Caution to the Wind (American Heroes)

by Mary Jean Adams

  The carriage swayed alarmingly when Amanda’s father clambered up the stairs to sit across from her, and she had to grab the leather strap to keep from tumbling out the door. Clearly, the springs were in no better shape than the interior. She hoped the ride would not be a long one.

  What started as a light sprinkling of cold rain turned into a steady drizzle. The driver coaxed the two tired horses into motion. Thunder boomed overhead, and Amanda pressed her face against the glass, peering through the streaks of grit to see dark clouds rolling in. At any moment, the skies might open up and turn the rutted road into a mud path that would make progress impossible. Amanda brightened momentarily at the thought.

  The rain beat down in a continuous drizzle that made the roads slow going and uncomfortable, but not impassable even though the rundown carriage seemed destined to find each furrow.

  She leaned her head against the side of the carriage and watched the rain beat a steady rhythm against the window. The drops caught, pooled, and fell like dirty tears down the glass.

  Sensing her father’s anxious gaze on her from the opposite side of the coach, Amanda sat up. She couldn’t let him think her anything but the happiest daughter in the world to be reunited with her father. And she was happy, or at least mostly so. She just hadn’t expected to find herself ripped in half when she left the Amanda and her captain behind.

  Her body still tingled where he had lain against her, still pulsed where his rough hands had caressed her. She had washed in the basin that morning, but the scent of their lovemaking still lingered on her skin.

  The coach ground to a halt, and Amanda raised her chin. She cast a questioning glance at her father, then peered out the rain-streaked window. She could see nothing from her vantage point inside the vehicle except a few townspeople, hats and bonnets pulled low over their brows, skittering along the wooden walkway, seeking refuge from what had become a downpour.

  Mr. Blakely opened the door to the carriage and leaned out. Gripping the side to steady himself, he spoke to the driver. The wind whipped their words away, and Amanda could not hear the exchange.

  He pulled himself back inside, rain running in rivulets from the corners of his hat.

  “What is it, Father?”

  “Appears to be a carriage ahead of us stuck in the mud,” Mr. Blakely said. “Not to worry though. I’ll get out and help the driver. We’ll be on our way in no time.”

  “Be careful,” Amanda cautioned, laying a hand on her father’s sleeve.

  Something about the situation set her on edge, but she couldn’t explain it, certainly not to her father. With no justification for the uneasiness, she would only give him cause for concern about her soundness of mind. He had enough of his own troubles, having only recently recovered from an illness himself.

  “Not to worry dear.” He patted her hand before stepping out of the carriage. Rain blew in through the open door, spattering her green silk with dark splotches. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  He shut the door behind him, leaving Amanda by herself, with nothing to do but wait. She shut her eyes, leaned back against the tattered gold cushions, and listened to the rain beat against the coach, trying not to think about the dreariness of the future that awaited her.

  A short time later, the door opened again.

  “That was qui—”

  The words died in her throat. A burlap sack was thrown over her head and darkness surrounded her. The sack and the pressure of a man’s arm around her neck robbed her of breath. She struggled to hold onto consciousness.

  ****

  Will breakfasted the next morning on charred eggs, blackened toast and coffee that could best be described as “grainy.” However, neither Cookie’s insipid fare nor the pitching of the ship during the summer storm that had rolled out to sea from the nearby coast could dampen his mood.

  After a merry chase the previous day, one in which the Amanda toyed with her quarry, Will took all three ships in a feat of pure genius, if he did say so himself. The sailing skill of the Amanda’s crew had managed to confuse the merchant ships until they sailed more closely together than wise. Neil had been the one to spot their error in seamanship, and suggested that, instead of sinking the first ship, they might aim for her main mast.

  Will’s gunners had steadily improved over the course of the last few months, and he wasn’t disappointed. With the first volley, the mast splintered like kindling, crashing into the rigging of her sister ship and effectively disabling the two ships with one shot. The captain of the third ship wisely chose to strike her colors.

