Part 20 (1/2)

For this I give the sad-eyed, abashed look and say, ”You must be very ashamed of me, Sister.”

”Not at all,” she says. ”I love you as my life. But you did ask...”

”All right, all right. Go on.” I sprawls on my back again. ”Lay on, Amy, and get it all out.”

”Well. Then there's that right there. You should never lie or sit with your limbs apart like that.”

I snaps my legs together.

”And they are your limbs, Jacky, and that is how you should refer to them, not as your legs or arms or anything else.”

”Even when it's just us girls?”

”Even so.” Amy's mouth is set in the same thin line as Mistress Pimm's.

”Farewell, legs. h.e.l.lo, limbs,” I says. ”What is this, then?” I point.

”Your knee. Part of your limb. And, yes, your thigh, too, is part of your limb, and never discussed.”

”And me rump?” I asks, pointing to my bottom.

”Your derriere. The less said, the better.”

”And these?”

”Decolletage would be best. Or breast, but singular, never plural.”

”And this?”

”That is your abdomen, dear, not your belly nor your stomach. Discussed only with your doctor.” She knows that she is being played with, but she goes on. ”And no more picking of the nose, should you get around to pointing to that part. And as to that, a lady does not point, either.”

I take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. ”Farewell, nose, friend of my idle hours. Farewell, too, my belly. Maybe as Miss Ab Domen you will not trouble me so much with your wants.”

I grin what I now know is my foxy grin and lift my hand and am about to point to the really good stuff when she drops her head and says, ”Now you are going to shock me and it is not fair, for I am such an easy target.”

She looks down at her hands wringing in her lap and doesn't say anything more. I see from her expression that I was about to go too far with her.

”I'm sorry, Amy.” I rustle about and straighten myself out on the straw and say, ”I don't want to be a lady like Clarissa, but I do want to be a lady like you, and I will listen to you and learn.”

In spite of all my foolery, she seems touched by what I say.

I lift my hand to my brow and make a salute. ”I, Jacky Faber, Maiden First Cla.s.s, await your further instructions, Ma'am!”

I thinks then about Jaimy and our hammock and then adds, ”Better make that Maiden Second Cla.s.s,” and I wrap my arms about myself and rock back and forth, giggling.

”I do not believe you are one at all,” she blurts out. ”There. I have said it.” Her face is blus.h.i.+ng furiously.

”Are one what?” I asks, wondering what she's gettin' at.

”A ... a maiden,” she whispers in mortification.

I drop the smile and give a low whistle. ”What you must think of me, Miss,” I say.

”No, no ... I am sorry. Forgive me. It is just that ... that I worry about you, Jacky. Things you have said, things you have done ... I'm sorry,” she says, and covers her face in shame. ”Let us talk about something else, please, Sister. I am sorry.”

I gaze upon her and remember Mistress telling me to keep my mouth shut about my past, but that was before I was kicked out of the ranks of the ladies.

I consider that and then I says, ”Would you like to hear my little story, then?”

”I would, yes, I suppose I would,” she says in relief and in, I think, some dread.

”Even the rough parts?”

She gulps and then nods.

”All right, then,” I says, lying back. ”And if afterward you want to put me out, I'm all right with that and won't hold it against you. I know I'm free and easy in my ways, and I know that might not sit right with someone like you who was brought up proper. My seabag is always packed and I can be gone in five minutes. Agreed?”

”I would never put you out. Never.”

”Never say never, Amy. It has a way of coming back on you.

I put my hands behind my head and look off into the high rafters of the barn, and back through the Caribbean and the Mediterranean and the Dolphin and Jaimy and the Brotherhood and Cheapside and Charley and the gang and back to that day, That Dark Day.

At last I close my eyes and begins to speak.

”My name is Jacky Faber and in London I was born, but, no, I wasn't born with that name. Well, the Faber part, yes, the Jacky part, no, but they call me Jacky now and it's fine with me. They also call me Jack-o and Jock and the Jackeroe, too, and, aye, it's true I've been called b.l.o.o.d.y Jack a few times, but that wasn't all my fault. Mostly, though, they just call me Jacky.

”That wasn't my name, though, back on That Dark Day when my poor dad died of the pestilence and the men dragged him out of our rooms and down the stairs, his poor head hanging between his shoulders and his poor feet bouncin on the stairs, and me all sobbin and blubberin and Mum no help, she bein sick, too, and my little sister, as well.

”Back then my name was Mary.”

It was much harder to tell than I thought it would be and much, much later when I am finished and I lie shuddering and sobbing in her arms, Amy says, ”How silly we must all seem to you.”

And then, as I quiet down and subside, she says, ”Never, ever again think that you are less than any lady.”

Chapter 22.