Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  The captain speared him with a sharp gaze “That will be all, Mr. Garrick. Attend to the new recruits.”

  With a salute, Garrick turned and left.

  “No, you remain, Mr. Reed.” Captain Milford’s words halted the other officer.

  Marianne’s breath grew rapid. Determined not to show her fear, she met the captain’s gaze without wavering. Interest flickered in his eyes as he circled her, one hand behind his back. Arrows of sunlight beamed through the stern windows and angled across a cabin much larger than Noah’s aboard the Fortune. The bright rays skimmed over the desk, the chairs, and a bookcase holding numerous tomes, decanters, and glasses. Two unlit lanterns swung from hooks on the deck-head. A sleeping chamber took up the far left corner. Conspicuously absent, however, were the cannons. Marianne had always heard British captains kept cannons in their cabins, ready for use. Also odd was the row of potted plants that lined the stern window casing.

  Captain Milford completed his assessment and stood before her, his gray eyes sharp. “So, miss. Have you?”

  “I beg your pardon.” Marianne shifted her shoes over the edge of the painted canvas at the room’s center.

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “Any training as a steward?”

  Encouraged by the spark of kindness drifting over his expression, Marianne turned pleading eyes his way. “Captain, I beg you. My name is Marianne Denton, and I am a citizen of Baltimore, Maryland. I am no one’s steward, sir. In fact, I wasn’t even supposed to be on that merchant ship.”

  The gold fringe on his epaulettes shook as the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes folded in laughter. “Allow me to enlighten your understanding, Miss Denton. You are no longer a citizen of Baltimore. You are my steward. You will prepare and lay out my clothing, bring me my meals, scrub this cabin, and help keep my affairs in order.” His tone rang through the cabin like a death knell. “Is that clear?”

  Marianne closed her eyes. This cannot be happening. “Captain, if I may indulge your patience. My mother is very ill. I must get back to her as soon as possible.”

  “Enough!” He thrust his face toward her. “My mother died while I was at sea. You will soon learn that we all must make sacrifices.”

  His hot breath, tainted with alcohol, fanned over her skin. Turning, he stormed toward his desk and poured a glass of amber liquid from a glass carafe. He sipped it and took up a pace before the stern windows.

  “Many sailors have woeful tales, miss. If I allowed everyone off this ship who had some tragedy ashore, I’d be sailing it myself.”

  He fingered the leaf of one of the plants. “Isn’t that so, my lovely?”

  Marianne flinched. Was the captain toying with her? “But I am not a sailor. I am an innocent lady.”

  He tossed the remainder of his drink to the back of his throat then slammed the glass to his desk. Turning, he brushed invisible dust from his dark blue sleeves. “Do I look presentable, Mr. Reed?”

  “As always, Captain.” The man’s guttural voice drifted from behind her.

  “Very well. Very well, indeed.” He glanced across the cabin as if trying to remember something, his eyes growing dull and lifeless.

  The ship moaned over a swell, and Marianne steadied her shoes against the rising deck.

  “Captain?” The officer behind her said. “Your orders?”

  He shook his head. “Ah yes. Prepare the ship to get underway, Mr. Reed.”

  “And the lady?”

  “Show her to the steward’s quarters.”

  Marianne took a step forward. “But, Captain, you cannot hold an innocent civilian.”

  He eyed her and the former sharpness in his gaze returned. “I assure you I can, miss. I can do whatever I wish. I am master of this ship. I can either treat you as my steward or as a prisoner and lock you below. Which would you prefer?”

  Marianne pursed her lips and tried to quell both her anger and her fear. She must choose the option that afforded her the most freedom— freedom to help Noah and his crew, and freedom to escape.

  Noah lined up with his men on the deck of the Undefeatable, awaiting their inspection, and gazed at the Fortune—his ship, his father’s last ship—as it sailed away over the choppy azure waves. He supposed he should be happy the two nations were not at war for if they were, the British would most certainly have taken his ship and cargo as prize. Though his body had accepted his fate, his mind was cast adrift in a sea of impossibilities, unable to anchor into anything solid, anything real. On his right stood Luke, his hands crimped into permanent fists. On his left, Weller shifted from foot to foot, muttering to himself.

  Across the deck, sailors busied themselves with various tasks: scrubbing the deck, tying knots, coiling rope, shining brass, hoisting lines, and unfurling sail as the ship prepared to get underway. Not a square foot of space could be found unoccupied. And weaving among the organized chaos, marched masters’ mates, shouting orders as they snapped their stiff rattans against their palm to ward off any dissension.

  Lieutenant Garrick popped up from beneath the quarterdeck where he had disappeared moments before with Marianne. Oh God, please keep her safe. Noah surprised himself with the first prayer he had uttered in eleven years.

  The lieutenant took up a pace before them, placing one hand behind his back. “You three men will be assessed as to your skills and assigned to different watches and positions.” He halted and scoured them with a haughty gaze. “A word to the wise. This is a British navy vessel, a disciplined fighting machine, not the unorganized piece of flotsam from which you came.”

