Prize of My Heart

by Lisa Norato

  “Exactly, Captain. In addition to which, Duxboro has yet to prove to be a successful trading port. I think perhaps East Boston might be an ideal location. As a matter of fact, I shall shortly have some business in Boston to attend to and wonder if you’d care to accompany me for a day or two while you wait for your ship to be rigged. To be quite frank, although I may excel in shipbuilding, I have a limited background in trade. Were I to embark on such an enterprise, it should not be a sole venture but a partnership. I would require a partner with practiced knowledge of market conditions in various ports. Someone familiar with merchant routes. Do you perhaps know of anyone interested in such an undertaking?”

  Amused by the discreet invitation, Brogan took a moment to consider the possibility of a partnership with Nathaniel Huntley. Could this present a resolution to his future with Drew? And would such an alternative require he share his son with Huntley?

  Nay, Brogan would not share; the boy was his. “I might be interested myself if I hadn’t waited a lifetime to own a ship as grand as the Yankee Heart. Now that I possess her, I find my ambitions directed toward a more independent way of life. I do not envision myself tied to the responsibilities of a shipping business.”

  “I understand exactly how you feel,” Huntley acknowledged. “You are overwhelmed at the prospect. However, allow me to pass on the wisdom of my own years and experience.”

  A church bell rang loudly as the carriage rolled past the burying ground. Children were making a game of jumping from one stone to the next without stepping on the grass.

  Brogan watched as Huntley scanned the churchyard, no doubt looking for his own children. When the chime quieted, the shipbuilder continued. “I have enjoyed a very successful career and address you in all honesty. There is an independence accompanying wealth which is unequaled, even surpassing that of being master of your own ship.”

  “Ah, but there is more to life than financial riches, sir.”

  Huntley gave a jolly chuckle, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. He slowed the carriage to a halt, set the brake, and then carefully secured the reins around its handle. “Wisely stated, Captain. Most young fellows do not embrace such a sentimental view. And how can I argue? I shall not say another word then, but my offer still stands for a day in Boston. I would welcome your company.”

  “Thank you, sir. I should enjoy the trip.”

  Brogan alighted from the carriage and glanced about. From all quarters, men, women, and children arrived, either on foot or horseback, some by carriage. Neighbors shook hands and engaged in friendly conversation. Some leaned against the fence where the horses were hitched, while others rested on benches or under the shade of a nearby tree. Children chased each other across the grounds and rolled in the grass, but Drew was not among them, and Brogan was growing impatient to see his son again.

  The church bell pealed.

  The windows of the Congregational meetinghouse had been opened wide to allow for the heat of the day. A stray chicken perched on one sill. Brogan entered alongside Nathaniel Huntley, and as he proceeded down the aisle, his bootheels dug into the carpet with the heaviness of each stride.

  Faces turned to inspect the newcomer whose bronzed complexion announced him a man of the sea. A group of ladies giggled amongst themselves, and Brogan understood the reason. Seamen such as himself visited a parish only on occasion, when in port.

  Another toll rang in his ears. He glanced toward the front of the meetinghouse and found them—Lorena and Drew.

  Drew stood on the upholstered seat of the family pew, dressed handsomely in a pumpkin suit with a white blouse and ruffled collar. His jacket hung askew over a sling protruding out the back pocket of his pantaloons. Buttery curls framed his cherub face and trickled down his nape.

  Both he and Lorena conversed with a comely youth suited in gentlemen’s black with knee breeches and white silk stockings. As Brogan approached, he watched with particular interest. The fellow whispered in Lorena’s ear. She shook her head in response. He reached for her hand. She snatched it away before he could touch her. He grew annoyed. She looked embarrassed. Neither spoke. They stood glaring at each other, oblivious to the assembly around them, and in their obstinate expressions, Brogan detected a silent battle of wills.

  “Captain, you remember George, don’t you?” Huntley asked.

