Death and Life Come to the Bede House

Death was coming to the Bede house, but Father Zachary did not yet know it. It was nearly dawn, and he sat alone in the front room. He was very tired. From his bedroom, he could faintly hear the sounds of movement, of footsteps and hurried speech. Occasionally there was a gasp or two that might have been Maria, but otherwise he had no idea what what going on behind the closed door. Just as he was beginning to fall asleep, he heard the sound of an infant's reluctant cry. His eyes snapped open and he came to stand by the door. He wished he could come in, he wished he could see the child, but all he could hear was Dr. Pershing and his wife moving hurriedly around the room.
"A swab, Janet," Dr. Pershing was directing their maid.
There was more clatter and then, "You could bring him out, now."
There were sudden footsteps towards the door and it was thrown open. Mrs. Pershing held a baby in her arms. She pushed him back before he could see more than a glimpse of Maria. "It's a boy!"
It was, a small, pale one with surprisingly pale hair. Father Bede took him.
"How is she?""Maria? Tired. Let us clean her up and then you can see her."
His anxiety must have been evident, for she said, in a kind, managerial sort of tone, "Why don't you show him to Maria's aunt? She would love to see him..."
Father Bede nodded carefully, the warm, wet weight of his son in his arms. Elijah, they had agreed.
Aunt Wilcox had been sent to bed around midnight on the pretense that the baby wasn't coming any time soon. This was really an excuse to get her and her senseless chatter out of the way, but she had swallowed it easily enough and gone to bed. Father Bede thought this was just as well considering Maria's state during her heaviest labor with Matthew. It was best to get her aunt out of throwing range. Come to think of it, he wondered why there had been no such fury this time.
He came into the room quietly, for he had no free hand to knock and did not want to call out for fear of waking the baby now sleeping on his shoulder. But Maria's aunt lay sound asleep, and so he called out to her. "Aunt Wilcox?"
There was no response. For a moment he thought to call her by her Christian name, but then the odd feeling that had been floating around the tired mist in the back of his brain hit him fully.
Aunt Wilcox was a terrible snorer, so much so that he and Maria could hear her from their room. The room was perfectly quiet now.
All at once he understood. He did not have to come closer, or even to touch her, though he would have found her cold. There was something about the stiffness of her features and the limpness of her body that told him.
"Oh, I suppose you can come in now," said Mrs. Pershing. She was fussing with the pillows on their bed. Maria was looking tired but otherwise fine as she lay on one side of it. She was indeed only tired, and he smiled at her in relief. Better yet, she smiled back. Father Bede handed Elijah to Mrs. Pershing. He turned to the Doctor.
"Could I speak to you outside?" he murmured.

It would be a be a busy day for the doctor and a busy week for him.

Sir Frederick Learns His Value

The official base of the Second Sea Lord was a ship, but of course he had a office in the city. Fredrick did not realize it, but as he stepped into the naval offices building he was already beginning to feel as though he were on a ship again. The endless blue, the narrow stairs and railings, and the high veined windows all gave him the sense that he was in fact at sea.
Frederick entered the Second Sea Lord's office just as apprehensively as he had entered the converted fisherman's shed the first time he was recruited. Then he'd been assigned an ordinary rank, a ship, and been asked for an address in case they ever had to write home. Things were different now, and yet they felt eerily the same. Vice-Admiral Sir Horace Hennet was simply a small, balding man with an outdated mustache and thinning auburn hair. He was giving Frederick a studied look, but he seemed satisfied."Good Morning, Sir Frederick." "Good Morning, Sir."
Sir Horace sat and so Frederick did so as well."Your ship is the HMS Ino. A good small ship."
"I'm glad," said Fredrick, rather puzzled. The navy would never claim to sail a bad ship, and...
"How small?"
"A schooner. Tiny, really. Six guns. 28 men."
"But what do you expect me to do with that? I--" Surely they hadn't dragged him all the way from Cennanceaster and his wife to command a little messenger ship. Such ships hardly needed captains anyway! "What did Lord Harbries tell you about your position? I was under the impression you understood what you were going to be doing."
"I--what? I was simply told I was needed. That was all I needed to hear."
"Ah. Let me begin again. Your assignment is not an ordinary one. Tea?" "No, thank you."
"Well, I don't mind if I have some myself. Let's see...I don't remember whose idea it was, but I believe it was Sir Peter's. I can't be certain..." "What was his idea?" said Fredrick, unusually impatient.
"Well you see, we needed a very specific person for the role. Clever, calm, has the men fierce like bulls and yet docile like lambs to his commands..." "Please, sir," said Frederick. "What is my position?"
"Oh! I haven't even said! Oh dear! You are to command a spy ship."
Frederick had never even heard of such a thing, and when he was recovered enough to say so, he did. It took two of Sir Horace's sips of tea. "Well, of course you must have realized we've always had such things." said Sir Horace.
In fact Sir Frederick had not. To him war had been an open plane, upon which one fought fairly and deftly and honorably and occasionally grimly, but calculated espionage was not part of it. Or at least that was what he had believed. But now that he thought about it, he realized that as a soldier he had been given a lot of "information" which must have come from somewhere. He had received it unquestioning, as though it were directly from some Divine Being, but Frederick had lost enough companions to suspect that the Divine Being mainly kept to himself in such affairs, and so indeed such ships and other means of "information" must have existed all along.
"How do I do that?" he said at last. "I--have no experience..." "It's fairly simple," said Sir Horace. "You take the ship just to the edge of where it will not be seen. Then you send men in a smaller ship to search the coastline. I'm afraid we only found one that speaks french, but anyhow if you take nets and civilian clothes you shall pass off as fishermen. Not that you will be seen, most likely. And when you have discovered a place or activity of interest--we are looking for supply ships, ports, even the smallest inlet that harbors a ship or two--you will return and let a scout ship know. There are three others of your kind, one further North and one near Spain. And with some luck you will help us discover where Napoleon is hiding all those damn ships."
Frederick could not think of anything further to say. The idea of attempting to pass as French fishermen was hilarious, the concept of needing to not quite so. One did not tell the Second Sea Lord that he was mad, nor that the Lord High Admiral must be. At last he said, "Why did Lord Harbreis recommend me? To Sir Parker, I mean." "Well he heard about you past actions, of course. Quite commendable."
"Yes, but there are many men who you could have said the same of." "Are there? But anyhow, there is another advantage. We are not the only nation to employ subterfuge. The less well known you are the less likely anyone will wonder whether we have employed you in such measures. And as far as Lord Harbreis could tell, you spent most of your time at home with a reclusive and gloomy Earl of a small town. What could be more ideal?"
Frederick could think of several more ideal situations that the one he was currently in, but he was too dazed and too determined to say anything else.
"Good day, Sir Horace. Thank you for the briefing and the appointment. I shall report this Monday as we previously communicated." "Good day, Sir Frederick," said Sir Horace and he lazily lit his pipe.