  Noah grimaced, and Luke leveled such a burning gaze upon the man, Noah feared it would sear him clean through.

  Garrick didn’t seem to notice, so obsessed was he with his commanding performance. “Captain Milford suffers no fools on board, nor does he brook any nonsense. The sooner you accept that, the better things will go for you.”

  Mr. Weller mumbled something.

  Luke gave a defiant grunt, bringing the lieutenant’s gaze down on him along with his pointy finger. “I perceive we shall have trouble with you.” He cocked his head. “Nothing that a few licks from the cat won’t change.” He chuckled.

  Noah tired of the man’s supercilious display.

  He nudged Luke with his elbow and shook his head, hoping his volatile first mate would heed the warning. He had heard of men being lashed with the cat-o’-nine who had barely survived. The cruel punishment was inflicted aboard His Majesty’s ships for the slightest infractions and was the reason so many of their crew deserted.

  Which was what Noah intended to do. And exactly the reason that he and his men had to submit to this man’s pompous authority— for the time being.

  The sails snapped above. The ship lurched, and Noah ran the sleeve of his shirt across his sweaty brow.

  “He won’t give you any trouble, Lieutenant. Just show us where to go.” Perhaps then he could speak to the captain. Surely a man in command of such an exquisite warship would have the decency and honor to see how great an injustice had been enacted upon them. Any reasonable man could come to no other conclusion save that Noah and his friends were but neutral American merchantmen and not British navy deserters.

  Garrick’s spiteful gaze shifted to him. “Mr. Simons,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Take these men below. Instruct the surgeon to look them over from stem to stern and have them make their mark on the ship’s articles. Issue them their slops, mess gear, and hammock, and see to their assignments.”

  “Yes, sir.” A short, squat man with a considerably large bald head approached and led Noah and his crew below deck.

  A deep gloom enveloped Noah as he descended the ladder— a darkness and heat that was oppressive, stifling. Perhaps it was the number of sailors crammed into this tiny space. Men seemed to fill every crack and crevice, each one of them busy attending to some task. Down one more deck and they met the surgeon—a pale, thin man with bloodstains on his shirt and sweat layered on his brow. After gazing into their open mouths and squee
zing a few muscles, he pronounced them all fit for duty.

  Next, Mr. Simons escorted them to the purser’s cabin. A thick man with leathery skin leaned on the counter and pointed toward a parchment containing various marks and signatures. “Make yer mark here, if you please.”

  Noah fingered the quill pen. “And if I don’t?”

  Mr. Simons laughed, and he and the purser exchanged a glance. “You don’t want to be findin’ that out, now. The cap’n deals harshly wit’ mutineers.”

  “How can we be mutineers if we aren’t in your stinking navy?” Luke grumbled.

  Mr. Weller nudged Noah. “We better do it, Cap’n.” His voice emerged as a childish whimper.

  “Very well.” Noah signed the paper and handed it to Luke. “It won’t matter anyway.”

  “Welcome t’ His Majesty’s Navy.” The purser chortled after they had all signed, “Here’s yer slops and gear.” He tossed each of them a bundle that upon further inspection contained tin cups, plates, a hammock, and clothing that smelled as if it hadn’t been washed since the last owner had worn it. After changing and storing their gear in the berth, Noah and his men followed Mr. Simons back up on deck.

  As Noah emerged above, he blinked and squinted like some nocturnal animal trapped in the sunlight. “Mr. Simons, can you tell me what became of the lady who was brought on board with us?”

  “Don’t know nothin’ about that. I imagine she’s wit’ the cap’n.”

  Noah’s throat closed. Surely the captain would do her no harm. Would he?

  Mr. Simons drifted past them and pointed at Luke. “You are assigned to larboard watch.” He thumbed over his shoulder to a man dressed in trousers too small for his tall frame. “Kane’ll show you the ropes.”

  “I’ve been sailing ships all my life.” Luke huffed his disdain. “I doubt Mr. Kane can show me anything.”

  “What he’ll be showin’ you is how to do what you’re told an’ keep your mouth shut.” Mr. Simons’s heightened voice held a warning as his baleful eyes narrowed upon Luke. With a shake of his head he continued, “And you.” He stopped before Mr. Weller. “Gunner’s mate. Since I see you already had a run in wit’ a canon,” the purser added with a laugh.

  The scars on Mr. Weller’s face seemed to scream in defiance, yet he simply nodded as a glaze of placid acceptance covered his dark eyes.

  “Get below and report to Mr. Ganes.”

  Mr. Weller slogged off. Noah’s gut tensed in defiance.

  “And you.” Mr. Simons squinted up at Noah. “Weren’t you the cap’n aboard that ship?”

  “I was.”

  “Well, now you’re a topmastman.”

  Noah’s heart stopped. He glanced up at the towering masts that stretched into the blue sky. “Do you have any other positions?”

  Mr. Simons eyed him curiously. “No, but if you’re afraid of heights, I guarantee you’ll overcome that right quick.” Again he laughed, and Noah had the impression he spent his day laughing at his own jokes.

  “Report to Blackthorn there. He’ll get you situated.”

