Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  The tossing ship made it difficult for her to remain seated comfortably anywhere in her cabin. Her heart pounded, and she kept wiping the sweat from the palms of her hands as she awkwardly paced the length and breadth of her quarters. In spite of herself, Emily began to wonder what her father’s thoughts and feelings were as his ship was beset by that fatal storm. She pictured him bravely giving orders, urging his men on, boosting their morale. She closed her eyes and ground her fists against them at the thought of him being swept into the sea. It was a vision she had been fighting for a month or more, and, try as she would to erase it, it haunted her waking and sleeping.

  Fear gripped Emily and she decided to join Andrew in his cabin. She steadied herself along the walls as she made her way to his quarters, pausing when the ship lurched, then moving on. She knocked at his door and, getting no answer, rapped louder and called his name. Receiving no reply, she entered his room and proved her growing fear. He was not there. She spun about and ran toward the ladder. Clambering up it, she lost her balance when the Destiny dipped suddenly. She regained her footing and sped to the main deck.

  Drenching rain combined with the waves that spilled over the sides of the ship and made the deck dangerously slippery. She searched for her brother, but rain-soaked men with dripping hair and clothes that clung to their bodies were everywhere. Lightning streaked across the murky sky as thunder deafened Emily’s call. She quickly, but cautiously, explored the entire deck, jostling among the men, trying to keep her footing. Suddenly a firm grip encircled her arm and swung her around.

  “You little fool! Did I not tell you to get below?” Jonathon yelled above the din. His sodden clothes clung to his lean form and his hair dripped down his face and neck.

  “Where is Andrew?” she cried.

  “Where he belongs, in his cabin,” Jonathon bellowed.

  “No, he is not! I was just there!” she wailed in dismay.

  Jonathon cursed. “Get below. I will find him and order him down, too,” he shouted and swiftly turned and left. Emily started for the quarterdeck but was stopped by a sudden loud crack. Looking up to where the sound came from, she screamed in horror. Andrew was high up the mizzenmast; it had just snapped and was tumbling toward the raging sea.

  Everything seemed to happen slowly, as if in a dream, Emily’s agonized scream hovering in the air before her. The mast seemed to drift downward, then caught for a moment, and it seemed Andrew would fall to the deck — a long fall, but at least safe from the angry ocean.

  Emily ran forward, but it was as though she was caught in a nightmare. Her slippers lacked traction on the rain-soaked deck, and she made no headway. The slick wood made her feet slide from underneath her, and she fell with a thud that knocked her breath from her.

  “Andrew!” she tried to scream, scrambling toward where he was falling. Then she watched in horror as the mast snapped completely, and the sea claimed Andrew.

  Jonathon saw what had happened also, and stripping hastily, he kept his eyes on the spot where Andrew entered the water. Grabbing a sturdy rope, he tied it about his waist while some men secured the other end to a winch. Tucking a knife between his teeth, he dove into the roiling water and was lost beneath the waves.

  Emily regained her footing and scrambled to her feet clutching the railing for support. She desperately scanned the ocean’s surface. Soon, she caught sight of Jonathon’s dark hair bobbing in the ocean close to where Andrew was struggling to stay afloat. Long, powerful strokes brought Jonathon to the boy quickly, but Andrew was caught in the rigging that stretched to the ship like an enormous, tangled spider’s web. Jonathon deftly cut the ropes that bound Andrew, but in the process, sliced his own hand. He wrapped his arm about the youth who was weakening fast, and some of the men began to pull them toward the Destiny.

  Shock and exertion overcame Andrew, and he lost consciousness. The icy water had cooled his body to a pale, deathly hue, and when they lifted him onto the deck, Emily was sure she had lost another loved one. Pain wrenched her heart and she felt as if her knees would buckle beneath her. Jonathon half climbed, half fell onto the deck and, weak and gasping, looked worriedly over at the boy.

  Mr. Gates took charge ordering them both be taken below and cared for. He turned compassionately to the stricken girl whose limp hair hung dripping about her terrified face. Gently he wrapped his sodden cloak around her trembling shoulders and led her below.

