by Arlem Hawks
Collin snapped his head around. “Your sister?” That changed the situation. A sudden lightness filled him where dread had once resided.
“Won’t you join us?” Emmerson motioned toward the group. “I’m afraid we aren’t playing cards tonight, as Marah said she hasn’t the mind for it. I tried to insist, as I only win when she is absentminded. But I can promise good conversation nonetheless.”
Marah. That was a pretty name. “I don’t think Mrs. Kinsley would be pleased to have me join.” Not after his unintended implications from earlier.
“Come.” Emmerson started across the quarterdeck. “I think she’ll find it refreshing.”
“We heard Mrs. Vernal coming around the corner, so we grabbed the blankets and ran. Isabel nearly forgot the book, and Phoebe had to stuff the last Chelsea bun in her mouth as we went.” Marah paused as Josias appeared at the edge of the lantern light. He’d taken his time coming above tonight.
“Did you get away?” Cyrus asked.
Captain Boyd followed Josias into the circle. As one, they clambered to their feet to salute.
“I thought the captain might join us this evening,” Josias said.
Marah shot him a look. What did he mean by inviting the captain to their gathering? And after she’d reprimanded him—her commanding officer—in such a fashion. She’d told her brothers and Adam about what had happened. Josias loved inciting awkwardness. If this was another of his jokes…
“As you were,” the captain said quickly, his face reddening. Had he not insulted her that morning, she might have pitied his embarrassment. He found a seat just outside their circle, pointedly keeping his gaze away from her.
She, Adam, and her brothers warily returned to their positions. Josias plopped to the deck as though he regularly invited Captain Boyd into their presence. Did Josias think they could speak easily with the commander in their midst?
After a moment, Cyrus said, “Did Mrs. Vernal catch you?”
She did not want to recount this or any tale with the captain in earshot. “No. We climbed back in through Phoebe’s window.”
“I always wanted to go to school,” Cyrus said. He seemed to have quickly forgotten the presence of their commander. “But Mr. Atlee and his—”
“Cyrus,” she warned. The anger creeping into his voice always heralded profanity. That boy had taken to cursing like a duck to water. Their mother would be horrified if she ever heard him.
“Yes, Mama.” He whispered something she couldn’t hear. Most likely the curses he’d intended to say.
“Don’t forget, Cyrus,” Eliab said in his usual grumbly tone, “Marah went to a school for fine ladies. She cannot stand for the slightest vulgarity.”
Marah scowled and smacked Eliab’s arm. Captain Boyd didn’t need to know she’d once been in a more genteel circle.
“I’ve grown used to it,” Cyrus said. “She’s been my second mother for seventeen years now.”
Not that she was very good at it. She didn’t know the perfect things to say at the right moment like her friend Lavinia always did. But she’d tried, especially since Papa’s death.
Captain Boyd’s eyes flitted from Cyrus to Eliab to Josias before finally settling on her. “You are all relations?”
“I’m not,” Adam said, earning a chuckle from Josias. “But the rest are.”
The captain’s face slowly brightened into a boyish grin. A breeze ruffled his straight, blond hair, and for a moment he wasn’t the suspicious commander who’d reluctantly allowed her to remain at her post. He looked almost relieved. “Imagine that. Four family members sailing together.”
“The two youngest would be here if they could, but they’re far too young.” Cyrus’s chest puffed out as he spoke.
Captain Boyd leaned forward. “Are they brothers or sisters?”
“Both brothers.”
He caught Marah regarding him, and she looked away quickly, heart skipping in an odd way. She’d been wrong to say he wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t remarkably tall, but the tightness of his jacket across his shoulders suggested he wasn’t an officer who sat idly while his men did all the laborious work. Indeed, she’d seen him jump in to help haul home the sheets on several occasions since their departure.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters, sir?” she asked.
“None that I know of. But I have made some friends who were like brothers during our assignments together.”
