Mairead is such a delight, too, in all her country-girl wonder at the sights of the big town, and it was great fun seeing her decked out in new clothes and eyeing the boys and seeing the boys eye her, with her sparkling green eyes and flaming red hair. And, because she is Liam's daughter, she is musical with a fine voice and can dance, if not rings about me, at least as well. She plays a mean pennywhistle, too, so we lose no time in getting an act together.
Of course, I have Liam and his family to dinner in my cabin right off and Higgins serves up a fine feast and we have a grand time, but I don't think Moira will ever really love me—she sees me as too much of a threat to her family, and I have to admit she's right. Already I've taken off with her husband and her eldest son, and now I'm working on Mairead. Why wouldn't she view me with suspicion? When I'm thinking straight I have to admit I see her point—I am a bad influence on her Mairead. If I had my way, we'd be putting on our act in the local taverns at night, which is probably why Mairead is not allowed to stay the night with me in my cabin. Pity, I could have used the company. Liam knows me, too, and what I'm likely to do if I get my blood up, so, regrettably, I spend my nights alone.
We have found a teahouse where we are allowed in, so we go in and are seated. Mairead sits stiffly, not knowing what to do right off, but I say just relax and they will bring us stuff to eat and drink. When they do, I say, "Put that napkin in your lap and then put your left hand in that same lap and leave it there. Pretend it doesn't work anymore, for all the good it's going to do you here. Reach for your teaspoon with your right hand and put some sugar in your cup. Stir it up. Put the teaspoon on your saucer, like this. Now take a sip. Put the cup back down and take a piece of cake. Bring it to your mouth and eat it—small bites, now. Now, another sip of tea, put the cup back down, and say, 'I say, Miss Faber, is it not the most deliiiiiiightful day?'"
By this time we are both convulsed in giggles, but we soldier on and do not make complete fools of ourselves.
"Jacky, I gotta say this's been the best part of my life so far and if anybody thinks I'm going back to that dirty little farm and marry that dirty little Loomis Malloy, they're sadly mistaken." She takes another cake and drops it down. She shakes her head and the red curls dance, her green eyes defiant. Mairead, like her brother Padraic, has red hair—not orange hair, not ginger hair, not carrottop hair, but red hair. I've never seen the like.
"Come, Mairead, he can't be as bad as all that," I say, munching my own bit of cake. It's good and I have another.
"Well, if you, Miss, are partial to lads what ain't got no foreheads or necks and whose knuckles drag on the ground as they walks, then Loomis is just the man for you! I'll set up an intro-duck-shun, like," she says. I have to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from snorting tea and cake out my nose and onto the nice tablecloth.
"Loomis, I'd like you to meet Miss Faber. She is a lady. Miss Faber, I'd like you to meet Loomis. He is an ape."
I manage to swallow my cake without choking.
"His talk is all about his hogs and how the sow is about to have piglets, and then he looks at me and my belly when he says that, and I about die of the pure mortification, I do."
"Ah, but he has some land, I hear. That's got to count for something," say I, playing the devil's, or rather, father's advocate, just for fun.
"Land!" she snorts. "Jacky, land is nothing but dirt, and all the dirt in Ireland grows nothing but sorrow. I notice you ain't had much use for it, dirt that is, always being out on the nice clean ocean and being Captain of your own fine ship and all."
"You wouldn't use the word 'clean,' Mairead, if you ever smelled our bilges after we've been out for a month or so ... and besides, I ain't Captain, your father is."
"Aye, but everyone knows who's really the boss."
"Boss ain't the same as Captain, Mairead, and you should know that." To change the subject I ask, "Surely, Mairead, Liam would not marry his beloved daughter off to someone she did not love?"
She sniffs and looks off out the window. "Dad didn't send Loomis away, like he did the others ... like he did Arthur McBride..."
Jesus! I think. I sure don't blame Liam for that!
"Or..." And here her voice softens, "like he did Ian McConnaughey."
Ah. The things you learn when you just sit and listen.
"I am sure the real reason he took Arthur and Ian on your Emerald as crew, them being farm boys who had never been to sea before, was to keep them away from me when he was gone out on the ocean."
"Well, let's finish up here and head out into the town, and if we meet up with Arthur and Ian and I find myself on Arthur's arm and you on Ian's, then what's the harm?" I say, tidying myself up and getting ready to get to my feet. "We have two more days before we sail, so let's make the most of it."
Two more days, which we fill with music and song and wild romps through the town. Yes, she does meet up with Ian, and I let myself be led around by Mr. McBride for a bit, rascal though he be. He spends most of his talk on telling me what a fine fellow he is, but he is fun and good company and so we get along.
On our last afternoon in port, Mairead and I put on a performance on the main deck—all of the men are back on board and since she and I ain't allowed to put on our show in one of the pubs, 'cause Moira would crucify us both, her daughter in the regular way and me upside down like poor Saint Peter, it seems the only place we can do it.
