She busied herself stacking his papers in neat piles on his desk, picking up those that had dropped to the floor. Most of the papers were charts showing the outlines of various ports along the American coastline, but another showed the coast of England surrounding Portsmouth. There were even charts of the French coast. One in particular showed very detailed if somewhat aged looking sketches of the inlets and harbors around the area of held various missives from contacts whose names she had never heard of, sharing their opinions on the progress of the war. Most were dire predictions, but a few held out hope the King of France would send aid soon. Although the allusions to funds were veiled, it seemed the French were already supplying money. Now these men wanted ships.
Guilt gnawing at her, she perused the letters. She wasn’t truly prying. She couldn’t help it if she happened to see some of the words while tidying his desk.
…countryside northwest of Baltimore…
Her hand stilled over the scripted words that jutted from beneath a weighty pile of less interesting correspondence.
Her farm was less than half a day’s ride northwest of Baltimore. Had the captain been inquiring on her behalf?
She pulled the letter from beneath the pile. The writer noted there had been no reports of violence from that area. The farmers had been particularly hard hit by the needs of the armies, but most still managed to survive. A man suspected of being a Tory sympathizer had been ill-treated in the local village, but he fled before the villagers could do any real damage. They satisfied themselves by burning his home to its foundation.
Amanda skimmed the next few paragraphs, then turned the page over and read through to the end, hoping the writer might give the name of the village. Why would the captain’s correspondent bother giving such a thorough report of a sparsely populated area? It held nothing more than a collection of farming villages nestled in the rolling hills. Could it have been mere coincidence that her farm lay not far outside one of those villages? Or had the captain been looking into the feasibility of returning her to her home? Hand trembling, she flipped the letter over, looking for a date.
July 1st, less than two weeks ago. That meant the letter had probably been delivered sometime during the last couple of days. Of course, despite its recent date, that didn’t mean the request from the captain had been recent, nor that he had made the request at all. The letter writer might simply have been giving a report on the area he had most recently passed through. Even if responding to a special request from the captain, it might have been one made months ago, before he had deemed her indispensable.
Determined not to jump to any conclusions until she had a private word with the captain, Amanda returned to the galley. When she came back an hour or so later to pick up his dishes, his plates were empty, but the man had disappeared again. Was he avoiding her?
Amanda piled his plates on the tray and carried them back to the galley. After drying the last of the dishes, she spent the rest of the morning in her half of the doctor’s quarters, lying in her hammock and pondering the letter. She tried to close her eyes and get some sleep before she needed to start dinner, but images of her farm looking forlorn and abandoned in the morning mist alternated with visions of the captain washing at the basin, his bronze skin and golden eyes glistening in the lamp light.
Giving up on the idea of a nap, she went above deck hoping to get a breath of fresh air to help clear her head.
She found Captain Stoakes on deck, inspecting the guns. She smiled in greeting when he glanced her way, but he simply looked her over with an assessing gaze that spoke of a man trying to come to a decision. Amanda walked to the bulwark, determined not to let his presence prevent her enjoyment of the ocean breeze on her flushed cheeks. If he remained on his end of the ship and she on hers, he could avoid her all he liked.
Buck joined her at the bulwark. “Good morning, Adam.”
“Good morning, sir,” She eyed the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the pallid look to his skin.
While she had slept soundly in the captain’s hammock, Buck had undoubtedly had an eventful night trying to keep the determined Miss Bowersley contained in her temporary quarters.
“You don’t sound yourself this morning. Everything all right?” His own voice lacked its usual jovial brightness.
“Yes, nothing to worry about,” Amanda reassured him with a smile. “I’m just weary from last night.”
“Last night? What happened last night that has you so weary?” Buck made a tired effort at a grin.
Amanda turned to study him. If he weren’t such a gentleman, she might think Buck had implied something happened between her and the captain. She gave him a reprimanding scowl, but couldn’t stop a smile from erupting in its place.
“You know I’m talking about Miss Bowersley. Speaking of the little vixen, where is she this morning?” Amanda turned her back to the bulwark and rested her elbows on top. She surveyed the deck. “I expected to find her clinging to the captain, but she is nowhere to be seen. Did you actually manage to keep her confined to quarters?”
“I did.” Buck sounded pleased with himself. “I also managed to get her bundled off with the prize crew at the crack of dawn. She’s headed to North Carolina so she can vex her rich uncle with talk of handsome men in English uniforms. That is, until he manages to find some poor sap willing to marry her.”
Amanda turned back to the sea with a sigh. “I’m sure looks and money go a long way. She will probably be married by her next birthday.”
“Mmmm,” Buck murmured, watching her face.
Amanda ignored his speculative gaze. He did not need to know that her own birthday lurked just around the corner. She pushed the thought away and closed her eyes. She would enjoy the cool morning breeze and the warm sun on her face and leave the melancholy notions for another time.
She wouldn’t mind if Buck decided to leave her in peace. She would love to talk with him, unload her burdens on someone who understood the captain better than anyone, but how could she when he knew only half of the story? She stayed silent, eyes closed for several minutes, expecting to hear Buck’s retreating footsteps at any moment.
Buck didn’t take the hint. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his gaze linger on her face. Somehow, he seemed to know she wanted to talk, needed to talk.
Amanda opened her eyes and stared out at the sea. The mid-morning sun glittered on the gentle swells as though the waves were crested with diamonds. Before she had gone to sea, her image of the vast expanse had been limited. She would have described it as a big body of water that lapped against the land. Now, she appreciated the thousand faces the ocean could wear, from the sublimely beautiful to the ferocious and terrifying.
The Amanda had been sailing south, presumably to get Miss Bowersley closer to her destination. Now, looking out at the sea from the starboard side of the vessel, the sun crept slowly toward its zenith.
“Where are we headed now, Buck?”
She didn’t really care, but if he wanted to talk it seemed a safe subject.
“Home,” Buck said, with an almost nostalgic look on his face.
“Home? Where is home for you?”
She knew Buck had to come from somewhere, but he seemed to have been bred for the sea. She didn’t think home could be anywhere but a ship for him.
“Baltimore.”
The deck rolled under her feet.
Baltimore? The mere mention brought to mind the letter and its report of the countryside to the northwest, an area inconsequential to the captain, but home to Amanda.
He is indispensable to me. The captain’s words replayed in her head. Had that been no more than a diversion intended to thwart Miss Bowersley?
Buck turned to her and his smile dissolved. “Adam, are you all right?”
The ship heaved again, and Amanda grasped the bulwark. “Yes, as I said before, I’m just tired from last night.”
Buck just managed to catch her in his arms before the world went dark.
Chapter Twenty
Dawn of the next day saw the Amanda docked in the Port of Baltimore. The scent of rotting refuse and the cloying odor of dead fish brought Amanda to her senses almost as if someone had waved smelling salts beneath her nose. Lying still in her hammock, she listened to the familiar shouts of street vendors and sailors fighting to make themselves heard over the cries of the gulls scrapping over bits of dead fish and other flotsam that rode the waves and washed up on the docks. She had forgotten how noisy and smelly Baltimore could be. She turned on her side, drew her woolen blanket over her head, and willed it all to go away.
Pleading ill, she had managed to convince Cookie to take over her duties for the rest of the day. If Captain Stoakes intended to be rid of her, he would have to reacquaint himself with the Irishman’s cooking sooner or later anyway.
Cookie had worn a worried frown and rung his apron between his hands, but didn’t protest. She supposed it helped that Buck had carried her below and laid her in her hammock. She had regained consciousness to find herself nestled in his strong arms while he navigated the steep steps. Cookie hovered over her like a mother hen, clucking his tongue and offering her food which Amanda did her best to decline without hurting his feelings.
The doctor checked on her once, measuring her pulse and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand. He pronounced her to be suffering from simple dehydration. Rest and water would be all she needed to get back on her feet.
Even Buck and Bull had come late in the afternoon to assure themselves she was well despite remaining abed through the day. She had tried to rise, but both of them insisted she should get as much rest as possible.
Neil visited last. His worried frown told her how much he cared, even if her little brother couldn’t admit it aloud. When she assured him she was feeling better, he said he would relay the good news to the rest of the crew. After all, they were worried about her.
All day she had lain in bed, restless and wondering if the next knock at the door would be his. The captain never came.
Amanda threw back her blanket. She had had enough. A new day had dawned, and they were in Baltimore. If he didn’t have the courage to face her, to tell her of his plans directly, she would go to him.
****
“He’s not there.” Neil said when she knocked on the captain’s door some time later to bring him his breakfast. “He’s gone ashore with his friend, Captain Stoddard.”
“Captain Stoddard?” Amanda asked, trying to remember where she had heard the name.
“Yes, that’s the captain who transported us back to the Amanda after we auctioned our prize in Boston.”
“Oh, I remember.” Amanda pressed her lips together.
She remembered all too well. Captain Stoddard had put her little brother’s life in jeopardy by taking on a 64-gun frigate.
Women don’t belong on ships. The captain’s oft-repeated words echoed in her brain, and her stomach plunged to her feet. Had Captain Stoakes gone ashore to make arrangements to put her off the ship? Perhaps this Captain Stoddard was necessary in some way to his plan. Or, as a fellow captain, he might be sympathetic to the dangers of having a woman on a ship and have offered his assistance.
Her shiver rattled the contents of the tray.
“Did they say what they were about?” She tried to hide the small tremor in her voice.
“No.” The corner of Neil’s lips twitched just before he turned to go.
She scowled at him as he climbed the stairs to the upper deck. Why did her little brother have to be so happy about getting rid of her? Had she been that overbearing?
More than likely, Neil had adopted some of the captain’s notions about women on ships. They had spent enough time together these past few weeks.
Amanda took the captain’s uneaten breakfast back to the galley, then returned to her hammock and lay staring at the ceiling for the next hour, trying to decide whether she should be more angry or sad. Amanda’s emotions were like a storm cloud, each one rolling over the other until only a jumbled mass remained.
