by Jody Hedlund
Polly halted her steps. “How awful.”
He stopped next to her and was silent for a long moment. He swallowed hard before forcing a smile. “Aye, that. Another time, I was riding my father’s horse, returning home from visiting friends in Essex. It was a stormy evening, and a crack of thunder spooked the horse so that it threw me.”
Polly held her breath.
“A hedgerow cushioned my fall and kept me from breaking my back. But when I brushed myself off and got to my feet, I noticed that mere inches from where I’d fallen was the sharp pike of a fence pole. I’d come a hairsbreadth from impaling myself on that spike.”
“Providence was watching over you both times.”
He shrugged. “Mayhap. Or mayhap I was lucky.”
“You certainly don’t discount God’s sovereignty, do you?”
“Who’s to say what is God’s sovereignty and what’s mere chance?”
She started walking again, attempting to think of an answer to his sacrilegious question. He fell into an easy step next to her. They walked along quietly for a few moments, the puffs of their breath crystallizing in the cold air.
Finally, she spoke the words she felt she must, even if they were nothing profound. “It sounds to me like God has intervened in your life in each of the occasions, miraculously saving you from death. Perhaps he deemed that your time on earth isn’t finished, that he has more in store for you yet in this life.”
She waited for him to scoff at her. But he responded slowly, thoughtfully. “To be honest, I’m at a point in my life where I’m searching for spiritual wisdom. Lately I’ve been immersing myself in the Earl of Shaftesbury’s second volume of Characteristicks. And I’m attempting to understand better how man fits with God’s laws.”
He quoted passages from the book that he’d memorized, and he shared some of Shaftesbury’s philosophies. She didn’t want to admit that his thoughts and rationalizations were far above her ability to understand. She didn’t want him to think her young and naive, even though she was a simple woman of faith and had no desire to question God or his ways.
“You sound so learned,” she said as they turned down High Street and neared the proximity of the river front. The busyness of the town pushed in around them.
“You mean for a sailor?” His voice was light and teasing.
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Good that. Then I’ll take it as such.”
The narrow street was crowded with sailors, merchants, and naval officers loitering about the inns and seamy taverns that populated the town. In addition to the ships’ chandlers, sailmakers, and other shops that catered to the nautical community, the street was also lined with the usual cooper, blacksmith, tailor, glover, milliner, grocer, and more.
“You are an interesting contradiction,” she said as a woman and her two small children passing by jostled her, causing her to bump against John.
He took hold of her elbow and steadied her. “I hope a good contradiction?”
The calls of deck hands and dockworkers mingled with the faint sounds of hammers and saws from the nearby dockyard. Even so, she was strangely attuned to the pressure of his fingers on her arm.
“I have the feeling there is much more to you than meets the eye,” she said.
“Aye,” he replied with a smile. “I can admit that I’m a bit of a complicated mess.”
“There you go again.” She nudged him playfully. “You’re twisting a genuine compliment.”
He nudged her back. “Mayhap I’m not accustomed to praise and don’t know what to do with it.”
“Then perhaps while you’re visiting, I shall have to teach you to accept compliments more graciously.”
“I’ll look forward to the lesson.” His voice dipped and his gaze alighted on the light wisps of her hair that the breeze was swirling around her head. “What shall I teach you in return?”
Something in his tone and the flicker of his eyes made her stomach flutter. “I’m sure I have a great deal to learn from someone much older and wiser, like yourself.” She attempted to infuse her voice with humor, but his usual mirth was gone and something much more serious and intense darkened his eyes.
The look was unlike any she’d ever received, and it did something to her that was difficult to define, except that she was aware more than ever that she was almost a woman and that he was very much a man. Thankfully, they were at the front of the Customs House, and she could feign avid interest in the goings-on behind the wrought-iron gate.
The Customs House was a large three-storied building near the waterfront, where the river was filled with a fleet of cutters. The small boats were used to transport officials out to anchored vessels so that the officers could inspect them and ensure the safe discharge of the goods and the payment of duties.
“Polly Catlett?” came a familiar voice from one of the cutters that had just docked. A young man at one of the sets of oars raised a hand in greeting. Behind him at the deepest part of the River Medway, at least a dozen large ships were anchored, along with several smaller clipper ships. The traffic as usual was busy, especially since the relatively calm waters of the river further inland were a safer place for the vessels than the more temperamental sea along the coast.
“Good day to you, Billy.” She smiled in greeting at her childhood friend. He stood then and climbed gracefully over the bow and onto the dock. He was attired in loose ankle-length pantaloons and a dark blue coat with a row of polished brass buttons. He wore a knit cap for warmth, but his cheeks were slapped red from the sea breeze. Strands of his hair curled at his neck, and the bright sunlight turned the color almost a blue-black.
As he bounded down the planks and leaped onto the rocky knoll, he surveyed John, from his cocked hat down to the buckles on his shoes. At the sight of John’s grip on her elbow, Billy’s eyes frosted into a cold winter blue without a trace of warmth.
