Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  Gazing back at Captain Milford, she cringed in shame at her self-pity, for he was just as much a prisoner as she. Possibly more so. She headed toward his desk to clear off the dishes from his supper and hopefully make a quick exit, but his eyes latched on her as if he just remembered he was not alone.

  Marianne picked up the tray. “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”

  He tossed the remaining brandy into his mouth, then poured himself another glass. “What do you think of your friends leaving you, Miss Denton?” His jaw tightened. “Egad, your fiancé!” He shook his head and stared out the window. “My wealth for a loyal, honorable man. Are there any left in the world, do you suppose?”

  Must he remind her? Must he rub salt in the wound when it was still so fresh? Marianne’s hands began to shake. The dishes clanked, and she set down the tray. “He really wasn’t my fiancé.” She hoped the truth of the statement would soothe the ache in her heart, if only a little. It didn’t.

  The captain let out a “humph,” then eyed her, his eyes misty. “Do you think me a monster, Miss Denton, for keeping you on this ship?”

  Marianne flinched. She wrung her hands, wondering how to respond so as not to set this volatile man into another one of his tirades. Yet what difference would it make? What could he do to her that could make her situation any worse? Lock her in the hold? She would welcome the change of pace. Hang her from the yardarm? Then she would be free at last. Finally she said, “I think you are a man who has missed his destiny.”

  One gray eyebrow arched incredulously. “Indeed?” He snorted. “You amaze me, Miss Denton. Pray tell, what destiny have I missed?”

  Marianne swallowed against her rising fear. “Though you are a great captain, sir, I don’t believe you were meant to be in His Majesty’s service. Clearly, you are not happy. You are not fulfilled.” Her gaze took in his row of plants on the stern ledge. No doubt, you should have been a farmer.

  His face grew red and puffy as his eyes skittered over the cabin. “Preposterous!” He shifted his stance then downed his drink. After pouring another, he sauntered to the windows. “What do you know of such things? I have made a distinguished name for myself in the king’s navy. While you are nothing but a silly woman.”

  Marianne hung her head. He was right. What did she know about destiny? If there was such a thing. Either she had missed hers, too, or she was not significant enough to be assigned one. Or worse, this was her destiny. “You are correct, Captain. I am nothing but a silly woman.” A silly woman to believe in destiny at all. Hers or anyone else’s. A silly woman to believe a man like Noah Brenin could ever love her.

  He shot a glance at her over his shoulder. “Dash it all, don’t cry. I have no tolerance for women’s tears.”

  Marianne drew in a deep breath and pursed her lips. The captain hovered somewhere between Captain Maniacal and Captain Tolerable—a dangerous spot if he continued in his cups. She must urge him to cease drinking and go to bed before he became too morose.

  She took a tentative step toward him. “What made you join the navy, Captain?”

  Still facing the window, he sipped his brandy and let out a bitter chuckle. “A woman, if you must know.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  He spun about, his eyes snapping to hers. “How do you know of her?”

  “You mentioned her before.”

  He looked perplexed for a moment then sadness shadowed his face. Drink in hand, he circled his desk and fell into a chair.

  Marianne eyed the open bottle of brandy on the desk. Perhaps if she put it away …

  The captain fingered the gold buttons on his waistcoat. “Ah she loved the sea. Loved a man in uniform.” He chuckled and sipped his brandy, his eyes alight with happier memories. “And since I had nothing else to recommend me, I joined the navy, promising her I’d make captain and give her a good life.”

  Marianne corked the bottle and replaced it in the cabinet. “What happened?”

  “I married her.”

  “Indeed?” The news startled her for the captain did not seem the marrying type. She returned to stand before him. The light in his eyes faded to a dull gray.

  He waved his glass through the air, sloshing brandy over the side. “But I was never home. I hardly saw her.”

  Sorrow burned in Marianne’s throat, knowing whatever transpired couldn’t have been good.

  “She was accosted on the streets of Pembroke,” he said.

  Marianne raised a hand to her mouth.

  “A common thief after the coins in her reticule and the gold locket I gave her for our first anniversary. He killed her.”

  Moving to him, Marianne knelt by his feet and reached for his hand.

  He waved her away. “If I had been there, I could have prevented it. She would be with me now.”

  “You do not know that, sir.” Tears pooled in Marianne’s eyes. So much pain. So much anguish in the world.

  “She never saw me promoted to captain,” he added in a nonchalant tone.

  She studied him as he stared off into the cabin, his eyes glazed with drink and sorrow. His loss had turned him into a bitter old man. Would Marianne’s tragedies do the same to her? Or did she have a choice? “Why do you stay in the navy?”

  “I was in line for commander. What was I to do”—he lifted one shoulder—“start over on land with nothing to my name? No one to go home to?” He pressed a hand to his side and winced.

  “What a sad tale, Captain.” Marianne flattened her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He shifted moist eyes her way. “Humph. I believe you are, Miss Denton.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Yes, I do believe you are. Sweet, sweet Miss Denton.”