That he knew of? That suggested unfaithfulness in his parents’ marriage. If there was a marriage. “And your parents?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Both gone. I haven’t any relations to speak of.”
A pang struck her heart. For all the misfortune in her life—her father’s death, losing her place among her friends, watching Stephen waste away, her inability to keep her position—she at least had brothers to watch out for her and a mother to love her.
“I should see to the crew,” Eliab said, pushing himself to his feet. He was the officer on watch tonight. “Cyrus, come.” The lad groaned as he followed, and Marah couldn’t help a little grin. In so many ways he was already a man, but the baby brother she’d doted on was still there.
An odd look traipsed across Josias’s face. He turned to Adam. “I thought I saw some fraying on one of the gun’s lines. The Dolphin’s, I think. Would you like me to show you?” He offered his hand to help the man up.
Adam snorted, then allowed Josias to help him up and lead him to the opposite side of the deck to examine the cannon and its ropes.
Marah’s face grew hot. What did Josias think he was doing? Marah opened her mouth to excuse herself.
“I always wished I had brothers and sisters,” Captain Boyd said.
Marah glanced to the forecastle where Josias and Adam had gone. “Sometimes they are more trouble than they are worth.”
He laughed. “I should think the good outweighs the bad.” He had a carefree laugh, one that made it difficult not to join in. “Your brother said you attended a school?”
Marah tucked her feet under her skirt. She wasn’t one for idle chatting, but on further consideration, she would be rude to abandon him after Josias invited him into their circle. “Yes, Mrs. Vernal’s Seminary for Distinguished Young Ladies.”
His lips puckered as he regarded her, and she turned her head to see where Eliab and Cyrus had stolen off to in order to escape his gaze. Surely her other brothers hadn’t been in on Josias’s scheme.
It wasn’t hard to guess what the commander was thinking. After a few silent moments, she asked his question for him. “How did a girl who attended a school for distinguished young ladies end up as a bosun’s wife?” She twisted back to see his reaction.
He flinched, eyes dropping to the deck. “I am curious.”
But he had no right to know anything about her past. What if it gave him fodder for their next argument? Now he knew she had learned the proper way for women to act. He could use that to control her activity.
“But if you do not wish to share it, I understand.”
Marah blinked.
“We all have a past that is ours to keep or share,” he said. “Heaven knows I have plenty of unsavory events in mine.” Lantern light reflected in his eyes, turning them a bright copper. The genuine concern, the friendliness in his face—how could she brush aside his inquiry?
“My father was heir to his cousin’s estate,” she found herself saying. “But when Papa died, his cousin bestowed the inheritance on another. Mr. Atlee paid for Josias’s and my education until Papa’s death. Afterward, we had nothing. When Eliab’s friend, Stephen Kinsley, offered for my hand…” She hadn’t been able to refuse.
Captain Boyd nodded, his face pinched. She waited for disappointment to cloud his features. It was what she expected from her friends when she finally found the courage to tell them she’d only married so as not to be a burden on her mother.
“I’m very sorry.” The commander scooted along the deck closer to her. A whiff of spicy cologne warmed her senses. “
And I wish to apologize. For this morning. I shouldn’t have insinuated what I did.” His hands rubbed together before him. “It was ungentlemanly of me. Unjustified disrespect.”
Marah cocked her head as she listened to his awkward apology. “Are you apologizing because now you know I attended a fine school and am more of a lady than you first imagined?”
“No, no. Of course not. I rethought my words. And I realized the only reason I said them was…” Captain Boyd blanched. “What I mean is, I… I didn’t… That is to say, I thought your brother… But that’s ridiculous. And so I am sorry.”
Marah bit her lips to keep from laughing at his bumbling. Poor fellow.
He pushed himself to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve intruded on your evening far too long.”
“Oh, no. Please stay.” The words sprang unbidden from her lips.
He hesitated in his retreat. “I had no intention of disrupting your conversation.”
