Redeemed Hearts

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Hurrah!” Tim and Titus both straightened up.

  “Hold on for a moment,” Emily cut in.

  Duncan caught on that John hadn’t spoken with Emily yet. “Oops. It seems I’ve let the cat out of the bag too soon. Now, our Em, surely you can see for yourself that these fine sons of yours are growing—”

  “What I can see is that my brother and my husband are trying to pull the wool over my eyes.” She gave him a stern look. “Not another word out of you, Duncan O’Brien, if you value your life.”

  “Em—”

  “I said, not another word!”

  He couldn’t hide his grin as he gave out a dramatic sigh, then muttered, “I was just going to ask for the salt.”

  John took up the cudgels. “How are you boys doing with your lessons?”

  “I’m a full year ahead in my studies,” Timothy declared. “And I’ve mastered every knot you and Duncan taught me.”

  “Me, too!” Titus wasn’t about to be left out.

  Duncan hid a smile behind the rim of his cup. Titus made up for his lack of size with an abundance of spunk. Emily would have a conniption if she knew he’d let both of the boys climb up the mast of the Cormorant last time he was in dock; but his nephews had salt water flowing in their veins, and it did them good to use their muscles every bit as much as they used their brains.

  “So you have me slated to go to the Boott Mills in Massachusetts this next trip?” Duncan gave John a conspiratorial look.

  “Aye, that I do. Aunt Mildred lives up there.”

  “I’d like to visit her,” Anna Kathleen declared.

  Emily set her knife and fork on her plate. Her eyes glittered dangerously. “I’ll not be badgered into any decision. Anna Kathleen, you’re too young to travel alone; and, no, Lily, you going along would not make it any better. Tim and Titus, stop elbowing one another. You’ll be black and blue by the time supper’s over. I’ve a good three weeks to watch your behavior, and I’ll take every last day of them before I make up my mind whether or not to let you go. Don’t any of you dare try to bully me into anything. I’ll not stand for it.”

  After supper was over, Emily dismissed the children from the table. Duncan and John remained behind with her to enjoy a cup of after-dinner coffee. Emily’s eyes took on an appraising light, and Duncan felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

  “So you’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”

  “Aye, Em. We all know that.”

  “Yes, well, I’m assessing facts, as I said. I’m thinkin’ it’s well past time for you to find a pretty little wi—”

  “Cast that thought aside!” Duncan’s coffee cup thumped down on the table. “I’ve many a year left of bachelorhood.”

  “You’d do well with a woman to settle you.”

  “The only thing unsettling me is this crazy notion of yours. Em, don’t try to play Cupid for me. When I’m good and ready, I’ll find my own wife—and not a day before.”

  “There’s no harm in my making introductions.” Emily took a sip and gave him a pointed look over the brim of her cup. “You’ll never find a sweetheart when you spend all your time at the docks or at sea, so I’m going to help out a bit.”

  Duncan rose and shook his head. “John, talk some sense into her.”

  To Duncan’s dismay, John reached over and held his wife’s hand. “Emily’s always carried a full cargo of common sense.”

  “You’d best check the manifest and take inventory.” Duncan tapped his head as he went out the door. “She’s got a couple of empty crates in the upper cabin.”

  ❧

  Brigit sat in the balcony of the church and kept her attention on the preacher. The yawn she hid behind her hand didn’t reflect on his message—the blame ought to land directly on Trudy’s shoulders. She’d been unable to sleep last night, so she’d come into Brigit’s attic bedroom and mooned over the dashing young sea captain.

  Brigit spent more than half the night trying to talk some reason into her flighty friend. Her admonishments went in one ear and out the other. Trudy showed up for church this morning with an elaborate hairstyle she vowed would earn her Duncan’s attention. Instead, Duncan sat with his family down below in the sanctuary, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d been the inspiration for such a creation. Then again Trudy didn’t suffer from his inattention. She’d fallen asleep.

  The Newcomb household ran with flawless precision, thanks to Goodhew’s discipline. Five minutes after the benediction, the servants took a carriage back to the mansion so they could put out changes of clothing for the children and have a meal ready to set on the table. Because she’d been assigned to travel with the children today, Brigit didn’t go along with the rest of the staff.

