Jane Orcutt - All the Tea in China

He smiled. “We always seem to strike a bargain, do we not?”

“Will you teach me?”

“Yes.” His gaze flickered over my form. “But you will need something more suitable to wear. You cannot kick wearing a dress.”

“I am accustomed to wearing inexpressibles while I fence,” I said.

He opened his trunk. “Then you will find these comfortable.” He handed me a pair of light cotton inexpressibles and a loose-fitting cotton jacket that tied at the side. Their style was peculiar but comfortable looking indeed.

“What manner of fencing clothes are these?”

“They are not for fencing. They are what I often wear when I am in China.”

“Where will we practice? Surely we should stay out of sight.”

“Do you think the crew will be astonished at your learning martial arts after the way you handled a sword? Nevertheless, we do not want to be in anyone’s way, so perhaps we could find more room in the cuddy than on deck.”

So it was that I found myself in the middle of the Indian Ocean on an East Indiaman bound for China, learning Phineas’s method of fighting. He called it mo soot. At first I found it difficult not to laugh at the stances he taught, which, he said, were based on various animal movements, such as the dragon, leopard, tiger, snake, and crane. It reminded me of being a child, when David Ransom and I had pretended to be animals roaming in their natural habitat.

What a lifetime ago it seemed, as though it had happened to another person…

As the days melded into weeks, Phineas and I began to speak Chinese more frequently, particularly during our training. I had learned to distinguish the various tones in the language, and with a little practice, I learned to repeat them well enough to be understood. I completed a few more copies of the second chapter of Luke in Chinese, and after the ink had dried, Phineas bound them with a ribbon Julia provided and stored them in his trunk. I was pleased, for I would pass out these tracts when we reached the interior of China.

Naturally, my reputation was quite ruined with our fellow passengers. Mr. Harrison appeared none too pleased with me, pursing his lips when in my presence. But as Mrs. Harrison was no paragon of a lady herself, he said nothing. Sadly, she appeared to be as addicted to the laudanum as ever, and I wondered at the wisdom of his taking her to a country where so many suffered from the same ailment. Phineas had described opium dens, and I shuddered to think of Mrs. Harrison’s presence there.

Mr. and Mrs. Akers gave me the cut direct. Fortunately, neither they nor anyone else seemed wiser to the fact that Phineas and I were not truly brother and sister, but they would have nothing to do with me because of my behavior with the privateers. Mrs. Akers sniffed that it would have been far better for me to have been killed than to have participated in such wicked, unladylike behavior. “You want to be a missionary?” she said. “It is the Chinese who should seek to convert you. Perhaps it is well that you go there, though, for surely only heathens will have you. Britain certainly will not.”

Her words stung that day and every day after when I passed her on deck or sat near her in the cuddy. She refused to speak with me, communicating only through someone else. “Mr. Snowe, would you please ask your sister to pass the salt?” Naturally, by this time someone had informed her of Julia Whipple’s reputation, so she was never the recipient of Mrs. Akers’s conversation, either. I cannot speak for Julia, but I learned to count it all joy.

Speaking of Julia, the oddest turn of events occurred while Phineas and I trained together. Alternately nursing the other wounded as needed, she spent the majority of her time at Mr. Gilpin’s bedside. Perhaps because of much prayer, her steady compassion, and the medical skills of the doctor, Mr. Gilpin’s health steadily improved. Soon he was able to tolerate broth, then to sit up and converse with visitors, and finally, to stand. One day Phineas and I were strolling the deck when we saw a shaky Gilpin on the arm of Julia Whipple, walking as far as the quarter deck before returning to the surgeon’s area. Phineas and I both marveled at his improvement. We marveled even more when, as Gilpin was released from bed rest, he was seen in Julia’s company more often than not.

“She has done much good for his recovery,” Phineas said to me late one evening as we loitered about the deck. “A man will not fight to save himself half as much as when there is a lady involved.”

“Perhaps the lady upon whom he thinks is his mother. He sets great store by her.”

“Too much, perhaps. Though a man must, indeed, retain the highest regard for his mother, or he is no man at all.”

“Indeed.”

Though it was late and we should be headed for the cabin, we walked to the bow. I thrilled to watch the ship cutting through the water, pushing whitecaps to the side with such little effort. Ah, if only life could be so effortless. I turned to Phineas to express that very thought, but he was studying the horizon, not the water.

“A penny for your thoughts?” I said softly.

He turned, and I could see the moon reflected in his eyes. Solemnly, he took my hand. “Do you remember the night we met?”

“Of course.”

“There was dancing that night.”

I smiled. “As I recall, we were deep in conversation during all the dances, having one argument or another, I am certain.”

“I wish…” He gently squeezed the fingers of my hand. “I wish that I had asked you to dance, for then I would now have the memory of holding you in my arms.”

My mouth went dry. “Phineas…”

“Would you dance with me now?”

Oh, thank heavens, he was merely making a jest at my expense. I smiled again. “There are no musicians, indeed, no music.”

“Then I will hum the tune. Have you ever waltzed, Miss Goodrich?”

The way he said my name formally, as he had once been accustomed, sent a shiver up my spine. “I… I do not know the steps, and indeed I hear it is a scandalous dance.”

“It is easy enough to master if you can count one-two-three. Your hand goes lightly on my shoulder here, and my hand at your waist there.”

“Phineas…”

He hummed softly, an unfamiliar tune to my ear. My feet-traitorous appendages!-willingly followed his steps. We were no longer aboard the Dignity, but at a ball. Instead of our dingy ship wear, Phineas and I wore the finest of garments and we waltzed across a parquet floor to the accompaniment of a four-piece orchestra. Candles flickered all around us, and the scent of flowers clung in the air. I sensed the strength of his body as he held me closely, yet his touch was so tender that I knew I need never fear.

“Isabella,” he whispered, his breath stirring the fringes of hair covering my ear.

I opened my mouth to reply, but he held me even closer, and suddenly it seemed that we scarcely moved at all. Then I realized we did indeed stand still, and he was leaning even closer, if possible.

The ballroom faded away, the orchestra ceased its tune, and we were aboard the Dignity yet again. I had never felt such a stirring in my heart, and when his lips met mine, it seemed the most natural of events.

This-this!-was love. My heart beat with joy, and I allowed myself to be enfolded more closely in his arms as the kiss lingered on. Reason altogether fled but suddenly returned equally as swift. I released his hand and stepped back. “We cannot,” I said softly, hating myself almost as much for releasing him as for regretting the words.

Shock then horror registered on his face. “Isabella… forgive me. I would never seek to compromise your character.”

“I know,” I whispered, and somehow, I knew that he would never trifle with me. I had been a willing, nay, eager accomplice. “It… it is late, Phineas.”