Redeemed Hearts

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Yes, I believe I could work in your order.”

  “Fine. Draw up the order and have the papers delivered. John or I will sign them and send a deposit. John may wish to order additional single sails or cloth. Be sure to include pricing.”

  The sail maker couldn’t hide his greedy smile. “Of course. Of course. I’ll be right on that.”

  “Excellent.” Duncan made a speedy exit and silently congratulated himself. He’d managed to tend to yet another of the priorities he and John agreed upon. If, indeed, war came, Newcomb Shipping needed to be wholly independent. Even if it meant sending some of the ships off on extended voyages to safeguard their fleet, they’d be able to do so if he and John continued to split these meetings and make acquisitions without raising any suspicions.

  If anything, the fact that his own vessel was in the works made it that much easier. Each time he placed an order, merchants presumed he was fussing over his “baby.” He could, in all honesty, confess that to be true. He did attend to each and every last detail. ’Twas no lie, and he held no shame for that fact. A ship carried souls across the unforgiving ocean; and the least little mishap, miscalculation, or mistake could be disastrous. He freely said as much, too. Everyone promptly agreed—some out of wisdom, others out of greed. Nonetheless, it allowed him to place an order for half again as much lumber because he’d nearly run out, for twice as much hemp rope, and a full ton of iron for his blacksmith to make fittings.

  ❧

  The next day Duncan came down to breakfast and was asked to drop Emily and the children off at the shore. John and Emily decided since the weather was turning and today looked to be fair, the children would do well to have a nice outing. Though John said nothing, Duncan fully understood his motive. If things settled down after the election, the children’s trip to the shore was still a fun time; if politics got ugly and the Newcombs decided to take the children away, they’d have a fond memory.

  Emily left the breakfast table claiming she wasn’t feeling well. Before she left, Emily asked Brigit to fill in and supervise the outing. According to plan, Duncan would leave her and the children at the shore, where they’d hunt for shells and enjoy a picnic. He’d simply pick them up a few hours later, after he conferred about his new vessel and booked cargo for the upcoming voyage.

  Seven children, a dog, a blanket, art supplies, and a picnic basket took up the entire back of the wagon. Brigit turned three shades of pink when Duncan said she’d have to ride up on the bench seat with him. That very fact charmed him—it also made him decide he’d not allow her to trade places with Anna Kathleen, as she started to suggest. She might well be in charge of the children, but he was in charge of the outing.

  “You’re a quiet one,” he said after they’d traveled down the road a ways and she’d not said a single word.

  She shot him a nervous smile. “It’s kind of you to drive us to the beach.”

  He tilted back his head and chortled. “Brigit, you might think I’m the worst kind of cad by the time I come to reclaim you. I’m stranding you with a wild tribe.”

  “But the day is lovely. We’ve sun to keep us warm, plenty of room to romp, and enough food to feed the town.”

  Once he selected a spot and stopped the wagon, Duncan hopped down, then reached up to assist Brigit. His hands spanned her tiny waist quite easily. Once more he appreciated how gracefully she moved. She thanked him prettily, and yet again he noticed her speech and conduct seemed far too refined for a simple housemaid. If Emily wouldn’t make rash assumptions, he’d ask her about Brigit’s family and background. As it was, he didn’t dare. Satisfying that idle flash of curiosity would tilt Emily back into her matchmaking mode.

  “Titus, you carry the blanket,” Brigit said as she took visual inventory of the supplies. “Timothy, you’re the strongest. I’ll ask ye to carry the picnic hamper. Lily, be a dear and carry the wee crate with our paints and such. Yes, there you have it. Phillip, I’m trusting you to keep hold of Barkie’s leash. Anna Kathleen—the twins will be yours and mine. I fear ’twill take the both of us to keep them in line.”

  Duncan stood back and watched. Brigit organized the children in short order. Instead of running off willy-nilly, they’d listened and obeyed. He helped settle them, then promised to return later.

