Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  • • •

  Jonathon approached spreading his arms wide. “Welcome aboard the Destiny, Em,” he grinned. “Your beauty does her great honor.”

  Emily shot him a scathing look. “I hope she is a swift vessel for I want to be away quickly,” she said coolly.

  “Swift she is, my lady, and sound. We shall have a pleasant voyage made more so by your presence,” he bowed, smiling broadly. Though she knew that he was teasing her, Emily felt pleased, and strangely warmed by his words.

  She brushed past him with a derisive laugh. “Spare me your false flattery, Captain Brentwood.” She walked along the deck noting that the ship was well tended. Oiled wood gleamed and neatly coiled ropes lay along the deck. Sailors who passed touched their caps and smiled a welcome, but none lingered, for they knew their tasks and went about them. As she passed, though, many paused a moment to take note of her. Andrew had followed her aboard and was greeting Jonathon. As the two looked across the deck where Emily strolled, Jonathon clapped Andrew on the shoulder.

  “Do not worry, Drew; she will overcome her disinclination to depart. Much as she wants us to believe her reluctance, she would die of boredom with Michael Dennings. Note her eyes; you may catch a glimpse of anticipation. Now, shall we get to work?”

  Andrew smiled up at the Captain. “Aye, sir.”

  With the last of the provisions loaded, the crew hastened to raise anchor and set sail. Though each man had his own duties, they worked in a rhythm that mimicked a well-trained militia. One by one the sails were raised as men climbed rigging, set ropes and made ready. Slowly the Destiny began to glide through the water. Emily watched as everything familiar to her faded in the distance. The rain had ceased, but the air was heavy with moisture. The mist surrounded Emily and joined the salty tears on her cheeks. Her throat ached with sobs to which she would not yield. A heaviness lay on her chest crushing her with the weight of her own sorrow. Quickly brushing the tears away, she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. She would face this new life challenge with courage and dignity. She became aware of the activity around her.

  Men hurried about climbing the masts, working the rigging, and setting the proper sails. Emily turned, searching for her brother. At first, she did not recognize him as he had changed from his breeches and longcoat to loose pants and a heavy woolen shirt conducive to tending a ship. She almost passed him thinking he was one of the crew.

  “Andrew?” she gasped.

  “How do I look, Em?” He laughed.

  “Whatever are you doing dressed like that?”

  “Jonathon said I could join his crew. By the time we reach Virginia, I shall be a seasoned sailor.” He puffed out his chest proudly.

  “Where is Captain Brentwood?”

  “May I be of some assistance, Miss Wentworth?” A tall, lean man approached. His gray hair curled about the nape of his neck, and a beard of the same color lent him a distinguished look. “I am Mr. Gates, second in command.”

  “I am looking for Captain Brentwood,” she answered. “Would you please take me to him?”

  “Of course.” He gestured toward the quarterdeck, and Emily followed him there. They reached the door of the Captain’s cabin; Mr. Gates rapped loudly. Jonathon bade them enter, and after doing so they stood and waited for him to finish writing and look up.

  “Captain, Miss Wentworth asked to see you,” Mr. Gates informed him.

  As Jonathon rose, a crooked smile crossed his face. “Mr. Gates, Miss Wentworth is always welcome in my quarters.” He eyed her from head to toe causing Emily to blush profusely. Mr. Gates cleared his throat strangling a chuckle.

  “Aye, Captain,” he said, looking at Jonathon expectantly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gates. That will be all.” The door closed quietly.

  Although small, the room was handsomely furnished. A large mahogany desk covered with charts and ledgers commanded one corner lit by windows that lined the wall behind it. The dreariness of the day was chased out with cozy lanterns. A single bed fit snugly against one bulkhead and precious space had been made at its head for numerous books. An ornately decorated sea chest and a small armoire held Jonathon’s personal things, and a table and two chairs completed the furnishings. All were polished to a high sheen, and the room was invitingly neat and clean.

