Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  Marianne had changed all that. She had shown him that some things were more precious than wealth, than pleasing his father, than even his own life. In her, Noah had found the heart of an angel encased in a woman he would have shunned. But a heart that made her the most beautiful woman in the world to him. A heart loyal to country and family, an honorable heart, a loving heart—a heart he could only hope he was worthy to possess.

  Shaking his head, Noah squinted against the bright sun as it began its trek back down to the sea. Ribbons of sparkling waves reflected a clear blue sky. If the wind continued blowing strong, Noah would make up the time he had lost when he had stopped in Charleston two days ago to send ashore those of his crew with enough sense to escape while they could.

  Half his crew, to be exact. Leaving him with only twenty men, only five of whom had prior fighting experience. Mr. Weller, among them. Noah still couldn’t believe the man had stayed and risked impressment again—or worse, death.

  A gleam struck Noah’s eye, and he squinted toward a swivel gun mounted on the foredeck. Cloth in hand, Daniel buffed the brass-capped barrel while Weller and Matthew hovered around the lad, pointing out different sections of the gun. Daniel nodded and listened intently, his expression beaming with eagerness to learn. Noah smiled. The boy added a spirit of innocent hope to the ship. A hope they desperately needed.

  Eight guns lined his deck—eight four pounders against the frigate’s thirty-two eighteen pounders and four twelve pounders. Not to mention that during battle, the crew of the frigate operated like a war machine, not like his bunch of shoddy, disorganized sailors.

  He glanced at Luke who stood beside him. His jaw firm, his black hair blowing in the wind. The scar on his ear stood out in the afternoon sun. Noah had always wondered how Luke got the scar, but he assumed his first mate would tell him if he wanted to. The man had the morals of a rabbit, but the heart of a lion. He had no emotional investment in seeing that Marianne was safe. No loyalty for his country drove him to risk his life. He stood by Noah simply because they were friends.

  Luke turned and gave him a knowing look.

  “Unfurl the topgallants, Mr. Heaton. Set the stuns’ls. Let’s bring her to a swift sail.”

  With a nod, Luke brayed commands over the ship, sending the men aloft as Daniel and Matthew leapt onto the quarterdeck.

  The boy ran up to Noah, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Weller showed me how to load, run out, and prime the gun, Mr. Noah.”

  Noah smiled at the boy. “Excellent.” He may need the lad’s help when the time came. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Noah found the boy’s father up in the yards, unfurling sail. He, too, had stayed, despite the overwhelming odds against them. Despite the danger to his son.

  “And a quick learner he be.” Matthew patted Daniel on the back.

  “Do you think we’ll catch up with them?” Luke’s blue eyes stood stark against the fading bruises on his cheeks.

  Noah inhaled a deep breath of the sea air. “We have no choice.”

  “Of course we will.” Daniel’s voice carried not a shred of doubt as he leaned over the railing and closed his eyes to the wind.

  “It’s not the catchin’ up that bothers me.” Matthew doffed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. The afternoon sun gleamed off his bald head. “It’s what happens when we do find them.”

  The sails caught the wind in a deafening snap, and the ship canted, picking up speed. The men grew somber, all save Daniel. He clung to the railing and smiled as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Perhaps the boy knew something they didn’t. If only Noah could know the future. If only he could know whether he led his men to their deaths.

  “Daniel.” Noah drew the boy’s gaze his way. “Have you a word from God on our fate?”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Mr. Noah.” Daniel shoved hair from his eyes and squinted into the sun. “If God has something He wants me to know, He tells me. If not, He don’t.”

  The ship pitched over a wave, sending spray upon the bow. Noah spread his boots on the deck and huffed. “Then how is one supposed to trust Him without any direction?”

  Daniel gazed at Noah as if he were the child. “God wants you to trust Him no matter if He tells you things ahead of time or not. Like it says in Romans. ‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’”

  Luke snorted and took a step away, as if wanting to get out of earshot of the sermon.

  Noah wished he could do the same. “Nice words, but I fear they don’t apply to me.”

  Daniel shrugged. “You don’t know the end yet.”

  “What’s that, boy?” Luke inched closer, a frown on his face.

  Daniel gestured toward Noah. “He doesn’t know how the story ends. None of us do. Not until the day we die.”

  “Which may be sooner than we hope.” Matthew chortled.

  Daniel tugged up his oversized breeches—the only pair Noah had found onboard to fit the lad. “How do you know everything in your life is going to turn out for good if you’re not at the end of everything in your life?”

  Matthew’s eyes flashed. “The lad makes a good amount o’ sense.”

  “So, I must wait until my death to verify what God says is true?” The sarcasm in Noah’s voice surprised even him.

  “Or you can just trust Him now and be done with it.” Daniel smiled. “Seems to me, He knows a lot more about our lives than we do. ‘Sides, He loves us.”