  Timothy and Titus swam like fish. So did Barkie. Duncan barely reached the shipyard ere he realized he’d not ascertained whether Brigit could. Not a one of the girls could swim a stroke, and Phillip wasn’t any more accomplished than they. He should have given stern warning to the children that they weren’t to get wet. What if one of them got overeager, went out, and—

  John slapped him on the shoulder, jarring him from his concerns. “Wait until you see your cabin. The fittings are in.”

  “Yes. Um, John—can Brigit swim?”

  John nodded. “Em asked her.”

  “Good. Good.” But what use was the skill when Brigit’s skirt used a full five yards and she undoubtedly wore the customary three layers of petticoats beneath that? Sodden skirts like that would work like an anchor.

  “Franklin arranged for an entire load of cotton for Massachusetts, and the Cormorant is ready to set sail, but Josiah’s taken ill.”

  Duncan glanced over at the vessel and nodded. “I can make the run.”

  “I hoped you’d volunteer. The delivery’s set for the Boott Mills in Lowell.” John batted away a pesky gnat. “I’ve talked Em into letting you take Timothy and Titus along on the next voyage—but this trip is unscheduled. If you’d rather pass or handle just one of the boys, I’ll certainly understand.”

  “It’s good news all around. My cabin’s together, Franklin closed a deal and saved us time, and the boys are to get their feet wet.” Duncan shook back a stubborn, curly lock of hair that the wind kept flinging down his forehead. “It’s no trouble for me to take both. Tim might have wanted to be alone for his first voyage, but I’m thinking Titus will keep him good company.”

  John squinted at the rigging of a nearby vessel. “Aye, there’s that.”

  Duncan dropped his tone. “And they need to meet relatives up North. If your plan becomes necessary, they’ll do better if they’re familiar with the new surroundings.”

  “Go on—see your vessel, and pick up the children afterward.” Worry lined John’s face. “Wind’s taking on a bite to it, and I don’t want them catching whatever Emily’s come down with.”

  ❧

  “Brigit, I need to pack the boys’ bags for their voyage.”

  Brigit stood up so quickly, she banged her shoulder on the banister she’d been polishing. “When?”

  “Now. Duncan just told me the captain of the Cormorant is sick, so he’s taking the helm. The boys will be going with him. Have Trudy and Fiona finish polishing the wood, and you come help me.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Brigit washed her hands and passed on Miss Emily’s instructions to the other maids, then went upstairs to join her. She found Miss Emily standing by the wardrobe in the boys’ room. She had one hand braced against it for support. Brigit hurried to her side. “Miss Emily, you’re white as a cloud. We’d best tuck you in bed straight away.”

  “I’ll lie on one of the beds and supervise; you can put everything in their valises. The laundry’s fresh and ready so you can pack it now, and the boys can wear what they have on today when they board in the morning.”

  “Sure as can be, God must be smiling down on this plan for all to be ready like that.”

  Miss Emily settled onto the mattress and gave her a weak smile. “I like the way you think, Lassie.”

  “Why don’t I borrow a blanket off this other bed—”

  “Stop fussing. We have work enough to do.” Miss Emily closed her eyes and started to list the items they would need. “Two good shirts for when they’re in Massachusetts. Two of the old ones to wear at sea. . .”

  As Brigit carefully folded each garment and layered them into the boys’ bags, she decided not to trouble Miss Emily with the details. A qu
ick look through drawers and the wardrobe provided most of what they needed, and the rest of their necessities lay on the washstand.

  Emily wiggled on the bed and let out a resigned little sound. “Poor John and Duncan. Most men are tense, what with worrying about the future of our nation. Feelings run high about such matters. John says he hopes once the election is over, things will settle down.”

  “That would be a pure blessing indeed.”

  “Brigit, I hope for miracles from God, not from man. John and Duncan are up to too much at the shipyard and spending too much time talking to each other in low tones.”

  “Is that what’s wrong? Have you been worrying yourself sick?”

  “What turns my stomach is, Newcomb ships have always been used for peaceful commerce. Even when others transported slaves, the Newcombs refused to make money in such a dreadful manner. John and Duncan fear that if war comes, the ships will be conscripted and fitted with cannons.”

  Brigit shook her head as she latched the valises. “There’s a sorrowful thought.”

