The Randolph Legacy by Eileen Charbonneau Read Free Book Online Page B

to sleep now.”
    “You’ll come? On deck? Tonight?”
    “I’ll come.”
    “When do you sleep, Judith?”
    Fayette shook his head. “Les questions, seulement les questions. Avoir sommeil, petit général,” he admonished.
    Once Washington’s eyes closed again, Judith felt dazed, underwater, which in fact, there in the hold, she was. Fayette led her from their quarters, locked the door. They climbed to the deck above. They walked past the sick bay and the counting room of the purser’s steward to the apothecary. The somber man behind the half door had his head in a medical treatise.
    “Thrumming,” Fayette summoned. “I need a remedy.”
    Thrumming’s hollow cheeks compressed further as he surveyed Judith. “Hmmm. I would bleed her first.”
    “I’ll consider your suggestion. Would you like to take a promenade of the deck?”
    Thrumming nodded, put his book under his arm, and left.
    Fayette brought Judith inside the small room, and lifted her onto its lonely surgeon’s stool.
    “Fayette,” she protested, “I’m not ill.”
    “Shhh,” he admonished, as lightly as he had Washington. Then he set to work.
    Tiers of shelves crowded with green bottles and gallipots lined all four sides of the cubicle. Beneath the shelves, drawers were inscribed in Latin. From one, Fayette removed a gnarled root. He added powder, and began to mash them together in a mortar.
    Judith watched, oddly comforted. He had been doing this a long time—standing, harnessed by the small space, patiently making up remedies.
    “My father and I dined with the captain,” she said.
    “I see.”
    “His darkness, Fayette. Thou cannot protect Washington from it much longer.”
    “I know.” He ground something black beneath the pestle.
    “Thou art not Lafayette. His name is not Washington. Who is he?” Judith demanded. “Why is he on this ship?”
    Fayette looked up, amused. “What’s this, anger?”
    “Bluntness. We Quakers are known for being blunt, remember?”
    “Your knotted fists betray you, Judith.”
    “Anger, then! At—”
    “Anger? From a gentle persuader seeking the seed of Truth within this poor fellow here beside you?”
    Judith concentrated on the stiff fingers in her lap. He was right; that was the worst of her humiliation. This rationalist Frenchman was right. “I ask thy forgiveness,” she said softly.
    He uncorked a bottle and added its liquid to his concoction. It smelled like blackberries. He stirred, then poured it all into a chipped crockery cup. He put it in Judith’s hand. “Drink.”
    The draught was curiously sweet, spiced by ginger and licorice. She finished it in the second swallow. “What was that, Fayette?”
    “A love potion.”
    “Thou cannot resist teasing me, even now?”
    “No, rose blanc .”
    “Rose—?”
    “White rose. Have none of your lovers ever called you by the names of flowers?”
    Her hands were now folded in her lap. “Stop.”
    He sighed. “Very well. But you will not be so without mercy as to disallow me my dreams?”
    Safe. He was teasing her again. She met his eyes.
    “And who was I, in thy dream?” she challenged.
    “My dream?”
    “The one as we stood beside the hammock?”
    He exhaled an exasperated snort. “You are like him, do you know that? Chipping away at my rational being with your infernal visions!” He took in a pained breath. “Madeline and I, we used to lean over the cradle together like that. Exactly like that. Not quite believing.”
    “Believing what?”
    “Our good fortune.”
    “She was a Friend, thy Madeline,” Judith realized.
    “Disowned when she married me—Reason, the Devil himself.”
    “Thy wife, child, are they … ?”
    “A lifetime ago I lost them, back when you were playing with your dolls.”
    Judith felt a warm glow pass between her and this charming, provoking man. He didn’t even think her older than her years, as most men did, because of her hair’s early graying. He had erred on the other side.
    “I am two and