shrewd, unforgiving.
In fact, she wonders if he could possibly be acquainted with her father. Lutz says Walker operates a trading post in a place called Nepisiguit in British North America. The outpost was financed first by one Hugh Baillie and now by a John Schollbred, both from London. Charlotte is certain she’s heard both thosenames before and wonders if they are financiers who visited her father at their home. Lutz explains, “The trading post is in the middle of nowhere, the vast northeast where winter consumes much of the year—but people say it is well-finished and flourishing on a trade of fur and timber.”
The middle of nowhere, Charlotte imagines, an undiscovered place where a woman can shed the past and seek obscurity—perhaps. But what of the cold and wild beasts Captain Skinner had described.
“Tell me more about this Nepisiguit,” she asks Lutz, who is willing to oblige.
“It’s a tough-minded breed of men who settle in those parts. They fight the climate all the year—to prevent freezing to death in the winter and starving to death when the food runs out. It’s not a place I would frequent. But there are opportunities in that northern land. There’s money to be made and land to be had. I reckon there are shiploads of dissidents and eccentrics who seek their fortune in that desolate wilderness.”
“I want to go with you to the docks to meet your Commodore Walker,” Charlotte announces. The scheming Lutz conjures up the scene—an attractive, young British widow by his side like his own bit of bounty when he offers his salutation to the commodore. “You will be welcome,” he tells her.
The rest of the day is filled with hurried preparations. The sugar cane is loaded on the wagons, along with the molasses and rum barrels. She understands from the women in the house that it is unusual to ship raw cane. But the details interest her not in the least. The warehouses are readied for the fine lumber Walker promised Lutz he would bring; beauteous pieces of wood Lutz can sell in town for a fine price. “This will be a grand trade,” Lutz tells Charlotte.
The trade will be more than lumber and cane, she thinks. Although another voyage by sea is a loathsome concept, the greater concern is making sure she sails away with the commodore.
Back in the cottage at nightfall, Charlotte considers her plan. Should she tell the commodore the truth? That she ran away from her father’s home, that she was not married, that she’s pregnant? No, that would be folly. He’d leave her behind to wallow in the pitiful condition she’d found herself in. The widow Willisams, bereft after leaving the hearth of her kin to come to the colony with her new husband to serve the King—that would be better. She could tell him the northern clime he comes from is more to her liking, or is there more she can offer? Reading and writing are skills that won the favour of Lutz. Could that be employed again? And her father, how will he factor into this bargain? If he is known to Walker, her plan could be foiled. Charlotte lies down on the bed covered with musty straw and considers her next step. The combination of grief, fatigue and the need for secrecy and cleverness overcome her and the next thing she knows, it’s dawn. She decides the course she will take. The trunk that was hardly unpacked is secured for moving when the time is right. The incoming tide will bring her salvation.
S HE SETTLES on the carriage bench beside the repulsive Lutz for the ride to the dock. The distance is shorter than what she recalls from her journey just eleven days ago. The horses move unwillingly in the morning heat. Charlotte wishes she had a parasol to shield her face and shade her body. She lifts her shawl over her head, trying not to disturb the pins and combs she’s arranged in her hair. The dock comes into sight, the vagabonds are there as before, masters shouting orders. And out in thechannel she sees a ship anchored in the turquoise
In fact, she wonders if he could possibly be acquainted with her father. Lutz says Walker operates a trading post in a place called Nepisiguit in British North America. The outpost was financed first by one Hugh Baillie and now by a John Schollbred, both from London. Charlotte is certain she’s heard both thosenames before and wonders if they are financiers who visited her father at their home. Lutz explains, “The trading post is in the middle of nowhere, the vast northeast where winter consumes much of the year—but people say it is well-finished and flourishing on a trade of fur and timber.”
The middle of nowhere, Charlotte imagines, an undiscovered place where a woman can shed the past and seek obscurity—perhaps. But what of the cold and wild beasts Captain Skinner had described.
“Tell me more about this Nepisiguit,” she asks Lutz, who is willing to oblige.
“It’s a tough-minded breed of men who settle in those parts. They fight the climate all the year—to prevent freezing to death in the winter and starving to death when the food runs out. It’s not a place I would frequent. But there are opportunities in that northern land. There’s money to be made and land to be had. I reckon there are shiploads of dissidents and eccentrics who seek their fortune in that desolate wilderness.”
“I want to go with you to the docks to meet your Commodore Walker,” Charlotte announces. The scheming Lutz conjures up the scene—an attractive, young British widow by his side like his own bit of bounty when he offers his salutation to the commodore. “You will be welcome,” he tells her.
The rest of the day is filled with hurried preparations. The sugar cane is loaded on the wagons, along with the molasses and rum barrels. She understands from the women in the house that it is unusual to ship raw cane. But the details interest her not in the least. The warehouses are readied for the fine lumber Walker promised Lutz he would bring; beauteous pieces of wood Lutz can sell in town for a fine price. “This will be a grand trade,” Lutz tells Charlotte.
The trade will be more than lumber and cane, she thinks. Although another voyage by sea is a loathsome concept, the greater concern is making sure she sails away with the commodore.
Back in the cottage at nightfall, Charlotte considers her plan. Should she tell the commodore the truth? That she ran away from her father’s home, that she was not married, that she’s pregnant? No, that would be folly. He’d leave her behind to wallow in the pitiful condition she’d found herself in. The widow Willisams, bereft after leaving the hearth of her kin to come to the colony with her new husband to serve the King—that would be better. She could tell him the northern clime he comes from is more to her liking, or is there more she can offer? Reading and writing are skills that won the favour of Lutz. Could that be employed again? And her father, how will he factor into this bargain? If he is known to Walker, her plan could be foiled. Charlotte lies down on the bed covered with musty straw and considers her next step. The combination of grief, fatigue and the need for secrecy and cleverness overcome her and the next thing she knows, it’s dawn. She decides the course she will take. The trunk that was hardly unpacked is secured for moving when the time is right. The incoming tide will bring her salvation.
S HE SETTLES on the carriage bench beside the repulsive Lutz for the ride to the dock. The distance is shorter than what she recalls from her journey just eleven days ago. The horses move unwillingly in the morning heat. Charlotte wishes she had a parasol to shield her face and shade her body. She lifts her shawl over her head, trying not to disturb the pins and combs she’s arranged in her hair. The dock comes into sight, the vagabonds are there as before, masters shouting orders. And out in thechannel she sees a ship anchored in the turquoise
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