6 Months for Henrietta

Frederick did not have to tell her, though of course he did, gently. He did not have to hear her bewail his decision, and Henrietta was proud of that. When he was done talking, (she could not remember what he said) he put his arms arond her and she buried her face in his shoulder. It was the only thing that comforted her. He would not leave until early November, and so at first she felt safe. November was remarkably slow in coming, up until the day it came, and then it had been over in an instant. They stood in the front hall and he kissed her and told her to kiss Lexa each day for him, and that the Earl would recieve all his letters and bring her hers. But even as he spoke to her Henrietta felt oddly empty, as if he were already gone. She struggled to savor a last moment that had somehow already slipped away.
And then he was gone. The house was strange and empty, and everyone was a little more gentle with her. If November had come slowly, it passed even slower.
At the end of the month Maria Bede, herself expecting confinement, noticed Henrietta's condition."Now you have something lovely to look forward to!" she said. And although Henrietta was a little heavier by then, she had to admit she felt a little lighter.

The Boys Meet the Men

It was a hot May day, and everyone was too busy anyway to care where the boys went. Even Steven, who was his uncle the storekeeper's apprentice, was let out to go play. So the four boys found themselves at Keenan Pond, exuberant and free. It was lovely to be swimming, and lovelier still to be unfettered by adults.
An hour later, Steven was clambering up the bank for the hundreth time when he discovered that they were, in fact, being beset by grown-ups again.
A moment later a a figure darted out from behind the hill, and Steven realized the men had brought a boy with them. The boy noticed the swimmers almost immediately and seemed surprised for some reason, but the two men were in deep conversation and did not even glance their way. They seemed to be rather dignified and grand to Steven. He had come to Cennanceaster only two weeks ago and didn't think he had ever seen them in his uncle's store. "That's the Earl and Sir Frederick." Jemmy said behind him.
"Who are they?"
"They're gentlemen," explained Jemmy confidently. "They own everything, see. The Earl owns this pond. I hope he doesn't tell us to leave."
But neither of the men seemed interested in them. The dark-haired one had turned to the boy and was lauging and saying something that sounded like, "What did you think they would be wearing?"
"Harry!" cried Jemmy to his brother. "The Earl's over there!"
Harry spun around to look. "He's a man, so I guess it don't matter about our clothes. You let me do the talking if he asks us to leave."
"Fine."
They did approach and the red-haired man asked,"What are you boys doing swimming on a Wednesday? Do your fathers know where you are?"
"Yes, sir." said Harry. "He knows where we are. He said we might go."
"And would he say the same thing if he knew you were running around without a stitch of clothing?"
"He's proud that we're boys, sir," said Harry.
Behind Steven, Jemmy laughed, but Steven swallowed to stop himself from crying. His own father had been dead six months.
"What about you?" asked the man Steven now assumed was Sir Arnold. "I haven't seen you anywhere before, have I?"
"My uncle's Horace Heathrow," explained Steven for the perhaps the hundreth time in the last two weeks. "I'm come to be his new apprentice."
"Horace Heathrow let his apprentice free on a Wednesday?" asked the other man. The Earl, Steven thought.
"Well, the shop's closed down because everyone went to talk about the proclamation at the Herald's Hoof, so he didn't need me,"
The Earl and Sir Frederick looked at one another.
"The proclamation?" asked the Earl.
"Of war, your Lordship."
"Hell! Damn!---boys, don't use foul language." said the Earl.He turned to Sir Frederick. "I've got to get home and then to town," said the Earl.
"I've got to get to Henrietta," said Sir. Frederick. "Before Joan gets back from shopping with the news." And with that he turned and walked towards the house behind Steven. Steven remembered Matthew saying that a Knight lived in it, and now he realized it was Sir Frederick's own house.
"We can stay?" laughed Jemmy, who was too young to understand.
"Yes, boys. But Drake will come mind you if Charlie here stays," said the Earl.
"Can I swim with you?" asked Charlie.
"Well, I guess the lake's your father's," said Harry. "Do you know how to swim?"
"No..."
"We'll teach you, won't we, Steven?"
"Of course," said Steven. He looked back to watch the Earl and Sir Fredrick leave, but they were already gone.