  Noah flexed his jaw and he steadied himself as the ship bolted again. The faith of a foolish child. A foolish child who knew nothing of life.

  Daniel’s eyes twinkled. “What if God put together all the things that happened: me and my pa gettin’ impressed, then you and your lady friend and crew bein’ impressed, the escape, even leaving Miss Marianne behind”—the twinkle faded from his eyes for a moment— “all of it for this moment when a simple merchantman takes on a British warship.” He grinned. “It could be your destiny.”

  “I don’t believe in destiny,” Noah growled, trying to ignore the lad, trying to ignore the longing buried deep within him—a longing for some meaning to his life.

  Daniel frowned and lowered his chin. “It don’t matter if you don’t believe. You have a destiny just the same. But you have to surrender to God to find it.” He shrugged. “An’ then you have to do it.”

  Noah clenched his jaw. He patted his pocket where Jacob’s bloody handkerchief lay. He knew the boy meant well, but Noah refused to believe destiny had led his brother to his death. Refused to believe in a God who allowed such a destiny. No, it was far easier to believe there was no such thing. That God was aloof and distant and kept His hand off the affairs of men.

  “I feel God telling me that you do have a destiny, Mr. Noah,” Daniel said. “Yes, a great purpose.”

  Noah pressed down upon the boy’s shoulder, hoping to silence him. “I’m afraid God takes no note of me or my life.”

  “God takes note of everyone,” Matthew added.

  “I’ll have no more talk of God or destiny!” Noah barked, instantly regretting his tone. “If the Almighty has been orchestrating my life, then He is nothing but a cruel taskmaster—one I will never be able to please.”

  “He’s not anything like that, Mr. Noah.” Daniel’s voice weighed heavy with sorrow.

  Luke excused himself and leapt onto the main deck. Noah couldn’t blame him.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Matthew said to Noah, “I’d think you were describin’ your father.” He gave Noah a look of disapproval before hobbling away.

  Noah flinched. Was he mistaking God for his father? Hadn’t Luke told him the same thing back on the frigate? But God had not proven himself to be any different from Noah’s father. Both had far too many rules. And all it took was one mistake to invoke their disapproval.

  A mistake like Noah’s jealousy of his brother—a mistake that had sent Jacob to his death.

  He wanted no part of a
God like that.

  The sun descended farther toward the horizon off the port side. He glanced aloft. Mountains of bloated canvas crowded the masts. Salty mist sprayed over his face as the ship rippled through the sparkling sea on a north by northeast course. If the weather and wind held, they would catch the HMS Undefeatable in no time.

  “I’m coming, Marianne,” he whispered into the wind. “Be strong, princess.”

  He drew in a deep breath and gripped the railing. Strength and an unusual, if not misplaced, confidence surged through him. Nothing could stop him now.

  “A sail! A sail!” someone shouted from above. “Four points off the starboard beam.”

  Below, on the main deck, Luke darted to the railing and peered at the horizon.

  Daniel stood at attention as Noah drew his scope to his eye. A two-masted sloop came into sharp view, the Union Jack flapping from her mainmast. He lowered the glass. Luke scrambled up the stairs and marched toward him.

  “It’s a British war sloop,” Noah stated.

  Luke nodded. “And she’s bearing down on us fast.”

  Gripping the broom, Marianne swept the painted canvas that served as a rug in the center of the captain’s cabin and gathered the dust into a pile by the door. She had already scrubbed the deck, served the captain two meals, brought his clothes down to the laundry, and polished five lanterns that now hung in various spots on the bulkhead. Her back ached. Her feet hurt. And her stomach growled.

  Sweep. Sweep. Dust flew through the air, transforming into tiny pieces of glitter that danced in the afternoon sunlight. Amazing how something so base and dirty could become so beautiful when exposed to the light. She pondered that thought as she watched the thin line of the distant horizon fill the stern windows, then fall out of view, then rise again, then fall. She barely noticed the sway of the ship anymore, barely had any trouble remaining upright. Another month out to sea, and she would forget what it felt like to walk on something that wasn’t heaving to and fro.

  She continued her sweeping. Ten days had passed since she’d read Esther. Ten days had passed since she thought she’d heard God’s voice in her cabin telling her He loved her and was with her. And nothing had happened.

  If she was here for a purpose, other than cleaning and scrubbing and serving, she had no idea what it could be.

  She sneezed and dabbed at the perspiration on her neck. It had been a little over three weeks since Noah had dropped over the bulwarks and disappeared into the sea. Since then, each day had slipped by, snatching a bit more of her hope in passing. If Noah had found his ship and intended to come after her, surely he would have arrived by now. She swept more dust into her growing pile. But why would he? What could he and his merchant ship hope to accomplish against such a formidable foe?

  She was on her own.

  “I am with you, beloved.”

  She sighed and gazed around the cabin. “Lord, where have You been?” She leaned on the tip of the broom. “I need You. I need to know what You want me to do.”

