by Jody Hedlund
“Are you connected to this family?”
“Mrs. Catlett is my cousin.”
“Then you’re involved in the theft too.” The farmer’s voice rose.
“You’re mistaken.”
“It’s no mistake that you were on the road near my farm at the same time I was robbed.”
“I have no knowledge of any robbery. Neither do the girls. If a robbery happened while they were wassailing, it was by pure chance.”
The lies flowed off John’s tongue as smooth as lantern oil. Polly just hoped he wouldn’t get burned in the process of defending them. She closed her eyes and began to silently chant the Lord’s Prayer. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, God would hear her and save not only her and Susanna but now John as well.
For a moment the cold winter air seemed to freeze with silence. But then the farmer released a string of frustrated oaths. John uttered several back, while telling the farmer to be on his way.
“I’ll be watching you and those girls,” the farmer finally said.
Polly chanced a glance around the hedge to see that the farmer was mounting his horse. She sat back on her heels, relief giving way to shaking.
Finally, the fading stamp of hooves against gravel told Polly the farmer had taken his leave. John ushered her rapidly inside. And when the front door closed behind her, she exhaled a long breath. At the sight of her mother’s face creased with anxiety, the tightness returned to Polly’s chest.
“I don’t think we have anything further to worry about,” John assured Mother, after he’d briefly relayed the previous evening’s events.
“You don’t think he’ll go to the constable?” Mother asked.
John shook his head. “He can’t. Then he has to admit to his own crime, that he was a part of smuggling the slaves rather than paying the required duties.”
Mother didn’t look convinced.
“Even if he had proof that the girls were involved—which he doesn’t—he has no legal recourse for accusing them of anything.”
Polly prayed John was right but couldn’t keep from agreeing with Mother. She had the feeling this was only the beginning of trouble.
“You need more bookshelves,” Newton said to Mrs. Catlett as she returned several volumes to a small shelf overflowing with more books than he’d ever seen in one place. In fact, books filled every corner and spare nook of the breakfast room. “I’d be happy to build you a larger shelving unit.”
Mrs. Catlett paused with her hand on the spine she was attempting to wedge into too narrow a spot. Her elegant brow rose. “Why, John, I didn’t know you were a carpenter.”
“I’m not.” He assessed the wall space and quickly calculated the footage of lumber he’d need. “But I’ve helped the ship carpenter enough that I’ve learned a few basics.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye. I could do something simple. Nothing fancy, mind you. But it would be better than the floor.”
Mrs. Catlett glanced to the various piles stacked around the room. “I cannot deny that in recent years I’ve longed for more shelves.”
“Then I insist that you allow me to do it. I shall draw out a proposal this very day and present it to Mr. Catlett when he arrives home.”
She smiled and the beauty of her features reminded him of Polly. “You have the same sweet spirit as your mother.”
Newton wasn’t so sure about that, but he returned her smile anyway. He pushed back from the table where he’d spent the morning next to Jack, tutoring him on his Latin verb conjugations. He slapped the boy on his back, then stood and stretched.
In addition to the tutoring, he’d also used the opportunity to thumb through several books. He tried not to appear overly eager at the thought of getting a chance to read some of them. He’d been mocked enough by fellow sailors for his thirst for learning, and he’d learned to hide his enthusiasm.
Even though years had passed since he’d been in school, he’d always found opportunities to continue educating himself. He hadn’t admitted to his father how much he craved knowledge and how he regretted not working harder when he was in school. But he wondered if his father sensed it, because on each voyage his father happened to have a new book in his captain’s cabin—once a volume of geography, another time mathematics, and yet another Latin. As far as Newton could tell, his father didn’t read any of the books himself, but he also never said anything when Newton spirited the books away to read in secret.
Of course, his father wasn’t always so calm. Newton didn’t want to think about how angry he must have been yesterday when the day had passed with nary a word from him. The thought of his father’s frustration had nagged Newton all morning and had urged him to be on his way if he hoped to make his ship in time. The job his father had arranged for him in Jamaica as a manager on one of the Manesty sugar plantations was too good an opportunity to pass up. First he’d learn how to oversee the slaves and process the sugarcane. Eventually he’d have the prospect for advancement and perhaps one day could become a planter himself. A life in Jamaica would give him the chance to accumulate a large fortune, maybe not as much as Joseph Manesty’s, but certainly much better than he’d ever make as a seaman.
But now that he’d just offered to build Mrs. Catlett a bookshelf, how could he leave? Mayhap he could stay another day or two and at least start the bookshelf. It wouldn’t hurt to stay for some of the upcoming Christmas festivities, would it?
“I remember the last time your mother brought you to visit us,” Mrs. Catlett said, as she walked around the morning room and picked up more books and discarded papers. “She was involved in a Dissenting church at the time.”
Newton nodded. It had been years since he’d stepped foot inside the Old Gravel Lane Chapel he’d attended with Mother. But he hadn’t forgotten those days of sitting in the chapel next to her and listening to their pastor, Dr. Jennings, preach directly from Scripture for at least an hour every Sunday morning. As a young boy, he’d paid rapt attention to the detailed exposition. Even if he hadn’t understood everything, he remembered being moved by the sermons.