  “Will you join me in a brandy? I know your penchant for the drink,” Jonathon grinned wickedly.

  Emily glared at him, painfully reminded of her inability to manage that libation on their first meeting.

  “No, thank you, Captain. I have come to talk about Andrew. He tells me that you have allowed him to join the crew. I must protest for he is too young to be climbing around working a ship. I fear for his safety.”

  “He is a good sailor. He has been working the ship since I put in to port. Let him be, Em. Your father would have brought him along on his next voyage, in any case.”

  “Please, Captain Brentwood, I have lost everyone who is dear to me save Andrew. If anything should happen to him, I do not know what I would do. Please do not allow him to do anything dangerous.”

  “For a sea captain’s daughter, you are a mite skittish,” he mocked.

  “The sea claimed my father, Captain,” she replied. Jonathon looked into her eyes for a long moment.

  “All right, Em. I shall make sure he is careful.”

  Emily nodded her thanks and swept out of the room. Jonathon tossed down his brandy. It was going to be a long voyage.

  • • •

  The drizzle lasted into the next week. When the sun broke through one afternoon, Emily realized that her spirits lifted as well. The fresh, salty air was invigorating and she enjoyed feeling its full effects as she strolled along the deck. The gentle creaking of the wood and rigging became a comforting sound, and she quickly acclimated her step to the rolling of the ship. She had often visited her father’s vessel, the Spirit, when it was in port, and being on the Destiny brought memories of happier times vividly to her mind. Instead of making her melancholy, however, these memories helped Emily to feel more at home.

  She walked along the deck watching the steady motion of the sea. The sun was descending in the western sky, painting the horizon with a soft, rosy glow.

  “It will be a fair day tomorrow.” Mr. Gates was at her elbow. “Sometimes, Miss Wentworth, we need only watch the signs to know if we sail to fair or foul,” he smiled at her.

  “What if you do not know what the signs are, Mr. Gates? What if you have never been to sea before?” she asked, wondering at his meaning.

  “Then you must trust your instinct. You must reach deep inside for your answer. But many times we refuse to listen, even to ourselves and what we know to be true,” he replied.

  “Perhaps we learn as we go along, Mr. Gates.”

  “Perhaps, Miss Wentworth.” He tipped his cap and moved on. Emily stared after him, slightly disturbed, but unable to put her finger on the reason.

  She walked slowly to her cabin, reluctant to go below. But she had not much time to freshen up for supper. She, Andrew and Mr. Gates joined Jonathon in his cabin for the evening meal. Although close quarters, the conviviality of the men made the meals enjoyable and Emily found she looked forward to these times.

  Her cabin was smaller than Jonathon’s and the space was again used as economically as possible. A bunk tucked into one bulkhead, and a small armoire, table and chair took another. Darkening windows gave evidence of the setting sun so Emily lit the lantern above the table. She chose a muslin gown of deep burgundy, having saved her finer dresses for her arrival in Virginia. This dress had a square neckline edged in ivory lace. The tight fitting bodice flattered her slender waist and shapely bosom. She brushed her hair until it shone in the lantern light and tied it back with a burgundy ribbon. Wisps of her honey-colored hair escaped the ribbon and settled about her face, try as she did to capt
ure and hold them back. Sighing, she gave up the effort, unaware of the softness they lent to her loveliness.

  A tap sounded on the door. “Em, may I come in?”

  She opened the door and Andrew stepped in. Emily gasped as she was struck by his rugged good looks. He wore light blue breeches and a royal blue coat over a spotless white shirt. His face was tanned and his hair bleached by the sun. He flashed a white smile and bowed low.

  “May I escort you to supper, my lady?” His eyes danced as he straightened and offered her his arm.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she answered, her lilting laughter filling the cabin. She slipped her arm through his, and they walked the short distance to Jonathon’s cabin.