When he reached them, he folded his arms across his chest and nodded at John. “Who’s this?”
“My cousin, John Newton,” Polly replied, feeling as though she ought to tug away from John and put some distance between them, but not knowing how to do so without embarrassing herself or John. “He came last night and will be visiting for—”
She stopped then, realizing she didn’t know how long John planned to stay. She looked up at him hoping he’d fill in the missing information.
“I’ll be visiting the Catletts for a while.” He gave a curt nod back at Billy.
For a while? She hadn’t suspected he intended to stay long. But apparently she’d been mistaken. “John,” she said, “this is my friend Billy Baldock. His father works here at the Customs House too, as a Searcher like my father. Billy is in training with the hope of someday receiving a customs position.”
“I’m heartily glad to see you,” John said.
“Likewise.” Billy’s response was formal and stiff and anything but glad.
An awkward silence fell between the two, who seemed to be appraising each other.
“I came to bring Father lunch,” she said, hoping to distract the men.
Billy cocked his head toward the river. “Last I saw, Mr. Catlett was on the Bounty.” She started to ask why her father had gone out when he was in charge of other officers who did the actual searching for smuggled goods, but Billy answered first. “He’s training someone new.”
Polly couldn’t keep her shoulders from drooping in disappointment.
“I beg of you not to worry,” Billy said. “I’ll deliver the lunch when he returns. He’ll be sorry to have missed seeing you.” He grabbed the handle of the basket John was carrying. For a few long seconds, Billy didn’t move away from John. Instead Billy’s dark brows furrowed, and he drew himself up to his full height, which was almost the same as John’s.
“So what brings you here, Mr. Newton?” Billy asked.
John released his grip on the basket. “As you can see, I’m escorting Polly—”
“No. Why are you here in Chatham?”
“My dear cousin Elizabeth invited me, and since I was passing through the area, I decided to stop.” John paused and smiled down at Polly briefly before returning his attention to Billy. “I’m glad I did.”
“How curious that you have nowhere else you need to be.”
John didn’t answer and a tension Polly didn’t understand swirled between the men.
“Billy,” she said, “would you be so kind as to give Father my love?”
“Anything for you, Polly.” He gave her one of his charming smiles and stepped away from John.
With a cheerful farewell, she led John away from the Customs House and back the way they’d come. As they retraced their steps through Chatham, John’s lively conversation surrounded her. She’d never had a friend, boy or girl, as open and talkative as John, and she found herself enjoying conversing with him. Something about him put her at ease so that she felt as though she could share openly.
As they neared her home, their footsteps slowed. She realized she was dawdling, but she wanted to stretch their uninterrupted time. Once back in the house, her siblings would clamor for John’s attention again, and with his winsome grin, he would oblige them in whatever they wished as he had since he’d arrived.
John ambled slowly next to her and was suddenly quiet.
She glanced sideways at him. Although she knew she ought to view him in a brotherly manner, she found herself admiring his profile, the strength of his jaw and chin, and the taut lines of his cheek. There was an edge of danger that warned her John was like no one she’d ever known before. That should have scared her. But for a reason she couldn’t explain, she was fascinated by him.
“So Billy’s a suitor?” His tone was nonchalant, but his jaw flexed.
“No. Not a suitor.” She laughed at the awkwardness of speaking of such personal matters. “Billy’s just a friend.”
“ ‘Anything for you, Polly,’ doesn’t sound like something ‘just a friend’ would say.”
“Billy’s a very sweet boy—man.”
“Boy.”
“He’s probably the same age as you,” she said. “So if he’s a boy, what does that make you?”
He grinned. “Much more of a man than that monkey.”
Polly stumbled to a halt and put a finger to her lips. “Shh. He’s not a monkey.”
“Oh that’s right, he’s a donkey—”
“John!” She glanced at the windows of the elaborate house that sat a short distance away. It was similar in style to the Catlett home but was more palatial looking with a terrace made of four columns surrounding the doorway, resembling a small ancient temple. “This is Billy’s home. I don’t want any of the Baldocks or their servants to hear us.”
John peered with new interest at the home standing before them.
“I’ve grown up with the Baldocks. Billy’s sister Felicity is one of my dearest friends.”
“Is Felicity one of Susanna’s accomplices in crime too?”
“Oh no.” Polly shook her head even as she admired the thick tapestries that hung in the windows, apparently new since the last time she’d called upon the Baldocks. “Felicity is much too proper these days for any capers.”
“Then she sounds rather dull.”
“I’m actually the boring one.”
“I haven’t had a dull moment since I met you,” he said earnestly.
Warmth seeped into her cheeks, and she prayed John would attribute any red there to the cold and not to her embarrassment.
“If you stay long enough, Mr. Newton, you shall see my true self.”
“Well, Miss Catlett,” he said with all seriousness. “Then you’ve dared me to find out the truth. I don’t suppose you played any games as a child in these woods?” He tilted his head toward the hedgerow that bordered the woodland.
“Of course I did.”
