by Jody Hedlund
Polly shrugged into her coat.
“May I see it too?” asked one of the younger girls.
Newton smiled at her but shook his head. “Nay, this is a secret for Polly.”
“Will she be able to show it to me later?”
He winked at the girl. “If she wants to.”
Polly followed him outside and around the side of the house. He glanced around at the barren landscape, the thin dusting of snow on the grass and tree branches, the icicles hanging from the eaves of the roof. The small cluster of hedges, several trees, and even the spruce that he’d climbed to rescue Pete offered no privacy. Newton wanted a more secluded spot where he could be alone with Polly to say good-bye.
The stable behind the house seemed to offer the only place they could be alone. And yet, taking her there would surely raise her swift objections.
“You have nothing to show me, do you?” she asked from behind him.
“Of course I do.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice teased him. “Or are you just tired of standing around waiting for Susanna and in need of one last adventure before you leave?”
“What makes you think I’m seeking an adventure?” He started toward the stable and hoped she would follow. “What if I simply want to say good-bye to my favorite buddy, Pete?”
“Are you wanting a few more of his scratches that you can take with you?” Polly’s footsteps squeaked in the frosty grass as she followed him. “I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige.”
Newton laughed, thinking of the marks left on his chest from the little demon. “I have no doubt he would.”
He opened the stable door and peered around the dark interior. The earthiness of damp hay and a lingering scent of horseflesh greeted them.
“Here kitty, kitty.” Newton put on a show of looking for Pete although he had no desire to come face to face with the creature ever again.
Polly stood in the light of the open door and watched him, her smile only growing bigger. “Would you like some help finding him?”
“You wouldn’t deprive me of this last good-bye to dear Pete, would you?” Suddenly he wished he had something to give her, something of his possessions that she could keep, something that would remind her of his affection while he was gone. But of course, he hadn’t brought anything with him. His journey, after all, had started as a short trip to his uncle’s home in Maidstone to deliver a missive for his father. The uncle was really his father’s uncle, a wealthy older man who didn’t have any children. Newton suspected that his father had sent him in order to remind his uncle that Newton was a prime candidate to inherit his estate once he passed away.
Whatever the case, the visit had been meant to be brief. Now he was left with nothing to give Polly, nothing but his heart.
She moved away from the door and peered into one of the empty horse stalls. “Perhaps Pete is hiding in protest of your leaving.”
Newton stepped behind her. A sliver of sunlight wedged through a crack in the roof and touched her head, highlighting her hair and turning it golden like a halo. She was an angel. He’d thought so the moment he first saw her and heard her sing. And it was still true now more than ever.
As though sensing his presence behind her, she didn’t move.
He lifted a hand and hesitated only a moment before giving in to the pleasure of touching her hair. He grazed a long curl, letting it slide between his fingers.
She didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t stop him.
The silk against his fingers was exquisite and only made him crave more of the texture. He brushed the full length of his fingers against the soft strands. Then he combed deeper, sweeping the hair away from her neck and exposing her bare skin there.
Still she remained motionless except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
He combed the strands back again, this time letting his fingers graze her neck.
At the slight contact, she sucked in a breath.
The long column beckoned to him, and when she tilted her head slightly, as though to give him permission to touch her there again, it was his turn to draw in a quick breath. He wanted to bend in and kiss her beautiful skin, wanted to breathe deeply of her. But he gritted his teeth against the temptation and instead pulled her back against his chest and slid his arms around her middle.
Her body molded itself against him, as pliable as an apple blossom. He had an overwhelming urge to twist her around so that she was facing him, but if he did, he knew he’d be utterly helpless to resist his desire for her, that he’d kiss her long and hard, something he had no right to do.
His limbs shook faintly at his need for her, but he satisfied himself with pressing his face into the back of her head and letting his lips linger in her hair. He dragged in a gulping breath, trying to gain control and trying to still his trembling lest she realize how much she affected him.
“John?” The waver in her voice, the uncertainty mingled with desire, sent a shot of heat through him like a swallow of strong whiskey. “I thought you wanted to show me something.”
Aye, I want to show you my undying affection. The words were on the tip of his tongue and yet he swallowed them to refrain from saying so. Instead he released her, gently turned her, and then dropped to one knee before her. He had no choice. If he didn’t put some distance between them, he’d cave in to temptation.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him kneeling before her. He forced a grin and then reached for her hand. “I wanted to show you this,” he said. And then without breaking his gaze from hers, he lifted her fingers to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. It wasn’t a brief kiss as he’d intended. Instead he pressed harder, and her eyes grew wider by the second, the slant of sunlight now turning the blue of her eyes into deep oceans where he could drown if he let himself.
Gone was the playful teasing about their relationship that had kept the boundary of friendship in place during his visit. He supposed she’d already guessed by now that he considered her more than just a friend. But before he left, he would make sure she had no doubt.
“And I wanted to show you this.” He turned her hand over so that her palm faced up. And then he pressed a kiss there too, another lingering one in the warm center of her hand. He was loathe to let go, but with a will he didn’t know he possessed, he ended the kiss.
“I wanted a moment to say good-bye to you.” He didn’t release her hand. He couldn’t yet.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” Her words were hardly more than a whisper, but they shouted through him and filled him with hope.
“Then you won’t object if I visit again sometime?”
“I would never object.” Her admission brought a rosy hue to her cheeks.
“I would never stay away, even if you objected.”
She smiled. Then she reached into the slit in her skirt and fumbled for her pocket. “Since we’re saying good-bye,” she said pulling out a delicate, white lacy handkerchief, “I wanted you to have something by which to remember me.” She handed him the piece of linen with her initials embroidered in the middle with white silken thread.
He fingered the raised monogram and almost brought the handkerchief to his nose to breathe in her scent. Did this mean she was finally accepting that they had more than a friendship? He hoped so.
He could feel her eyes upon him waiting for his reaction. He pressed it against his heart with a dramatic flair. “Now I will never be able to forget you. As long as I live.”
“Be sure you don’t,” she jested, her eyes dancing.
He rose to his feet then, brushing hay from his baggy trousers. He ought to keep the moment light now. He’d already been serious enough. But his emotions were too raw to pretend a lightness that he didn’t feel. “You should know that even without your token, I could never forget you.”
Her long lashes dropped, but not before he caught sight of the pleasure his words brought her.
“I will never forget you, Polly Catlett.” His voice lowered to a hoarse
whisper. “Ever.”
“How long will you be gone?” Her voice was low now too.
Before he could answer, a knock sounded on the open barn door. “I hate to interrupt your little tryst,” Susanna said wryly. “But I told your mother that I was sure you were in the kitchen sneaking John leftover tarts from last night.”
Polly skittered past him and was out the door before he could protest. He stared after her, wishing he could draw her back so that it was just the two of them again.
Susanna’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “I tried to give you as long as I could.”
“It wasn’t quite long enough.”
“Would any length ever be enough?” Her smile teased him.
He ducked outside, aching too much to return the smile. It was finally time to go. “Nay. Not even a million years would suffice.”
Newton stepped over the fish entrails half-frozen on the cobblestone and approached the familiar door of the narrow terraced structure that had been his home for as long as he could remember. The hand-hewn brick was rough and cracked and worn away in spots, the gray faded and dismal as it was on all the other homes squeezed next to each other in the crowded Wapping district.
Along the River Thames the streets teemed with sailors, ships chandlers, dockers, deck hands, sailmakers, and all the others who made their living from the ships that anchored at the Pool of London.
After seeing Susanna to her parents’ home, he’d stabled his father’s horse, stopped by several of his favorite pubs, and wasted as much time as he could. But he couldn’t put off the inevitable forever. He had to face his father sometime.
He rested a hand on the doorknob. Faint light came from the dusty glass of the only window on the first floor. He’d spent many hours sitting on a stool in front of that window, his mother next to him teaching him everything she knew.
Now his father’s wife, Thomasina, reclined in his mother’s chair, cooked over her fireplace, slept in her bed. Thomasina bustled about and chattered away and always tried too hard to take his mother’s place. He wanted to tell her she never would and to just stop trying, but he wasn’t cruel.
His father would be home too. Newton’s discreet inquiries had confirmed that his father wasn’t off somewhere for his new job outfitting ships or organizing supplies for a voyage.
The captain was likely supping even as Newton lingered outside the door, the damp nip of river air urging him inward. His heartbeat thudded faster at the thought of his father’s anger, frustration, and disappointment. This wasn’t the first time he had failed his father’s expectations. He’d done so often enough already. In fact, it seemed to be the one thing at which he consistently succeeded.
He drew in a fortifying breath, his nose having to adjust again to the stench of London streets after so many weeks away, the sourness of waste that mingled with the ever-present smoke that came from burning coal.
It was now or never. He pushed open the door and stepped inside to warmth, soft lamplight, and low voices. Next to the hearth, his father sat in a tall-backed chair with a young girl on his lap and two boys at his feet. Thomasina was sitting in a chair across from him.
Immediately the talking ceased and all eyes fixed on Newton. The children had their mother’s Italian complexion, dark brown eyes and olive skin. He didn’t know their ages—except that they were all born in the past ten years since his mother had died.
“John.” Thomasina was the first to rise. She donned a tentative smile, took a step toward him, then stopped. “We weren’t expecting you.”
His father’s dark eyebrows arched high, and he stared at John for several moments without speaking.
“I’m sorry to impose,” Newton said to Thomasina.
“You’re not imposing.” The petite but broad-boned woman crossed the room. She wasn’t as pretty or graceful as his own mother had been. But he couldn’t deny that she was sweet.
When she stopped in front of him, she raised then lowered her hands several times as though to hug him before finally crossing her arms beneath her portly bosom. “We’re always glad to see you, John.”
