"What happens when people open their hearts?"
"They get better." Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
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XXII.
The sight of the large plantation house never ceased to amaze Tom. It was American in style, modelled after the palatial homes in the Deep South of the Colonies, or rather, the United States as they were. It did, however, look remarkably out of place in and amongst the natural beauty and simplistic living of the Jamaican people, but Tom knew Mr Kerry wouldnever live simply.
Tom climbed the two dozen steps to reach the front door, which stood two storeys high. Most of the sugar plantations on the island were about nine hundred acres. Mr Kerry's property was double that size, which meant his income and power, were also doubled. He was the richest man on the island and boasted over two hundred enslaved African people.
Tom knocked on the door, and it was opened moments later by an African woman wearing a housemaid's uniform. This was why he was trying to learn Creole. The African people spoke French and Portuguese as their colonised languages, and now spoke a blended Creole language in order to communicate with each other.
Tom had once heard that Mr Kerry liked to own slaves from varying backgrounds so that they would not be able to communicate with each other and run away. He honestly hoped that wasn't true.
"Good morning," Tom greeted, "Mr Kerry is expecting me." He hoped that his Creole was acceptable. It was bar far the most difficult language he had tried to learn, and he was certain he would never fully get the hang of it.
But she seemed to understand him as she opened the door properly for him. The atrium of the house was open to the two levels above, perfectly suited in such a hot climate. Every wall was painted white, which only emphasised the rich wall hangings and floor coverings.
Tom knew his way, and politely told the housemaid as best he could that he would show himself to Mr Kerry's study. The study was upstairs, at the back of the house. This was because the room had three large windows and a balcony overlooking the plantation and its workers.
Tom knocked on Mr Kerry's door and he heard a subsequent invitation to come inside.
Tom had first encountered Richard Kerry as a nine-year-old boy abandoned on that dock in Plymouth. He had been there for three days before anyone thought to ask after him. Tom had been sent away from the tavern, and so had been starving. Mr Kerry had bought him a loaf of bread and Tom had never eaten so quickly in his life. So quickly that he had promptly thrown it all back up two minutes later.
He had been an intimidating man then. Tall and stocky, with a fine coat and a black top hat. His chest had been adorned with gold chains connected to his spectacles and pocket watch. But he had a trustworthy face, or, at least to a starving child, any man willing to feed him was trustworthy.
Now he looked as though he had never done a day's work in his life, which was probably accurate. His skin was pale, and not at all weathered from the sun outside or the sea on his ships. His large moustache was perfectly combed and trimmed, as was his hair, which was nearly entirely grey now.
He smiled at Tom, the skin at his eyes crinkling. "Tom, my boy," he beckoned. "So good to see you."
"You as well, Mr Kerry," Tom greeted stiffly, shaking his hand as it was offered. Tom sat down in front of Mr Kerry's desk and produced his notes ready for their meeting.
"How was your crossing? Same as always," Mr Kerry assumed, raising his eyebrows in question.
Aside from the addition of a stowaway troublemaker, "A typical crossing, sir," he replied. "We were boarded, though, by Mary's Damnation. I had a list here of everything that I surrendered in order to keep the peace. There were no shots fired."
Mr Kerry cursed under his breath. "The hangman cannot catch up with that man fast enough, if you ask me." Shaking his head, "No matter, I trust your judgement, Tom, and I will ensure that you have an excess to surrender should it happen on your journey back. We will factor this cost in so that there is no loss."
For the next few hours, Tom and Mr Kerry sat discussing, planning, calculating, and tallying the supplies and cargo to be shipped back to England. It would take a day or two for Tom's men to cart the load back to the ship. He would not have Mr Kerry's workers transport it. His conscience would not allow those poor people to do any work for him.
The housemaid who had opened the front door for Tom entered the study sometime after noon with a tea tray and refreshments for luncheon.
Tom thanked her in Creole, and she offered him another smile, before leaving them alone.
Mr Kerry peered at him with his small, grey eyes. "What's this?" he asked. "You speak Slave, do you?" he asked curiously.
"Creole," corrected Tom sharply, "and barely. I am trying to learn."
"Why?"
Tom did not think Mr Kerry was trying to be rude. He sincerely sounded bemused, as the idea of communicating with the people that he ownedbaffled him.
Tom would have uttered something sharp in reply, but he needed to keep the man in a good mood. He had a few requests to make of him before their meeting concluded.
"Just being polite," Tom murmured. He stacked his notes neatly before shutting them away as Mr Kerry helped himself to some tea, not bothering to pour Tom a cup.