  Brogan observed the young man’s lanky build, his chestnut locks and beak of a nose, and recognition came. “It’s not likely I’d forget the shipwright responsible for the Yankee Heart’s design. We met yesterday in the carpentry shop. How fare you, Mr. Louder?”

  George Louder lifted his dark brown eyes to regard Brogan with ill-concealed disdain. His narrowed gaze met Brogan’s unwavering stare, issuing a warning. Brogan failed to comprehend the reason. He found the shipwright’s cockiness startling, but then it vanished to be replaced by a cold smile. Louder assumed an air of politeness, muttered a hasty greeting and excused himself, moving away as though to take a seat elsewhere in the church.

  Huntley stepped into the architect’s path. “Not joining us today, George? We might be entertaining a guest, but you are always welcome to sit in the family pew.”

  Louder stole a sidelong glance at Lorena, his look one of frustrated love. In that unguarded moment he appeared to Brogan to be immobilized by her elegance and beauty. Then he straightened and nodded courteously to his employer, saying, “Thank you, sir, but I promised Edward Hicks and his wife I would join them.”

  “Very well then, George. Enjoy the services and a good day to you.”

  “Good day, sir.”

  Looking thoughtful, Huntley watched as Louder departed, then turned to kiss his daughter’s smooth cheek. “Is something troubling George, dear?” He lowered his voice and added, “He cares deeply for you, you know.”

  To Brogan’s dismay, Miss Huntley responded with a becoming blush. “Papa … please.”

  Ah, he thought. A rival for the lady’s affections. But where Louder’s romantic attentions had been spurned this morning, Brogan was determined his would not be. The smile he bestowed on Lorena left no doubt to anyone watching ’twas meant for her and her alone.

  She regarded him warily from beneath a bonnet of bright yellow satin, its brim so wide it created a funnel around her face. A puffy bow dangled from one side of her chin.

  Louder had obviously said something to upset her, but what? And why had Brogan gotten the impression there was a more personal slight behind Louder’s haughty stare than any annoyance he might have felt over Lorena’s rejection?

  Questions for another time perhaps.

  “A pleasant morning to you, Miss Huntley,” he greeted.

  Her cautious expression faded, replaced by a welcoming smile. “And to you, Captain.”

  “George drove us here in the chaise!” Drew popped his head out from under the pew, eliciting a laugh from both of them, and in that spontaneous and unguarded moment, their eyes met once again. They smiled at each other, faces aglow as their innocent gaze deepened to a lingering stare, a stare so arresting Brogan found himself noticing each fleck of gold in Lorena’s warm brown eyes.

  Excitement shivered through his person, and then he caught himself and thought, What am I doing mooning over this girl’s eyes when my son is claiming my attention? Self-consciousness overcame him, and it must have showed, for Lorena dipped her poke bonnet to shade her eyes with its oversized brim.

  Brogan feigned indifference and turned to Drew, thinking the lad was either jealous to see Lorena’s attention elsewhere engaged or simply wanted to be included in their conversation.

  “The chaise, you say, Drew? That’s fine. I hope it was an enjoyable ride for you.”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh.”

  This made Brogan wonder whether Louder had won the boy’s affections. Then a thought jogged his memory. George. Could this be the same George who had called him a pirate to the boy?

  Lorena removed the sling from Drew’s back pocket an
d smoothed down his pumpkin jacket. She drew him into the pew behind her, and Brogan followed, anxious that he should sit beside his son.

  Huntley joined the group, flanking Brogan’s other side. “Drew, why aren’t you in Sunday school?”

  Lorena leaned forward and whispered across the pew, “I’ve excused him today, Papa.” Lavender fragrance wafted up from her hair as Brogan contemplated the delicateness of the hand resting on the boy’s knee. “I felt it would be beneficial for him to sit through a sermon. As I’ve explained to Drew—if he wishes to be like David, he must learn David’s wisdom.”

  Huntley’s grin delivered an instant twinkle to his eye. “If he can sit patiently through a sermon, he’ll be well on his way. Patience is the first step towards wisdom.”

  “Last week we learned again of David and Goliath,” Drew said. “Do you know the story?”