Marah stood with as much grace as she could muster on a moving deck. “We are not an exclusive gentlemen’s club, sir. You are welcome to join us whenever you wish.” The Marah from that morning screamed in her head that it was a mistake to make such an offer, but she couldn’t resist after his embarrassment at her prodding. His grin that followed her invitation melted away the warnings.
He nodded, mumbling a blushing thank you, and hurried away.
Skies above and seas below. Marah fought to calm the swelling in her chest. If she weren’t a hardened widow of twenty-one, that grin might have convinced her to believe in the possibility of falling in love.
Chapter 6
Marah could have waited three more weeks until they docked to get the help of a professional. With their prowl of the Dutch coast half over, she’d soon be on land. But a strange determination pushed her to sift through her sea chest until she found a little pair of shears and the papillote iron she’d only used once since school.
She balanced a hand mirror against the wall of her cabin with the help of one of the sacks of beans, which had sat useless on the deck since the commander’s discovery of her lie. Then she set the iron to warm over the lone lantern. With a sigh, she took up the shears and sectioned off a lock at her hairline. Five years ago, Lavinia had helped her cut front curls so she could fit in with the rest of the girls at school. It had taken a great amount of pomatum and fussing to get the curls to stay, but they were the fashion.
Which was exactly why this was so ridiculous. Marah licked her lips and focused on the mirror, wishing the shears were in Lavinia’s practiced hands and not her unsteady ones. She gritted her teeth as the blades screeched together. Falling hair swished past her nose and onto the deck.
Now she didn’t have a choice. She’d have to finish the rest.
Snip after snip, hair continued to fall until she had three somewhat-even sections on each side of her face. This had nothing to do with the commander, of course. Josias would tease her that she’d done it to impress him. But after so long caring for the Teaspoon, surely she was allowed to do something for herself. To feel pretty for the first time in years.
Captain Boyd had been coming to their evening chats most nights since she assured him he was welcome. At first he hadn’t contributed much to the conversation, but after a few days he acted as a fully accepted member of their circle. Not that being so was any mark of honor in comparison with the circles he inhabited while on land, but he seemed to enjoy it in the absence of any other commissioned officers.
Last evening he’d come close to single-handedly beating her at whist, as Josias was no help. She and Adam had slipped in the victory at the last moment. The corner of her lip curled. They would have to try another card game, perhaps mariage, tonight to test his skills.
The curling paper in her fingers slipped out, fluttering slowly to the floor. She’d avoided that game since school, silly as it was. It always reminded her of her broken promise to her friends. Marah didn’t pick up the paper but crawled to her trunk and pulled out the package Lavinia had sent.
After returning to her seat on the deck, she removed the coral bracelet and set it atop its packaging. She studied it as she set about rolling her hair into curls and twisting paper tightly around them. Lavinia always laughed at the little packets of hair, saying they looked like a crown of prawns.
Those were happy times.
If Lavinia were here, she’d fix Marah’s work without criticizing its clumsiness. And she’d tease Marah relentlessly about the captain, even though there was nothing between them.
Marah plucked up the iron and tapped her fingers to it. She yelped as the press singed her skin. She sucked on the burns for a moment, then carefully pressed the iron around one of the paper-wrapped curls.
Ever since Captain Boyd had started joining them in the evenings, she’d tried to ask him more about his family. Was his mother an elegant woman? His father a dashing captain like himself? Had they died long ago, or just recently? But when she turned the conversation toward his origins, he sidestepped the inquiries and put the focus on someone else. She couldn’t make sense of it, though she hardly felt she could pry. He’d been so kind in giving her the option the first night.
She released the curl and let the heated packet bounce against her brow. It wasn’t her concern. If he didn’t wish to speak to her about it, she should let the matter alone. Still, the curiosity seeped in whenever she was around him. He had a pleasant look about him, despite the youthfulness, and yet there was something behind the smile that she couldn’t quite determine. Heaven only knew how much she’d studied him during their evening encounters, trying to guess what he wouldn’t say. It was more than she’d stared at Stephen.