"You always were a soft, little boy underneath your hard exterior, Tom. I never forgot the little one I discovered all those years ago." He chuckled to himself.
If common decency was softness, then he would wear it gladly.
"I have a few requests to make of you before I leave, Mr Kerry." Tom cleared his throat.
This peaked Mr Kerry's interest. "Oh?"
"I want to dismiss Zacky Ellis," he stated firstly. This did not cause him any grief or spark the nerves that he was feeling. He did not like the man anyway, but his behaviour towards Eliza was inexcusable and he would not have him on the Atlantis for their return trip. "His behaviour is not acceptable."
Mr Kerry acquiesced remarkably easily. "Of course. As I said, I trust your judgement. Mr Ellis will be dismissed forthwith."
Zacky would be able to find work aboard another ship, but he would no longer sail under Tom.
His next request was what turned his stomach.
Tom had been under Richard Kerry's thumb for nearly twenty years. He was in a vicious cycle of being a great captain without a ship. Without his own ship, he could never make any income, not real, proper income that could provide ... that could even satisfy ...
The thoughts, the feelings were there, whether he was ready to deal with them or not. And when he would be forced to deal with them, Tom needed to have something to offer. At that moment in time, he had nothing.
He could get work as a captain with any merchant ship, but his situation would be unchanged. He could not even approach a bank for a loan as he had nothing for collateral. Without Richard Kerry, Tom had no future. He could only pray that twenty years of service earned him a chance.
"Do you agree that I am a good captain, a hard worker?" Tom asked Mr Kerry.
Mr Kerry appeared utterly perplexed. "But of course, Tom," he agreed, nodding.
"Thank you," he said gratefully. "It has been a pleasure working for you all these years, Mr Kerry. I appreciated the opportunity as a boy, and I am very grateful you began to trust me at eighteen to be a captain. I have learned so very much."
"Where is all this coming from, Tom?"
Tom took a deep breath. "Mr Kerry, I want to ask you for a loan."
It was not only for Eliza, and whatever, if anything, would come of that. But it was for himself, as well, to prove to himself that he was good enough on his own. He was still dependent on the man who had picked him up and dusted him off after abandonment.
"I want to buy my own ship," he continued as firmly and as confidently as he could muster. "I want to be my own master, I need to be my own master. I need something to my name, something I can offer –"
"Ah," Mr Kerry realised, a smile forming on his face. "You have met a woman," he surmised. "You are not rich enough for her, are you?"
Tom began to grow very irritated. "That is inconsequential," he snapped.
Mr Kerry chuckled. "We will never be rich enough for them, Tom. I am not rich enough for my wife and this is the house I have given her." He held his arms out, gesturing to the grandeur.
Tom would not allow feelings of inferiority to cloud his ambition. "I understand that leaving you will leave you with a disadvantage, but what I propose is this. Until the loan is paid off in full, with interest, I will pay you a percentage of my profits. I will also buy sugar from your crop at your price in order to start my business. I will, of course, not encroach upon your buyers, and I will forge my own relationships."
Mr Kerry's face grew more serious as he realised Tom's determination. Leaning forward in his chair, he rested his arms on the desk. "I have given you a lot of say over the years, Tom," he said calmly.
Tom's heart shattered. He knew already where this was going. A master at disguising his feelings, he betrayed nothing on his face.
"Not one of my other captains has as much freedom as you do," he continued. "You have refused to sail to Africa and I have allowed that."
In addition to refusing Tom's request, Mr Kerry was determined to throw Tom's humanity in his face. Of course, he had refused to sail to Africa. He shipped sugar, not people. His conscience would never allow it.
If he was rich enough to have his own plantation, then he would have free people working it. Free, and paid.
"The answer is no, Tom. You are a good captain, and I do not want you as a competitor. Some people are meant to be masters, and some are not." He looked upon Tom pitifully. "You need to stay where you belong, doing what you know. Leave the business to me."
Tom stood up abruptly, but kept a calm head, no matter the utter anger that was threatening to burst from inside of him. "As you wish," he said, his teeth clenched. He turned away from Mr Kerry, taking his notes with him, and he departed the study swiftly.
As soon as he was out of the study, he let out a breath that he had been holding. Anger, frustration, rage boiled over. That was it. That was his only chance. Without that loan, he would never be able to buy a ship on his own. He would neverhave anything to offer anyone.
