by Lisa Norato
Brogan left man and boy to exchange a private farewell while Mrs. Culliford and her daughter Temperance bestowed proper and polite kisses to both Jabez and himself. His chief mate’s face flamed to the roots of his bristly red hair over a minor peck on the cheek from the diminutive Wealthea Culliford.
He chuckled. Jabez’s admiring glances at the housekeeper had not gone unnoticed by Brogan. And who could blame the mate for his attraction? Mrs. Culliford was a comely woman, and with the exception of Temperance’s plumper figure, she’d produced a near replica of herself in her daughter.
A nod of farewell accompanied by a parting smile and then Brogan shouted loud enough for the sake of the crowd, “Prepare to board, Mr. Smith. We are off to rescue one of Duxboro’s own!”
He scooped up Drew’s ditty bag, amazed at its weight, then glanced down at his son with renewed respect. “How is it you’ve managed to drag this dunnage? What have you in here, lad? Rocks?”
“How else shall I use my sling? There are no rocks to be found on the sea.”
“Rocks indeed, Mr. Smith.” Brogan cocked a brow at the reproof, then looked to his chief mate.
Jabez tapped his temple. “He thinks like a privateer.”
They exchanged a grin and boarded the Yankee Heart. On deck, Brogan handed Drew’s rock-filled bag off to his thirteen-year-old steward, who winced at the unexpected weight.
Brogan had confidence the slightly built Warrick Farragut would fill out with time given the strenuous demands of working aboard ship. When Brogan first met the lad, he and his older brother William had been little more than children, fending for themselves and barely getting by after their destitute parents had released them to their own fates. They sought to sign with his privateer.
Brogan had expressed strong reservations. Then he considered his own humble beginnings as a seafarer, thanks to the charity of Jabez, and found he could not turn them away. He appointed the younger Warrick his steward, where he could keep him the safest, and now it would be Warrick’s duty to watch over Drew whenever duty called Brogan from his son.
They continued aft from the waist and ascended the ladder onto the Heart’s quarterdeck. Brogan called his chief mate aside while Drew and Warrick waved to the cheering crowd.
Already the sea called, stirring his senses with a blend of oakum, paint, pine, and sailcloth, fresh scents from the new vessel that awaited his command.
“Set all plain sail, Mr. Smith. Pilot us out of the bay, and then I’ll have the topsails and jib sheets on a course southeast by east.”
“Man the capstan there!” Jabez shouted to the crew.
Brogan ran a discerning eye over his merchantman, inspecting her lines, from her three towering masts to the crew that worked the rigging and the square sail that unfurled at their labors. Proud at what he saw, his focus turned to the direction of the wind, to the currents and tide, then finally to Nathaniel Huntley’s folk gathered on the wharf.
“You realize another opportunity like this shall never come along for us again,” Brogan confessed to Jabez. “The westward journey home takes longer, naturally, because of having to sail into the wind. Huntley knows this. We would have had plenty of time to disappear. My plan could not have been executed more smoothly.”
Jabez returned a sympathetic nod. “I’m proud of ye, sacrificing yer own desires to save Miss Huntley. It cannot have been an easy decision, and yet I always knew that when the time came, ye would choose the honorable thing.”
Perhaps he’d come to regret this course, but a part of Brogan was actually looking forward to time spent with Lorena Huntley.
Until then, for a few days, a week at most, he’d have his son all to himself, Brogan and young Benjamin Talvis sailing the seas on their own merchantman, just as he’d dreamed.
And one thing more.
Before this voyage was over, Benjamin would know the truth.
His father lived.
11
All hands were called to breakfast at seven bells, and within the hour their tramping feet could be heard overhead as they began to swab the deck, followed shortly thereafter by the steady clank of the pumps siphoning out the brig’s daily bilge.
Lorena knew these sounds well. She lay awake nights listening to them, from creaking planks and whistling winds to the working rudder. During the day she tried to keep occupied and not let her imagination wander to the uncertainty that awaited her in North Yorkshire, while George bore the passage with his usual smug confidence.