“Mayhap you still have some of that liveliness within you.”
She started to deny him, but when he yanked her hat from her head, she was rendered speechless.
A slow grin spread across his countenance. He dangled the hat out in front of her, the lacy ribbons beckoning her like fingers. “Come and get it.”
She shrugged. “I don’t need it.”
He fluttered it closer so that one of the ribbons brushed her nose.
She feigned disinterest for another moment before swiping at it.
But he jerked the hat out of her reach leaving her fingers grasping only air. “I don’t think you can get it back. You’re not quick enough.” He held it out to her again.
She pretended to start walking away but then spun and lunged for it.
With a laugh, he jumped back. “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to get it from me.” This time he plopped the hat on his head. The hat was too small, and the ribbons and lace surrounding his head made him look like a court jester. She couldn’t contain her laughter.
His eyes shone. He taunted her again by leaning in. Soon she found herself chasing him through the woods, until finally they both stumbled to a stop, breathless and laughing.
“You put up a good chase, Miss Catlett,” he said from his bent position, where he attempted to catch his breath.
“Are you always so wild, Mr. Newton?”
“Almost always.”
She put a hand against the nearest tree trunk to rest but leaned in at an awkward angle and almost fell. John caught her, and she found herself laughing again, this time at her own clumsiness.
His laughter mingled with hers, echoing in the crisp air. She bumped her chin against his arm, and at the same moment she felt the pressure of his fingers upon her waist. At the warm contact her mirth faded, and his expression turned serious. His face was mere inches from hers, close enough that she could feel a burst of his breath near her cheek.
She didn’t dare move, not to back away as she knew she ought. She stood taut and silent, listening to their mingled breathing and the rapid thump of her heartbeat.
He didn’t move either. “It appears that you’re not so dull as you might think,” he finally whispered.
She couldn’t form a coherent response.
The pressure of his hands left her waist, and he took a step away from her. She allowed herself a small breath before it caught again, this time as he gently replaced her hat on top of her head. He tilted it just slightly, the way she’d had it before. Then he dropped back another step, his gaze never once wavering from her face.
The chattering rebuke of a red squirrel in an overhead branch startled them. “I should get you home.”
“Yes.” She reached for the ribbons grazing her chin and began to tie them. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
She followed him back to the road, and for a few minutes they strolled in silence side by side. Was he attempting to understand what was happening between them too? She’d never experienced such strange emotions. She’d never been close enough to a man to feel his breath. She’d never had any man look at her with such intensity.
Even now as she walked, her heartbeat tapped an unsteady rhythm at the nearness of his presence.
Perhaps she was more aware of him as a man because he’d rescued her and Susanna last night. Or perhaps she felt closer to him because he’d been so real and open with her about his spiritual struggles during their trip to and from town. Whatever the case, she couldn’t deny that something was happening between them, and it filled her with both anticipation and fear. When her home finally came into view, they slowed their steps again.
“John?” She had to say something but wasn’t sure exactly what.
“Aye?”
She twisted her mitten. “I see that we have the start of a genuine friendship—”
“Good that. I’d hoped for friendship too.”
She stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his admission. “You did?”
“Aye. I’d like friendship very much.”
From his slight emphasis on the word friendship, she had the feeling his definition of the word was different fr
om hers. Against her better judgment, she let the delight of it settle deep inside.
John halted and uttered an expletive under his breath.
Polly cringed at his coarse language. “John—” She began to softly chastise him, but he cut her off by grabbing her arm and thrusting her behind him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You need to hide.” His voice contained an urgency that sent a shiver up her backbone. When he propelled her toward a nearby hedge, she didn’t resist. “Stay here and don’t show yourself until I come for you.”
“What’s going on?” She started to follow him.
“The farmer from last night is on your doorstep.” His words stopped her. A peek through the barren branches showed a horse on the road in front of her home. “Promise you’ll stay hidden?”
A chill moved to her heart, a chill that was deeper than the one that had numbed her toes and fingers.
“Promise?” His question was terse, and his expression more severe than she’d seen it.
She nodded, suddenly mute. He didn’t have to spell out the seriousness of the situation for her to understand that if the farmer implicated her or Susanna, they could very well never get to experience another Christmas.
As John walked toward the house, she crouched low, praying the farmer wouldn’t spot her. She strained to hear what he was saying.
“Everyone I asked said your daughter and sister were among the wassailers last night.” The farmer’s voice boomed with anger.
Polly swallowed the sudden lump of fear that rose in her throat.
“That’s true.” Mother’s reply was faint. “They were wassailing. But I’m sure you’re mistaken that they were involved in any plot to steal from you. They’re just young girls—”
“Then let me question them for myself and determine their innocence.”
“That’s not possible—”
“What’s the problem?” John interrupted her mother.
A moment of silence was followed by the farmer uttering an oath. “You were the drunk last night on the road to Luton.” It was less of a statement and more of an accusation.
“Aye.” John’s answer was a bit too impudent and made Polly shiver again.