“They’re as if nothing, Jack. They’re as feathers, for I’m so happy to be off that wagon.” Pilar turned and the three weary souls made their way slowly down the companionway ladder.
Reaching their quarters, the first mate turned to the family and announced, “My name be Quince, people, and this be your berths.” The bunks were arranged in a semicircle, sad-looking straw mattresses, stained from years of use, sitting like lumps on the oak slats. “If you need something on the trip and if I can help, I will.”
“Thank you,” Ethan answered. Quince returned a goodhearted grin and departed, the deck creaking under the weight of the burly giant. Jack was amazed at how easily he moved. There was a strength and confidence about him that reassured the whole family.
After storing their belongings belowdecks and seeing that his tools were safe in the hold, Ethan spoke briefly to his wife then left the ship; Jack followed to the edge of the deck. Turning the wagon around on the wharf, he called to Jack, “Keep your mother company. I’ll be back soon.”
Pilar emerged from below.
“Is Father going to sell the team and wagon?” Jack asked.
“Yes.” She dropped her eyes. “Your father needs to do this.”
The horses, Jen and Mary, had been Jack’s domain, feeding and tending them for years. A mist of anger floated just behind his eyes; he was disturbed to think his father would not have allowed him to run his hands down their soft manes one last time.
“I’d like to go with him, Mother.”
“Yes. Go and give to Jen and Mary my good-byes.”
Jack raced off the boat and down the wharf to where his father had just turned the corner. He caught him within a block and scrambled onto the back of the empty wagon. Jack’s father glanced at him without expression.
“Ma said it was all right for me to come along.”
For a few moments Ethan said nothing. “You seem to be getting very independent, young man. Nothing I say to you seems to have any effect. But I want you to listen to me very closely.”
His father leaned close.
“I’ll say this once. Don’t interfere in this matter of the sale of the horses and wagon. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
Ethan seemed to know where he was going, for he glanced from time to time at a small handwritten map he evidently had been given on the ship. They pulled up to a livery stable at the edge of town. A well-muscled man was shoeing a mare next to an anvil and forge.
“Good afternoon, sir.” Jack’s father called out. “The name is O’Reilly. I am also of the trade.”
The man ignored him completely, continuing his work.
“I had my own business in Hamden, Connecticut. Did mostly rifles and such.”
“As you can see, I’m busy,” the blacksmith said. He looked at the horses and wagon, his eyes stopping on Jack. “If it’s shoeing you need, can’t get to it before Thursday.”
“No, brother. It’s not shoeing I need,” Ethan spoke gently, “but a home for this fine team and wagon. My family and I are bound for the southern islands and need to sell our team.”
The smith dropped the horse’s hoof and walked slowly around the wagon, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t do you any good, mister. But my brother Cyrus maybe could. Tell you what—there’s a tavern back toward town. You might have passed it. Peele’s with a double ‘e.’ If you like, we could maybe go talk to my brother. He owns the place. By the way, when would you be leaving town?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, late. We sail on the Perdido Star.”
Jack didn’t like the man. Rude and slippery, he thought. He hoped his father recognized the man’s slyness.
The smithy quickly took his horse inside the barn and came back buttoning a shirt around his ample waist. “My brother bought the tavern about a year ago. Does pretty well with it, all in all.”
Jack hoisted himself on the back of the wagon while the two men climbed up front. He watched the man, who introduced himself as Jonah Peele, speak to his father. Ethan nodded politely and clucked at the horses, blind to the man’s rattling. When they got to the tavern, Peele quickly went inside while Ethan tied up the horses.
“The man is full of himself,” he told Jack. “But he seems an honest sort.”
“Pa, I don’t like this fellow. I think—”
“You mind what I told you before, Jackson.”
Jack felt a quick flush come to his face, but remained silent. He wondered if this was yet another one of his father’s business dealings that would go astray. Ethan was an honest man who assumed others would act accordingly, and Jack had seen him defeated a number of times in the simplest of transactions.
The interior of the tavern was dark, with a sour smell of ale and urine. Crowded with some very rough types, Jack thought: sailors, dockworkers, laborers. The blacksmith had already begun whispering to his brother, who tended bar. Jack and his father stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.
The bartender, a large man with a red beefy face, finally looked over his brother’s shoulder at the two. He signaled them over.
“What will it be, lads? First one’s on me.”
“No, nothing, thank you,” Ethan said.
The man’s quick grin faded. “If we’re to do business, you’ll first have a drink.”
“My son will have a sarsaparilla,” Ethan said, shrugging. “I’ll have an ale, thank you.”
The other patrons sensed something was going on and drifted closer. Jack felt trapped. After allowing father and son a few polite sips, the bartender eased his bare arms down to the wet bar top.
“What do you need to get for your team and wagon? My brother Jonah says they’re fine animals and the wagon’s in good repair.”
Ethan took a sip of the foamy ale. “I would need fifty dollars apiece for the horses and another fifty for the wagon.”
The men at the bar were listening intently. The bartender dropped his head down to his thick hairy arms; he seemed to be thinking. Jack didn’t like any of this; it felt like an act. Then with a ball-fisted bang on the bar, he yelled, “Done!”
Startled, Jack flinched. He caught the two brothers glance at each other.
“I’ll have your money for you tomorrow at one o’clock sharp. Be here with the team and wagon.”
Pleased, Ethan reached across the bar to shake hands, but Cyrus Peele had already turned to his waiting customers. With a nod to the brother, Jack and his father left the suddenly hushed establishment.
“They’re a different breed of people here,” Ethan said expansively. “You can’t really compare them to the small-town folk we’re used to.” He seemed in good spirits. “They’re loud and boisterous, but I think if you look through all that, you’d see an honest lot.”
Jack didn’t agree. The brothers had a foxlike quality, and he felt the deal was consummated too quickly. The bartender never even went outside to see the team; but his father had told him to stay out of his business, so he said nothing.
Still, he did not share in his father’s satisfaction as Ethan related the story of the trade to his wife back at the ship. It disturbed Jack to have his excitement over the coming trip interrupted by this gnawing uncertainty about the horses. Finally, though, he allowed his thoughts to drift to the high seas, to billowing sails, and a million stars guiding them south to Cuba.
On deck, Jack marveled at the complexity of ropes and cables stretching to the tops of the masts. Walking down the gangplank to get a better look, he spotted two young women staring at the ship from the end of the dock. There was something familiar about the tall one with the red hair. As Jack moved toward them, they turned quickly and started down Derby Street, giggling. He followed, and caught them at Hodge’s Wharf.
“Please don’t think me rude. I just wanted to thank you for the fine directions you gave. Colleen, wasn’t it?”