December 24, 1783—I have missed recording many days, as not much of note has happened. I will try to make up for the loss in this entry. Our progress is finally steady. The days have settled into a predictable, albeit pleasant routine. I always join Uncle John for the noonday meal. The late afternoon is spent in class with Mr. Oliver. His curriculum is limited due to the restrictions and distractions of the ship; however, it does pass the time, and I come away with a bit more knowledge than not each day. Liam and I try to entertain the children on the ship. We found it helps reduce the amount of crying at day’s end and makes the evenings easier for all of us. Often we spend time with the Germans and try to extend our knowledge of the language–as do they.
Yesterday there was a cry of “Sail Ahoy,” and a great commotion among the crew. The ship was the Ceres, on her way to London, carrying troops. The crew speculates she was carrying the last of the British troops from New York. This being an American vessel, that was cause for an extra ration of rum for the seamen.
This evening the children are putting on a play to commemorate the birth of Jesus. Hymns for both adults and children are planned; it will be held betweendecks as the weather is too frigid for most once the sun goes down. Elisabeth will be able to participate as she is to manage the play. I’m glad of that, as I don’t often see her past supper. She avoids me when she’s able.
ELISABETH HURRIED DOWN the ladder into steerage, smiling to find it chaotic as always, loud with laughter and good natured jests. Someone was playing melodies on a harmonica, and one of the MacTavishes was tuning up his fiddle.
“Frohe Weihnachten!” Mrs. Kiefer said as she passed.
“Did you do this, Mrs. Kiefer?” she asked, fingering the decorations strung along the berth. She started to struggle with the German, then settled on English to try to tell her how impressed she was. David came up behind her, rattling off something, and Mrs. Kiefer laughed, embracing her. Hopefully he’d only repeated what she’d been trying to say. It sounded rather long, more than a mere ‘they’re beautiful.’
Politely, she took her leave and continued on toward the children. She made it as far as the next berth before he stepped in front of her, walking backwards so that he could face her as they moved.
“Lisbeth, the wee ones, they all be wanting to know the plan, lass. Liam and I havena a clue.”
“David, good evening, you seem rushed,” she said, struggling to keep her eyes off his face. Her resolve to stay away would falter if she looked directly at him. She’d already made enough of a fool of herself. She blushed as she was reminded once again of her uncharitable remarks regarding Sarah and her father.
And his complete lack of denial. She mustn’t forget that.
“Just anxious to see ye, lass.”
“Lisbeth, at last! Davey and I are ready to go swab the deck or scrub the galley, something a wee bit more relaxing. If we tarry much longer with this bunch we’ll no’ have energy left for caterwauling.” Liam pulled two small boys from around his neck and set them on the floor.
“Lucy, you know all the parts well; didn’t you want to help David and Liam?”
Lucy giggled and hid her face in Elisabeth’s skirts. Surprised at the girl’s uncharacteristic shyness, Elisabeth looked up at David, forgetting her resolution. Faith, but he did make her heart skip a beat, his shoulders so wide and strong, straining against his white linen shirt. Mischief sparked from his warm brown eyes as he grinned at her, and she felt the spark all the way to her toes. That grin transformed his face, the hard lines that usually settled into a solemn mask, erased, as his dimples appeared and took over. Her hand itched to reach up and push back the lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes, separating from the tangle of soft chestnut curls that never seemed to stay put within his cap.
She’d known better than to look.
And Liam, with his impish charm, well, there weren’t many females who could resist taking a second glance there, those piercing blue eyes all the more remarkable against his raven black hair and brows, framed above the fine line of his nose, the high set of his cheekbones.
Mercy, she supposed she knew how little Lucy felt. They made quite a pair, the both of them.
“Well, all right, no matter, Lucy. Let’s let them go off and do boy things. I see Annie now; she’s headed this way. We best get started.” She arranged them in rows according to order of appearance. She felt David behind her, whispering in her ear, asking her to please not disappear after the play. He hadn’t waited for her to say no. She turned to watch them saunter away, rubbing her arms to subdue the goose bumps he’d raised.
They owned their world, those two, no doubt of that—and it wasn’t the same world as hers. She’d do well to remember that.
Annie joined her, looking festive with a garish green cap atop her red curls.
“Where did you find that, Annie?” Elisabeth asked, laughing.
“Oh, and don’t ye like it, love?” She pirouetted on her toes, hand to her head.
“Oh, yes.”
Annie clapped her hands. “Lovely, Lisbeth. Now, where’s my Mary and Joseph?”
“Sean, are you ready?” Elisabeth asked. Sean, the oldest of the bunch, was the master of ceremonies. He nodded, bouncing with excitement.
Elisabeth and Annie stepped to the side and let the children carry on. And so they did, almost flawlessly, with little prompting from Elisabeth. Annie sang to aid in the telling of the story, her beautiful voice resounding around the confines of the hold, and at the end of the play the children received a thundering round of applause.
“Oh, Annie, thank you so much. You made it so much easier for them,” Elisabeth said.
“I enjoyed it just as much as they did, Lisbeth. Your lad’s headed this way. Merry Christmas, love. Say hello to your father for me now.”
Her lad? Was she referring to David? How was it possible the gossipmongers weren’t up to date? Certainly, if anyone’s, he was ‘Sarah’s lad’.
“That was wonderful, Elisabeth,” Mr. Oliver said. “I know first-hand what a difficult task you set up for yourself, and you made it look easy. That’s a talent you can be proud of.”
“Oh, but I love it, Mr. Oliver. If you had told me six months ago that I could have arranged this, well, I’m not sure I’d have believed you.”
“Now, you’re not leaving, are you? There’s a long evening ahead, I’m hoping you can share in a wee part of it.”