  “Duncan’s been cantankerous as a shark with a toothache, but it’s my fault for making this trip home so miserable for him. He’s normally quite charming, and I hoped to help him settle down. You might have noticed I invited a few young ladies over.”

  Brigit compressed her lips to keep from laughing at that understatement.

  “It seems I didn’t spark a match; I sparked his temper.”

  “I’m sure it’s not just that one thing.” Brigit tried to watch her words. “Your brother must know you love him very much.”

  Emily sat up and grasped the covers on either side of her hips. “Ohhh.”

  Brigit reached out and steadied her. “Perhaps you ought to lie back down.”

  Rubbing her fingertips across her much-too-pale forehead, Miss Emily said in a faint tone, “I planned to handle preparing Duncan’s things myself. I don’t think I’d better. Please, will you do me the favor of packing for him?”

  “Of course I will.” Brigit took Miss Emily’s arm. Miss Emily steered them into Duncan’s chamber and promptly melted onto his bed.

  “Be sure to include that new shirt I had you sew.” Miss Emily yawned. “He’ll need everything you put in for the boys, and he’ll also need his lucky coin.”

  ❧

  How in the world is a man to keep his sanity? Duncan headed down the companionway to his cabin. Two days at sea. It felt like an eternity, and he could hold the weather only partially to blame. It used to be he couldn’t wait to set sail again. He’d no more than dock, and he’d be itching to cast off again. He liked the jig and reel world of his rowdy crew and the brotherhood of the sea. So why did he want to be on land?

  Emily’s matchmaking schemes would have made a lesser man break out in hives. I ought to be glad I escaped. Aye, I should—but I’m not. And it’s all that blue-eyed maid’s fault. The realization made his mood grow even more foul than the weather had been.

  Duncan shut the door to his cabin and trudged toward his bunk. Salt chafed his skin, and wherever salt didn’t, damp clothing did. As far as voyages went, this one rated as downright miserable thus far. They set sail and started out with fair weather and good hopes. By midafternoon a squall blew in and battered the Cormorant.

  Timothy had been horrendously seasick. Even now, he lay on Duncan’s bed and looked downright puny. The lad’s face still carried a sickly tinge of green. Titus, on the other hand, sat in the center of a hammock they’d suspended across the cabin. He rocked it like a swing and whispered, “He’s still sleeping.”

  “You ought to be, too. I have plans for you in the morning, so you’d best rest up.” Duncan waited until his nephew plopped down and was nearly swallowed up in the hammock. He let out a sigh of relief as he shed his clothes, sponged down, and put on a dry outfit. His stomach rumbled.

  “I’m hungry, too.” Titus popped back up. “I know how to get to the galley.”

  “I’ll bet you do; but aboard a vessel, men don’t pilfer the way you sometimes did when you wandered into the pantry and kitchen at home. That kind of undisciplined access to the provender could leave us all stranded and starving.”

  “Oh.” Titus waited a beat. “You’re the captain. You can do whatever you want.”

  Duncan hung his wet clothing up on pegs and slipped a thin strip of twine across them so they’d not sway free and plop on the deck. He scowled at a pile of fabric in the corner. “What is that mess?”

  “Huh? Oh. My clothes.”

  Duncan crossed the cabin in a few long strides and unceremoniously dumped his nephew out of the hammock and onto the deck. “Aboard a vessel nothing is left out. It shifts and slides, and a man can trip as a result. There’s no maid here to baby you. You’ll be a man and clean up after yourself.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Duncan left the cabin. When he returned, Titus’s clothes occupied pegs and were secured with twine. “Well done. Come share a bite with me. Afterward I’ll dump you into the bunk with Tim and take the hammock. I’m warning you now, I’m going to snore enough wind to send us clear to Massachusetts by morn.”

  Titus muffled his chuckle and scrambled to the captain’s desk. They shared a hunk of cheese, some soda bread, and a pair of apples. “Uncle Duncan, do you think Mama misses us?”

  “Emily is bound to miss you. Me? She’s used to me coming and going.” Brigit’s image flashed through his mind. He suppressed it at once and cast a look over at Tim. “Has he kept anything down at all?”