  She stood to the side of the children’s carriage and minded June and Julie while Anna Kathleen and Lily took their places across from Titus and Phillip. Normally one of the maids and the younger children took one carriage while Mr. John and Miss Emily took Timothy and Anna Kathleen with them in the other. Today they’d been supplanted by Duncan—which might have been tolerable—but now Mr. John gallantly assisted a young woman into the carriage who settled into the space Timothy or Anna might have occupied. The young woman graced Mr. John with a thankful nod, then turned a dazzling smile on Duncan and patted the seat next to her.

  Brigit ignored Timothy and Anna’s mutinous expressions and let go of Julie’s hand so the groom could lift the child into the wagon. June didn’t wait—she scrambled up unassisted. A tangle of too many arms and legs filled the carriage, and Brigit had yet to take a seat. Just as she daintily lifted her hem, a deep voice said from behind her, “Hold now. This cannot be.”

  “Unca Duncan, ride with us!” Phillip’s face lit up.

  Duncan chortled. “This vessel appears to have plenty of bulk, but no ballast. I’m going to have to trim the load a bit. Phillip, dive over to me. Lily, be a good girl and come here. You can each ride with us in the other carriage.”

  “This isn’t fair,” Anna Kathleen protested.

  Duncan gave Phillip and Lily a gentle push toward the other conveyance, then rested his forearms on the edge of the carriage. “No, ’tisn’t. Many’s the time you’ll do what’s required of you rather than what you want. Fair is nothing more than a child’s justice or a weather prediction.”

  Brigit found his words quite true, and he spoke them with both certainty and a tinge of humor. She waited for him to move to the side. As he did, he took her hand and helped her into the carriage with all of the care and polish he’d employ with a high-society lass. Aye, he was a gentleman through and through.

  ❧

  Duncan strode back and took a seat beside Phillip. He gave brief consideration to holding his nephew on his lap since Miss Prudence Carston’s extravagant hoops took up an inordinate amount of space. Miss Carston pasted on a smile and batted her lashes, but Duncan could tell she found no delight at a lad sitting between them. Manners forced her to feign amusement, but the young woman’s lack of sincerity registered as plainly as a loudly luffing sail.

  He’d told Emily not to try her hand at matchmaking, and this opening salvo had best also be the final one.

  Phillip’s nose twitched. “You smell like flowers.”

  Miss Carston preened. It might well take her half of eternity if she fluffed all the ruffles on her dress. “Roses. I always wear roses. I think they go well with my favorite color.”

  “I like pink, too,” Lily said in an awestruck tone.

  “Aren’t you fortunate you inherited your papa’s dark hair then? Redheaded women simply cannot wear pink.” Miss Carston turned to Duncan. She artfully brushed a few tendrils by the brim of her hat. The hat looked remarkably like a pink iced cake, and her lace-gloved hand resembled a fussy, tatted doily. The whole while, she studied his hair. “I hope you won’t consider me too forward to say your jacket looks quite dashing with your auburn hair.”

  Forward? Aye, that she was. And insipid as could be. Men didn’t take into accou
nt such trifling matters; furthermore, every last man in the congregation wore a black coat! This paragon of pink might well have Emily’s approval, but she left Duncan cold as a mackerel at midnight. As soon as they finished luncheon, he’d concoct a polite reason to slip away—if he survived that long.

  John helped Emily into the carriage and took his place, then drove toward home. Emily tried to spark a conversation, and Miss Carston plunged in with notable enthusiasm. Duncan held his tongue. He didn’t want to be a surly beast, but the last thing he needed was for social nicety to be mistaken for interest. He refused to lead a woman into hoping for church bells when the only chime he heard was freedom’s ring.

  Once home, Duncan assisted Emily’s candidate out of the carriage. Little Phillip, bless his soul, didn’t appreciate the finer points of conduct and let out a whoop as he jumped onto Duncan’s back. “Gimme a piggyback ride into the house, Unca Duncan!”

  “Sure, little man.” Duncan grinned at the young lady, who managed to quickly hide her look of shock. “We’re an informal bunch at home, Miss Carston.”