“No, she’s not leaving as yet, are ye, lass?” David said, appearing at her side. “Your play was wonderful, Elisabeth.”
“Thank you, David. I wasn’t sure you saw it.”
“Every minute of it. Now come eat. Liam’s got a plate ready for ye, Mr. O.”
She supposed it couldn’t hurt. The women had put together such a festive spread. She didn’t know much about preparing meals, but surely it’d be impossible to prepare the items they were serving with the rations provided. They must have been prepared to have Christmas onboard. She wasn’t; she’d been certain she and Papa would be spending Christmas with her grandparents.
The smaller children called to her, asking her to sit with them. She acquiesced, not turning to see if David followed.
“Sean! You were wonderful. Would you mind if I sat with you?” she asked, squeezing between him and his friend, the German boy, Paul. “Hello, Paul, I wanted to let you know your voice is beautiful. Such notes you could reach! Had you studied that at home?”
No matter the poor boy couldn’t understand much of what she was saying, especially as fast as she was prattling. She risked a glance at David from beneath her lashes. He had followed and settled in the spot next to his uncle across from her. Drat, he had caught her peeking and was turning that grin on her.
“Your mother has such lovely decorations, Paul. She’s quite talented, isn’t she? Wouldn’t you agree, Sean? Now, Lucy, tell me what you’d be doing right this minute, if you were home for Christmas Eve.”
The children were delighted to have her full attention on
them, showering her with questions as she told them stories of celebrations she had had at their age. Some knew so little of her Christmas traditions, it was surprising. She would ask David about that later.
No, on second thought, she wouldn’t. It would have something to do with the differences between the Catholics and the Protestants. He was only a casual acquaintance after all, and religious differences weren’t an appropriate subject of conversation between casual acquaintances.
The children turned their questions on Reverend Wilson: did Jesus speak all the languages there were to speak, what if He didn’t, how would one know which language to pray in so He could understand, how old would He be now if He were still alive, did He have to obey his mother and father all the time even though He was in fact God’s son, and on and on.
He patiently addressed each question, but she’d aver he displayed a bit of relief when someone announced it was time for all to gather around and sing hymns.
“Elisabeth, are you ready to return?” Mr. Oliver asked, joining them. “I promised your father I’d see you back safely before three bells.”
“I am, thank you, Mr. Oliver.” She had noticed Sarah was free now, free from attending to her father’s meal, and she wanted to leave immediately—before the girl made her way to David. And well before any unkind thoughts made their way from her tongue to his ears.
She understood completely the attraction Sarah carried for David. She’d recognized it from the first. There were plenty of other young men on board who would eagerly accept her attention, should she choose to bestow it. But she didn’t, not for any appreciable amount of time anyway. No, Sarah had sensed something in David, just as she herself had. And Sarah needed the haven that something promised. She shouldn’t begrudge her that.
“I’ll escort her, Mr. Oliver. I’d like to get a bit of fresh air. If ye don’t mind, that is, Elisabeth. I promise I’ll get ye there without delay,” David said. Mr. Oliver nodded before she could think of a valid reason why she’d mind.
She had valid reasons aplenty, just not ones she was comfortable sharing with Mr. Oliver.
THE CAPTAIN AND Ritcher were standing outside the companionway, enjoying a smoke. Rotten luck; he should have let Mr. O take her back. Now her Da would hear first thing she was with him.
David tipped his cap to the men. “Capt’n Honeywell, Mr. Ritcher.”
“Good evening, Mr. Graham, Miss Hale. Was your performance a success, Miss Hale?”
“I believe so, Captain, thank you for your inquiry. Is my father awaiting me?”
“He’s deep into the cards, Miss. He’ll not be missing you as yet,” Ritcher said.
“Come along, Sam. It’s likely to be your hand by now. Good night, Mr. Graham.” They extinguished their cigars and disappeared down the ladder.
Well now, that was odd, wasn’t it? Left her alone with the rabble.
Elisabeth turned to him. “I should go below now. I don’t want my delay to be the subject of speculation. Merry Christmas, David.”
He looked at her, opened his mouth once, then shut it. He took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as his hands fisted at his side.
“Aye, Lisbeth. Merry Christmas to you as well. Sleep tight.”
He hadn’t pressed. Given that he’d wanted to drop to his knees begging her to give him the time of day once again, that’d been a struggle.
He’d like to have kissed her good night, to test his memory of that first kiss. He’d had a good knock on the head; the kiss likely wasn’t anything like he remembered it. He’d planned to kiss her again, see that it wasn’t, get the wanting of it out of his system, stop the dreaming. But the deck was teeming with people tonight. It’d have to wait.
He grinned, walking back to the other companionway. There was also the minor hindrance she’d likely slap him, should he even venture close.
He found his uncle alone. “Uncle John, why is it that we don’t celebrate Christmas like this at home? It seems happier, the way the Germans mark the occasion. Elisabeth’s stories as well, don’t ye think?”
“The Church feels that a lot of the traditions observed prior to the Reformation had no relevance to the birth of Christ and more relation to pagan celebrations.”
“Aye, well, I’m thinking there’s no harm in a wee bit of decorating and plenty of good food. The carols the Irish are singing, I hear references to the birth of Christ, as well as to general goodwill.”
“I’ll no’ argue the fact, David, I don’t believe there’s harm in this type of celebration. But history has shown a more riotous type of revelry at Christmas, one that had little to do with the birth of our Savior. The Church thought it best to put a stop to it all, in order that we could remain focused on our service to God.”
David nodded, unwilling to dispute the point. He had to believe, however, in the possibility the Lord had nothing against celebrations centered around family and the singing of hymns.
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