“I never did comprehend why she wanted to break away from the Church of England,” Mrs. Catlett said, “although she sure did try hard to explain her position.”
Newton pictured his mother’s devout face above his, her eyes closed, her fingers gentle in his hair as she prayed for him and kissed him good night. He hadn’t understood at the time what it meant to be a Dissenter, to break away from the king’s church and join an independent meetinghouse. He knew now that the repercussions were swift and strong against Dissenters. Although the days of fearing being hauled off to prison were over, the religious tolerance for anyone outside the Church of England was still low, with fewer job opportunities, lower pay, and disdain. In fact, no Catholics or nonconformists were allowed to hold any crown offices, including customs positions.
“She was so intent upon teaching you God’s ways.” Mrs. Catlett’s thin fingers lingered on the frayed binding of a Bible that rested on a mahogany end table, and her eyes held a faraway look in them. “I always admired her determination to put your spiritual training above all other educational endeavors.”
“Aye, I think I can still quote whole sections of the Gospels.” He tried to infuse humor into his tone, but guilt chafed him as it did whenever he wondered what his mother would think if she could see his skeletal faith now and the type of life he’d been leading, giving in to the desires of his flesh whenever it suited him.
“Did you know she wanted to send you to University of St. Andrews in Scotland to be educated when you were old enough?”
The question surprised him. “Then she was determined to make a Dissenting minister of me?”
It was too late for him to even consider a life in ministry. Not only was he not educated enough, but too many doubts had crept upon him in recent years, too many things about the faith he questioned now that he was more enlightened and thinking for himself.
“As much as my husband and I ar
e staunchly devoted to the true Church,” she said, “your mother’s sincerity of faith and devotion to God were an inspiration that I have sorely missed over the years.”
Regret lingered in her tone, a regret that in his opinion was entirely unworthy. From what he’d been able to tell from the two days he’d stayed with the Catletts, they were almost as pious as his mother had been, especially Polly. That morning, when she’d come downstairs with dark circles under her eyes, Susanna had explained as though it were an everyday occurrence that Polly had stayed up late and arisen early to pray.
Not only was Polly pious, but she was also completely guileless and innocent of the wiles of men. He had realized that when they stood together in the woodland yesterday. He’d never in his life wanted to kiss a woman as badly as he did at that moment. And he was accustomed to doing whatever pleased him. But the innocence in her eyes stopped him. He knew that in kissing her he would be using her, and in using her, he would hurt her.
“Thank you again for coming to my defense yesterday, John.” Mrs. Catlett crossed to him, her petticoats swishing in the quietness of the room. Except for Jack, the children had gone outside for a “breath of fresh air.” And every now and then, he heard their distant laughter. She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could catch the scent of her rose water. She reached for his cheek and pressed a hand there. “You put your own life in jeopardy to protect the girls, and I can’t thank you enough.”
The tenderness took him off guard. “It was nothing.”
Last evening, when Mr. Catlett had learned about the doings, he’d been grave. He’d listened to Susanna’s impassioned speech about the evils of slavery. But like Newton, Mr. Catlett understood that the English economy depended upon slavery. Britain’s ships dominated the slave trade, delivering thousands of chained captives each year to Dutch, Spanish, and Portuguese colonies in addition to its own. Without the wealth made from the slave trade and the many English plantations in the West Indies that relied upon slaves, England would be weak and easily fall prey to her enemies, namely the French.
Whatever the case, Newton had echoed Mr. Catlett’s request that Susanna refrain from any further involvement with the abolitionist lawbreakers.
Before Mrs. Catlett could speak any further about the issue, a servant announced their noon meal was ready. Newton offered to call the children inside. Of course he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to wrestle with young George or tickle Sara as she bounded up to him, clearly delighted to see him. If only Polly were equally delighted.
Once the rest of the children had gone inside, he found Polly standing beside a giant spruce in the side yard.
Bundled in her heavy wool coat, mittens, and flat-crowned straw hat, she looked as she had that first night he’d watched her sing at the farmer’s house. The vibrant blue of her coat served to contrast her porcelain skin and blond hair, and the bleak gray of the leafless trees and shrubs highlighted the bloom in her cheeks.
She was staring into the tree and pleading with someone to come down. The distress in her voice moved him. Heedless of the cold, he crossed the yard and stood next to her, peering into the thick spruce. Scanning the dark shadows of the branches, he couldn’t spot the source of her concern.
He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her alone since their walk to the Customs House yesterday, when she’d delivered her line about being friends.
He felt slightly guilty that he hadn’t taken her declaration too seriously because the truth was, he felt anything but platonic where Polly was concerned. She’d captivated him not only with her singing but with her wit, her smile, and her sweetness. She listened—really listened—to him yesterday when he spoke of matters on his heart. He hadn’t scared her away with his doubts and insecurities. Instead, she seemed to accept him, faults and all.
He hadn’t needed much time to realize she was not only the most beautiful girl he’d ever met but also the most amazing.
