Part 18 (1/2)

I turn my back to him and tie my seabag to the straps on the back of Gretchen's saddle and then turn back to Henry, who is now a bright shade of scarlet. Well, maybe these britches are a bit tight.

I take the reins from his hand and put my foot in the stirrup and swing my leg up and over and settle into the saddle. Then I lean way over and whisper into Henry's ear, ”You won't peach on me now, Henry, will you?”

I let my lips brush his cheek as I come away and straighten up. I give him a wink as I give Gretchen a little cluck and we head out, leading Hildy, into the light of day.

Amy is dutifully waiting at the appointed spot, now looking back anxiously to see if Mistress has come out to s.n.a.t.c.h her back, now looking around for me.

I pull up in front of her and dismount and bow. ”Miss Trevelyne?” I say, making my voice low and trying to keep a straight face.

”Y-yes,” she says, all confused. ”But who are you and where is...”

Then I give her my best grin and salute.

”Oh, Jacky, no...”

”Do you like it?” I say, spinning around. ”Ain't it a good fit?”

”Jacky, we cannot!” she wails. ”After the events of yesterday, I thought you would be somewhat chastened, but oh no ... This is scandalous! You will be arrested and you will be taken and ... and someone will see you! Those are your ... your limbs there.”

”Oh, fiddle-dee-dee,” says I, taking her bag and fastening it to the back of Hildy's saddle. ”All they'll see is a lovin' brother and sister, ridin' home for the weekend to see our lovin' mum and dad. We'll ride straight through, not stoppin' at no inn for refreshment, and no one will be the wiser. Who'll know?”

Her bag being secured, I say, ”Up with you, now,” and I take her hand and lead her to her mount and help her up, just like any decent gent. She sits there, shaking.

I return to dear Gretchie and I mount, swinging my leg over seabag and horse's rump. Amy shudders and looks away.

”Believe me, Sister,” says I, to make her easy, ”folks sees what they expects to see.”

And with a whoop! from Mids.h.i.+pman Jacky Faber, newly back in naval harness, we clatter off down the street.

We head south in the city, first a wild gallop across the Common, scattering livestock out of our way, and then by the ropewalk and a burying ground and onto Pleasant Street at a brisk trot, down to Orange and across the causeway and out of the city of Boston. The town thins out very quickly and soon buildings give way to rolling fields and farmhouses. We go at a quick walk for a while to give the horses some rest.

”Ain't this just prime?” I exults as we leave the cobblestone streets of the city and head off into the country.

”This will be just prime if we do not get caught,” says Amy, ever the optimist. ”Oh no, someone is coming!”

I see a gent up ahead, approachin' in a small open buggy pulled by one horse. ”Our first test!” I says, all gleeful, and wipes the smile off me face and puts on a serious but pleasant face.

”Good day to you both!” says the man cheerfully as we come abreast. ”And a beautiful day it is!”

I drops me voice down a notch and says, ”And a very good day to you, Suh!” And I raise my riding crop to my brim by way of salute. Amy drops her eyes and nods demurely.

”Played like a pro, Amy, my dear,” says I, when the man and his rig have pa.s.sed. ”You were the perfect sister, and you see that we have nothing to fear.”

”I suppose,” sighs Amy.

I take a deep breath and feel the jacket tighten around my chest-it is of heavy material and cut so close and snug that I did not even have to strap myself down. Not that there's all that much of me to strap down, but still ... I smile to think back to my old Deception.

It is so good to be out and free and back in sailor gear again that I just can't keep down the joy bubblin' inside my chest.

”Free!” I have to shout out. ”Free of the school, free of Mistress, and free of that awful Preacher. Free! Free of switches and constables and rods and-”

”Hush, Sister ... or rather Brother,” scolds Amy. ”We do not want to attract attention.”

”Right,” says I, and I stands up on the saddle, which is something I wanted to do ever since I got a little bit good at riding but which I could never do in front of Herr Hoffman or even Henry.

”Ta-da! Miss Jacky Faber, Queen of the Circus, for your delight and amazement!” I announces, the reins in my left hand, and my right hand in a grand sweepin' gesture as my feet step up on Gretchie's dear broad rump.

”Jacky, you are going to fall!” pleads Amy. ”Get down, now!

I drops back down and my bottom makes a soft whump as it hits the saddle.

”You are going to hurt yourself, you are,” she says, sounding like she's fed up with me and my ways.

”Ah, no little babies for little Jacky, now, eh?” I tease.

”Hummph,” says Amy, but I think I almost get a smile out of her.

”Let's have a song, then.”

And so the day wears on. We pa.s.s many people on the road, but no one suspects us of being anything other than what we appear, a brother and sister riding along talking and singing amidst the glorious colors of the fall.

We trot for a time, and then canter awhile. Then walk, then gallop, then dismount and walk the horses to let them rest and cool down. There are ripe apples hanging from branches overhead and we feed them to Gretchen and Hildy and we eat some ourselves.

We stop for lunch next to a brook where the horses can water themselves, and we sit on the gra.s.s beneath a tree and eat the sandwiches that Peg had made for us. Earlier we had come upon an old man selling cider by the wayside and I pulled out a coin from my jacket pocket, one of several I had put there last night, and bought a jug of it.

”I am sorry I do not have any money,” says Amy, looking a little ashamed. ”I have never been given any.”

”Ah, who expects a poor farm girl to have any coin o' the realm, and, besides, I say it's a pretty poor sod what can't stand her mate to a bit of a treat.”

We pa.s.s the jug back and forth. The sandwiches are made from slabs of meatloaf tucked in thick pieces of bread on which Peg has put some sort of gravy and they are wondrous good. Thanks, Peg.

”You Yankees have fine soft land here,” says 1.1 tips back the jug again and takes a long swig, then sprawls back on the gra.s.s, knees in the air.

”Let us hear you say that in a few months when we are in the dead of winter, dear,” says Amy. ”And you had better be careful of that cider. It is quite hard.”

”'Hard'?”

”It has fermented and has some alcohol in it.”

”Ha. Don't worry about that. I know to be wary of old Mr. Booze. Ain't I seen his handiwork lyin' outside many a tavern? No, Jacky Faber ain't gonna be one of his victims, I can tell you that.”

I think of Gully then and how he's wasting his great gift on the drink and how I don't understand that at all.

”You know, Amy,” I says after a while of looking up at the sky with its fluffy white clouds and birds scudding by. ”We sound awfully good singing together. We might think about getting up an act. To play in the taverns, like.”

I hear a choking sound from Amy and figure she's taken a bit too big a bite of her sandwich.

”We could do songs, of course, and dancing, but we also could do recitations of your poetry and dramatic readings and such. We could be the Fabulous Valentine Sisters. 'Valentine' sounds all exotic and romantic, don't you think?” I says. I suck a bit of meat out of my back teeth and go on. ”Trouble is, that harpsichord of yours ain't too portable.”