  Once the first two ships were repaired, he would order three prize crews to take the ships, their prisoners, and their cargo to the court in Boston, assuming the port wasn’t currently blockaded by the British. If it were, they would simply sail farther south to one of the lesser courts and be back to a full complement within the month.

  Will’s good fortune, ironically, caused an unforeseen wrinkle in his plan to take his mind off Amanda. He had intended to spend that month hunting British merchant ships, but the Amanda only carried enough men for three prize crews—skeletal ones at that. With all three gone in one shot, the remaining crew could do little more than sail the ship. They certainly couldn’t pursue another prize until their mates returned.

  Perhaps he would lay low for a week or two, then sail to Baltimore and find Amanda sooner than planned. She belonged with him; surely, it wouldn’t take her a month to see that.

  Yesterday’s skirmish had appeased Will’s inner demons, and much of his anger had passed. If she were with child, he couldn’t stand the thought of her, for one single moment, wondering whether she would be left to raise his child on her own.

  He took a large swig of his coffee, forgetting that Amanda hadn’t made it, and grimaced at the layer of grit coating his tongue. He had just picked up a napkin to swab his mouth when Buck entered his quarters.

  “Captain, sorry to interrupt your, er...breakfast,” Buck eyed the pitch black toast and half-eaten eggs, “but there’s a packet ship hailing us.”

  “Packet ship?” ask Will.

  Packet ships delivered the post between ports and the naval ships at sea. However, the privateers that prowled the coast usually had to send a boat into port if they wanted their mail. Unless of course, the more formal branches of the American military forces needed their assistance.

  Will threw down his napkin and rose to his feet. If a ship hailed them, it meant she carried an urgent message, perhaps even a special request from General Washington himself. The general, although he knew little about ships or sailing, promoted privateering. He understood just how much the informal naval force offered in the way of support by depriving the British troops of their supplies. Most of the privateer captains, acknowledging the importance of friends in high places, did their best to accommodate the general’s occasional special request. This might be a most unfortunate time to be shorthanded.

  Will yanked on his coat and followed Buck on deck. When his second handed him the glass, Will held it to his eye, struggling to make sense of the small transport skiff rowing toward them through the driving rain. The boat pitched and rolled on each wave, appearing and disappearing.

  Will’s heart skipped a beat when he made out the man at the rear of the small transport boat, clutching onto the edge as though he were going to be sick at any moment. The packet ship didn’t bear an urgent message in the way of a post. The urgent message would be delivered by the sender himself. A land man such as Blakely would never brave travel in a transport boat in the midst of a storm, unless he wished to discuss a matter of great importance.

  Will’s heart thumped against his breastbone during the eternity it took for the oarsmen to bring the small boat alongside the Amanda and to hand Blakely, legs shaking, up the rope ladder.

  ****

  “She’s gone? What do you mean she’s gone?” Will bellowed against the wind that howled through the rigging. “When?”

  “Yesterday,” Blakely choke
d out.

  Wet and shivering from the driving rain of the late summer squall, Blakely’s face had lost all color. Will knew he ought to take the man below, get him some dry clothes and something to warm his insides, but Blakely’s discomfort served a purpose too. He would have the details out of the old man sooner if he kept him on deck in the driving rain.

  “We were in the coach on our way home, sir,” Blakely shouted, rain spattering from his lips like spittle. “We stopped for what we thought to be a carriage stuck in the street ahead of us. I got out, leaving Amanda in the coach,” he paused to hold his clenched fist over his mouth and swallowed before continuing, “while my driver and I went to see if we could help get the carriage out of the mud.”

  Blakely pitched forward when the Amanda rolled, and Will reached out to steady him. “Where’s Amanda?” he asked once Blakely’s face returned from green to its normal ashen gray.

  “I don’t know.” His voice held a note of helplessness that made Will want to shake him.