  “Lemon drops.” Titus pulled out a small tin and rattled it. “Brigit gave them to us. She said it would settle a tipsy stomach, and it did.”

  The mention of that maid he’d just thought of only served to sour Duncan’s mood. Women. God created them for His purposes, and Duncan acknowledged that. He even granted they made the world a far better place—but only from a distance. Marriage? That lay several years in the future. Then what am I doing, thinking of Brigit and marriage at the same time?

  Duncan cleared his throat. He didn’t want to grouse at his nephew any more than he already had. “Enough. You go climb in with Tim. I’m manning the hammock.”

  Weary as could be, Duncan barely managed to finish thanking the Lord for pulling his vessel through bad weather and watching over his family before he mumbled amen and fell asleep. He didn’t dream one bit; but when he opened his eyes, he had a strange sense of having traveled back in time. Years ago he’d awakened in a hammock in this selfsame cabin when he accompanied John on voyages. The memory was a fine way to start the day.

  Duncan spotted the valise he’d secured on a peg next to the wardrobe when he boarded back home. It would take a few minutes to unpack, so he started in.

  Emily always insisted on packing for him. The way she didn’t fuss yet showed her love in countless ways warmed his heart. When he married, he wanted a good woman like Em—one whose capabilities and caring would make for a happy home.

  Each article of freshly starched and pressed clothing fit in his compact wardrobe. A new shirt appeared—a fine one at that—not a fancy one for Sunday best, but one that featured full-cut shoulders and plenty of sleeve to allow ease of motion while on board.

  He’d felt oddly bereft the past few days, realizing he’d left something important ashore. Duncan knew he couldn’t very well order the ship back to port to allow him to run home and get his special quarter, but its absence left him uneasy. . .until he felt something in the fabric of the new shirt—his quarter! God bless Em for seeing to that detail.

  He treasured that assurance and always kept the coin with him on his voyages—a touchstone that reminded him he had a home and loved ones awaiting his return. He curled his hand around it and glanced at Tim and Titus. I’ll bring them back to you, Em. You can count on it.

  Ten

  The Cormorant docked in Lowell, Massachusetts. Duncan made sure all was well and gave orders for the southern cotton to be delivered to the Boott Mills. He traced his finger down the register. “See here,
Tim? The agreement is for the entire cargo. Every last bale, each of them approximately one hundred pounds. The mills run by water power, but the water level there is low, so the bales will travel by barge.”

  “Do you have to arrange for the barges?”

  “Your father or Franklin already tended to that matter. Because we do this run so regularly, Newcomb Shipping is able to book for the services.”

  “Uncle Duncan, can’t you take something home that’s better than dumb old material?” Titus wrinkled his sunburnt nose. “We already have millions and millions of bolts in the warehouse.”

  Duncan shook his head and ignored the exaggeration. “A deal was struck. A man sticks to his word. We’ve lined up buyers for the fabric. Already most of it is earmarked for Europe. It’ll go out the week after Christmas.”

  “On your new ship?”

  “Aye,” Duncan said, stretching the single syllable into a long, satisfied sound. “’Tis to be my new home at sea. For now, though, we need to pay our respects to your aunt.”

  After his nephews were settled in with Aunt Mildred, Duncan went back to the docks. The lads needed to stretch their legs, and their aunt had plans to keep them busy. Especially if they would have to come live here, they’d need to forge a comfortable relationship; and Duncan didn’t want to run interference. Business wasn’t just a necessary obligation; it also supplied a reasonable excuse for him to take his leave.

  The next three days, bales of cotton left the holds of the Cormorant and rode the barges to the mills. The space vacated filled with bolts upon bolts of cloth. Brightly printed calicos, practical shirting, and sheeting accounted for the greatest portion of the order. Duncan did spot-checks of the loads to assure the quality didn’t waver. He also made a trip to the warehouse and selected a variety of the finest Lowell had to offer. Those bolts were muslin wrapped and stored with additional care.

  The bustle and rhythm of commerce appealed to Duncan. He thought to take Tim and Titus with him for a day as he tended to business, but he dismissed that plan immediately. Almost to the man, each contact slid into some political discourse.