front of the bakery. Their noisy high spirits finally meant the baker himself came out, clad in a nightshirt, ready to complain until he saw who lounged outside his shop at midnight. “Lord bless you all,” he exclaimed, beaming. “I’ll bring over cinnamon buns in a few hours. Good night!”
Held close by her grimy husband, Meridee look around. “Despite everything, you managed to drop off your father, my love?”
His face changed. He slowly shook his head. “Meri, we fought at Trafalgar with the fleet. My father gave his life for mine.” He pulled her close. “I’ll tell you more later.”
In an hour, they were cleaner, but packed back into dirty clothes, except for Able. Mrs. Perry woke up and worked some kitchen miracle that saw them all fed, while Meridee pulled out sheets and blankets and spread them in the sitting room, except for Smitty and Nick, who shared a room upstairs.
Meridee sent Able into the washroom by himself, while she hurried around with Mrs. Perry. He came out in a clean nightshirt, minus the bandage. She stared at him, not minding that his curly hair had been clipped away from around his ear – it would grow back – but startled to see a generous peppering of white hairs among the black ones.
He shrugged. “It was that kind of warfare, my love.”
The Rats’ stories tumbled out, treating Meridee to a hodge podge of two-deckers here and there, the frightening size of Santísima Trinidad, cannon blasting, dark smoke, the crack of falling masts and spars, the groan of ships under duress that sounded nearly human, the awful sight of men on fire, men sliced in half or clutching their entrails, overheated guns cooking and exploding. She listened, horrified, holding tight to Able’s hand.
“It’s so confusing,” she said into his much cleaner ear as the boys chattered on, needing to talk. She understood that.
“That was Trafalgar,” he told her. “It was ship to ship and devil take the hindmost. Our little admiral would have called it a grand business, had he lived. What loss!”
Gradually the talk petered out and the boys lay down to sleep. Smitty and Nick went upstairs to their room. Meridee helped Able to his feet and took his hand as they walked to their room. She pulled back the coverlets, plumped up his pillow and kissed him after he lay down.
He got up quickly and went next door to look at Ben. She joined him by their son’s crib, watching as he touched their son’s head, almost as a benediction.
Arms around each other’s waists, they walked back to their room. Able lay down with a sigh that went right to Meridee’s heart. She cuddled close, relishing the briny fragrance of him, now that the smoke, tar and fear-sweat were gone. She touched the wound by his ear. “What happened?”
“Another half inch…” He stopped took several deep breaths and did what she knew he had to do, what he had probably held in for days. He tried to turn away but she didn’t allow that.
“My darling, why am I here if not to hold you and mourn, too?” she asked.
He cried into her breast as quietly as he could,. She rubbed his back, making soothing sounds she knew he liked. He sobbed until her nightgown was damp across the front.
When he could speak, he told her what happened, how his father had leaped between him and sharpshooters on the Pluton, drifting close. “I took the first ball, and he took the next two from others in the rigging,” Able said. “Before he died, he told me it was a father’s duty to protect his child, something he had yearned to do.”
“I would think he died peacefully then.”
“Oddly enough, I believe he did,” Able replied.
“How can that be odd? I know you would gladly die for Ben.”
“I would, and for you, as well.” He seemed to consider her words. “You’re right.”
“Where is he? Did you bury him at sea?”
“He’s in the Mercury.”
“What?”
“That’s one reason we were longer returning to Portsmouth. Admiral Collingwood ordered us to deliver dispatches to the blockade off the northern Spanish coast, acquainting them with the sad news of Lord Nelson’s death.” He spoke calmly. “There was a carpenter’s mate I knew aboard one of the frigates. He made a coffin, and we put my father in.” His arm went around her shoulder and he tugged her closer. “It’s a rough coffin, but what is that to anything? He was a sailor. We will have him