Maria Decompresses and Zachary Lets Her Hair Down

When Maria's sister, Anne, was 16, she suddenly developed an odd malady that made her tight and flushed whenever the tailor's son stopped by. In his absense, Anne found herself speaking circles around his name, as if she were dying to have someone else bring it up but did not dare to do so herself. She drove Maria, their mother, the maid, and their aunt mad as she avoided the precious word--Jacob--but her chatter did her some good.
Maria thought it was a little like tipping over the rain barrel during a storm. It would fill up again for sure, and all the pressure and weight of the pounding water would once again make the barrel tight and strained as a drum, but for an hour or two that pressure might be relieved. Maria remembered when Anne first dared to say his name, and how she had stood for a moment, dumbfounded, after it escaped her lips. She had laughed a little, stunned at the relief it gave the pressure in her chest.
But Maria had no such relief. She had attempted to speak circles around his name, but knew she ought not to mention his existence to her husband. For a while she spoke of him to her aunt, but her aunt became oddly besotted with James herself , and did not hesitate to use his name frequently, much to Maria's distress. Maria soon found she had no one to confide in at all. She simply could not bear to tell anyone why she wanted to talk about him, after all--it was shameful enough to bring him up when her audience was unsuspecting. She soon found her rain barrel had no relief, and over the next few months it grew tighter and tighter.
After James left the storm began to recede, and the pressure grew a little less. Part of the pressure leaked out the cracks--she lost composure several times. Two weeks after he left she told herself she ought to bundle up her music and put it away as it was before, instead of carrying it home to work with. But when she stood on the balcony and looked down at the organ she found a strange urge to throw the music instead.
Much to her own surprise she did, over the railing and down onto the pews below. She stared in horror at the falling papers, and found herself more horrified to realize she had been grinning for a moment.
There were other points when she lost composure, but mainly she detached herself. Slowly, the pressure began evaporate, bit by bit, until she found it was possible to speak to her husband about trivial things, and then that it was possible to smile at him, and then, one night, that it was possible to sit by him on the same sofa as she finished a doll for little Abagail Pershing. She had no babies of her own anymore--Matthew was nearly 5.
Zachary was reading something--they always found things to keep them busy when the other was around. But that night Maria discovered that enough pressure had evaporated from her "barrel" that she could ask him what he was reading.
"Fordyce's sermons," he replied. He did not seem to want to talk, but for the first time in a long time, Maria found she did. It was an odd feeling.
"What does he say?" she asked.
"Who?"
"Dr. Fordyce."
"Nothing but what he should. He writes of how young women ought to act. I thought I might put them in this week's sermon, though some of the ideas are a bit--restrictive."
Maria felt the preassure build up in her again. "You could just read it to me now!" she cried. But she had lost composure again, for Zachary looked up at her in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"I hear your sermons every week, Zachary. You need not burden the whole town with your condemnation of me."
And then at last something went right for her. Zachary was not a Vicar for nothing--he recognized guilt in a repenting person. "It was not just for you, Maria," he said blankly. "It was for everyone to take heed. But if it upsets you--I won't put his sermons in at all this week."
The last part was much louder for Maria. She had put her sewing aside entirely and wrapped her arms around her husband. He said nothing. At last he dared with one hand to reach up and stroke her hair.
They sat for quite a while in silence. The book and the sewing lay quite forgotten.
"One of your hairpins has come out," said Zachary.
"It doesn't matter," said Maria. "You can take them all out."
Zachary was not sure what had landed his wife in his arms again, and he was similarly uncertain about where she set her hairpins anymore. It had been years since he had taken down her hair. But after some probing her hair came down, sending the last pin skittering across the floor. Much to Zachary's disapointment, Maria got up to fetch it. Then she took her other pins from his hand and without meeting his eyes went towards their bedroom. He was disapointed again--as he was every night.
But then at last something went right for Zachary. Maria stopped at the door and turned back. She said in the smallest of voices, "When are you coming to bed, Zachary?"