His father’s brows fell, and thundering clouds cascaded across his features. “Why are you here?”
“So I guess I’m not welcome then?”
“You’re supposed to be in Jamaica!” The captain rose from his chair holding the little girl gently, but his tone must have frightened her, for her eyes grew wider than a half crown.
All the words Newton had rehearsed, all the excuses he’d carefully planned during the six-hour ride back to London deserted him. He could think of nothing to say that would exonerate him. So he jutted his chin and braced himself for his father’s anger in whatever form it took.
As though sensing the coming storm, Thomasina bustled back across the room and reached for the little girl, who all too willingly went into her arms. “Come, sweet one. It’s time for beddy-bye.” Then she touched the heads of the boys. “You both come too. I know you’re excited to see John again, but you’ll have plenty of opportunity to be with him on the morrow.”
The two boys stood. Their gazes hadn’t wavered from Newton since the moment he stepped into the house. With their short-cropped brown hair, wide faces, and stocky builds, they could have been twins except for the difference of several inches in height. They didn’t look particularly excited to see him, and considering that he’d rarely seen them over the years, he didn’t expect much of a welcome from them. But they did as their mother bade and followed her to the steps that led to the bedroom above and the dormer room at the highest level of the house.
Newton watched them until they disappeared. With only the patter of footsteps and the squeak of floorboards overhead, Newton chanced a glance at his father.
The tall, broad-shouldered man had lifted a hand to his hair and jammed his fingers into the loose brown strands. In the flickering light that emanated from the coal fire, Newton caught a glimpse of sadness in his father’s sea-weathered face, the slight droop of his eyes and mouth, before frustration hardened them again.
“What happened?” His father’s voice was clipped and demanding. He faced Newton head on, and even though he was still across the room, Newton tensed. “Was the ship delayed? Did Manesty change his mind?”
Should he lie to his father? It would save them from another argument. And devil be hanged, he’d already had enough of those to last a lifetime. But if he lied, he wouldn’t be able to get his father’s help in locating a different job.
At his hesitation, his father’s scowl turned darker. “Don’t tell me you were late and missed the ship. I should have known when you didn’t make it home that you’d been irresponsible again.”
“The first thing you always think is that I’ve been irresponsible.” Newton didn’t like the way he seemed to turn back into a six-year-old every time he talked with his father. Why couldn’t he argue with the captain without his voice turning petulant?
“Because you have been. Just like you were with the job I lined up for you with the Spanish merchant in Alicante.”
“He was cruel.”
“It was a position that offered good prospects for your future.”
A good prospect in Spain? Newton almost laughed. Campos was a brute. The living conditions were less than desirable. And he missed England. As a result, his father shouldn’t have been surprised that he hadn’t exactly been on his best behavior. After only three months of working for Campos, he walked out and found a ship home. His reception by his father then was vaguely reminiscent of the one now.
“Now you’ve lost another valuable job because of your inability to make it to the ship on time.”
“I didn’t miss the ship. I decided not to go.”
“And you don’t consider that irresponsible?”
“No, I don’t. I made the decision that was best for me.”
His father muttered something under his breath before turning his eyes upward. His jaw muscles flexed as though he were holding back a slew of exple
tives. Newton had heard his father swear only once, during a squall when he’d ordered Newton below deck. When Newton had disobeyed and nearly been swept overboard, his father had shoved him down the hatch and told him with a few choice words not to come out again.
“After I went to all the work to line up the position, after I put my reputation on the line for you, after I assured Manesty that you would work hard for him, you decide not to go?” His father’s voice rose with each word.
“I didn’t want to go to Jamaica.”
“What you want to do and need to do are often two very different things. And now you just threw away the best opportunity you’ll likely ever have.”
“It’s my life.”
“It’s your life?” His father was already moving across the room toward him, his stride choppy, his shoulders stiff. “You’re only seventeen, and you think you know everything about life?”
Newton clenched his fists. “I know more than you give me credit for.”
His father barreled into him and shoved him so that Newton’s back slammed into the door. “You don’t know anything yet.” The captain jerked Newton’s shirt into a fist under his chin and pushed his hand against his windpipe, cutting off air. At the same time, his father rammed his other arm into Newton’s stomach making him gasp for breath. But with the choking hold at his neck, Newton couldn’t get the slightest air into his lungs.
He had seen his father make plenty of wayward sailors submit to his authority with such a move. His father had done it once or twice on him too. Maybe he deserved the discipline in the past, but he didn’t now. He hadn’t done anything wrong by turning down the job opportunity in Jamaica. He simply made a choice that was different from what his father wanted. What right did his father have to crucify him for that?
With a strong upward thrust, Newton knocked his father’s hand loose from his neck, sidestepped, and slipped away from the captain’s grasp. But before Newton could get far enough away, his father’s fist barreled into the small of his back with such force that it sent him crashing into the table. A jug tipped and rolled to the floor where it crashed and broke into shards, splashing ale over the hearth.