“Three more weeks would you say, Thomas, until we reach England?” He tucked into his breakfast of broiled meat followed with a bite of bread.
Jane’s husband inspected the oyster on the edge of his fork. “Mmm, likely that, yes.”
Lorena had little appetite, yet forced herself to gnaw on a ship’s biscuit, washing down the dry crumbs with a sip of lukewarm tea.
Muted light from an overcast morning shone through the skylight onto the long table of Lady Julia’s main cabin, where passengers gathered for meals and passed their days reading, socializing, or employed in needlework.
Jane sat beside her with needle and thread, altering one of her own dresses for Lorena, a turkey-red calico trimmed in narrow white lace. Only Jane’s kindness kept Lorena from falling into total despair of missing her loved ones. Jane traveled with her British husband and brother-in-law and had assured Lorena she’d be welcome in her home for as long as necessary.
“Lorena, perhaps you’d care to join me in a game of draughts after breakfast?” The inducement in George’s voice drew curious glances from the table. Jane looked up from her sewing.
George had manipulated to win the favor of all aboard. First, endearing himself by sharing the mince pies and cider cakes Lorena had baked, while she sat with a commode in her cabin fighting back nausea. Then he set himself in good standing with the brig’s company and captain by correcting the fitting of the bowsprit so rainwater no longer leaked into the men’s living quarters.
It enraged her, the gall with which he continued to press his suit. Quite unlike her usual self, there were moments Lorena longed to slap his face. This was one of them. “Find yourself another to play, George. Myself, I feel the need for some air. Perhaps a promenade on deck.” Turning to the woman she could truly call friend, she asked, “Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Jane?”
“Allow me a few moments more to finish these last stitches and you can change into your new dress before our walk.”
George would not be dismissed, however. Glancing from one to the other of them, he said, “Very good, ladies. Allow me to offer my services, for you shall require the protection of an escort.”
Eighty feet above from a mainmast yard, a lookout gave the cry, “Sail to windward!”
Brogan pulled his glass from inside his jacket pocket. Extending the lens, he raised the telescope to his eye. As the horizon fell into focus he saw a vessel hull down at three points over the starboard bows. Only her topgallants and double masts were visible.
All hands on deck rushed to the larboard rail for a look. Drew moved closer to his side. Beneath the shadow of an overcast sky, the sea had turned a dark olive gray.
“Mr. Smith, reef out all tops’ls. And I’ll have the jib sheeted, if you please.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” From his position at the waist, Jabez relayed the order and several of the crew went clambering up the ratlines.
“Mr. Fletcher,” Brogan shouted to his helmsman, “weather us a course northeast by north and fetch me those sails.”
“Northeast by north, sir!”
“Carry her as close to the wind as she’ll bear, Mr. Fletcher. Full and by.” Brogan was interrupted by a tapping on his lower thigh and glanced down.
Drew stretched forth his arms, fingers wriggling, begging for the glass. Brogan gloried in the bond of blood between them and felt it to the marrow of his bones. This small, precious child was the only living soul he could rightfully call family, which might easily have him cowing to the lad’s wish
es like Nathaniel Huntley was wont to do, except that Brogan was impressed with a responsibility to instill discipline in his son. He snapped the glass closed and returned it to his jacket pocket.
“Is that a proper manner to address your captain, do you suppose?” Brogan spoke next to the doll hanging by Drew’s side. “What say you, Captain Briggs? Does the lad deserve a look in my glass?”
The boy stomped his foot impatiently. “Captain Briggs wants to see.”
“Does he?” Brogan eyed the lad with correction in his gaze. “You forget I am long acquainted with Captain Briggs. Captain Briggs has experience with authority. He follows proper etiquette aboard ship, and he would not make grabbing motions at his commanding officer. He would ask permission in a proper, respectful manner.”
Drew worried his bottom lip, unused to the reproof, confused perhaps, likely even contemplating resistance. Yet when he spoke, it was without his earlier whining tone. “May I have a look in the glass?”
“Did you not hear me use the word respectful?”
