Owned by the Ocean

by Christine Steendam

  “And how did you find yourself in this line of… work?”

  “I was a sailor on the privateering ship the BlackFox. It recently came under my command due to some unsavory circumstances, and I’m afraid I was acting in ignorance when I was raiding enemy ships without a Letter of Marque.”

  “Unsavory circumstances?”

  “Mutiny, Sir, of which I had no involvement.”

  “I see. And what is it you want me to do for you?”

  Brant smiled, feeling more at ease with the situation by the minute. “I would like to pay my percentage to the King, and in turn we forget these piracy charges. A Letter of Marque would also go a long way.”

  Governor Modyford remained silent, sipping at his tea with a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he set down his tea cup and looked at Brant. “You pay the required percentage and we will forget everything,” he said. “And I’ll commission the letter.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “I’m doing this because you’re Calvin Foxton’s son. If you fall on the wrong side of the law again, don’t expect any aid from me.”

  Brant nodded. “Of course, Sir, thank you.”

  The governor rang a bell and a guard came marching in, leaning in close to Modyford for instructions, and then leaving. Soon a servant came in with a small writing desk and set it by the governor, who turned to it and wrote up a letter, signing and stamping it, then sprinkling the wet ink with sand.

  As he stood up to hand Brant the letter, he grasped his hand. “I take it you haven’t heard of your father’s well-being?”

  Brant frowned. “No sir. Is he well?”

  “He’s been ill for some time and news from London says they don’t expect him to live out the year.”

  Brant took the letter from the Governor’s hand and nodded somberly. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “I urge you to sail for England. If you leave now you can beat the summer storms. No man should die without saying goodbye to his son.”

  Brant forced a grim smile and nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response. Maybe the governor was right, but Brant wasn’t really Calvin’s son anymore, and hadn’t been in years.

  He turned to walk out, pausing at the entrance way. “I’ll have my men bring the gold this afternoon,” then walked out.

  ***

  Brant left lunch assured of his future, but with a new weight pressing down heavily on his shoulders. He walked the five miles back to the beach where they had come in the night before. The long boat was no longer there, but the BlackFox was still anchored just off shore. He waved his arms for a few minutes, and then saw a long boat being lowered.

  Karl and Christopher met him on the beach. “Everythin’ taken care of?”

  Brant nodded, but remained silent. Rowing back to the BlackFox he felt elated but the news of his father’s illness had him troubled. He hadn’t intended to make any contact with his father, but now he was faced with his possible death and the unwanted feeling of responsibility for his younger brother, James. If Calvin died, he would have no one.

  Back on the BlackFox he was greeted with cheers and pats on the back.

  “We’re back in business, boys. Let’s make port.”

  “Brant?” Karl approached him as they sailed around the coast towards the harbor.

  “Yes?”

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We sail for England with the morning tide.”

  Chapter Eight

  The voyage to England was rough sailing. It was dangerously late in the season and storms were a growing concern. They weathered a couple large gales that had Brant wondering if he’d made a mistake, braving the treacherous seas this late in the year. But the BlackFox docked in London safe and sound, if a little worse for wear, in early June.

  Upon docking and paying the required fees, Brant left the ship in Karl’s care, rented a horse from the nearest livery, and rode towards his father’s estate. It was a long ride, especially in the heat of the day, but Brant hardly noticed; his whole mind consumed by thoughts of his ill father. Was he too late? Would his father even agree to see him? Would James be bitter and angry with him for leaving?

  Riding up to the estate it looked the same as it did four years ago when he had left. Brant recognized a much older Markus walk out of the stables to meet him, and waved.

  “Is that you, Master Brant?”

  “It is, Markus. How have things been?”

  “Not so good. You've heard about Sir Foxton?”

  “I have.”

  “Doc says he ain't got much more time. You best go see him.”

  “Thank you, Markus. I rented the horse, is there any way we can arrange for him to get back to the livery? I think it is best I spend some time here.”

  “I'll see to it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Brant walked into the house, taking the steps leading up to it two at a time. He walked in with a bang of the door, the sound echoing through the large house and announcing his arrival to anyone who might be found inside.

  Brant didn’t have to wait long for the brisk, echoing footsteps to come from upstairs. James walked down the stairs and met his brother in the foyer. “Can I help you?”

  Brant smiled a little. His brother held himself straight and tall, his arms clutched behind his back and wore a perfectly pressed and starched shirt and breeches. Not a speck of dirt could be found on him.

  “How is father?”

  “Brant?” James’ face lost its impassiveness and was replaced with a hesitant grin.

  “Who else?”

  All semblance of propriety disappeared with a laugh and James jumped down the last few steps to embrace his estranged brother. “You're back! Are you staying for good? I missed you! Leo told me that you had left and that you were okay but when I asked when I'd see you again he said he didn't know.”