  • • •

  Gates brought Emily into her cabin and urged her down on the chair.

  “Get changed, child. You will need your strength to tend your brother.”

  Blue-violet eyes searched his for proof of his lie. Finding none, she whispered, “You mean, he is not dead?”

  “Near death, perhaps, but he is strong and healthy and with proper care, he will pull through,” he smiled. “But I shall need your help, Miss Wentworth. You must be strong for him,” he echoed her father’s words, then slipped from the cabin.

  Emily sat dazed trying to comprehend that Andrew was alive. Shakily, she stripped off her wet clothes and, after toweling her hair, changed into a dry dress. The ship still rocked with the storm, but it seemed a little steadier now. The lightning and thunder were quieting their fearful tirade. Her strength reborn with the news of her brother, Emily hurried to his quarters.

  Mr. Gates was there tending him, and Jonathon, still in his soaking breeches with a piece of cloth ripped from his shirt wrapped tightly around his hand to stanch the flow of blood, watched with concern. He did not notice Emily until she came to stand beside him to look down at Andrew. A deathly pallor suffused the boy’s face and his breathing was shallow. Mr. Gates was checking his pulse and layers of blankets lay over his slender frame.

  “His pulse is strengthening. He will need to be kept warm and given nourishment as soon as he is able to take it.” He looked up at Emily. “He will recover with proper care and plenty of rest. But you, young lady, need a good stiff drink.”

  “Brandy is the lady’s preference, Mr. Gates,” Jonathon said as the other man went to the door.

  “You!” Emily turned on him, her pent up fear looking for release. “This is all your fault. If you had not put it into his head that he was a sailor. You gave me your word that he would stay out of danger. Is this what your word is worth, Captain Brentwood?” she asked sweeping her hand toward the bunk.

  “I kept my word, Miss Wentworth. I had ordered him below just as I did you. He had no business being up there, but I was too busy tending my ship to be playing nursemaid to two errant children!” he stormed.

  “I am not a child!” Emily shouted furiously.

  “As I recall, you were also wandering about on deck after I had given you orders to go below.”

  “I will not be ordered about by you, Captain Brentwood! I am not one of your sailors! And I am not a child!”

  “While you are on my ship, Miss Wentworth, you will do as I say.” He towered over her, and then overcome with weariness and weak from loss of blood from his injured hand, Jonathon began to sway dizzily. He reached a hand out to steady himself and, seeing his condition, Emily caught him with her shoulder beneath his arm to brace him. The contact of her soft bosom against his hard chest startled her, and looking up, she caught a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  “No, you are no child, Emily,” he grinned at her.

  Mr. Gates coughed softly behind them, and then stepped forward to relieve Emily of her burden. She gratefully accepted the brandy he offered as she relinquished with equal gratitude the heavy form of the injured captain. Mr. Gates half carried him out of the cabin.

  Emily’s hand trembled as she raised the glass to her lips and took a long sip. The fiery liquid lent its usual warmth and she choked down the threatening coughs. Her mind whirled with confusion as she looked down at her brother. As worried as she was about him, she was also distressed at the emotions that tumbl
ed within her as a result of her close contact with the dashing sea captain. She shook her head to banish those thoughts from her mind and, sitting beside Andrew, gently took his hand.

  The rest of the day flew as Emily cared for her brother. Following Mr. Gates’s orders, she kept him warm and, propping his head up on her arm, pressed warm broth to his lips. She forced herself to keep busy, concentrating on Andrew and his needs, so that further thoughts of Captain Brentwood would not seep into her mind.

  • • •

  By nightfall the storm had spent its rage and dwindled to a constant, steady rain. Thunder could still be heard in the distance, but it cast no threat toward the ship. Men had worked throughout the day to salvage and repair the mast.

  Emily had stayed by Andrew’s side throughout the afternoon, and at suppertime Mr. Gates arrived with a tray for her.

  “I shall watch him for a while, child. You need to eat and rest,” he said gently.

  Emily’s back ached and her eyes felt heavy, but she was reluctant to leave her brother. She took the tray and began to eat.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gates; I did not realize how hungry I am. But I think I shall just stay here awhile. Andrew may awaken, and I would like to be here.”