***
Tom had returned to the Atlantis by three o'clock, and the mere sight of the ship made him feel like a failure. He commanded that ship, but he earned nothing from it, nothing more than a wage that would not even satisfy a pauper's father.
But Eliza was on board, and he had promised to take her into town. He needed to suppress this anger, put it away, just as he did everything else, and get on with it.
Focussing on Eliza, Tom knew she would be unhappy. She had been seriously displeased that morning, and he had understood why. But if only she could imagine the things that he had seen, and the things that he worried about, then she would know why he would not allow her to wander about on her own.
The men were not back, and Tom did not expect them until very late that evening. As soon as he was on board the ship, the door to the cabin opened and Eliza practically fell down the stairs in an effort to reach him quickly.
"Captain, you are back!" she cried cheerfully.
"You are remarkably improved on your mood from this morning," he observed.
"Oh, well that is because I left the ship and went to the market and was accosted by a strange man but fear not! I broke his nose, just as you taught me! Are you proud?"
Eliza spoke so quickly it was nearly impossible to separate her words. She was hiding her wrong while trying to highlight her triumph. Luckily for Tom, it was nearly impossible.
"You did what?" he snapped.
Had he really been so naïve to expect Eliza to do as she was told? Of course she had not stayed put. And look what had happened, as it always did! She attracted trouble like a magnet!
And then the revelation of her assault hit him. If Tom was not already in a foul mood, he was in an even worse disposition now.
"I have been putting cold compresses on my hand and I think the swelling has gone down," Eliza continued, holding up her right hand to him. Sure enough, her knuckles were red and swollen.
All Tom's efforts to remain cool and stoic evaporated. "Eliza, do you think I tell you to do these things for my own amusement?" he shouted. "What were you thinking? What could have happened to you!" Visions filled his mind of what could have happened to her and he wanted to be sick.
Eliza scowled as she glared at him. "Nothing happened to me because I could defend myself. You ought to be happy that I learned something from you. I am not inept, as you call me," she said icily.
"Happy, I ought to be?" Tom remarked in disbelief. He walked away from her in frustration, kicking over a mop and bucket in ager. "I ought to be content," he continued through gritted teeth. "This is what I am goodat. If this is what I am meant to be good at then why can you not follow a bloody order?" Tom seethed. He kicked the bucket again, sending it flying across the deck.
Tom leaned against the railing of the ship on the port side, the side that was facing the harbour. He needed to steady himself after he realised that he was shaking.
Moments later, he felt Eliza's hand on his back.
"What is wrong?" she asked softly, comfortingly. "This is not how angry you are with me normally."
He turned his head and looked down at her. All stubbornness had left her fierce expression, and she now looked upon him with her tender green eyes.
"I got some bad news," he told her, his voice quieter.
"What happened?"
Tom began to experience guilt at his level of fury that he had directed at Eliza. What sort of man yelled at a woman in such a way? "I am angry with you, Eliza. But I am sorry for directing everything at you as I did just then."
Eliza leaned on the railing beside him and looked out over the harbour. "Whenever I am upset," she told him, "I talk to my sister, Katy. I tell her everything, I complain to her, I rage about my Mama. She is terribly rational, it can be very annoying sometimes when I am particularly upset, but she always gives me sound advice. But I do the same for her. We huddle in my bedroom under the covers and she tells me her woes. I listen to everything and I help her in any way I can. That is what you do when you care about someone." Taking a breath, she said, "I think you have never learned to ... or never really had someone to tell your woes to, to complain to, and to seek comfort from. I might be wrong, but that is what I am guessing in what I have learned about you thus far, Captain."
Tom inhaled a deep, calming breath. There was really no other way to put it. She was exactly right.
"If you trust someone, Captain, your shoulders will not feel so heavy."
To his shock, she reached up and placed her hand on his right shoulder, pulling it down a little. It was as stiff and as tense as anything. How was she doing this?
***
Captain Frost swore from the pain that radiated all over his face as he lowered his telescope while standing on the beach looking out at the docked ships. He needed a whiskey. Or ten.
He had permanent eyes on the Atlantis. He always had Tom Buckley watched whenever he was in Kingston, only this time he was not alone. What a coincidence that Tom would be carrying two prizes back to England. A valuable piece of cargo, and a sugar crop. Captain Frost would be seizing both.
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Hope you enjoyed!
I started to watch The Tenant of Wildfell and then thought I would start this chapter and then go back to watching but I finished the chapter and now it's too late to watch my show/movie and I'm tired and I need to sleep hahaha.
I'll finish it in the morning.
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