  “How lovely. Far be it from me to spoil such leisurely comfort with formality. Please do call me Prudence.”

  While Emily and Brigit shepherded the children upstairs to change before lunch, Duncan suffered the necessary indignity of entertaining Emily’s guest. She laced her hand into the crook of his arm and glided alongside him into the large parlor. Inspiration struck. He tilted his head toward the piano. “Do you play?”

  “Modestly.” The humble response might have come across more sincerely if she hadn’t let loose of him and hastened to the bench. After limbering her fingers with a few scales, she folded her hands in her lap. “Oh. It’s Sunday.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Papa allows only hymns on Sunday. He says on the Lord’s day we ought only play and sing unto the Almighty.”

  “I can respect that.” Duncan wondered why that presented a problem. “Why don’t you play a hymn?”

  A faint blush filled her cheeks. “I don’t see a hymnal. Everyone else is able to play from memory, but I can’t seem to recall the particulars of any piece, myself.”

  “Anna and Lily both take lessons. I’m sure there must be music in the bench.” The minute he made that offer, Duncan knew he’d said the wrong thing. Prudence’s face turned an unbecoming color, and her eyes flashed.

  “I said I played modestly well. I’m not a novice.” The words barely left her mouth, and she teared up. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How dreadfully rude of me. You didn’t mean any insult, I’m sure.”

  Unmoved by her emotional show, Duncan continued to prop his elbow on the piano and gave her a bland look. Prudence managed to display a wide range of coy tricks. She’d tried charm, meekness, tolerance, friendliness, humility, temper, and tears. If he didn’t miss his guess, ploys for sympathy and something to induce obligation or guilt weren’t far behind. Tedious. The whole matter bored him to distraction. Instead of hastening to reassure her she’d not spoken amiss, he glanced down at the ivory keys.

  “Anna’s impetuous, but it puts fire behind her playing. As for Lily—she shows talent far beyond her age.”

  “How nice.” Prudence dabbed at her cheeks with a lacy hanky, then looked up at him through her lashes. “Do you play?”

  “Very badly.”

  “But you do so many other things well. Why, everyone knows you’re the youngest captain around, and soon you’ll even own your own boat!”

  Boat. He inwardly winced. Calling his grand ship a boat would be like labeling Notre Dame a chapel.

  ❧

  “We’ll walk downstairs like ladies,” Brigit said to the Newcomb girls. Anna lifted her head and drew back her shoulders a shade; then Brigit nodded her approval. “Very nice. June and Julie, walk—don’t bounce.”

  Lily clutched Brigit’s hand. “It’s not bad manners, is it—that I’m wearing pink, too?”

  “Not at all. You look very pretty.” All the girls were eager to get downstairs and be with Duncan and his guest, so it hadn’t taken them long to change. Most children ate Sunday dinner in their church clothes, but Miss Emily wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted best clothing ought to stay nice; and after watching the twins’ predilection for spilling food, Brigit understood why. As soon as she installed the girls in the parlor, she’d go tie on an apron and help Cook serve the ham.

  When they reached the entryway, Brigit could see over the girls’ heads. Miss Prudence Carston looked happy as a bee in honeysuckle; Duncan looked as if he’d just been stung. As soon as he heard the girls, he spun around and beckoned. “I just boasted to Miss Carston about your talent on the piano. Come play a tune for her.”

  Miss Carston stood and promptly sidled up to him. “Yes, darlings. Come play for us. We’d love to hear you.”

  Customarily, Julie and June would romp outside for a short while, but since Brigit could hear Mr. and Mrs. Newcomb approaching, and they had a luncheon guest, she knew the girls should remain inside. Brigit turned away and slipped into the kitchen. As she tied on her apron, she looked about to determine where her help was most needed.

  “Have you ever seen a better ham?” Cook beamed at the platter she held.

  “Virginia ham,” Brigit said in an appreciative tone as she dodged Lee, who carried a pan of scalloped potatoes.

  Trudy dumped green beans into a bowl and scowled. “Killing the fatted calf for Miss Pink-and-Pretty.”

  “It’s pork, not beef,” Cook snapped.

  “Miss Carston comes from good family,” Goodhew added. “I’ll go summon them to the table.”

