Cape Cod Noir - By David L Ulin Page 0,18

men could be manipulated, even to murder. And while she knew in her heart she belonged in Boston, she also knew that her former life pouring beer for sailors and fishermen was impossible. She had money now, and a glimpse of the wider world that fed a kind of ambition, but for what, she did not know. The question had plagued her over the weeks of travel: if she could not be what she had been, and was not allowed to be what she might want, what would she do?

Once, she’d actually climbed the stairs from her quarters on Mr. Oliver Browne’s ship Indomitable and gone to the railing, looking at the waves: angry, white-capped slate. She hesitated, then would not jump, for anger at those who’d placed her in this position: the men who conspired for her property, the men who would use her quick wit for themselves, the laws that constrained her as a woman.

The welcome rage sustained her.

Just before dawn on the last day, within sight of land, she observed an unholy light. Beautiful tongues of orange and pink and green stretched out into the sky, and Anna realized she was watching a building burn.

“Someone’s lost money tonight,” said her traveling companion, Mr. Adam Seaver. Then: “We must stop here, to attend an errand. They’ll put us ashore.”

No doubt it was on behalf of their mutual benefactor and employer, Mr. Browne. Still answerless, Anna was neither relieved nor angered by the delay; she merely nodded.

But the Sunday morning bustle at their inn reminded her of her own establishment. She glanced at the exquisitely dressed manikin on her table, but Dolly had no answers for her. And when she turned to her well-worn Bible for comfort and instruction, her eyes blurred so she could not read. Denied this, she pulled on her blue velvet cloak and left.

The village was set against sandy dunes on a sheltered harbor, a spit of land that curled protectively against the bay. Outside the inn, she saw a crowd standing around the burnt ruin of the building she’d seen from the ship. No more fiery beauty here: heavy timbers burned to charcoal jutted out from the collapsed wreckage against the clear sky, like so many black marks on a blotter. Turning away from the gathered townspeople, Anna saw a man in a towering fury shaking a boy half his size. The child’s thin arms and legs practically rattled with the movement, and tears streamed down his filthy face.

“You little shit of a liar!” Flecks of spittle flew from the man’s lips. “First you say you saw a man, then a girl. Which is it?”

“Both!”

The man dropped the boy, and kicked him until his anger was dissipated and the boy stopped moving.

Anna shook her head. She walked until she found the meetinghouse by the creek.

She did not pray. She didn’t have it in her to ask for favor. The church was only another container for her emptiness. She went through the rituals absently, without solace.

But there was information to be had. The vehemence of the sermon, drawn from Leviticus, about the land turning to whoredom, alerted Anna. The red and sweating face of the preacher, and his steadfast refusal to look anywhere near the lovely lady in the third row, confirmed it. The preacher would have chosen a milder topic if he hadn’t been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Two women in front of Anna barely concealed their amusement. “Come Monday,” one whispered to the other, “she’ll be right back at it. Where else would our betters get their release?”

They ceased only when the warden raised his eyebrows. Anna added this observation to her present perplexity. The lady who seemed to be the object of the sermon hadn’t asked permission to ply her trade. She was in church, nodding with the best of them, free to ignore the implications. She was certainly doing well for herself, in one of the better pews, modestly but well dressed.

She makes her way well enough, asking no leave of anyone, Anna thought. If it is my will I serve, what do I want?

As the preacher delved into the exact nature of the hellfire that awaited sinners, Anna stood, ready to leave. There was nothing for her here, only more men with more words to shape the world for themselves. She had to leave or go mad.

Something stopped her, and she almost rebelled against it, but pausing showed her the reason. Out the window, she saw him peering in furtively.