  “I am familiar with the story, aye,” Brogan replied, perplexed by the boy’s challenging glare. The strings of the bass viol began to play as the musician prepared to accompany the choir. The choirmaster walked onto the platform, and silence fell over the congregation in anticipation of the services about to begin.

  “My apologies, Captain,” Miss Huntley whispered, embarrassed. “Seems he’s in a mood to talk this morning. Quiet,” she warned the boy.

  Drew crossed his arms, turning his back on Brogan. “But he’s sitting in my seat!”

  Nathaniel Huntley chuckled as he faced the pulpit, making himself comfortable on the cushioned seat.

  Brogan felt uneasy seated between the man and his daughter in a house of worship. Neither of them suspected his relationship to Drew or the real reason he had come to Duxboro. They had no way of knowing the child they escorted to meetinghouse every Sunday morning would soon vanish from their lives.

  How could he tear Drew away from the family he obviously loved? But what if Huntley intended to exploit the child once he grew old enough to be of service? The man had conspired with Abigail to steal another’s son. He was no innocent, surely. But if these were indeed the good, kind folk Jabez claimed, then how could Brogan remove Drew from the only home he remembered, and yet how could he conceive of walking away from him?

  Had he tied his cravat too tight or had a wave of conscience arisen to strangle him? Brogan pulled at the neckerchief, longing for a vast blue ocean and its briny spray, his only concern that of which direction the wind was blowing. Because of Abigail, he was forced into this situation. Even dead, the woman continued to make his life miserable.

  Brogan rehearsed Jabez’s advice in his mind and wondered where he should go from there. He longed for Drew to know him, and Lorena was his only means of accomplishing that. But what could be more awkward than trying to capture a woman’s fancy while seated in the hushed stillness of a religious sanctuary, her father at his elbow?

  Brogan did not care for the confinement of these holy walls. They induced a strange emotionalism that stunted the reckless cunning he knew himself capable of.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lorena’s reflective gaze. Encouraged, he returned her appraisal. She started and lowered her lashes. He had frightened her.

  This was getting him absolutely nowhere.

  How ill at ease she looked, fidgeting with the boy’s sling on her lap. Brogan longed to reclaim her attention, to still her hands with one of his own, but he had already insulted her with his forwardness in the shipyard. He did not wish to do so again. Why was it one moment he found her such an annoyance and the next a sweet innocent he felt inclined to protect?

  Nay, he was there for one purpose and one purpose only. Miss Huntley did not need his protection. He must not allow himself to think of her as anything more than a means to restoring his relationship with his son.

  Glancing at the lad, Brogan recalled his own childhood. The orphan asylum. Whippings for something as trivial as sharing food with a starving alley cat. Punishment for wasting provisions, when the scraps had been sacrificed from the meagerness of his own bowl of gruel. And then there were occasions when he had done nothing wrong at all, nothing except direct the anger and bitterness in his stare at the wrong person.

  One day a new orphan arrived. She wept, but no one came to comfort her. Brogan held her in his arms as she cried, and instead of receiving his usual beating, his hair was cropped viciously until nothing remained but ragged stubble. “Boys must never touch little girls,” he was scolded. And when his hair reached a comfortable length, it was cut again.

  Again and again he was reminded of how worthless he was, until, at six years of age, he’d run away. And to this day, Brogan wore his hair unfashionably long because he could not bear to have a pair of shears taken to it without breaking into a cold, trembling sweat.

  The sound of whispering lifted him from his memories, and Brogan turned to Lorena Huntley as though waking from a dream.

  She was frowning at Drew. “We’ll read later.”

  They were engaged in a small tug-of-war with the Holy Bible, which Brogan found odd.

  “Not read from the Bible at meeting? What is it you wish to hear, Drew?” Brogan asked the boy.

  Drew angled his head and looked up, eyes bright. “The story of David and Goliath. It is my favorite.”

  Lorena noticed how Captain Talvis responded most eagerly to the least attention Drew paid him. His curious behavior had not altered since last evening.

