Authors: J. Jay Kamp
To Vancouver, it seemed just another stretch of beach.
“It’s obviously only a small river,” he said pleasantly to his lieutenant. “See how the land hinders its progress inland?”
“Yes, it’s not big enough for vessels of our size,” Puget agreed. “As you’ve suggested, I recommend we waste no time here.”
Vancouver then spied Ravenna near the rail. “What think you, my lady?” he called to her affably.
Ravenna looked up.
“Is this a mighty and powerful river?” he asked. “Worthy of charting and precious time? Or is it simply a common stream, recognized and dismissed as such by our Captain Cook?”
“It’s the Columbia River, Captain, mark my words.”
Vancouver only shook his head. “Then such a river lies in wait for someone else to name, yes? Our mission lies ahead.”
“In the Strait of Juan de—”
Before she could finish her question, Vancouver had turned away with a shout. “Signal
Chatham
to make more sail!”
* * *
Two days later at the ridiculous hour of four in the morning another ship was sighted. They’d already encountered the indigenous peoples of the coast and from the clamor of the sailors above her head, Ravenna guessed this wasn’t another native encounter. Only the sight of white men could cause such an excitement among the crew.
By the time she’d gotten out on deck, the other vessel had hoisted American colors. According to custom, a salute was fired. It wasn’t until two hours had passed that the ship came close enough to make out its name painted on the stern.
To Ravenna’s amazement, it plainly read
Columbia
.
Paul was among the crew sent to visit this
Columbia
.
He might have asked permission to stay behind, but he actually wanted to meet these fur traders. After all, they hadn’t seen another ship—apart from
Chatham
, their consort—in eight months or more. To run into one here, off this wild and desolate part of America, in fact it was a curiosity, Paul had to admit. He wasn’t sure what he’d find on
Columbia
, but whatever it was, it’d at least be more interesting than mending sails back home with the lads.
So in a constant, penetrating drizzle, he plied his oar without complaint. He rowed across the ocean swells, keeping his eyes locked on Ravenna’s where she stood at the larboard rail until at last, soaked and sweating, eager to climb aboard and confer in the comfort of a sheltered cabin, Paul looked up to see
Columbia’s
hull looming above them. He waited until Puget had gone first, then Menzies, before pulling himself up to the fur-trader’s deck.
Paul was shocked by what he found there.
Loitering about in groups, the entire ship’s company ignored the visitors. Every man—save for the fellah who was obviously in charge—every guy without exception had his attention turned toward
Discovery
, and as Paul noticed the spyglasses and the sailors’ lewd gestures, his blood began to boil.
They’re pointing at Ravenna
, he thought.
Every last shaggin’ one of ‘em is waving at my girl
.
He tried to control himself. He started to follow Puget below decks where Captain Gray was waiting, but as he walked through the men, he couldn’t help overhearing what they said.
“She’s a curvy little tart, ain’t she?”
“Tight as the devil’s arse, I’ll bet.”
“With all them sailors around her? Naw, she ain’t tight…not unless she’s the skipper’s wife, d’ya think?”
“I don’t care whose wife she is. With dugs like that, I’d—”
Paul stopped. He leveled his eyes on the nearest of the men. “You’d what?” he asked, feeling the rage mounting furiously inside him.
The sailor broke into an amiable grin. “I was gonna say I’d ball her, but if that little cutlet belongs to you—”
“She does,” Paul nodded, fingering his rapier’s hilt. “In fact, she’s my fiancée, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather you stopped making those gestures.”
“See here, now,” the man said, “keep her below decks if you don’t wish us looking at her.”
“Oh, you can look, but if you wave at her once more, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” The man sneered down on Paul, emphasizing his greater height. “Stab me in the foot, I suppose?”
A snicker went up amidst the Americans. Paul held his ground, glared dangerously at the fellah, all the while reminding himself that Vancouver had selected him specifically to
befriend
the Americans, to put Captain Gray at ease.
“No,” he said finally, cursing under his breath, “No, I’m not going t’stab you. It wouldn’t be emissary-like. Just tone down the invitations, maybe? And try to remember, women are human beings, not
cutlets
, for God’s sake.”
