She swore a round oath. "Birds did that?" She picked herself up stiffly and pulled a sticker out of her hair. "I don't find it a bit funny."

  "If there were any Indians nearby, ye'd bring them down on us with yer screechin' " he muttered. "Don't be such a ninny."

  Angrily she trudged after him. She'd not scream again if she were chopped to pieces by a red savage! Damn these briars. What had ever made her think she wanted to wed a country squire? Why not a civilized cloth merchant?

  The oaks towered over her, shutting out the blue sky with their canopy of green. Things rustled in the leaves and scurried away. Charity clenched her teeth and kept walking, wishing Father Brady would at least slow down. Even with his limp, he was far ahead of her.

  He stopped by a tree that looked like every other tree they had passed and knelt to brush away some leaves, revealing a rifle. Without explanation, he slung it over one shoulder and continued on his way.

  Charity hurried to catch up. "Why do you need a gun, Father? Isn't it forbidden for a man of the church to carry one?" she demanded.

  "This is America. There are times and places... Well, let us say that all men are not the Christians they should be." He glared over his shoulder at her. "If you must talk, mind yer speech. You'll fool no one if ye sound like a fishmonger's wife."

  "I don't neither!"

  The trees parted abruptly, and they entered a small clearing. A horse whinnied. To Charity's horror there was no wagon, just two horses, one brown, one gray. Both wore saddles.

  "From here we ride," Father Brady said. "It's a good piece to Widow's Endeavor. That's Lady Deale's plantation."

  "I can't ride," Charity whispered, staring at the horses.

  "Nonsense. I couldn't find a sidesaddle. Riding astride is not much different. Just safer. You take the bay; she's gentle enough." He began to untie the reins from a sapling. "I'll help you to mount."

  Charity shook her head and backed away. The animal was staring at her with fiendish eyes. "I can't," she protested. "It's too big."

  "Well I could hardly bring a carriage through the forest, could I?" Seizing her about the waist, Father Brady set her on the saddle and put the leather reins in her shaking hands. "Put yer feet into the stirrup irons. Haven't you ever ridden before?"

  "No," she choked. The ground looked very far away. The horse's ears twitched, and then pressed back nastily against her head. "I don't know what to do!"
/>   "Simple." Father Brady swung up on the gray. "Pull on the left rein to go left, on the right to go right, and both to stop. Not now, stupid! She isn't moving."

  But it was! The horse was going backward. Charity stood in the stirrups and pulled back firmly. "Stop. Stop, I say!" The horse kept backing until it came to rest against a large tree.

  "For the love of Mary! How did I find myself with such a fool!" He brought the gray close to the bay's head and seized the bridle. "Forward, Charity! We want to go forward. Don't do anything. Just follow me. Yer horse will follow mine. Just sit there and don't fall off."

  Red-faced with fright and shame, Charity dropped the reins. "Like this?"

  Brady swore. "No, you little idiot! Hold the reins, loosely. Let go of the saddle. Back straight, that's it. Get yer balance. Now, we're going to go ahead, at a walk. Think you can manage that?"

  "Well, you needn't yell at me!" Charity held her breath as the horse took first one step and then another. She grabbed a handful of mane and held on.

  They crossed the clearing and entered the forest, following a faint trail. Brady guided his horse around an overhanging limb. Charity started to protest as the bay walked under it. Then the ground knocked all the wind out of her. The horse walked calmly on, unconcerned at the loss of her rider.

  "Father!" She scrambled up and ran after them. "Father, wait!"

  His abuse brought tears to her eyes. Her backside ached and she knew she'd be black and blue for a week. Worse, the beautiful dress was ripped. "You're a wicked, cruel man," she shouted. "There's no mercy in you! I'd sooner go to hell if you're an example of a good Christian. And I'll walk to Widow's Endeavor before I'll give that witch-spawned beast another chance to murder me."

  "You'll get yer little backside back on that mare right now, or I'll leave you here," Father Brady snapped. "I've enough of yer woman's mischief and enough of yer sharp tongue fer one day! You'll learn to ride that horse, or be content to scrub tavern floors the rest of yer life like the common slut ye are! A lady in the Tidewater country is a horsewoman."