  “Sweet and silly.” Marianne attempted to lighten the conversation.

  He laughed. “Perhaps simply sweet.”

  Marianne smiled at the compliment then eased the glass from his hand and placed it on his desk. “Let me help you to bed.”

  “Leave me be, Miss Denton.” He growled as if suddenly embarrassed of their conversation. “I have no need of a nursemaid.”

  Since when? But Marianne didn’t need to be told twice. Swerving about, she quietly left the room without saying a word and made her way down the passageway. Against her better judgment, she passed her cabin and instead took the few steps to the quarterdeck above. She needed air. She needed to clear her head. The night breeze cooled the tears on her cheeks, and she batted them away. Slipping into the shadows, she leaned against the mizzenmast and gazed off the stern of the ship. A moonless night afforded her no glorious view save that of a dark mass of seething water that extended forever. She fought back the tears that kept filling her eyes. Where did they come from? She had forbidden herself to spend any more time in useless weeping for something that could never be changed.

  “You should not be up here alone, Miss Denton.” The low voice startled Marianne, and she jumped.

  Lieutenant Reed stepped into the light from the stern lantern and faced her, a look of censure on his stiff features.

  Marianne’s heart returned to its normal pace at the sight of him. “I needed some air.”

  He glanced over the ship. “It is not safe.”

  Two bells rang from the foredeck, announcing the passage of a half hour. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Reed, but am I really safe anywhere aboard this ship?”

  “Some places more than others, Miss Denton.”

  She studied him. His tight expression refused to give her a hint of his emotions. Nor did the stiffness of his spine or the slight tilt of his chin. Yet out of all the officers on board, he had been the most kind to her. Perhaps not all British were cruel beasts, after all. No, she could see now that they were just men like any other men—some bad and some good.

  The ship rose over a swell, and Marianne leaned against the mast. A gust tore at Lieutenant Reed’s bicorn, and he shoved it down on his head.

  Her curiosity rose regarding this officer who seemed to be a conflicting bu
ndle of arrogance and kindness. “Forgive my boldness, Mr. Reed, but why did you join the Royal Navy?”

  “I serve because my father procured a commission for me.”

  “But what of your wishes?”

  “The youngest son in my family always serves in the navy.” He shifted his feet.

  “And your father?”

  “He chose Parliament.”

  A sail snapped above her. The mast behind her vibrated. “Would you have joined the navy if you had no family name to uphold, if your father had not required it of you?”

  His face scrunched as if she’d struck him. “Your point is moot, miss. For I do have family expectations to honor. It is my duty.”

  The lantern light rolled over him with the swaying of the ship. One second she could make out his sour expression, the next it was lost to her in the shadows. “Surely you have your own dreams.”

  His glance took in the deck before he gazed out to sea. “I had not considered any other endeavor.”

  Marianne thought of Noah. Even away from the strictures of British hierarchy, Noah’s father had enacted the same pressure of familial duty upon him. And both men suffered for it.

  Thoughts of Noah scraped across the fresh wound on her heart. A gust of chilled wind swept over her, thankfully drying the tears that formed in her eyes. She must stop thinking of him. She must accept her fate.

  Reed cleared his throat and adjusted his neck cloth. “I am sorry your friends deserted you.”

  Marianne looked down, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears fill her eyes.

  “If it is any consolation, I’ve seen the captain release female prisoners before. Two French noblewomen taken off a supply ship.” Mr. Reed gazed to the west, in the direction Marianne assumed was her home. Her country. “He set them ashore in France.”

  “I am no noblewoman, sir, as you can well see for yourself.”

  “But the captain likes you.”

  “Indeed?” Marianne chuckled at the absurdity of the statement, though at times she guessed it was true. “Thank you, Mr. Reed, but I’m finding hope to be a fickle friend. I prefer not to consider any other possibility but the station in which I find myself.”

  “Humph. A coward’s declaration.” His lips flattened in disdain.

  Yet Marianne felt no anger at his insult. He simply did not understand. “No. A realist, sir. I am a realist.”

  “Even a realist leaves the possibility open for a miracle.”

  A miracle? Did he mean from God? She wanted to tell him she didn’t believe in miracles—not anymore, but she simply gazed out to sea, too numb to argue.

  He took a step toward her. “Allow me to escort you to your cabin, miss.”

  The statement seemed more of an order than a request. “Very well.” She followed the tall man across the quarterdeck and down to her cabin where he left her with a nod and a “Good evening.”

  Closing the door, she leaned against it and peered into the shadows. With the marine stationed at the captain’s cabin not ten feet away, this was the safest place on the ship, aside from standing right beside the captain himself.

  Inching forward, she knelt before her bed. The ship creaked. The sea rushed against the hull in a continuous thrum as they sped north on their way to sink a ship of the fledgling United States navy.

  And there wasn’t a thing Marianne could do about it. Nor about her imprisonment, nor about the impending attack.

