Chapter 22
Castle
Island, Boston
July
1774
He’d
stopped vomiting in rough seas. He preferred calm seas, but the ship had been
stationary twice, if stationary were possible on water. Not a puff of wind
moved the sail. If James liked the lack of movement, it postponed arriving in
Boston, ending what he was thinking of as a nightmare.
On
days he could not fall asleep due to the noise from people cleaning the ship,
fixing whatever needed to be fixing, stomping around on the deck above the
sleeping hammocks, he wondered if he would be in the colonies forever. The
longer he was on the water the more he couldn’t imagine submitting to a second voyage,
even one taking him back to England.
“Three
years, three years, three years, that’s all I’ve committed to,” he chanted to
himself as he kneaded the bread each day. “One year gone, one year gone, one
year gone.” He massaged the memory of having been told at the end of his
three-year commitment, he could leave. Since joining, he’d heard rumors that some
soldiers, who returned to civilian life, stayed in Boston. They might be given
a piece of land to farm. He’d heard other rumors that land was cheap in New
England and the further from the city, the cheaper the land. He didn’t know
which rumors to believe — if any.
He
preferred being a soldier to his life in Ely. He would use this period to
decide what to do with the rest of his life. He didn’t want to be a farmer. It
was enough that back home they had a small plot of land for vegetables, a few
chickens, a cow. It met most of their needs.
Maybe
he could open his own bakery in Boston. Save his pay to finance it. The thought
amused him. He’d joined the regiment to escape the life of a baker, and he
might end up as a baker to escape the regiment. Yet he could run the bakery the
way he wanted.
Maybe
Boston had more bakeries than they needed. Maybe one of the nearby villages
would need a bakery. It wasn’t going to worry him until he’d could check the
place out.
He
worried about the locals over there. There was a lot of jabber about how some
of the colonists wouldn’t obey English laws and fought every tax the King
demanded. As his commanding officer said in one of their regular information
lessons, how the hell did they expect the King to pay for their protection. The
locals were also described as being people who would as soon cheat a soldier as
breathe.
“All
of them?” James had asked.
“Most,”
the commander had said.
James
fell asleep wondering if there would be enough flour to last until they reached
land. When he woke, something felt strange. He realized the boat wasn’t moving.
“Shit, becalmed again.”
But
then he heard people running and hollering.
Climbing up on deck, he saw an island with a long gray stone building. They must be at their destination, Castle Island just off the Boston coast.
Chapter 23
Argelès-sur-mer,
France-Geneva, Switzerland
May
WE DROVE FROM Argelès-sur-mer, France to Geneva, Switzerland yesterday, a normal six-to- eight-hour trip. It took 10 hours, which meant it was too late to even turn on the computer to write when we arrived and finished settling in.
We did some sightseeing along the way.
My husband knew I wanted to see the oldest house in France, La Maison de Jeanne,
in Sévèrac-le-Château, so he made it possible. More than once, he has pandered
happily to my love of history and all things historic.
He hates to be a passenger, so he
drives the entire route. This lets me sleep, think or write in my head on these
trips when we are not chatting or listening to music.
This trip it is as if Daphne is in the
back seat along with my teddy bear decorated suitcase and Sherlock, our dog.
She is trying to communicate with me. She wants to talk about Gareth, her
husband, and chides me for not developing her part in the novel sooner.
She has a point. My research was paying
off and I was writing almost non-stop about James’ training and transfer to
Boston. I need to listen to her.
She decries her situation as an accompanying
wife. No matter whether overseas postings are diplomatic or corporate, these
women must find something to occupy themselves. I’ve met so many of them in
Geneva who had careers in their home countries and now have no professional
outlet; they are at odds and ends.
They have two reactions. One group does
nothing and is miserable. Another uses the time to develop a new way of living
professionally, artistically, physically or emotionally. I want Daphne to fall
in the latter group.
Daphne knows as a diplomatic wife she can’t
work in the United States unless some company gets her a work visa. Even then,
as a historian not in academia, jobs would be rare … more so because she lacks a
Ph.D.
As a diplomatic wife, she is expected
to attend some receptions, dinners and events, but they are not frequent enough
to fill her days.
Gareth is sending her mixed messages.
She shouldn’t work to be ready for whatever diplomatic function happens. Although
he may be overworked and understaffed, he won’t let her fill in at the
consulate until they can hire more people to fill the gap.
Daphne is a newlywed. She married
Gareth before she really knew whom he was. She did not see or want to see the
controlling side of him; that would add to her frustration.
Now I need to create both a situation
where Daphne can find something meaningful to do as well as show the weakness
of her marriage. At the same time, whatever I create needs to be related do
James’s story, at least indirectly.
As we continue on the route to Geneva,
both Daphne and I fall asleep. Tomorrow I will start to write.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment