A Castaway in Cornwall

by Julie Klassen

  She faced him on the bench, taking her hands in his. “I can guess why. Your father, he was not very subtle. He hinted to me as well. But he only wanted reassurance that Jean-Philippe and I would always be provided for.”

  “You will be. I promise.”

  She squeezed his hands. “I believe you. And I beg you not to let feelings of obligation impede you.”

  From the orchard came the sound of laughter. They both looked over, and there was Jean-Philippe on Jacques Marec’s broad shoulders.

  Léonie’s gaze rested on the distant pair. Her features softened, and her eyes glowed just like the sunlit honey she had described.

  “We will be all right,” she said softly. Decisively. Léonie looked from the orchard to the house and gave a little sigh. “I often miss your mother.” She glanced over at him and grinned. “Another Anglaise would be good for the Carnell family, I think.”

  Alexander relaxed and smiled back. “I think you are right.”

  Laura and her aunt stood in the churchyard on a lovely late-April day. The winter had passed, and spring had arrived on the island. Laura saw signs of new life everywhere she looked—the new leaves on trees, the spring blossoms, the new bloom in her aunt’s cheeks every time Mr. Gillan called, and in her own heart as well.

  She, Aunt Susan, and Mrs. Tobin had spent a quiet Christmas together, followed by reserved celebrations of the New Year and the news that the war was ending. They observed Eastertide by attending church, making hot cross buns, fliottes, and simnel cake, and inviting several neighbors, including Mr. Gillan, to dine with them. They also had “Jersey wonders” from Alexander’s favorite bakery.

  Laura had quickly grown to love her aunt, to know her as true family. Her family. Laura was an orphan no longer.

  She and Aunt Susan had visited the churchyard several times before but returned today, on her mother’s birthday, with a bouquet of lilies—Mamma’s favorite—and laid them on her parents’ grave.

  Stanley and Sara Callaway

  Beloved Brother and Father, Sister and Mother

  Gone to Their Redeemer

  ~1803~

  Gone but Never Forgotten

  Never forgotten. How true.

  Arm in arm, the women returned to the house overlooking the harbour. The rocky shoreline and rhythmic waves reminded Laura, as always, of Cornwall, and she was surprised to find she missed it—the beaches and hidden coves, Uncle Matthew, Eseld, Miss Chegwin, and Newlyn. Even Perry and Treeve. She and her uncle had exchanged several more letters over recent months, and he assured her all was well and she was welcome to return anytime she wished. Would she ever return to Fern Haven? She didn’t know.

  Laura had also received a chatty letter from Eseld, describing her wedding to Perry and joyous in her expressions of happiness over her new wedded state. Eseld had written, Mamm was angry with you at first for running off like that, fearing it would harm my reputation and chances of an advantageous match, but Perry’s proposal set her mind at ease. In fact, now that you and I are both gone from Fern Haven, she seems to be filling the role of parson’s wife more actively than before.

  She also wrote, Treeve has sold his ship. He continues to flirt with Kayna Roskilly, but she is giving him the cold shoulder, so I doubt if there is any hope of another Kent wedding anytime soon.

  Laura smiled, thinking, Wise, Miss Roskilly.

  Eseld also mentioned that Dr. Dawe decided to remain with his sister, so Perry faced no opposition or even competition in establishing a practice in the parish of St. Minver. Even though some were wary of being treated by one so young, most were quick to accept Dr. Kent. After all, he had been born there and was one of them.

  Eseld ended the letter with a postscript: Perry insists I add these lines. He thinks you will be pleased to know that he has officially engaged our neighbor Miss Chegwin as his chamber nurse. Between them, he says, their ages average to a very respectable fifty years.

  Laura chuckled. “Always knew you were an excellent man, Perran Kent.”

  She was pleased indeed.

  I know so well this turfy mile,

  These clumps of sea-pink withered brown,

  The breezy cliff, the awkward stile,

  The sandy path that takes me down.

  —JOHN BETJEMAN, “GREENAWAY”

  Chapter 26

  Glorious spring weather continued on Jersey. Flowers bloomed even earlier there than they did in the southwest of England. Laura took to walking the beaches of St. Helier as she had at Trebetherick, her eyes keen for treasure. She rarely found anything worth salvaging, besides a seashell or tide-smoothed rock, but the fresh air revived her, and the sand and surf reminded her of Cornwall. Reminded her of home.

  How was it that only by leaving a place, could one sometimes learn to appreciate it? To miss it, and those who lived there? But she did.

  One beautiful morning, Laura strolled along her favorite beach, amazed anew that she had at last made it to Jersey, the place where her parents had died and her aunt, thankfully, still lived.

  She heard a voice and turned to look behind her. In the distance, she saw a man striding toward her. There was no one else around, and she felt a pang of unease at being on this lonely stretch of sand with a stranger. She noticed a greatcoat, tall boots, and beaver hat—the attire of a gentleman. As the man neared, her unease melted away. The face was familiar, in fact, often recalled and dearly missed. Alexander. Her heart tripped, and anticipation needled her stomach.

  He quickened his pace to catch up with her. “I hope you don’t mind. Your aunt told me you walk here . . . most . . . every morning.” His English sounded a little rusty after half a year in Brittany. Or perhaps there was another reason he spoke somewhat haltingly.

  “I don’t mind at all,” she replied.

  He watched her reaction closely, expression tinged with uncertainty. “I . . . hope I find you well.”

  “Yes. And you?” Her eyes slid to the black armband he wore. Stomach sinking, she asked, “Your father?”

  He nodded. “He died in March. I am glad I was able to be with him at the end.”

  “Me too.”

  “I suppose you have heard the monarchy has been reinstated?”

  “Yes.”

  “So Alan got what he wanted in the end, though he didn’t live long enough to see it. The new government is supposedly a democratic monarchy, but we shall see. At all events, the result is my brother did not die in vain, and I take solace in that.”

  She longed to reach out and take his hand but made do with lacing her own fingers together. “Again, I am sorry for your losses.”

  “Thank you.” He shifted, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. I did not come here to bring sad news.”

  “Seeing you again is good news. It was kind of you to come and tell me about your father in person.”

  She supposed he was duty bound to go back. After all, he was his father’s heir and had a sister-in-law and nephew to provide for. And what about his obligation to the French navy? But Laura wasn’t ready to ask him those questions. She needed a little time to steel her heart. “Come, let’s walk awhile.”

  Hands behind their backs, the two continued along her usual route.

  Several yards ahead on the sand, something caught Laura’s eye—light green glass sparkling in the morning sunshine. Excitement prickled over her, reminding her of former times when she went searching for treasure on the beaches near Fern Haven.

  “Excuse me a moment.” She hurried toward the glinting glass and picked it up. A corked bottle. And inside, a whisper of white paper.

  Her pulse rate accelerated. Had she finally found something of value on Jersey? She pulled up the cork and worked out the piece of paper with her little finger. Successful, she unfurled the slip and read the words written there: My dearest Laura, will you marry me?

  She sucked in a breath and whirled to face Alexander. “How did you . . . ?”

  A crooked grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “I could not resist.”r />
  She hesitated. Was he asking her to live in France with him, or . . . ?

  Perhaps guessing her thoughts, he added, “I have resigned my commission. I remained long enough to bury my father and deed the family home to Alan’s wife and son.”

  “But that is your home.”

  He shook his head. “My heart is not there any longer.”

  “But . . . are you sure?”

  He nodded and walked nearer. “One thing I’ve learned while being apart from you. Wherever you are, Laura Callaway, is my home.” He reached out and caressed her cheek. “If you will have me.”

  Her heart beat hard. Her stomach seemed to be filled with a hundred fledgling skylarks, longing to fly. “Yes,” she breathed.

  With a relieved smile, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  She looked up into his dear face and teased, “Unless . . . did you only come back to Jersey because so many people here speak French?”