  “I am alone.”

  “You are never alone.”

  A voice, loving and soft, heard, yet not heard, rang clear in Marianne’s head. She glanced over the cabin, her heart lifting. “Everyone has left me.”

  “I have never left you.”

  “Oh Lord.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Are You truly there?”

  No answer came. Just a sensation of love, of peace, that whirled around her like a warm summer breeze. “Where have You been? Why have You allowed this to happen? Why am I here, Lord?”

  A sail snapped above, and the ship canted. Marianne’s knees shifted on the hard deck. An ache shot up her thigh. But no answer came.

  Had she heard from God at all, or had she simply imagined it?

  After several minutes, she crawled atop her bed, plopped down on the hard mattress, and forced her eyes shut. Better to drift asleep into sweet oblivion than to spend another night awake, haunted by her fears.

  But sweet oblivion never came. Instead, Marianne wrestled with her coverlet for hours in a semiconscious dream state. Blurred images swept through her mind: Her father’s bloated, white face staring up at her, his typical expression of bored despondency present even in death; the sea raging all around her, reaching liquid tentacles up to grab her; her mother, standing on their front porch, calling Marianne’s name in despair; Lizzie, gaunt and thin from lack of food; and the agonized look on Noah’s face before he leapt over the side of the ship—and abandoned her.

  Marianne snapped her eyes open. She sat up, trembling, and wiped the perspiration from her forehead and neck. “Just a dream. Only a dream.” She hugged herself.

  Light from a late-rising moon entered the window in ghostlike streams of wispy milk, trickling upon her desk, the door, and bulkhead.

  She lowered her chin, forcing down her loneliness and fear. Beside her on the bed, a black book glistened, drawing her gaze. A Bible—the Bible Daniel had given her. How had it gotten there? She’d been so mad at God last week, she’d stuffed it into the small trunk at the foot of her bed.

  Grabbing it, she flipped it open and moved into the moonlight. She fingered the pages with reverence. The precious Word of God. How often had she read from it with zeal and anticipation? But that was a long time ago. When she believed the words. Before her father died and her world fell apart. “Where have You been?”

  “I never left.”

  That voice again. So soft. So loving. And coming from deep within her. “Perhaps it was I who left You, Lord.” She glanced over the room. “But how could I believe Your Word was true after Father died. No. Not died. Left.” She wiped a tear spilling down her check. “Betrayed us. Abandoned us. If I couldn’t trust him, how can I trust You?”

  “I never change.”

  The unassuming statement settled in her mind, joining together abstract events from her past. If that was true, then God had known about—even allowed—all her tragedies. “Why has this happened to me?” Marianne flipped through the pages of the Bible with no destination in mind. The words grew blurry. Her finger brushed over the book of Esther, chapter four. Her mother’s favorite book. Marianne could still picture her mother reading the story to her when she was a little girl. The way her face shone with excitement and her voice nearly sang as she relayed the romantic, adventurous story. The kind of adventure Marianne had come to believe only happened to beautiful, talented ladies. Not someone like her.

  She skimmed over the tale, refreshing her memory. Esther, a common but beautiful girl, became queen of all Persia. But an evil plot had been hatched to annihilate Esther’s people, the Jews. When her uncle begged her to go speak to the king on their behalf, Esther refused. To enter the king’s presence without an invitation meant certain death. Marianne read down to her favorite part, Esther’s uncle’s reply, “‘Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?’”

  The words seemed to fly off the page and circle her cabin, proclaiming their truth and dispelling the shadows. Marianne’s eyes burned. She gazed at the words once more. A tear spilled onto the Bible—right in the center of the phrase.

  Her throat went dry. “Is this for me, Lord? Is this a message?”

  No answer came.

  She kept reading, skipping down to Esther’s last declaration. She would do as her uncle asked. She would do the right thing. She would approach the king. Marianne read her final words out loud. “‘If I perish, I perish.’”

  Such faith. Such trust. She closed the book and laid it aside, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Esther risked her life, believ
ing You’d be with her, Lord. And she had an opportunity to save an entire race of people. What a destiny.”

  She lay back down on her mattress and listened to the pounding of the sea against the hull. But she was no queen. She couldn’t save a nation. She couldn’t even save herself.

  CHAPTER 24

  Noah stood before the helm of his ship on the quarterdeck, boots spread apart, arms folded over his chest. A blast of hot summer wind punched him, clawed at his hair, and tried to shove him backward. But he stood his ground. He would surrender neither to the relentless wind nor to the dread churning in his gut.

  He rubbed the sweat from the back of his neck, then raked his hair aside. It had grown long during the past month. What would his father think of Noah’s shabby appearance? He snorted. Better yet, what would he think of Noah losing half his cargo and sailing his precious ship on its way to engage in a battle they were sure to lose? Noah chuckled as he pictured the expression on his father’s face in light of such news, then surprised himself when he realized he no longer cared.