Neil popped his head through the open door.
“Captain wants to see you in his quarters.” He waggled an eyebrow at her.
Amanda sat up in her hammock, her heart hammering against her breastbone.
“His quarters?” She tried to swallow but found it difficult.
So this was it? The time had come for her to leave the Amanda and the life she loved behind.
Neil came and sat by her, a mix of sympathy and impatience on his face.
“Mandy, he cares for you, you know,” Neil paused and squeezed her forearm. “You should trust him and let someone take care of you for once.”
Amanda clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “Neil, what can you possibly know of this?”
“I know the way he looks at you. The way he’s always looked at you, even before he thought he should.” Neil chuckled. “Imagine his relief when he found out you were a girl.”
“Relief?” Amanda squeaked. “You saw how angry he was when he found out. He glowered at me for days. He still does.”
Neil shook his head. “I don’t think it’s anger in his eyes.”
Amanda nudged him with her elbow. “Oh, what do you know? You’re only thirteen.” She sighed. “And I’m only a woman.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s aware of that.” Neil nudged her back, his grin suggesting he knew more than any thirteen year old should.
Amanda couldn’t help but laugh. “You know what I mean.” She gazed into his brown eyes and hesitated. “I will miss you.”
“You’re not going to start crying on me, are you?” He arched a dark eyebrow at her in a way that reminded her so much of the captain.
They really were two peas in a pod. Knowing he would look after her younger brother made her fate easier to accept, at least at some level.
Amanda swallowed her tears, then set her hand on her brother’s shoulder and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“I love you, Neil.” She tousled his hair as if he were eleven again.
Instead of pulling back or complaining, he gave her his best eleven-year-old grin, his mop of brown hair sticking out in all directions.
Amanda stood and brushed her hands against the front of her breeches, trying in vain to smooth the many wrinkles. With a dignified tug at her stained cotton shirt, she strode out the door, her back straight and shoulders squared.
“Now, that’s the sister I know,” Neil said as he watched her go.
When she arrived at the captain’s quarters, she found the door ajar, but she knocked anyway.
“Hello?” She pushed the door open just enough to stick her head through, expecting to see him engrossed in work at his desk.
His quarters appeared empty. She stepped inside to be sure.
Had she misunderstood Neil? Maybe he had said “on deck”, and her overactive imagination had supplied what she wanted to hear.
Amanda’s gaze strayed to the captain’s clean desk. She hadn’t straightened his things, and she doubted the captain had it in him. But somehow between this morning and now, someone had come in and cleared everything so that only a small sheet of parchment remained. She picked it up with a trembling hand.
Dearest Amanda,
I have bought you a gift that I hope you will do me the honor of accepting without questioning my motives. Actually, I have two gifts for you. The first lies in a box on my hammock.
Note in hand, Amanda walked to the captain’s hammock and opened a large, white box. In it lay a stylish, emerald-green satin dress, finer and more expensive than anything she had ever owned. She ran her fingertips across the soft material before returning to the note.
I had to guess at your size, but if you need alternations, ask Bull to get the sailmaker to assist.
Amanda held the tips of her fingers against her lips. The thought of turning Bull into a lady’s maid was one thing, but the sailmaker into a dressmaker? The curmudgeonly old man excelled at sewing canvas, but she would not let
him anywhere near the delicate fabric of her one and only dress.
The other gift is of a slightly more personal nature, and I hope you will forgive me for any impertinence or unintended offense. I know living aboard ship requires one to forego many of the luxuries ladies are accustomed to. As I recall, one of those luxuries is a hot bath—in fresh water.
A bath? Amanda hadn’t taken a bath in months. She had done her best to stay clean, but she had to settle for washing at the basin in her spare moments of privacy.
The only other option was a dip in the sea, which had the effect of washing away human dirt only to leave one covered with a thin coating of salt and never giving the sense of being truly clean.
Amanda spied the tub in the corner of the room, steam rising from it.
Do not worry about being interrupted. I ordered Neil to find Buck after he escorted you to my quarters. They are to stand guard outside the door while you have this time to yourself. I will not see you until this evening.
Yours always,
Will
Amanda tiptoed to the door and peeked out. From his station outside the door, Neil waggled his fingers at her, delight shining in his eyes. From the other side, Buck stared straight ahead. His lips were set in a straight line, a heroic effort on his part to not show his delight but one that didn’t extend to the dimple in his cheek.
Amanda shut the door again and read the rest of the note.
P.S. Now that I have hopefully impressed you with my gallantry, I have a favor to ask. My good friend, Captain Stoddard, and his officers will be joining us for supper. I would like you to join us as my guest, but I’m afraid I also need your help in making sure Cookie doesn’t kill us all. It would reflect badly on me if one of the Continental Navy’s finest officers should die aboard my ship.
Amanda stared at the paper in her hand, completely befuddled. She thought he had been ashore making arrangements to return her to her farm. She fingered the cool satin. Instead, he had been buying her a dress.
Caution to the Wind (American Heroes) Page 20