“Please, sir. Please, may I have a look? I want to see Lorena.”
“Aye, me too.” Brogan rested his hand affectionately on the crown of Drew’s straw hat. “Soon we’ll draw close enough to that speck of sail out there to know whether she is the one we seek. If Lorena is aboard, then we shall see her before the day is out. If not, then I promise we shall keep searching until she is found. Will you wait here with me, Drew?”
In response, the boy slipped his stubby fingers into Brogan’s much larger hand.
Topmen in the rigging edged to the far end of the yards to loosen sail. The square canvas sheets unfurled with a great rustle. Then came a loud report as they filled with wind. Jabez kept careful watch over the hands, making certain all yards were trimmed to his satisfaction, while Drew absorbed it all with interest.
Brogan took delight in his son’s wonderment. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this lad. He’d sail the seas to fetch back the woman Drew loved as a mother. He’d honor a Father God who had not shown the same compassion to Brogan as a child. But in saving Lorena, was he sacrificing his precious son?
The Yankee Heart gathered way with all good speed, and half an hour later Brogan withdrew his glass once more. This time what appeared in the lens was a two-masted square rigger with a gaff spanker on her mainmast identifying her as a brig.
He helped Drew position the telescope for a look. “Do you see her?”
Drew gasped in delight. “A ship, yes!”
“A brig. With a figurehead. Can you make out what it is?”
“Yes, sir. It is a painted lady.”
“Not just any lady, Drew,” Brogan whispered in his son’s ear. “I do believe that is the Lady Julia.”
“Perhaps not the prettiest day for a walk,” Jane Ellery observed as Lorena strolled with her, arm in arm, “yet I would daresay it is ideal. The sun is not so bright as to blind our eyes or burn our noses, and we have the added entertainment of sighting our first vessel since leaving Plymouth.”
The appearance of another vessel—a reminder to all aboard the Lady Julia that they did not sail the Atlantic alone, along with the break from monotony on their lonely travels—had passengers and crew alike hugging the rails with interest.
Whether due to the pleasant companionship of her friend or because Lorena wore a fresh change of clothing for the first time in a week, she felt herself being swept into the excitement. Just a simple cotton dress, yet it had been tailored to her frame by loving hands, and in it she dared step a little lighter.
Jane’s husband, Thomas, Thomas’s younger brother Matthew, and George escorted them on their walk, keeping several paces behind. Both Thomas and Matthew shared the opinion of the crew—that the approaching vessel carrying the American flag was a fellow merchantman eager to offer a passing hello.
It appeared to be gaining on them with all good speed, and the closer it drew to the Lady Julia, the more agitated George became. At their third turn around the deck he excused himself and hastened up the companionway ladder to the quarterdeck. Lorena watched him engage Captain Winsor in a passionate exchange, whereupon the captain handed George his spyglass.
Lorena turned her attention off the starboard quarter in the same direction George held the glass and gave the ship careful and particular examination for the first time since its sighting.
She was of new construction to Lorena’s trained eye, and there was a certain familiarity in her architecture and the craftsmanship of her carvings. Lorena watched her copper-bottomed bow cleave the harsh waves, and something within her reacted with a spontaneous burst of joy. Suddenly she understood what George was looking at.
“Jane,” she said with a gasp, curling her fingers around the woman’s forearm and drawing them both to an abrupt halt. Lorena glanced again at George. His back to the forward ship, he slowly lowered the spyglass. “Jane, it’s possible I know this ship!”
As though he’d heard her, George turned around to catch her eye from where he stood on the quarterdeck. The look of crazed, angry panic he shot back confirmed what Lorena had dared not let herself believe.
It was true then.
She smiled as she had not since her feet stood on dry land. “No, I must take that back, Jane,” she said in a clear, bright voice. “I do know this ship. I christened her myself in my father’s shipyard less than two months ago.”
Jane’s mouth fell open and she turned her surprise on her husband and brother-in-law, who had just joined them. “Then it is your father, do you believe?” she asked Lorena. “He has come for you?”