Even now as her big blue eyes met his, he was rendered utterly helpless by the silent plea there. And when her long lashes fell and then lifted, his heart did the same, dropping in his chest with a whoosh before pattering back to life again.
He didn’t know exactly how to describe what he was feeling about this young woman. It was quite possible he was falling in love with her, if that could happen after so brief an encounter. Whatever it was, he knew he’d never be satisfied with mere friendship.
Suddenly all he could think about was winning her, making her feel the same way about him that he did about her. He couldn’t imagine leaving her. If he departed today as he knew he should, he wouldn’t see her for at least five years, for the duration of his contract with Manesty. Five whole years. And he’d be halfway around the world from her in Jamaica. He wouldn’t have even a passing glimpse of her. No visits. No chance to hear her sing. No opportunities to win her heart.
The most he could hope for would be letters, but the correspondence with the colonies and West Indies was untrustworthy and infrequent. There was the very real prospect that if he walked away from her today, he’d lose her before he even had the chance to start winning her. The thought lodged in his chest and held fast just like a harpoon sinking deep into the layers of a whale.
The chill of the winter day rippled the thin linen of his shirt sleeves. “Who’s in the tree?”
“Pete,” she said, returning her distressed gaze to the spruce. “And he won’t come down.”
“Pete?” Newton mentally ticked off the rest of the Catlett children. Who was Pete? “Would you like me to climb up and get Pete?”
At his offer, her shoulders eased and she nodded. “Oh, would you?”
He didn’t need any further urging. He ducked through the spindly branches and pushed them aside with ease. The sap was sticky on his bare hands, and the long spines prickly. He glanced up through the branches and could make out a slight form sitting on a high branch, a form with pointed ears and a long tail. He hoisted himself up to the first branch, testing the weight to see whether it would hold him.
“Be careful,” Polly said, watching him through the evergreen boughs.
When he was out to sea, he spent hours in the rigging in both sunshine and storm. He’d had to drop the topsails in plenty of squalls, with the lightning flashing in his eyes, the wind whipping his body, and the rain slickening every step. He certainly wouldn’t have any trouble climbing a mere tree.
“I may not be good at much,” he said, “but have no fear. I’m quite the expert at climbing. The past seven years in the rigging haven’t all been for naught.”
“Even so, watch your step…”
“It sounds like you really care about me.”
“Of course I care.” Her voice echoed with a thread of embarrassment. “I’d care about anyone climbing a tree on my behalf.”
“Admit it, Polly.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. “You like me.”
“Yes, I do—I mean, no, I don’t. At least not in the way you’re insinuating.”
He laughed and climbed higher. “That’s right. You don’t like me. You love me.”
“As a brother.”
“I’m no brother. I assure you of that.” He cast a glance down to see her eyes widen at his comment. He grinned at her speechlessness and hefted himself to the next branch. He could see that Pete was just a kitten, perhaps several months old. The fluffy gray creature peered down at him with big eyes and then meowed a long, loud howl.
“Is he all right?” Polly called up.
Newton reached a hand for the furry bundle. But the kitten meowed again and scooted backward on the branch toward the trunk, moving out of Newton’s reach.
He shifted on the branch and debated whether to tuck the kitten in his shirt or make the descent one-handed. Before he could make up his mind, the branch beneath him cracked. Without thinking he latched onto the branch that held the kitten. Thankfully his reflexes were honed, and he was able to make the connection before he fell.
“Are you safe?” Poll
y asked, squinting her pretty eyes in an attempt to discover what was happening.
“Aye.” He hoped she couldn’t see him hanging there like an idiot. “I’m perfectly safe.”
A loud crack told him he was in trouble. Springing into action, he lunged for Pete and snatched up the kitten just as the branch he was hanging on to broke.
The kitten decided at that moment to turn into a demonic waif. It scrambled and howled and hissed, all the while attempting to break free from him. The commotion and the pain of the creature’s claws digging through his shirt into his chest distracted him from getting a firm grip on another branch so that he found himself slipping downward, branches bumping and scraping him until at last he hit the ground with such impact that it forced him to his backside.
At once Polly was kneeling at his side. “Are you hurt?”
“Of course not.” He’d only slipped. That’s all.
The kitten gave another screech of panic and released his claws again, this time into Newton’s arm. He winced at the sharp pain tearing into his skin and couldn’t maintain his grip on the cat any longer, nor did he want to.
He let go of the tiny demon. With fur sticking out in all directions, Pete shot away from him and scampered across the yard, disappearing around the house with nary a backward glance, as though Newton were the source of all his torment instead of his rescuer. “You forgot to say thank you,” Newton called after the creature while nursing his arm.
“He’s too frightened to remember his manners,” Polly said. “I’ll make sure he apologizes properly later.”
He tried to push himself up but had to admit his backside ached a tad too much to move.
“You’re bleeding.” She pointed at his arm.
He shrugged. “It’s just a little scratch. That’s all.”
“And your chest.” She gaped at the blood seeping through the linen that wasn’t covered by his waistcoat. “Perhaps you were scraped during your fall.”
“I didn’t fall.”
“Forgive me, O ye climbing expert,” she said dryly. “Perhaps you were scraped during your rapid descent.”