We do the usual sad Irish songs like "The Mountain of Mourn," some comic ones like "Galway Bay," and then rip into some fast reels like "The Green Groves of Erin" and "The Merry Blacksmith," with me on the fiddle and Mairead on the whistle, and then Liam can't stand it anymore and decides not to be the grumpy dad and pulls out his concertina and plays a hornpipe and Mairead and I link arms and dance to the delight of all. Then Dennis Muldoon, of all people, takes the Lady Lenore from me and he and Liam go into my favorite "The Rocky Road to Dublin," which I had sung all alone on the shores of South America and on the road from Boston and now sing here in Ireland, and when I finish the last verse, Mairead and I stand side by side, with Padraic by me and Ian by Mairead, and we all four pound the deck of the Emerald like it's never been pounded before. Glory!
Mairead was good as any dutiful daughter at dinner that last evening. We all had a fine feast in my cabin and she left with her mother, without complaint, when night had fallen and it was time for them to go. I think my time with Mairead has settled her down a bit and she seems reasonably content. Easy in her own skin, like, and looking to the future with more assurance. She waved to me as she left and I waved back. It will be all right, Mairead, you'll see.
Then we put away the charms of the shore and it's out to sea to raid once more.
Chapter 34
We hold a Council of War in my cabin—Liam, Reilly, me, and Higgins. We've been out for four days and ain't seen nothing yet, nothing worth taking. We boarded some fishing boats and all they had on them was fish so we bought some and let the boats go. Never let it be said that Jacky Faber is a common thief, not nowadays, anyway.
"I say we head south and go worry the Dagos off the coast of Spain. The Frogs know us too well around here and are laying low it seems. Else we got 'em all," I say.
"Well, it sure would be warmer," says Reilly, "and I wouldn't mind that." I hadn't really thought about it till now, but it is getting on into late November and there's a definite chill in the air.
"Any prizes we got would have to be brought a farther way back, to sell at Harwich," says Liam, leaning back and plainly thinking it over. "Sure ain't no places down in Spain we could sell 'em without us getting hanged for it. Have to protect 'em on the way back up, too, as well as ourselves. Lots of Spanish privateers down there. Thanks, Higgins." Higgins has our silver coffeepot and is refilling the porcelain cups we got off that second ship the Wolverine took. "But it's all right with me," says Liam, finally, and the plan is approved.
John Reilly and Liam leave the cabin, and from outside I hear them give the orders to come about for the south. I settle back in my chair and prepare for some reading, or maybe some practice on the Lady Lenore, but, oh no, it is not to be.
"Miss, if you would have a seat," says Higgins, "I think we need to redo your hair."
Uh, oh. That's Higgins's way of saying, Sit down, you ignorant slug, I want to talk some sense into what passes for your brain.
I sigh and plunk down. The Continuing Education of Jacky Faber...
He takes my pigtail and unbraids it and begins to brush my hair. Uummmm, that does feel good...
"You might consider, Miss," he begins ... And here it comes, I think..."now as you grow in wealth and will no doubt soon go into Society, that you might consider avoiding using such words as Frog and Dago, as many people find them offensive."
What?
"But they're the enemy, Higgins, why not call them what we want to call them and bugger their feelings?"
Higgins sniffs. "'Bugger' is another word you might profitably drop from your vocabulary, Miss. But I digress. I have come to know you to be a young lady who is pure of heart and free of prejudice, but sometimes you seem to ... without thinking, I believe ... express yourself in a manner rather rude as regards another person's origins."
"All right, Higgins. I'll listen, if you keep brushing."
"Very well. Now, there are many in Britain who can claim either French or Spanish ancestry. Your own Captain Delaney proudly claims descent from the Spanish Armada. Many, many people have relatives across the Channel—after all, we have been living next to each other for thousands of years, even though we've been at war for most of that time."
"Hmm," I hum, unconvinced. Once again someone is telling Jacky Faber to clean up her mouth. It always seems to be the thing to do, don't you know...
"And as for being enemies, does not one honor one's enemies and accord them a measure of respect if they act in an honorable manner? Does not a captain in any service, French, English, or Spanish, put on his finest uniform before a battle as a gesture of respect to his enemy?"
"They say that's why they do it," I snort, "but I thinks it's 'cause they want to have their best clothes on their back if they're captured and so their best duds can't be stolen by some snot-nosed sublieutenant or, if they're killed, they want to leave a good-looking corpse."
"Well, we all want that, don't we? But is that why you dress up each time we attempt to take a ship?"
"Higgins, you know damn well I do it to prance around and show off," I laugh, but I take his words to heart. And well I should, for who knows better than I from my time at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls that words can pierce the heart as surely as swords? I know I didn't like being called "the Tory" back in Boston, or "the little fairy" on board the Dolphin, or "the Captain's whore" on the Wolverine, and for sure, there's been more front teeth lost to the word "Mick" than to any dentist's pliers. I sigh a great sigh and resolve to take his advice and be good.
"All right, Higgins, I will do it. No more Frogs, Dagos, Spics, Yanks, Blackamoors, Portagees, Hunkies, Polacks, Russkies, Chinks, Japs, Hindoos, no more..."