  Blakely’s eyes were turning vacant, and Will grasped him by the shoulders, forcing him to focus. “What do you mean you don’t know? She wasn’t in the coach when you returned?”

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  “Did you see her leave? Or see anyone who looked suspicious hanging around the coach?”

  “Well, the thing is, Captain, my driver and I both received lumps to the head. They knocked us out cold.” He sounded at once embarrassed to admit his incompetence yet glad to have an excuse.

  The ship rolled again, and Blakely stifled another urge to vomit. Will wondered whether the pitching of the ship had Blakely turning green or if the knock on the head was partly to blame. He would have Doctor Miller examine the man once he had his answers.

  “Did you happen to see who hit you?” he yelled against the wind.

  “I caught a glimpse. I would bet my life on it they were sailors.” He forced the words between chattering teeth.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m not really sure, but they seemed a little disreputable.”

  Will considered the response. The man probably assumed any seedy looking character was a sailor. Normally he would have been irritated at the assumption, but he had far greater concerns at the moment.

  “They were English,” Blakely added as though to soften the insult.

  “You know that for a fact?” If true, that would at least narrow the possibilities.

  “Yes, fairly certain, anyway. I heard them talking before we were knocked out. Their accents were definitely English, though not of the well-bred London sort.”

  The wind swallowed Blakely’s words, and the churning seas made it difficult for the man to control the contents of his stomach. Further discussion would have to wait until they were below deck.

  Will led Blakely below and settled him in a chair, several blankets about his shoulders. Then he went to the cupboard and poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Blakely who accepted it with obvious gratitude.

  Will swallowed half the contents of his glass in one gulp and considered what he knew. Sailors. Common sailors, if Blakely could be counted on to judge their accents correctly. Most likely, he would be dealing with ruffians and not men of consequence.

  But what could they want with Amanda? He took another swallow of whiskey, grimacing when it scorched his throat. He hadn’t wasted his best on Amanda’s father.

  His success had made him many enemies among the English naval men and wealthy British merchants over the years. One of them could have made off with Amanda as a matter of revenge, in which case, she could be taken to England or to the European continent. It would be harder to track her down in enemy territory or on the continent. Not impossible, of course. Just much more difficult.

  Common sailors, on the other hand, would be easier to track. Although their ship might eventually be bound for England or some other shore, they couldn’t requisition a ship or direct the sailing of one themselves. If their ship was not scheduled to sail immediately, it meant Amanda would remain in American waters longer. It offered only a slight advantage, but it did improve his odds.

  Moreover, common sailors, especially those up to no good, loved to brag about their nefarious deeds. With dozens of men all bunked together in the hold of a ship, knowledge of her presence would spread like a fire. That too increased the odds of finding her, although it didn’t do much for her safety.

  Blakely snuffled and slurped his whiskey, bringing Will’s thoughts back to the present.

  “Did you happen to catch any of what they said?” Will noted that the color had returned to the old man’s cheeks. Perhaps he might remember more now that he did not fear for his life.

  “Not anything that made sense to me. Something about catching their own prize and, wouldn’t their captain be pleased.” He gave an embarrassed grin. “Now that I think about it, I suppose that’s how I knew they were sailors.”

  “I suppose so.” Will swallowed the last of his whiskey before setting the glass on his desk.

  Blakely raised his glass with a shaking hand and drained the last of his whiskey. He held onto his glass though, turning a hopeful glance toward the bottle on the desk. Will poured more of the amber liquid, hoping to set him at ease. He needed to ask more pointed questions, and he didn’t need Blakely getting defensive.

  “Did you happen to mention to anyone that you were meeting Amanda at the dock?” he asked, keeping his tone light, inquisitive but not accusatory.

  “No one,” Blakely replied without pause.

  “No one?”

  “Well, I suppose I might have mentioned it to a couple of my oldest and dearest friends.” He paused at a memory. “Met them when I served in the army.”