  He pursed his lips. “I admit a French oasis amid the British empire sounds parfait to me. But only with you at my side.”

  He drew her closer, his gaze tracing her cheeks, her eyes, her mouth. Then he leaned down and kissed her with love, adoration, and a pent-up passion that mirrored her own.

  Raising his head at last, he said, “Come, let’s walk to the harbour. Mr. Gillan said he has something very important to show me.”

  “Mr. Gillan? He mentioned he’d asked you to command one of his ships, but you did not accept.”

  “At the time, I had unfinished business in Bretagne. Now he assures me he has, how do you say, sweetened the deal? He has something up his sleeve. Do you know what it is?”

  “No, but let’s go and find out.”

  They continued to the harbour and walked along the old stone quay.

  Several ships were moored in the calm waters of the protected bay, and there they saw Mr. Gillan in a smaller boat with a crewman rowing to shore.

  He waved to them. “Ah! You came. Excellent, Captain. And Miss Callaway too. Good.”

  “Morning, sir,” Alex replied as the men drew closer.

  The boat reached the stone steps, and the older man climbed nimbly up them.

  “I have exciting news,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I bought a French privateer for a very good price. The Royal Navy captured her on the way back from the Indies with a cargo of spices, sugar, and coffee. The British crew shared the prize money, but for some reason they did not take her back into service. Their loss is our gain.”

  “How so?” Alexander asked.

  “She sails remarkably well and has a history I think you’ll find interesting. The ship was originally a Spanish brig until the British captured her. After that she was captured by the French, and then recaptured by the British. She’s seen more changes of home port, names, and loyalties than most can boast.”

  Alexander smiled sheepishly. “I can relate.”

  Mr. Gillan swept his arm toward a stately ship moored in the harbour. “Would you like to guess her original name?”

  “How would I . . .” Alexander stared at the vessel. “Wait. Are you saying this ship was the Victorine?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It can’t be. I never thought I’d see her again.”

  “You can do better than see her, you can command her, if you’re willing, Captain Carnell.”

  Alex turned to Laura. “I am willing, but it is up to my wife.”

  Mr. Gillan’s brows lifted. “Wife, ey?”

  Laura laughed. “Give us time. First there is the wedding to take care of, and the honeymoon to enjoy. . . .”

  “Hear, hear.” Alexander slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. Then he said, “You know, my love, with such a ship at my command, we might visit your family and friends in Cornwall, as well as my sister-in-law and nephew in Brittany.”

  “Good point.”

  “So you agree?” he asked.

  “Absolument.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Your French has improved, I see.”

  “Merci, mon amour.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed him again, right there on the quay, in front of God, and for the whole world to see.

  Standing on the quarterdeck, surrounded by the sounds of the splashing sea, flapping sails, and snapping rigging, Laura counted the hours until she would reach Fern Haven. Nearby, Alexander consulted with Mr. Gillan over a chart and instructed the helmsman at the wheel. They were sailing to Cornwall together—Alexander and Laura, Aunt Susan and Mr. Gillan, and a modest crew.

  It was Aunt Susan’s first trip back to the mainland in more than fifteen years, and Laura and Alexander’s first voyage as man and wife.

  They’d had a small, simple wedding, with Aunt Susan, Mrs. Tobin, and Mr. Gillan in attendance. They had enjoyed a few days at a seaside inn before embarking. And now, their honeymoon continued aboard the Victorine II. The newly wedded couple shared the great cabin together at Mr. Gillan’s insistence, while he and Aunt Susan each had small cabins of their own. Aunt Susan and Mr. Gillan had not yet married but planned to do so soon.

  Laura’s heart rate accelerated as they passed Trevose Head, then neared Stepper Point. As the ship approached Padstow Bay and the estuary, Laura searched each familiar headland and cove with growing excitement. Recognizing Trebetherick Point in the distance, she strained her eyes for a glimpse of Fern Haven at its summit. Understanding her longing, Alexander handed her a glass, and through it she saw the dear whitewashed house at last and smaller Brea Cottage as well.