  • • •

  Jonathon and Mr. Gates rose simultaneously and almost collided as each reached to hold Emily’s chair. Mr. Gates deferred and Jonathon took Emily’s arm and seated her. The meal passed quickly with good conversation. Emily enjoyed Mr. Gates’s yarns, although she suspected he embellished them. Many of his stories were sprinkled with the heroic deeds of Jonathon, who seemed uncomfortable when these were mentioned. He deftly steered the conversation away from himself and gave Mr. Gates a disparaging look. Andrew began to stifle yawns until Jonathon finally ordered him to bed.

  “A sailor’s day starts early, Andrew. You had better get some rest or you will be of no use to me,” Jonathon gently chided.

  “If you will excuse me, Captain, I will also retire,” Mr. Gates said.

  “Of course, Mr. Gates. Good night to you both.” He turned to Emily, “May I interest you in a stroll before you retire, Emily?”

  “Thank you, Captain Brentwood. That would be fine.”

  As agreeable as supper had been in Jonathon’s cabin, the night was exquisite and Emily was happy to be out on deck. Stars were splashed across the sky like diamonds across black velvet, and a gentle breeze came from the southwest. Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “I love the sea,” she said as they walked along.

  “You are your father’s daughter,” Jonathon laughed.

  “How did you meet my father?”

  “George and I had seen each other many times in many ports. Our paths seemed destined to cross,” Jonathon mused. “I came across the Spirit being set upon by two pirate ships. They were either side of her, and she was hard-pressed to defend herself, let alone attack. We had the element of surprise on our side, and, together with the Spirit, we sank both pirate ships. Your father was seriously injured and the Spirit badly in need of repair. We brought George aboard the Destiny and Mr. Gates, a man of many talents, doctored him. Your father then rested with us while the Spirit was in port for repairs. We had long nights of discussion finding many similar likes and convictions. I admired your father a great deal, Emily. From then on when we met ashore, we made a point of continuing our friendship. He spoke of you and Andrew at length; he was very proud of you both, although he admitted that you could be a ‘spirited vixen’,” he laughed softly.

  Emily lifted her chin and looked away. “I thank you for helping him, Captain. He never spoke of the incident. We owe you a great deal it would seem, and all you get for your kindness is another burden.” She leaned against the rail and looked out at the sea. Emily did not like this feeling of indebtedness and wished somehow that she could free herself from the bond that tied her to this man. George Wentworth had prided himself on being a self-made man, answerable to no one. He had stressed the importance of independence to both of his children. Now, helpless to free herself of this shackle, she began to see how important that feeling of independence was.

  Jonathon stood next to her leaning sideways against the rail, studying her profile. “You owe me nothing, Emily, but I would ask one favor.”

  She stared ahead. What would he ask? Legally he held everything of hers, her property, and any wealth she might have inherited. What else was there for her to give? Suddenly Mrs. Dennings’s disapproving face loomed in her mind, and her cheeks took on a reddish hue. Angrily she turned to him.

  “Just what do you propose, sir?” she asked indignantly. “You see, I own very little with which to bargain. You hold everything material I have.”

  Realizing her train of thought, Jonathon’s gaze started at her face and lazily ran the full length of her. Emily pulled her cape closer, feeling as if he had seen through every article of clothing she was wearing.

  “You think me a rake, Miss Wentworth,” he stated. “What you value so highly is not to what I refer.” His eyes sparkled with mirth.

  “Oh!” she snapped, her eyes blazing. She turned back to the railing, her lips set in a tight line.

  “No, Emily, the favor I ask is this — that you give Virginia a chance. Look at her with an open heart; she is beautiful, Em. She is wild and spirited. Give her a chance.”

  The breeze teased the curls around Emily’s face and her blue eyes searched Jonathon’s.

  “That is what you would ask of me?” she whispered.

  Jonathon was caught with her beauty. No, she was not George Wentworth’s “Little Em” anymore. She was fast becoming that mature, independent woman she had hoped would rescue her from this situation. He had best watch himself or she might convince him, too. The tender look on her face tempted him sorely and her soft, full lips, parted in question, begged to be kissed. The feelings she was beginning to stir in him made Jonathon uneasy.