  Assigned to pour milk again, Brigit filled the children’s cups as the family came into the room. She stood back by the buffet as Mr. John said the prayer; then she slipped quietly to Miss Carston’s side. “Sweet tea or milk, Miss?”

  “Sweet tea, of course.” She turned to Duncan. “I declare, just because I’m petite, people treat me as if I’m a child.”

  Brigit silently filled her glass and proceeded on to the next seat. Duncan smiled at her. “I’ll have my usual, Brigit.”

  As she poured milk for him, Brigit heard Miss Carston’s muffled gasp. That gasp then turned into a twitter of a laugh. “Oh, Duncan, aren’t you a tease!”

  Brigit admired Duncan for his tolerance. What man would appreciate his sister’s blatant attempt at matchmaking? Miss Emily and Mr. John both cast appeasing looks at Duncan, but the young Miss Carston chattered on, and Brigit headed for the blessed escape of the kitchen. She strongly suspected Duncan would like to do the same thing.

  ❧

  Three days later Duncan rushed into the library and shut the door behind him. He leaned his head against the door for a moment, then pushed away. He’d appeal to John to talk to Emily. Emily wasn’t listening to a word Duncan said, and this simply could not continue. He’d been stuck with Pink Prudence after church on Sunday, then come home last night to supper with Adele-the-Able-Minded, who discussed the Lincoln-Douglas Debates with far more passion than almost any man he’d heard. Now Emily had both of those girls and a few more in the parlor for tea.

  He’d ducked in here, hoping to find his way to freedom. The seldom-used door to the garden promised a route of escape—except for the fact that the pretty new raven-haired maid stood over by that very wall, polishing the windows. She glanced at him, then concentrated on her work.

  Good. She hadn’t spoken. Knowing his luck, Emily might overhear Brigit and come to investigate. Duncan strode toward the exit with all of the resolve of a man swimming toward the only remaining hatch so he could escape a sinking vessel. As he approached, Brigit opened the windowed doors and concentrated on a small streak in one corner. He could see the amusement in her eyes.

  The doorknob to the library rattled. He’d never make it through the door and out of sight. Quick as could be, Duncan shot between two bookcases. He gave Brigit a conspiratorial grin, then held a finger to his lips in a silent plea.

  “Oh, that brother of mine.” Emily
sighed from across the room. “He was supposed to come home about now. I thought I heard him come in the front door, but he managed to give me the slip. Did he dash out to the garden?”

  “No, Miss Emily.”

  “This would be so much easier if he’d just cooperate.”

  Brigit smiled, but Duncan appreciated how she said nothing. Now there was a fine woman. She knew when to hold her tongue, didn’t lie, and understood a man needed to tend his own business without interference.

  “The windows are impeccable. You’ve done wonders in this room. Why don’t you treat yourself to a book and read for awhile?”

  “Why, thank you, Miss Emily!”

  Duncan felt a jolt of pleasure. She could read! A great portion of the Irish immigrants were illiterate. So many of the men on his vessels struggled over that very issue. Had he not been so very fortunate with the opportunities afforded him, he’d never have made it this far. Others who weren’t as blessed would be stuck without choices if they couldn’t read and write. Duncan offered a lesson each day on dock or at sea, and nearly half of his seamen participated.

  The door clicked shut, and he waited a moment as he heard his sister cross back to the parlor. “Thank you,” he said very softly.

  The maid bit her lip, but her shoulders shook a few times, giving her away. Merriment shone in her eyes. “I’ll not tell lies for ye.”

  “I’d not ask you to.” He looked at the bookcases all around. The library held an extensive selection, one he considered the greatest material wealth of the home. “What book will you choose?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron hem as she looked at the shelves. Anticipation lit her features, adding intriguing depth to her beauty. “I once read The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper. Have you any of his other works?”

  “The Prairie is in here somewhere. I also liked The Pioneers.” His eyes narrowed as he forced himself to turn and scan the spines. “The fact books are on the side closest to the fireplace. John keeps the fiction books shelved over here. Once upon a time things were alphabetical, but the kids tend to shove the books back in odd spots. I seem to recall that particular set by Cooper was bound in red leather.”