Marah’s face flamed as she caught another wrapped curl between the tongs. Stephen had wished her to stare at him. Though he didn’t say it often, he’d once told her he hoped she would come to love him the way he’d come to love her. What had been entered into for the cause of companionship on his part and financial stability on hers had turned into something more. If only she’d been able to return the feelings.
She finished one side of curls and set the tongs back over the candle to reheat. She glared at her ridiculous reflection, with its little paper prawns that haloed her face. Perhaps she simply wasn’t capable of loving anyone beyond her parents and brothers. And Lavinia. And Daphne. And Isabel and Phoebe. And she supposed Adam fit in the mix as well.
“But those are different,” she whispered, not meaning to say it aloud. Though the commander must have been an easy person to love—he was an easy person to like, after all—Stephen had proven that romantic love was somehow out of her reach.
Marah’s hands dropped to her lap. So many nights she’d tiptoed out of the school to sit in the gazebo while Isabel read from The Love of Count Rudolph. And though she groaned and feigned disgust, deep down she longed for the fire of romance’s embrace. She took the tongs again. How could she think about the possibility of loving someone else, when she couldn’t bring herself to love the husband she’d had?
A muffled shout came from above as she pressed the next curl. Lavinia would tell her not to give up just because one ship ran aground.
The voices continued, coming closer. She paused, papillote iron poised to heat another curl, and trained her ear on the shouts.
“All hands! All hands!”
Marah leaped to her feet. She was supposed to be sounding those orders. And here she sat primping as though on her way to a ball. She grabbed the bosun’s whistle hung on a chain about her neck and brought it to her lips. The whistle’s call, a high-pitched screech, erupted bright and urgent as she blew.
She ran for the door, clenching the tongs in her hand. She halted. Blast it to bits! What was she to do with this papillote iron? She pivoted. Where to put it. If she laid it down, it could set the ship ablaze. She tapped the ends. Still hot. This was her punishment for vanity.
Marah dropped to her knees and blew out the candle in the lantern, then shoved the hot tongs inside. They’d
melt the candle for certain, but she prayed they’d cool quickly.
She dashed from the cabin. Sailors made way as she shot up the ladder, still sounding the call. Above, she scanned the deck. Cool wind whipped past her face. Her eyes fell on the commander at the forecastle. He leaned against the port rail, the telescope held to his eye directed southwest. His position stretched the wool of his coat across his well-formed shoulders.
Men crowded the deck, and Marah had to squeeze between them sideways to get through. Now was not the time to admire the commander’s fine physique. She lowered the whistle from her mouth. “Ready for orders, Captain.”
“My orders are to get below, Mrs. Kinsley.”
Below? But he’d just called them all up here. “I don’t understand.”
Captain Boyd straightened and lowered the telescope. A brown-and-white form rested on the horizon. Unmistakably a ship.
Cyrus bounded up, red faced and out of breath but grinning. “Crew’s assembled, sir.” What was he doing, reporting directly to the captain?
“A French brig trying to make a run for it.” The captain turned. “Haul out the…” His eyes widened as they settled on Marah. “Mrs… Mrs. Kinsley. I wish you to go below. I intend to engage that brig, and I… I will not have you in harm’s way.”
Marah bristled. In harm’s way? As though she hadn’t seen battle at Stephen’s side the last three years. She took a step toward him, hands clenched at her sides.
The wind rustled the packaged curls around her face. Heat drained from her skin. Her crown of prawns. It was still there. She clenched the skirts of her linen dress to keep from touching the setting curls. How did one call down lightning from an empty sky to strike herself into oblivion? The humiliation was too great.
“I am bosun of this ship.” Marah couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. If he laughed at her, right here in front of the crew, she would hardly blame him.
“And I am captain,” he said softly, as if reminding himself as well as her. “If things go wrong, I do not want that responsibility on my head.”