He let his words sink in, stood for a moment with eyes fixed upon the sailor’s. When he turned to follow Puget, he knew the guys were laughing at him, but he also knew what Ravenna would say if he came home bloodied and beaten.
You got into a fight because they called me names? What difference does it make? Paul, we’ll never see them again
…
* * *
When he got back to
Discovery
, he didn’t whisper a word to Ravenna. He went below to change his clothes and when James came in, muttering about “those damned Americans,” Paul couldn’t resist saying something.
“Do you know what they’re doing over there?” he asked, and he dropped his rain-soaked trousers, didn’t wait for James to acknowledge the question. “They’re all gettin’ off on Ravenna, that’s what. They’re all trying it on with her, every last bleedin’ one of ‘em, and if I hadn’t kept my wits about me, I’d be in the orlop right now.”
James looked up from beneath furrowed brows. “You started a fight? Because you’re jealous?”
“No I’m not jealous,” Paul said, digging through his clothes for another pair of trousers, “but it just makes me sick, the things they’re saying about her. I mean, you should hear it. One fellah, he said he fancied Ravenna could suck the brass off a pistol’s butt. I almost decked him.”
James didn’t comment. While Paul pulled on his trousers, he noticed how James stood there all sullen and serious, as if guilty of imagining the very same thing.
Does he think I’ll deck him as well?
Paul wondered, because he knew—had known for months—how James felt about Ravenna. The guy was attracted to her; James couldn’t deny it, and yet he couldn’t understand it, either. Paul had tried explaining it to him—how Ravenna didn’t see James as a brother; how in fact they weren’t siblings at all, and if James found himself drawn to her, it was only because Ravenna, having never had a boyfriend, couldn’t help reacting to James’s attention.
Now he probably pictured her fellating a firearm.
No wonder the fellah looks guilty
. “Listen,” he said, pulling on a dry shirt, “I know
you’re
tryin’ it on with her, and that’s OK, I’ve no problem with that. She’s always gonna be my girl, isn’t she? It’s just the people who don’t love her, who can’t even see how innocent she is and how something like sayin’ they’d want t’ball her or whatever, it’d completely destroy the trust I’ve built up and—”
“You’re talking about the Americans?”
“Do you know what would’ve happened if she’d heard those fellahs?”
“She’s less fragile than you think, my friend.”
Where he sat on his sea-chest, Paul nodded. He pulled on his socks, remembering Tahiti and how she’d tried to entice him with those silky legs, the shapely curves of her slim little hips.
If she’d known what I was thinkin’ then, or even what goes through m’mind during an ordinary working day
…
“It’s just…I don’t want her to find out what completely selfish, sex-crazed bastards men are, y’know?” Paul sniffed, reached down for his boots. “Not until she’s more comfortable with the whole thing, not until we’ve had a chance to really work it out. It’s taken me too long to earn her trust, and I wouldn’t want t’lose it, not when we’re so close to gettin’ there.”
James leaned against the door, his hands in his pockets. “So you do intend to end this? When we reach her island?”
“That’s the general idea. It’s what she’s wanted all her life, yeah? Me an’ her and a bunch of seagulls?”
“Better seagulls than American sailors.”
Paul shook his head in disgust, pulled on his boots. “Jem, you should’ve heard the things they were saying. I swear you would’ve mopped the deck with ‘em.”
Home
. No sooner had Ravenna thought the word when a warm glow spread through her, making her shudder in the morning’s gale.
Captain Gray, who’d soon name the Columbia River after his ship, had sent word to Vancouver that the mouth of Juan de Fuca’s Straight lay only a few miles to the north. Hearing this news, the captain gave orders to make more sail. By the next evening they’d rounded Cape Flattery, dropped anchor near the native village at Neah Bay, and come within sight of everything Ravenna knew and loved.
She felt the full strength of her homesickness then. Glued to the rail the next morning, she watched as the rocky cliffs went by, the familiar foothills of the Olympic Mountains, the points and headlands she knew so well. Seeing it all again, her heart ached with memories—the countless hours she’d spent in Port Angeles working under the hulls of boats, the diving she’d done off Observatory Point, Green Point, every point between there and Port Townsend, all this came to mind when she saw it standing there in the distance—her island.
Home
.
