“Her brother has told me on more than one occasion that his sister would be a better headmaster than he,” Able said. “I didn’t argue with him. In a perfect world, she would be headmaster.”
Mr. Ferrier stopped walking. He hesitated and Able waited, almost certain what was coming next. After another try, Able stepped in. “I think I know what you want to tell me, sir,” was all it took.
“Able, Thaddeus has offered me the position of headmaster when he is gone,” Mr. Ferrier said, his face troubled. “He says he does not have long to live and is hoping to survive this term. What can be wrong with him?”
“I have noticed a yellow cast to his skin,” Able said. “Perhaps you have, as well, sir?”
Mr. Ferrier shook his head, then managed a quiet chuckle. “You always were the more observant among the crew on the Defence. Tell me now what you think.”
Master Ferrier was never a man to dance around. “I believe our Thaddeus has cancer of the liver, sir. It is simply a matter of time. I know you will make an excellent headmaster.”
“Sad news, indeed, but thank you for your endorsement,” Master Ferrier said. “You relieve my mind. I was afraid you might think I was usurping a promotion that you would feel was yours by your own leadership abilities.” He looked at St. Brendan’s. “The Rats would follow you into the jaws of hell.”
“I want nothing more than to return to my classroom, sir.”
“And I have discovered that retirement is a galloping bore,” Mr. Ferrier said.
But Mr. Ferrier was miles away now, teaching and ready to assume additional duties Thaddeus allotted to him. Able glanced at Smitty, steering a true course on the Mercury, and at Tots taking his morning reading with his sextant. Able knew he belonged in the classroom, as soon as this issue of Frogs and Spaniards playing too close to England was resolved. Very well, Admiral Nelson, it’s time to tease out the Combined Fleet from Cádiz. I have other work to do, he thought, and a wife who waits. You are keeping me from both of them, sir.
The first night out he had gone below for the letter Meri had handed to him, after another of her incendiary kisses in the privacy of their bedroom. “Ben and I wrote you letters,” she said as she slipped it in his uniform pocket. “Read them when you have a quiet moment.”
He found that quiet moment in the middle watch as everyone else slept and he manned the helm. He read the one from Ben first. “Pretty good handwriting, lad,” he said out loud. Ben had drawn him a picture of the Mercury. Mama says you are to tack this in a convenient place, he read. Able’s eyes misted. And more specifically, you are to be very careful because I need you at home. Your loving son, Benjamin.
He saved Meri’s letter for another hour, for that time when he knew he would be growing tired and getting ready for Smitty to relieve him. She had drawn herself in profile, with the smallest bump outlined under her dress. The bump had a question mark inside, which made him smile. It’s a girl, Meri, he thought. Trust me though: I will look wonderfully surprised.
He read on as his wife professed her deep love for him, her anxiety when he was at sea, and her confidence that there wasn’t anything that could possibly prevent his return to her in due time. He turned over the page and found himself reading reality, this time. But you are only human, my love, and anything can happen, he read. Waiting at home is onerous. Putting on a smile every day is difficult. Patting your pillow at night makes me long for you. I miss your lap as much as Ben does. I feel better, safer, wiser, and happier when you are in my sight.
“So do I Meri,” he whispered.
He smiled through the mist when she told him she was wearing his scandalous locket, and that she had tucked one of his unlaundered shirts under her pillow. She finished, Meri-style, with a flourish. I love you and long to see you soon. Damn Napoleon, anyway. Yours, completely yours through it all, Meridee Six and a third.
Able read her letter every night. He wondered how he, a man skilled beyond normal facility in navigation, had ever managed to plot his earlier solitary course through life. Here we are,