  “Trust Me.”

  Shouts filtered down from above, followed by the pounding of feet on the deckhead. Within minutes the snap of sails thundered, and the captain’s booming voice rang through the timbers. Marianne stared above, wondering what caused all the commotion.

  The sighting of another ship, perhaps? Her heart froze. The frigate jolted and the purl of the water against the hull grew louder. She listened for any further clues, but only the muffled voices of the crew and the chime of a bell drifted over her ears.

  She pondered going aloft to see what was happening when the door swung open, crashing against the bulkhead. Marianne jumped, then moved out of the way as the captain charged into the cabin. Lieutenants Garrick, Reed, and Jones followed on his heels.

  The stomp of their boots hefted her pile of dust into the blast of wind that entered behind them, scattering it across the cabin.

  She blew out a sigh and laid a hand on her hip. Lieutenant Garrick’s gaze slithered over her, and she resisted the urge to swat him with her broom.

  Captain Milford circled his desk, dropped his spectacles onto his nose, and leaned over a chart.

  The three lieutenants doffed their hats, stuffed them between their right arms and bodies, and lined up before him.

  “Here we are.” The captain’s finger stopped on the chart. “And here is where we spotted her.”

  Lieutenant Reed leaned on the desk and peered at the chart. “I’d say not more than eight miles northeast of us.”

  The captain studied Mr. Jones. “Are you sure of what you saw?”

  The thin, nervous man nodded. “Yes. American. I’d swear by it, Captain.”

  American. Marianne’s ears perked up.

  “If the admiral’s information is correct, it must be the USS Constitution. We could be upon her tomorrow.” Garrick’s voice dripped with greed.

  “Yes, my thoughts exactly, Mr. Garrick.” The captain lengthened his stance and grabbed his chin. “Yet we were told to rendezvous with the Guerriére at this location.” He pointed at the chart.

  “Perhaps they spotted the enemy and took pursuit, Captain,” Mr. Jones offered.

  The captain’s eyes twinkled. “And if so, I believe they would appreciate our help.” He rubbed his hands together. Then grabbing four glasses from his cabinet, he lined them on his desk and poured brandy into each one. “We are at war, gentlemen. At war with a bunch of quarrelsome, jingle-headed farmers who have more backbone than brains!” He chuckled and grabbed his glass.

  More backbone than brains, indeed. Marianne feigned disinterest as she kept sweeping.

  Garrick stiffened his back and grabbed one of the glasses. “There’s nothing like the pounding of the guns to get your blood pumping.”

  “The Americans don’t stand a chance, sir.” Reed took another glass. “Didn’t the admiral say this laughable rebel navy only possessed six frigates, three sloops, and a few smaller vessels?”

  Garrick’s malicious laugher filled the cabin. “Compared to our six hundred warships, one hundred and twenty ships of the line, and one hundred and twenty frigates. Egad, are they mad?”

  Marianne felt his eyes on her, no doubt hoping to gloat her into a reaction, but she kept her gaze on the deck. When he faced forward again, she swept dust onto his boots.

  “It will be good to put these rebels in their place.” Mr. Reed nodded.

  Sweep. Dust showered over Mr. Reed’s boots.

  “And restore order to the colonies,” Captain Milford said. “To the war, gentlemen.” He lifted his glass. Mr. Jones grabbed his.

  “To victory!” Garrick said, and all four men raised their glasses together.

  A sour taste rose in Marianne’s mouth at their pompous display. The sharp scent of brandy filled the room.

  “Besides, I hear their land is rich and free for the taking.” Mr. Jones sipped his drink.

  Marianne ground her teeth together and swept dust onto Mr. Jones’s boots.

  The captain gazed out the window. “Ah, a nice piece of land to call my own.” He seemed to drift to another place as the men stood savoring their drinks.

  “Blast it all!” The captain growled so loud even the lieutenants flinched. “Unfortunate that night falls within an hour.”

  “We shall catch them at first light, Captain,” Reed said with confidence.

  “If they have not outwitted us.” The captain’s weary eyes surveyed the chart. “We shall see.” He raised a gaze to Garrick. “Maintain our present heading and place extra men in the masthead to keep a weather eye out for her.” He slammed his glass down on the desk. “Let us find this American rebel and give her a hearty British welcome.”

  They all chuckled and tossed the brandy to the back of their throats.

  Fire burned in Marianne’s belly. Of all the impertinent, bombastic, audacious … who did they think they were? Congratulating themselves on a victory not yet won.

  The captain grinned. “Who knows if we aren’t here for such a time as thi
s?”

  Marianne froze. She lifted wide eyes to the captain, fully expecting to see his taunting smile directed toward her. But he paid her no mind and began pouring the men another drink.

  “For such a time as this.”

  Marianne’s heart sped to a rapid pace.