reason || frontier

2. shipbound

Bess Clark never had good sea legs.

She had moved to the New World as a child with her family, settling in a small and isolated corner of the Hudson Bay. That sea journey had been bad enough to leave a lasting impression on the girl. In the bay, her father traded furs with the local natives, her mother caught a fever their first winter there and died, and along with her went the rest of Bess's siblings.

When her father finally died - an infected injury - Bess packed up all she could carry and moved to what was the nearest thing passing for a town: Fort James.

She worked as one of Grace Emberly's girls, manning the bar and keeping the visitors entertained. She may have gone too far with the entertaining as within the year she was with child, unmarried and at risk of losing her livelihood.

The father, a simple-minded soldier for the Hudson Bay Company, agreed to marry her. In less than a day she was no longer a barmaid, no longer a wench and a whore, but a respectable enough soldier's wife.

She was fortunate. Her husband was not the type to raise his voice or to raise his fists. Truthfully, that would have taken too much mental effort. He kept her in a small cabin, a short distance from the barracks, where she could watch him and her previous flings march past daily.

Her pregnancy was long, made longer still by her relative isolation. She had moved to Fort James in the hope of finding a more bustling atmosphere than the cabin out in the wilds. But Grace would not have her work pregnant - "you've given this establishment a bad name."

She eventually birthed (alone, Jacob was fast asleep) in the depths of Autumn a little boy named Samuel for her father. He was pretty enough, but small and he cried persistently.

Bess thought little of it, nursing Sam and keeping her cabin in order. Winter was due to set in and there was much to do, much to prepare. She feared Sam would not live the winter and fed him as often as she could, as often as he would accept.

Her ability to produce milk was what led her to this. It had begun late one night when there was a frantic knocking at the cabin door, a noise followed soon after by a bawling Sam.

The lord needed a wet nurse. There was little talk. Bess was all but marched from her bed, having only enough time to grab her shawl, to grab her coat and to grab little Sam. She was bundled in the dark, across the fort, towards the harbour where a small boat was being loaded.

Like the cargo, she and Sam were carried aboard. Bess huddled closer to her baby beneath the shawl. The bay had yet to freeze over, but winter was setting in fast and the night was cool enough, especially out on the water.

The little boat was rowed out a good distance from the shore to where a larger ship was waiting. Bess's stomach churned at the sight of it. She would have willingly refused then, but where would she go? She was stuck on a small boat in between two redcoats and holding a newborn. She was trapped.

Aboard the ship, there was little space on the deck for her, but her redcoat guards brought her to a small room below deck. It was a plain room, but furnished with a bed and a chair and a window to look out onto the sea if she so wished (she didn't).

"Is Lord Benton here?" She asked as Sam began to wail and the ship shifted beneath them.

"The lord is on the ship," was the reply. Not that Bess truly wished to meet the man. Stories abounded the colony about him and they were not good stories.

The real reason for her being effectively kidnapped and brought aboard soon presented itself. Or rather a redcoat presented it.

A baby. Tinier than Sam was at birth, with stick-like arms and legs that took Bess's breath away. A good set of lungs though, she screamed and screamed, exceeding Samuel in volume.

Bess did not need further instruction. The newborn could not have been more than a few hours old, but it was unlikely she had been fed before then. She latched onto Bess clumsily at first, but fed from her with a hunger that put Sam to shame.

Nestled onto the bed, a babe in each arm and on each breast, Bess did not notice the ship cast off its anchor nor did she notice the rough churn of the wintry sea, at first at least.

She did not miss the redcoat's remark though as he left her with the children.

"Anything happens to the girl," he had said, "Benton will skin you and your bastard alive."

If the stories were anything to go by, this was no false threat.