  “You must rest, too, if you are to be of any help to Andrew, Miss Wentworth. You will not do him any good if you tire yourself out and have no strength. I shall inform you should he awaken during the night. Now go, child, and lie down,” he urged.

  Emily turned, and then hesitated. “How is Captain Brentwood?” The question had burned in her all day.

  “He will recover. He needs rest, too. We shall watch his hand for putrefaction of the wound. I have some ointments aboard that should help, and if I can keep him down, which I doubt, he will have no trouble at all. I seem to have a couple of patients who resist my ministrations,” he said sternly, a twinkle in his eyes betraying him.

  Emily grinned. “All right, I shall rest now. But you promise to call me if Andrew awakens, Mr. Gates?”

  “I promise, Miss Wentworth,” he replied raising his right hand solemnly.

  As Emily returned to her cabin, she passed Jonathon’s quarters. Hearing movement inside, she impulsively knocked. Instantly she regretted her action. Hoping he had not heard, she turned to walk away, but the door opened and she turned back to look into amused brown eyes.

  “I — ” Raising her chin she met his gaze. “I wanted to thank you for saving my brother’s life,” she stated flatly.

  “Madam, your sincerity overwhelms me,” he replied. “However, if we are to continue this emotional exchange, may we do so within my cabin? I fear my strength is sorely sapped.” He did indeed look pale and his mouth was set against any grimace of pain. Emily regretted her brusqueness realizing he was injured and weak because of his rescue of her brother. He stood aside sweeping an arm in invitation. Eyeing him warily, Emily hesitated.

  “Do you fear me, Miss Wentworth, even in my weakened condition?” he teased.

  “I fear no one, Captain Brentwood!” And tossing her head, she stepped past him into the room. Closing the door behind him, Jonathon followed her. Again Emily was struck with the clean, masculine atmosphere of his quarters. It smelled of polished wood, fine leather and a faint scent of brandy. Jonathon picked up a half-full glass of that drink and saluted her.

  “Doctor’s orders. It deadens the pain,” he indicated his hand. “Will you join me, Miss Wentworth?” he grinned.

  “If you intend to humiliate me and insult me, sir, I shall leave immediately.” She started toward the door.

  Jonathon caught her arm and turned her toward him. Their closeness was disconcerting, and Emily felt flushed as her heart hammered insistently in her chest. He smelled of brandy, and she guessed he had consumed quite a bit that afternoon. His hand encircled her upper arm and was close to brushing against her breast. She could feel his eyes burrowing into her and kept her gaze straight ahead, which had her looking at the thick mat of hair revealed by his half–open shirt.

  “Forgive me, Em; it is not my intention to humiliate or insult you. But you persist in your coolness toward me and challenge me at every turn. I do not understand why you dislike me so. Have I given you just cause? Enlighten me so that I can make amends. Have I been cruel or untoward? Tell me how I can attain your good graces. Have I taken liberties and become an object of repulsion to you? Have I not, and earned your scorn? Perhaps if I showed more daring in our relationship I could earn your respect as a man.”

  Jonathon slid one arm around her waist, the other hand lifted her chin and, as blue eyes looked up into brown, he gently lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. Emily’s mind reeled and her body burned with newly awakened desire.

  Intending only an innocent kiss, Jonathon was surprised at the impact made by those soft, full lips against his. Combined with the headiness of the brandy he had been drinking, his innocent kiss became intense as his lips moved over hers, searching their sweetness.

  Emily became aware of his arms encircling her, pressing her close. She responded instinctively, lost in the spell of his tenderness. His lips parted and she felt his tongue move to open her mouth. Regaining her senses, Emily pulled away and staggered back. To deny she had enjoyed that kiss would have been a lie. He knew that too. She looked up at him in surprise and dismay, her breasts heaving as she gasped for air.

  “Emily — ” Jonathon began, but she swirled and fled from the room.