  “That is all for now, Miss Wentworth,” he leered roguishly, breaking the spell.

  “You are insufferable,” she retorted and turning, walked quickly to her cabin. The sound of his laughter floated behind her on the breeze.

  • • •

  The weeks passed smoothly with continued good winds and fair weather. Jonathon was finding it more and more difficult to be around Emily in such close proximity without being affected by her beauty. The sun had lightened her hair to a golden radiance, and, though she was careful to shade it, her complexion was imbued with a healthy, tanned glow. She had adjusted her gait to the motion of the ship, but it did not hide the lithe grace with which she moved. Jonathon was not the only man on board who paused in his labors to watch her progress along the deck. But the men were respectful to her and tried to make her voyage as comfortable and amiable as possible, many entertaining her with stories and pleasantries just for the reward of her dimpled smile. One evening when it rained lightly, the crew tripped over each other setting out buckets to catch the rainwater for her bath. Jonathon good-naturedly watched his men do this, but there was an unspoken law that no man would cross the line to questionable behavior.

  Jonathon puzzled over his role as Emily’s guardian. What she had said that first night he had met her was true — she was a woman, not a child. Yet, there was an innocence about her that wanted protecting. He was aware of a growing feeling of attachment to both Andrew and Emily. The promise he had made to George was sacred to him, and he would see it through as best he could, in spite of Emily’s protests.

  Emily’s awareness of Jonathon was no less marked. She covertly watched him from behind lowered lashes as he stood at the helm directing the men, who would snap into action at a word. Though the crew was well trained, there was a pride each man held in his own worth that Jonathon had helped to instill. They were a loyal crew, he a demanding yet fair captain.

  He was not above throwing himself into a task if needed, and Emily watched him once when the wind shifted suddenly requiring swift action. He stripped to his breeches and sprang in with the others to get the ship on an even keel. His broad chest was matted with thick, curly hair, and the muscles in his arms and back rippled with strength as he adjusted the rigging. His long, solid legs stood firm as he braced them against the deck. The men around him scrambled to their tasks following his orders, and soon the Destiny was clipping along in full accord with the wind. Jonathon turned and, too late, Emily lowered her eyes. A
devilish grin spread across his face as he sauntered toward her.

  “Are you so enamored of me that I am not safe from your scrutiny?” he teased.

  “Captain Brentwood, I was interested only in the working of your ship.” She turned so that he could not see the rosy hue that diffused across her cheeks.

  “I am disappointed. I thought it was I you were appraising. Is there any hope that one day I will favorably catch your eye, my lady? Dare I hope for an ardent look, a gentle touch, mayhap a stolen kiss from one such as lovely as she who tempts me from afar?” He leaned toward her and whispered, “Will I stand a chance against all those eligible young men in Virginia who will clamor about you for your slightest word, a glance from those eyes that challenge the beauty of the finest sapphire?”

  Emily’s cheeks darkened as he spoke and she tried to quell the pleasurable feeling his words evoked. His breath brushed her ear and sent shivers down her spine.

  “Excuse me, Captain; it is becoming quite windy up here.” Not turning to look at him, she hurried to her cabin.

  • • •

  Spring on the Atlantic sometimes brought extremes in the weather. Once the drizzle that bade them farewell from London had ceased, they were blessed with fair weather for two weeks. But as the third week began, clouds moved in and the sea took on a churning, surging disquiet. Everyone around Emily was caught up with securing the ship for what promised to be a severe storm.

  Lightning flashed in the distant clouds, and the remote rumble of thunder caused urgency in movement among the crew. Jonathon hurried across the deck to Emily, a look of concern creasing his brow.

  “You had best go below, Emily. It is dangerous to be about during a storm at sea,” he said.

  Emily felt anxious, but she did not want Jonathon to sense her fear.

  “As you wish, Captain.”