Lorena’s thoughts whirred. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.” But Lorena was imagining not her father, but a handsome Yankee captain with sharp features, a hawkish nose, and sandy blond side whiskers framing his lean cheeks.
Brogan had come for her. Already some of the other passengers were waving a greeting, and she was reaching up to join them when her wrist was seized from behind.
“Silly girl, you’re making a terrible mistake.” George’s words spewed forth in a hiss.
“Here, here,” called Thomas Ellery, stepping forward. “I’ll not tolerate roughness to a lady.” He glared a warning at George, then turned his stare upon the hand that held Lorena.
“Forgive me, Thomas.” As George released her, Lorena snatched back her hand, glowering.
“I believe the apology you owe is to Lorena,” Thomas corrected.
George assessed her with his dark stare, and even now with help so close at hand, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
“I believe you are correct, Thomas. I owe her much by way of apologies.” George beseeched those surrounding her in hopes of privacy.
Lorena reached for Jane’s hand. Her eye remained warily on George, sending him an unspoken message. You may speak to me in front of my friends or not at all.
He straightened, studying her with a penetrating stare until his expression softened. “I have loved you since we were children,” he declared, his voice a controlled whisper. “My means of showing it of late may have seemed desperate and extreme, I confess, and yet if not for that desperate act, you would have been lost to me forever. Lorena, you cannot leave with Captain Talvis. The good people of this ship will not allow you—a kind, respectable Christian girl—to be taken off by this ruffian. I cannot allow it! It is not too late for us. We will be happy in England.” He stepped closer. “I assure you.”
Disgust and pity rose in her throat like bile. Lorena stood erect, facing George with resolve. “Matters have gone far beyond reviving any further tolerance of you. I believe if you examine your heart, you’ll realize it is not me you love at all but personal achievement. You set your mind long ago that I was to be part of that success. Marriage to the daughter of the man you were once indentured to. What a testimony to how far you’ve come up in the world. And because you have never failed to accomplish anything you’ve put your mind to, it is inconceivable for you to accept defeat in this one thing. For
if you loved me, George … if you even understood the meaning of the word, you would have respected my wishes. You would have considered my happiness. Not just your own. You would not have deceived me in order to get me to come with you. Accept it, George. I could never be persuaded to marry you! I’ll be leaving with Captain Talvis, and this time no amount of trickery or vomit powder can stop me.”
George’s expression turned to stone.
“You admit it?” Jane’s tone rang of shock as she draped an arm protectively about Lorena’s waist. “You poisoned her, Mr. Louder? Not that we did not believe you, Lorena, but he does have a manner of presenting himself to be everything amiable and helpful.”
George’s color rose along with his defenses. He shot Jane an indignant glare. “Vomit powder is not a poison, Mrs. Ellery. By all accounts, it is most often considered a remedy.”
“A remedy?” Jane scoffed. “No remedy for unreturned love, Mr. Louder, surely!”
Heads turned on the Lady Julia as the Yankee Heart forged up alongside the brig. Brogan signaled Jabez from the quarterdeck to issue the command to ready the longboat. Warrick had shined his boots and assisted him into his cutaway coat. As Brogan shrugged it onto his shoulders, the young steward presented him his leather baldric and sword.
“I don’t recall asking for my sword.”
“He insisted, sir.” With a jerk of his head, Warrick indicated Drew watching earnestly at his side.
The boy stepped forward. “How shall you defend Lorena with no weapon? Shall I come and bring my sling? I’m quite an excellent shot. I protect what is mine.”
Brogan held his grin in check. “I’m well aware of how excellent a shot you are, but we’ve discussed this and my orders are that you remain out of sight with Warrick. I believe I’m capable of handling this myself, thank you.”
The boy pushed the encased sword in Warrick’s hands toward him. “If I were captain, I would do it myself, but you, sir … you must do it.”
“Here now, mind your tongue, lad, when addressing your captain,” Brogan said, but found he could not disappoint his son’s sense of adventure and so slung the baldric across his shoulder, allowing the sword to rest at his hip.