  Reaching her quarters, Emily slammed the door and stood with her back pressed against it, lest he try to follow. Her body betrayed her with its sensual, pleasurable glow. She felt her hot, flushed cheeks with trembling hands. Her mind tumbled, confused, and she could feel the pressure of his arms around her like a brand. Her lips ached for more of his kiss, and she grew angry at their betrayal. She denied to herself that she was willing in his arms, and suddenly realized in horror that her arms had reached up along his shoulders in welcome.

  Throwing herself on the bunk, Emily sobbed into her pillow. Her world was turning upside down. She had lost her parents, left her homeland, almost lost her brother, and now this colonial was launching an attack on her senses. And physically, she seemed more than willing to comply. Was she some sort of wanton woman? She should have married Michael Dennings and been assured a respectable life in London. But, as many times as Michael had stolen kisses, they had never set her on fire the way Jonathon’s had. She warmed even now as she remembered it. Exhausted, Emily drifted off to sleep. Somewhere in that hazy dreamworld, strong arms held her close and soft lips urged a welcoming response. Anyone peeking in on the sleeping girl would have noticed a delicate smile on her lips.

  • • •

  Morning dawned sunlit and warm, belying the previous day’s storm. A gentle tapping on her door brought Emily to full consciousness. Rising, she realized she was still in the rumpled clothes she had worn the previous night, and her hair was a mass of golden tangles. Visions of her encounter with Jonathon assailed her, and she halted before the door afraid that he might be on the other side.

  “Miss Wentworth, are you awake?” Mr. Gates called.

  Relief swept her and she answered, “Yes, Mr. Gates. Is Andrew all right?”

  “He is conscious, but very weak. I wanted to keep my promise to you.” She heard the amusement in his voice.

  “I shall be there shortly. Thank you, Mr. Gates,” Hastily she doffed her clothes and sparingly used her precious rainwater to freshen up. Pulling a comb through them, she managed her tousled locks and in a moment had them pulled back in a shining cascade down her back. Tears stung her eyes in witness to the quick, but determined styling. She donned a light blue muslin frock that mirrored her eyes. Realizing that she was dressing hurriedly for Andrew, but carefully for Jonathon, she slammed down the ribbons she was about to arrange in her hair, afraid to admit to herself that she was taking more care than
making haste.

  Her heart pounded faster as she reached her door and realized she might come face to face with Jonathon. Inevitably she would have to face him today, but she did not know what she would say. Her cheeks burned at the thought, but deep inside a glimmer of excitement thrilled at it. Setting her lips in a grim line, she flung open the door ready to do battle. No one was about. With a sinking feeling, she hurried to Andrew’s cabin.

  On entering she was surprised to see Andrew much as she had left him the previous night. But as she neared the bed she was aware of his deep, even breathing. His coloring had improved, too, but he was sleeping deeply. She looked questioningly at Mr. Gates.

  “He was awake for only a moment, lass. He will be slipping in and out for a day or more. But a promise is a promise,” his eyes twinkled.

  “Let me relieve you now, Mr. Gates, so you can rest,” Emily offered.

  “Aye, lass, it is a fine, fair day. Most of us will be resting after the raging tempest we experienced yesterday,” he replied. “Call if you need me, child.” Rising he went to the door where he paused and turned. Looking closely at Emily he asked, “Did you sleep well, child?”

  Unconsciously raising a hand to her lips, Emily wondered frantically if she had been branded by Jonathon’s kiss.

  “You look a bit flushed, but very refreshed,” he explained.

  “Oh, I slept very well, thank you, Mr. Gates,” she said quickly.

  Still watching her, Gates weighed her words. Then nodding, he turned and left.

  Emily sank back in the chair. She looked down at Andrew sleeping peacefully. She shuddered as she recalled the events of yesterday and the deathly pallor that had covered his face. She closed her eyes to block that picture, but Andrew’s face became her father’s and an ache began in Emily’s stomach. The familiar tightness clutched her throat. Tears streamed down her face and dropped onto her clenched hands. Loneliness and confusion overwhelmed her.

  “Em?” She heard a whisper like a sigh of a summer’s breeze. “Em?” Opening her eyes she saw her brother’s lips move. Brushing the tears away she leaned close to him.