by Jody Hedlund
The rattle of the lid on the copper kettle commanded Mother’s attention, and she turned to remove the boiling water from the hob on the coal grate. She poured a small amount into the mortar, and the liquid turned the dry mixture into a grayish paste.
While they didn’t know if the farmer from the wassailing incident was linked to Charlie, the fact was, Susanna had no business interfering then or now. And perhaps Father had no business interfering either.
Her father was still attired in his heavy wool coat that he’d apparently thrown on when he left on his raid to confiscate the tea that Charlie had smuggled in from the coast or from one of the ships anchored in the River Medway.
“Will Charlie come after you, Father?” Polly asked. She’d known her father faced danger as a result of his stand against smuggling, but she had never before realized exactly the extent of the threats.
Father refused to meet her gaze but focused instead on dipping the cloth into a basin of cold water before applying it to another of John’s welts. John’s head hung low, and his forehead rested against the table. Polly suspected it was his way of hiding the pain that each touch brought. “We will always encounter danger when we stand up for what’s right,” Father said, “particularly when we try to expose the ills of our society. But I’ve learned I must fear God more than man. If he calls me to challenge evil, then I can no more resist his call than I can be content with complacency.”
Mother clunked the pestle against the mortar. “God may be calling you to challenge evil, dear husband. But he doesn’t need Susanna or Polly to join in.”
Her father’s brow was deeply grooved above his kind eyes. He laid a gentle hand on John’s head as if John were one of his own sons. “I’m doing my job, and there isn’t much Charlie Baldock can do to stop me. But my concern is that he may attempt to hurt John again and make an example of him. He certainly doesn’t want anyone to think they can double-cross him and get away with it.”
Susanna groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“Don’t worry about me,” John said without lifting his head. “I won’t let that lunatic touch me again.” The plank table seemed to capture his words and make them small.
Polly prayed he spoke the truth but dreaded that his declaration was as hollow as his voice.
Polly’s knees ached from her position on the floor next to the bed, and her toes were numb from the cold. She stifled a yawn and offered one more final plea for forgiveness. Forgiveness for all her sins that day—her envy of Felicity’s gown and the Baldocks’ prosperity, the strange longings for John she’d experienced when they stood in the dark together during the game, and her anger at Susanna for getting in trouble again.
She started to rise, the warmth of the blankets and the softness of the feather mattress summoning her. Susanna was curled up in the bed, likely having already forgotten the evening’s incident.
Polly clutched the edge of the coverlet and wished she could so easily put to rest all the turmoil in her chest. But even after her prayers and recitations of the Psalter, she couldn’t shed her guilt and the feeling that somehow God was displeased with her. Should she pray longer? Perhaps if she fasted on the morrow, God would smile down on her.
A chill swept under her nightgown and wrapped around her legs. With a shudder, she climbed next to Susanna and pulled the heavy blankets up to her chin. Even then her body shook in protest at having been exposed for too long in the unheated room.
She melded against Susanna’s warmth.
“By Jupiter,” Susanna said sleepily, shifting her legs quickly away from Polly. “Your toes are freezing.”
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Polly said.
“Of course I am now,” Susanna replied. “How could anyone sleep next to an ice sculpture?”
“I don’t know how you can sleep after what happened tonight.” John’s back was a patchwork of red welts and purple bruises. After Mother’s nursing, Father had to assist him up the stairs to his bedroll in the boys’ room.
“Sometimes we must make sacrifices for what is right,” Susanna said, although her voice lacked the usual fervor.
“Were you freeing slaves again?” Polly wanted to understand why Susanna had put her and John in danger again tonight.
“No, not tonight.”
“Then why? Why was it so important to reveal the smuggling?”
Susanna released a noisy yawn. “It’s wrong, that’s why.”
“Surely if so many God-fearing people accept the smuggling as a normal part of the economy, then the issue can’t be so entirely evil.” Polly understood her father’s stand against it, but there were times, like now, when she questioned whether he was too legalistic or old-fashioned in his views.
“And that’s exactly how I feel about slavery,” Susanna replied, her voice losing its sleepy edge. “Just because so many God-fearing people accept slavery as a normal part of the economy doesn’t mean that it’s right.”
Polly stared through the dark at the faint glow of moonlight slanting in through the cracks in the shutters and tried to make sense of Susanna’s logic. She knew Susanna had twisted her words and backed her into a corner, leaving her no room to argue. At times like this, she felt like a simpleton compared to Susanna, who’d had the privilege of going to school, of learning more about the world, and of associating with important and educated people in London.
“I’m not saying I agree with everyone about the smuggling,” Polly said, trying to formulate a coherent response. “But I can’t help but wonder if it’s as bad as we think.”
“Smuggling is stealing,” Susanna said firmly. “Just because the whole world changes its opinion about something doesn’t mean God changes his.”
“Billy says that they are just stealing back from Parliament what Parliament has stolen from us with the high taxes.”
“Greed can lead us to justify many wrongdoings.”
She didn’t know why she bothered to argue with Susanna. She never won the word sparring. Not that she really wanted to. For the most part she accepted Susanna’s arguments about smuggling, knowing her father would say the same.
It was just that sometimes she wished faith was simpler and easier, that it wasn’t so difficult to please God. Polly rubbed her arms to bring warmth to her body. Even under the covers she was still so cold.
“Come here.” Susanna’s arms wrapped around her, drawing her into a warm hug. “Let’s go to sleep. We can’t solve all the world’s problems at once.”
Polly closed her eyes and snuggled against Susanna, drawing from both her heat and her strength.