  Brant laughed at the bombardment of questions and held up his hands to slow his brother down. “I'm here for a little while, I'm not sure how long yet. Now slow down and tell me how father is.”

  James face turned serious, and Brant had to smile a little at the series of emotions he was seeing pass over his brother’s face in such a short span of time. “It isn't good, Brant. The doctor says he doesn't have much time left. I heard Markus talking, he isn't even sure how he's lasted this long.”

  “What is it?”

  “Consumption is what he called it. The doctor said that sometimes people recover but it's extremely rare and at father's age it seems to have hit him quite hard.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “He has been asking about you--”

  “Take me to him.”

  James led Brant up the stairs and into their father's room. “Father? There is someone here to see you.”

  “Who is it?” Calvin’s voice had lost much of the strength it had once carried. Now it was raspy and weak from too much coughing.

  “It's Brant, Father.”

  “Send him in.”

  Brant walked in and James shut the door behind him, staying out in the hall. Calvin Foxton was a shell of the man Brant had once known. His body looked weak and frail, his skin hanging loosely off his thin frame.

  “So, my prodigal son has returned. Have you come to beg my forgiveness in hopes of getting my fortune while I lay on my deathbed?” He was taken over by a fit of coughing and Brant rushed over to help him sit up in bed.

  “No, I came to say goodbye. I’m a captain now; I don’t need anything from you.”

  “Is that supposed to impress me?”

  “Four years, father. I left four years ago and I'm a captain. You are supposed to be proud.”

  “I'm dying; the last thing I care about is what you've accomplished. Nothing you say or do is going to change the fact that James is going to get every pound of the inheritance.”

  Brant grimaced. He hadn’t come here for money, he’d come here to make things right, and yet his
father could only think about what filled his coffers. “I left. I never expected to be included in the inheritance after that.”

  “At least you aren't a complete fool.”

  “Calvin Foxton doesn’t raise fools,” spat out Brant, struggling to hold in his growing anger.

  “And yet you threw away everything I gave you and chose the life of a common sailor.”

  “I never intended to be a common sailor. I'm a Foxton and I had every intention of upholding that name as a captain of my own ship.”

  “And what to you do? Haul coffee and sugar?”

  “In a sense, and anything else of value that I relieve a ship of.”

  “So you're a pirate, a common criminal.”

  “Privateer, actually.”

  Calvin Foxton was quiet for some time and then he looked at Brant. “You can stay here while you’re in London if you wish. Now leave me be.”

  “Thank you, Father. I would like that very much.” It took everything in Brant to remain quiet and civil with the bitter man lying in bed. From what he remembered of the prodigal son, he was welcomed home with feasting and joy. There would be no killing of the fatted calf for Brant.

  Calvin lay back down and Brant left the room, joining James who was still waiting in the hall.

  “I didn't hear any yelling.”

  “Can he still yell?”

  James smiled sadly. “If he’s angry enough. How was it?”

  “Better than I expected. He invited me to stay here.”

  “Your room is all still the way you left it. Father told the maids not to touch it. He wasn't angry when you left, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Brant asked, thinking back to the night he’d ridden away and the silhouette he’d seen standing in the window, watching him go.

  “He was just sad. It was as if someone had died.”

  “You mean he didn't erase me from the family inheritance and prohibit the speaking of my name?”

  “After two years or so his lawyer came over and I think he changed his will. To him you were dead. I remember him telling me that you weren't ever coming back and I think he truly believed that. We spoke of you sometimes, when I asked or when he was telling stories.”

  “Father told stories?”

  “I think when you left he realized that he drove you away and he was afraid to lose me as well so he tried harder to be a real father.”

  It was strange for Brant to be having a real conversation with his brother. The last time he had seen him James had been six years old. He was now ten and had matured a great amount. It pained Brant to see that he had missed so much of his brother’s life.

  “That is hard to believe; a kind Calvin Foxton,” Brant said, followed by a chuckle that sounded bitter even to his own ears. “I thought he only knew how to command troops.”

  James laughed. “Oh, he is still like that, but he did try hard to get closer to me. He told stories and asked me what I wanted to do when I was older. He even showed me everything we owned and explained things to me.”

  Brant smiled but it pained him to hear that his brother had gotten the father he had always wanted, always fought for. Brant could almost consider himself an orphan after his mother had died. “And now that he's ill?”

  “He has me sit with him every day for a few hours and he goes over business with me. This house will be sold when he's gone, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that is what we thought would be best. I will go to a boy’s school and this house would be empty. There is still the Jamaican sugar plantation.”

  “So you will go to one school and then the other until you're twenty, and then what?”

  “And then I will either go to Jamaica to oversee the plantation or I will purchase a townhouse here.”

  “You and father have it all figured out.”

  “We do. His lawyer will look after the finances until I graduate I will be given an allowance each week. Father doesn’t want me, or our money, falling into the hands of a relative I barely know. This seemed like the best situation.”