  Within the hour, she was once again in Uncle Matthew’s embrace.

  He held her close, as if he would never let her go. “How I have missed you, my girl.”

  “And I you,” she whispered over a tight lump in her throat.

  Eseld greeted her next, throwing her slim arms around her in an enthusiastic embrace. “My dear cousin! I could not wait to see you, so I came here to await your arrival.”

  “I am glad. How goes life at Roserrow?”

  “Very well. I could not be happier. Did I not tell you the apple peels would reveal our future husbands?”

  “You did, and you were right.”

  Eseld stepped back and gave her a satisfied grin.

  While Uncle Matthew shook Alexander’s hand, Laura turned hesitantly to Eseld’s mother. “I hope you are well, Mrs. Bray?”

  “I am indeed.” She leaned forward and kissed Laura’s cheek. “Welcome back. I am glad to see you.”

  Amazement flooded Laura. “Are you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Laura took a steadying breath and turned to introduce Aunt Susan.

  In his last letter, Uncle Matthew had invited Susan to stay with them at Fern Haven as well. Mr. Gillan, however, preferred to stay at an inn near the harbour with most of the crew.

  Greetings over, Eseld announced in a singsong voice, “We have a surprise for you! We are hosting a party in your honor.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, to celebrate your homecoming and your marriage.”

  “My goodness . . . how kind,” Laura breathed. “Thank you.”

  “It is planned for tomorrow.”

  “We thought you would need to rest from your journey first,” Mrs. Bray added. “Your old room is ready for you and your husband.”

  “Unless you’d prefer the guest room again?” Uncle Matthew sent Alexander a teasing grin.

  With a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, Alex replied, “No, thank you. I will happily share with my wife.”

  After showing Aunt Susan to the guest room Alexander had once occupied, Laura and her groom retreated to her old room.

  There, he helped with her fastenings and bent to kiss her neck. “Are you glad to be home?”

  “I don’t know that Fern Haven is home, but I am certainly glad to be back.”

  “Did you ever imagine the two of us sharing a room here? At least, with your aunt and uncle’s consent?” He winked.

  “No. Feels strange, does it not?�
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  “Feels good,” he replied, turning her in his arms and murmuring against her lips. “Feels right.”

  In the morning, Laura rose before anyone else in the family and dressed herself simply. Quietly letting herself out of the house, she hurried over to Brea Cottage, eager to see Miss Chegwin.

  Mary was in the kitchen, pouring tea.

  She looked up at her entrance. “Laura! Dynnargh dhis.” She threw wide her arms, and Laura entered the older woman’s embrace.

  “Myttin da, Mamm-wynn.”

  Hearing the commotion, Jago came in, hair in more disarray than usual. “Ah. Our Laura. Myttin da.”

  “Good morning to you too, old friend. You are keeping well, I trust?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Good. And you are both coming to the party?”

  Mary nodded. “We wouldn’t miss it. Newlyn asked Jago to help with preparations and to play during the festivities.”

  “Did she? I am glad to hear it.”

  Laura visited with them awhile longer, then returned to Fern Haven.

  The party preparations began a short while later. The men set up a white open tent on the sands of Greenaway, Laura’s favorite beach, just down the path from Fern Haven. Then they set up a long table. Everyone helped carry down chairs for the older folks as well as plenty of blankets for a picnic-style meal.

  Later that afternoon, Laura watched as Jago helped Newlyn carry big heaping platters and urns of tea, the usually timid maid smiling her thanks at the big man. Soon, the long buffet table was overflowing with food of all descriptions, including a large cake and a bowl of punch.

  Laura walked over to the old cook-housekeeper. “What a feast you’ve prepared, Wenna,” she praised. “You must have been working for days.”

  “Indeed I was,” she replied. “But many were eager to help—Newlyn, Miss Chegwin, and several other neighbors.”

  “The captain and I sincerely appreciate it.”

  “Oh, miss.” Wenna squeezed her hand. “You know we would do anything fer ye. Fern Haven just ain’t the same without ye.”