By the time the helmsman guided the ship toward Dungeness, it was long past dark. She’d have to wait until morning, she realized, and in the interest of killing time until then, she let James badger her about the spit of land outside their gunport. What would Vancouver name it? And would the captain be forced to admit their position was indeed in the Strait of Juan de Fuca?
Out of weariness, she gave in. She told James everything, and soon she found herself questioned and requestioned about the names of the different first nations groups—the Haida and Kwakiutl, the Tlingit and Makah. The Royal Society would be indebted to Ravenna for the things she’d told him, James promised eagerly, but despite his words, she knew he was after just one more detail.
When at last he’d left, she could hear Vancouver’s voice come muffled through the great cabin’s wall. It was hours before she nodded off, but in the morning, she was up with the first crews, hoping she’d beaten Vancouver on deck. Stepping into her breeches, hurrying into a warmer shirt, she didn’t even bother with shoes and socks, for her head was spinning with anticipation.
Just let Vancouver try and keep me here
, she thought, fumbling with her shirt buttons.
I’ll steal the cutter, hijack the shore party, even swim if I have to
.
Yet in scrambling out on deck, she didn’t see Vancouver anywhere. Christian stood quietly near the stern rail, gazing at the island; he seemed harmless enough in the morning sunshine, so she bustled over to stand at his side. “You’re up early,” she said, leaning on the taffrail.
He turned to her placidly. “For you, Beloved.”
Then Paul appeared across the deck, causing Ravenna to turn around. Instantly, she felt a surge of pride. Even with bed hair, he was handsome. Tugging at his shirt as if he’d only just pulled it on, he hesitated near the capstan, glanced around at the various men until his gaze came to rest upon hers. As scruffy as he looked, still her heart swelled with love. He staggered up to where she waited, and she turned her back on Christian in a hurry, her thoughts centering only on Paul’s square jaw, his unshaven cheek.
“I knocked at your door, but—” He drew nearer, and she noticed how his eyes were bleary, half-closed with sleep, “—But em, I guess I didn’t wake up early enough t’catch you. I was hopin’ to surprise you, y’know?”
“Surprise me about what?”
He pushed his hair back in an unthinking gesture, regarded her carefully. “You mean you haven’t been told?”
When she said that she hadn’t, Paul looked away. A grin seeped into his tired face. Clearing his throat, he obviously took his time before answering. “Well,” he began, tossing his arm around her neck in a pal-like manner, “you know yerself James was after you last night, asking you all those Indian questions?”
His arm was warm, distracting, and as Ravenna considered, he leaned closer still, enhancing the effect. “Yes,” she said finally, trying hard to think. “He wanted me to tell him about native culture. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“Y’see that’s because I asked him not to. I didn’t want you hearin’ me next door, having a row with Vancouver over who’s going ashore to hunt and who isn’t.”
She looked up at him, amazed by his words. “You mean…”
His eyes roved over her face with pleasure, taking in her excited reaction.
We’re going to the island
, she thought, and by the playfulness of his expression, she knew it’d be just Paul and her—isolated, unescorted, and completely alone. “But how?” she asked. “Doesn’t Vancouver think we’ll…that we won’t get any work done?”
“Oh, we’ll be gettin’ it done,” he said, and with eyes like a summer storm, savoring her, teasing her, he slipped his hand around her back and lower, to her hip where, caressing her with a silky firmness that made her quiver, his fingers curved intimately around her buttocks. He raised a brow. “Five days enough, d’ya think?”
Her pulses raced. With the heat in his eyes making her dizzy, she barely managed to shake her head.
“
No?”
he asked, snuggling closer.
Irresistible, that’s what he was, and drawing courage from his sudden smile, from the comfortable way he held her—as if they’d been together all of their lives—Ravenna put her arms around him.
Forever
, she thought,
I want you forever, exactly like this
.
“Then you’d best plan every moment for us, hadn’t you?” With devilry at the corners of his mouth, daring her infectiously, he drew nearer still until he was close enough to kiss. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe but for smelling his clean, earthy scent, and losing what control she had, she let her eyes wander the familiar contours of his face, his angular cheekbones, those strong, soft-looking lips as she imagined them doing unspeakable things.