  Will didn’t comment that would make his acquaintance with these men less than two years old, and perhaps a distant two years at that. He noted these two “dear friends” as possible suspects, but would come back to them only if there weren’t more likely leads to pursue.

  “Do you recall where you were when you mentioned this to your friends?” Will asked.

  “I believe I might have been playing cards at the time.” Blakely’s voice held a definite guilty note.

  “At the home of one of your friends, or in a public establishment?”

  “Just a tavern somewhere,” Blakely said, looking even more guilty now. “I don’t recall exactly which one.”

  Had the man drunk too much to remember? If so, Will would add that to the list of things that disqualified him to take possession of his daughter. Asking Blakely to recall who might have been standing next to his table would be a waste of time if the man couldn’t even recall which tavern he had been in. He decided to try a new line of questions.

  “Did you happen to mention your daughter’s recent good fortune due to the Amanda’s successes?” If the man had been playing cards, he might have asked for a loan, promising future payment once he had access to his daughter’s funds.

  “No, of course not.” Blakely’s denial sounded strong, but he didn’t look up.

  “You told no one about your daughter’s funds?” Certain he was lying, Will wanted to choke the truth out of the man. However, if he harmed her father, he didn’t think it would sit well with Amanda should he ever get her back.

  “No, I didn’t, I swear it.” Blakely looked up, “But…”

  “But what?” Will growled.

  “I might have said something…that is, I might have implied.” Blakely seemed unable to continue.

  Will grasped the man’s shoulder, bunching his coat in his fist and forcing Blakely to look at him. “You might have implied what?”

  “It’s just that everyone is aware of your reputation. I might have implied that you might soon be part of the family.”

  Will dropped the man’s shoulder, and Blakely slumped back in his chair looking as beaten as his wrinkled coat. Had Amanda been taken because of him?

  “What else do you remember about the incident?” Will asked.

&nbs
p; Blakely pursed his lips and stared at the captain’s desk blotter, “Hmm… Oh yes! Something about being serene. What do you suppose they could have meant by that?” He appeared eager to have left the topic of his indiscretion behind them.

  “Serene?” Will said, musing over the sound of the word. He didn’t suppose it to be a common word for a sailor. A sudden thought hit him like a blow to the gut. “Could the word have been ‘Serenity,’ perhaps?”

  “Yes, I believe it was, now that you mention it. Does it mean anything to you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Will lied. He reached out a hand to pull a startled Blakely to his feet. “I want you to go home in case she finds a way to escape. She may try to find her way there. I need to check out a few things on my own.”

  “But, Captain...” Blakely protested when Will drew the blankets from his shoulders.

  “I will get your daughter back,” Will said, ending the man’s sputtering.

  He had not lied. He would get Amanda back, but he wouldn’t be returning her.

  The summer storm, furious while it lasted, spent itself out, and the world sparkled in the sun by the time Will and Blakely stepped on deck. The transport boat, however, had decided not to wait out the storm tied to the Amanda and had already returned to the packet ship. Will called for one of his own boats to return Blakely to the ship.

  Blakely’s eyes told him he would have prefer to remain on the Amanda, but Will left him no opportunity to ask. Each time the man opened his mouth to say something, Will shut it with a hard look.

  After seeing Amanda’s father off, Will returned to his own quarters to think through his next move. He was sorry he had so purposefully intimidated the old man. In truth, he didn’t envy his position. Blakely surely loved his only daughter and the idea of sitting at home, virtually impotent, must have been hard to swallow.

  Yet, it must be so. Love alone would not bring her back nor keep her safe. Nor was he willing to let the man have her afterwards. He had been reunited with his daughter for no more than an hour before managing to to lose her. At least he had enough wits about him to note a few useful things about her captors. He pondered the word that they had used—serenity. Was it possible? Had Amanda been kidnapped by men from the HMS Serenity?