  “Father thinks the best situation is for you to be independent at ten years of age? You're still so young, James. You're too young to have responsibilities like this, to have no parental figure other than teachers and a headmaster in school.”

  “It's what father thinks is best.”

  “What father thinks is best,” Brant repeated the words that seemed all too familiar. “What do you want, James?”

  “What father says is usually a good idea.”

  Brant shook his head, frustration mounting. “You need to learn to think for yourself.”

  James only laughed. “I suppose I'll have to pretty soon, won't I?”

  His brother was becoming hard, like their father. Brant was sure he laughed and he cried like a normal child, but James was completely at peace with the fact that their father was dying, that the big plan was for him to be completely alone in this cruel world. Everything should feel like it was crashing in on him, like it was to Brant, but instead he laughed it off as if it was just the circle of life in action.

  * * *

  During his time spent at home Brant had daily conversations with his father about what he had done with his life these past four years—more often than not his father would grunt in disapproval but occasionally he expressed delight. Brant knew Calvin would never admit it but he was sure he secretly enjoyed hearing of Brant’s adventures because through them Calvin could relive his own glory days.

  Brant was not invited or allowed to sit in on James’ time with their father as it was usually discussing affairs of the estate, of which Brant had no part of.

  Time passed quickly for Brant, but every day when the doctor came to check in he just shook his head and muttered something along the lines of “not long now.”

  As bitter as Brant was towards his childhood it pained him to see his father suffer with each passing day, yet he sat by his side and kept him company as long as he would allow. Sometimes his father would tell him tales of his glory years when his was a common sailor in the King’s navy, working his way up the ranks. He had come from a middle class family that did not have a lot of money, but Calvin had worked incredibly hard in the navy and pulled a good wage as commodore. He saved his money and as soon as he had enough he invested in a merchant company that dealt largely with the sugar, cotton and coffee trades out of Jamaica. It was through that investment that Calvin grew interested in owning his own plantation in Jamaica. As he grew in favor with the King and the court Calvin suddenly found himself in a whole new class and had vowed that his children would have a better life. That was why he had refused to allow Brant to join the navy.

  “Did you visit our plantation at all while you stayed over in Port Royale?”

  “No, I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

  His father’s face grew cloudy and Brant quickly changed the subject. “How is Leo?”

  “I hear he is doing well. His father told me he settled in Jamaica to run their plantation a few years back. Such a shame that a young man with such promise would confine himself to that backwoods island, but the plantation is a good business.”

  “James tells me you plan on keeping the plantation but selling this house.”

  “The plantation is a good source of income. James will be in school so there will be no use for this house. When he is of age he can purchase a new one if he wishes to stay here.”

  “When summer is over you understand that I must leave. James will have no one left.”

  “Yes, I understand you have a duty as captain to your crew. James and I have discussed all the arrangements that will be in place, you need not worry. Now leave me. I am tired.”

  Calvin ended their time of visitation abruptly, as he usually did when he was too exhausted to talk anymore. Brant just nodded and forced a tight smile.

  “I’ll bring you dinner later, Father,” promised Brant as he left the room.

  * * *

  After B
rant and James had eaten dinner that evening Brant filled a plate and climbed the stairs to his father’s room. He knocked before entering but didn’t wait for an answer. Quite often his father was asleep at this time and Brant would leave the plate by his bedside for when he woke up. Tonight, however, Calvin was awake and sitting. Papers were strewn about his bed and he seemed completely immersed in reading them.

  “Is everything okay, Father?”

  “Yes, yes.” He sounded strong, stronger than he had since Brant had come home, though still far from his old self.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, nothing. I just have a few things to go over.”

  “Alright, well here’s your dinner.”

  “Put it on the night stand. My lawyer will be coming first thing in the morning so I would like breakfast at seven.”

  “I’ll see to it that you get it.”

  “Thank you. Goodnight, Brant.”

  “Goodnight, Father.”

  Brant left the room but he felt uneasy. He had seen men die before, he was no stranger to death and he had seen men become stronger in their last moments. Sometimes it would almost seem like they would pull through, and then a few hours later they would die. Brant already knew his father would not survive. The doctor had said there was no hope, and Brant wasn’t so naïve as to think he could be wrong. Seeing his father energetic and seemingly strong had him worried and he couldn’t help but feel a darkness descend on him. This could very well have been the last time he saw his father alive.

  * * *

  As morning dawned Brant was woken up by a scream. One of the maids came out of Calvin’s room sobbing. Brant took one look at her and knew what had caused the commotion but he had to see for himself. He went over to his father’s bed and checked for a pulse. Nothing, as he had expected. James came running in then, his face ashen and eyes wide with fear.

  “Is it father? What happened?”

  Brant turned to face his younger brother, swallowing hard. “He’s gone, James. I’m sorry.”