  Noah glanced over at the large, crusty looking fellow standing by the shrouds then back above. Men walked across the yards and foot-ropes as if they were wide city streets.

  A vision of his brother, laughing and scrambling up the ratlines and around the lubbers’ hole at the mast top, filled Noah’s mind.

  Gripping the lines, Jacob had glanced down at Noah, a wide grin on his tanned face. “Watch how easy it is, you jellyfish!” he shouted.

  Right before …

  Noah’s life had changed forever.

  He froze. His body felt as heavy as an anchor. He could never go up there. If he did, he was sure he would die.

  CHAPTER 12

  Marianne followed the officer called Reed, a tall, polished man with neatly trimmed coal black hair, out of the captain’s cabin and down two doors to a room even smaller than the one she’d been given aboard the Fortune.

  “The steward’s quarters, miss. At the captain’s orders, a fresh gown left by one of the sailor’s wives has been laid out for you on the bed. I suggest you put it on.” His deep voice held the monotonous tone of someone either terribly bored or in complete control of any errant emotions.

  She swung to face him. “Mr. Reed, I beg you. Surely you can see I do not belong here.” She searched his eyes for a speck of compassion. “I am but an innocent lady, born and raised in Baltimore.”

  A hint of disdain crossed his gaze. “That you were born in Baltimore, I will not question. That any of you seditious Americans are innocent, I refuse to believe.” He lifted a haughty brow and looked above her as if the sight repulsed him.

  “We won our freedom from Britain honorably and fairly. Or do you insist that all peoples bow before your great nation?”

  “Not all. Only those who owe us the very debt of their existence.” The whomp of sails thundered above and the ship canted. Marianne gripped the doorframe for support, and Reed gave her a look of annoyance. “Though it appears you are no stranger to servitude, I doubt you are accustomed to the quality of service the captain requires.”

  “How dare you? You do not know me, sir.”

  “Guard your tongue, miss. I am an officer and will be addressed with respect.” He waved a hand through the air. “I’ll send Daniel to instruct you in your duties.” And with that, he nudged her inside and closed the door.

  Marianne slumped onto the thin, knotty mattress and hung her head. A beam of sunlight struck the ruby in her ring and set it aglow. She twisted it and thought of the day her father had given it to her for her twentieth birthday. He had looked so dapper in his maroon coat and brown trousers with the tips of his styled hair grazing his silk cravat. It was the only time Marianne felt as though he approved of her, if only a little. She could still picture her mother sitting in the chair by the hearth, holding Lizzie against her breast—just a year old at that time. A warm glow, akin to the one within her ruby, swept over Marianne at the memories. They had been a happy family once.

  Falling to her knees, she dropped her head onto the mattress. Why, God, why? I don’t understand. What purpose could it have served to take Papa from us? Tears blurred her vision. And now this? Captured and enslaved on a British warship. Help me understand.

  The deck tilted, and Marianne’s knees shifted over the floorboards. A splinter pierced her gown and into her leg. A pinprick of pain shot up her thigh. Yet no answer came from God. The booming crack of sails above and the crush of water pounding on the hull were answer enough. God had a plan, of that she was sure. However, it was surely a plan that did not consider her or her family’s happiness.

  “Oh Lord, please take care of Noah and his men. It’s my fault they are here,” she sobbed. The rough burlap scratched her face, and she lifted her head into her hands. Tears slid down her cheeks and dropped onto the coverlet, forming darkened blotches. “And if You can spare a moment, please look after Mama. I miss her so much. Please do not let her die.” The tears flowed freely now, and her body convulsed beneath a flood of them until she had none left.

  “Miss! Miss!” A child’s voice drifted over Marianne. “Miss!” Someone tugged on her arm. “Miss, wake up!” Marianne searched through the fog in her head, trying to remember where she was. The British ship!

  She snapped her eyes open to a face so sweet and innocent, she thought she might have died and gone to heaven. If not for the ache in her head and the cramps in her legs—and the teetering of the ship beneath her as it sailed through the deadly sea.

  “Who are you?” Marianne struggled to sit, then rubbed her eyes.

  “I’m Daniel, miss.” He glanced out the half-opened door. “Sorry t’ disturb you, but the captain will be wantin’ his cabin attended to before his noonday meal.” With brown hair the color of cocoa and eyes as bright as lanterns in a dark sanctuary, the boy’s presence seemed to scatter the forebodings of doom that had consumed her cabin.

  “What time is it? How long have I been asleep?” Marianne
pushed the hair from her face.

  “‘Bout an hour, miss.” Daniel smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. “I came by ‘efore but figured you needed the rest due to being impressed an’ all.” He said the words as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Well, perhaps on this ship, it did.

  He clipped his thumbs into the waist of his oversized blue breeches. “We best be hurryin’, miss.”

  “Very well.” Marianne struggled to stand, then leaned her hand against the wall to steady herself as the ship rolled. She pressed down the folds of the maroon gown she’d donned. A scandalous color, to be sure. But she didn’t wish to vex the captain by not accepting his gift. “I suppose you’re here to instruct me in my duties.”