  “David, aye. Now I see,” he said to the child. “David and Goliath, the story of a young shepherd boy who slew a giant with a …” The captain trailed off to a thoughtful pause, his intelligent brow knit in concentration as he slowly lifted his gaze to hers and pinned her with a sharp stare.

  Dread raced up her spine at his enlightened expression. He spared a glance at the sling on her lap before posing a question with his eyes, while with a jerk of his head and a wry twist of his lips he gestured toward Drew.

  He had deduced the truth. How could I have allowed Drew to bring his sling to meeting knowing Captain Talvis would be in attendance? Her hand tightened around the sling, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

  If only she had waited for the captain’s arrival this morning instead of accepting the ride George offered. She had hoped to use the opportunity to convince George to change his mind, but George’s mind was set, and to make matters worse he mistook her concern for affectionate feelings.

  She sighed in resignation. As for the captain, what could she do but confess? She was in God’s house, after all. She nodded over Drew’s small, flaxen head and shrugged by way of apology.

  “God bless him,” Captain Talvis praised, in a voice louder than what could be considered polite given their surroundings. Several people turned to stare.

  Lorena expected he’d be angry to discover a mere child had struck him down, or at the very least displeased, but here was Captain Talvis conferring blessings.

  The strings of the church bass began to fill the meetinghouse with music.

  Her father leaned forward and whispered, “What is it, Captain?”

  “God bless him,” Captain Talvis shouted again. He shook his head, his expression full of amazement. “Only five years old, are you, Drew? That is a wonder.”

  “Captain … Lorena, please … the service,” her father hissed.

  Members of the congregation glared to let their annoyance be known. Much quieter this time, the captain whispered to Lorena, “I must speak with you privately. I feel I owe you an apology.”

  Apologize? To her? Here she thought she owed him the apology. Still, Lorena debated risking a clandestine meeting with this man after what had occurred the first time they’d been alone. She distrusted what she still did not know of the captain, and yet she was beginning to regard him in a more generous light, as not quite the threat he first seemed.

  He was waiting for an answer.

  She couldn’t help but have reservations.

  “Tomorrow at the launching, then,” she agreed, and strangely enough found herself looking forward
to the meeting. What had she done?

  He nodded, pleased. And when he smiled, the hard edges and broad planes of his masculine face came aglow with boyish charm.

  Her father huffed in exasperation. “What is so important about the launching, it needs to be discussed during meeting?”

  Eyes still on Lorena, the captain inclined his head to her poor, confused papa and said, “Tomorrow, in honor of the occasion, your daughter has promised to bake me a gingerbread.”

  At that moment the congregation stood to face the choir loft. Rising to her feet, Lorena repressed a giggle. For all his size and arrogance, Captain Brogan Talvis was full of surprises and the mischief of a boy.

  In some respects, he reminded her of Drew.

  5

  Lorena thought this was possibly one of the loveliest days her father had ever chosen to launch a vessel. By eleven a.m. at high tide, a few scattered clouds had woven a feathery pattern of white against an otherwise azure sky. She watched from the top of a gently sloping hillside as Papa stationed himself beside the Yankee Heart’s keel along the marshy shore. He prepared to deliver his speech to the waiting crowd.

  Nearly everyone in town was in attendance. Children had been released from school, and hundreds of citizens ventured out—her father’s workers and all those tradesmen whose skills had contributed to the Yankee Heart’s construction, their families and friends, in addition to neighbors and townsfolk—each one curious to see how the town’s most ambitious craftsmanship to date would maneuver into Duxboro Bay.

  They’d seen launchings before. Many times over. But this one was special, because the Yankee Heart held the record for being the largest vessel ever built in a Duxboro shipyard, the largest merchantman to originate from New England waters.

  Admirers down along the river’s south bank gazed up at the fullness of her towering hull. Some had rowed out in small skiffs on the river. Others stood scattered throughout the shipyard, some as far as the fitting wharf by the forge and blacksmith shops, partaking of the free lemonade and punch.