Laughing and jesting, Newton stumbled through the front door of the Catlett home with the rest of the revelers. The January cold raced inside with them and clung to their hats and coats. The playacting and singing in the Chatham streets was still ongoing and likely would continue long into the night around the bonfire at the village green. But the wintery breeze of that Twelfth Night had driven their party back inside for “Lamb’s Wool,” a sweet cider that had beckoned them even before they stepped inside.
Many of Mr. Catlett’s relatives had visited during the Twelve Days of Christmas for one party or another. And tonight on the culmination of the festivities, the house was full of visitors. Mrs. Catlett had served a feast earlier in the day, and they’d already had the traditional Three Kings Cake. One of Polly’s cousins had found the bean hidden in his piece of cake and had been crowned king of the day.
Ahead in the circle of young ladies, Polly’s laughter tinkled, sweet, innocent, and delighted. He couldn’t keep his attention from drifting to her as she slipped out of her coat and scarf, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright as always. He wanted to push through the others and stand next to her, talk to her, and monopolize her attention.
But he’d already done so plenty of times that day. Truthfully, that’s all he had done over the past week since Christmas. He spent the majority of his waking hours with her, if not directly, at least in the same room. He liked it when she
joined her siblings in watching him work on the bookshelves. The project had taken much longer than he had anticipated, but once started he couldn’t very well leave it half-finished. Could he?
And after he finally added the last touches, Polly worked with him over several days to organize all the books by subject and author. Of course, he wasn’t able to resist stopping and reading passages aloud. As usual she was a willing listener and a fast learner.
“You can’t keep your eyes off her, can you?” teased one of Polly’s cousins, shoving him from behind good-naturedly.
Newton grinned and held himself back as she entered the drawing room, where there would be more singing and games for hours yet to come. He would make sure to request a solo from her, and his heart gave an extra thump at the anticipation of hearing it.
“Why don’t you just kiss her and get her out of your blood,” the cousin suggested.
“No worries there, my good man.” Newton shrugged out of his coat and draped it over several others on the coat tree. “I will kiss her someday. No doubt about that. But a kiss won’t get her out of my blood. That’s for certain.”
Several of the men laughed a little too loudly at his comment, but then abruptly fell silent. When John pivoted, he saw why. Mr. Catlett stood at the base of the stairway and was looking directly at him. Although his expression gave nothing away, Newton had no doubt the man had heard his boasting.
Mr. Catlett nodded curtly at the others to dismiss them, and they hurried to follow the young ladies into the drawing room, leaving Newton alone to squirm under Mr. Catlett’s censure. Although Mr. Catlett was tall and slender of build with nothing remarkable about him, there was a strength about him that defied his appearance.
When Mr. Catlett started toward him, Newton straightened his shoulders and sucked in a breath, preparing himself for the punch to his gut that he deserved.
Aye. He shouldn’t have talked about Polly like that to anyone. He deserved to be hit.
Mr. Catlett didn’t stop until he was close enough that Newton caught the spicy whiff of Lamb’s Wool on his breath. His thin face was placid, but there was a sharpness in the man’s normally kind eyes that wasn’t unexpected given the circumstances.
Newton braced himself. Should he apologize first? Was that what Mr. Catlett was waiting for?
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you today, John.”
“Sir?”
“Miss Smith—Susanna—is going home to London on the morrow.”
“Aye.” Neither Polly nor Susanna had made mention of the plans, but he wasn’t entirely surprised by the news. Since the night of the party at the Baldocks’ home, Susanna had apologized to him on numerous occasions. He hadn’t faced any further threats from Charlie Baldock, but she had limited her secretive activities. As a result she’d grown increasingly bored. He had the feeling that only the steady stream of visitors and the parties over the past week had kept her from getting herself into some new trouble.
“Mrs. Catlett and I would be grateful to you if you would accompany Miss Smith,” Mr. Catlett said. “Make sure she arrives home safely, that she’s delivered into the care of her parents without any delays or detours.”
All of Newton’s thoughts rolled to a stop as he grasped the true meaning of Mr. Catlett’s request. The man was asking him to leave. Albeit he was doing so subtly. But he was most definitely telling him that it was time to raise the anchor and set sail.
“Besides”—Mr. Catlett shifted, and the movement put Newton on the defensive again, mentally readying himself for a blow, but Mr. Catlett merely clasped his hands together almost as though he was uncertain what to do with them—“we have already imposed on your time long enough. You have been gracious to indulge Mrs. Catlett with your presence. She has missed your mother, and so it has meant a great deal to have you here. She valued your help in tutoring the children, especially Jack. And we are indebted to you for the fine craftsmanship of your bookshelf. But we realize that you must have other obligations that you need to attend to.”
Although his words were a statement, his eyes held questions—questions Newton couldn’t answer, questions that had been roiling around in him like vessels in a storm-tossed sea. What was he planning to do next with his life? Where would he go from here? How could he better himself ?
During the past couple of weeks with the Catletts, he had done his best not to think about the future. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the merriment with thoughts of what awaited him when his time at the Catletts’ home came to an end. But no matter how much he tried to focus on the present, there was always a shimmer of dread on the horizon, a dread that had to do with his father’s reaction when he discovered his son had missed the ship to his new job in Jamaica.
Part of him considered not returning home and facing his father’s wrath. Mayhap he’d be better off going directly to Joseph Manesty, making an excuse for his tardiness, and then catching another ship to the West Indies. The problem was, he didn’t know if Manesty would still offer him the job. Perhaps the merchant had already found someone else to be a supervisor in his stead.
In truth, mayhap Newton had to finally admit to himself, and at some point to his father, that he didn’t really want to go to Jamaica. It had been his father’s idea, not his. Deep down Newton realized he hadn’t wanted to leave England even before he met Polly. Now he wanted to leave even less. In fact, the prospect of saying good-bye to return to London was daunting enough, much less going halfway around the world.
The laughter and music from the pianoforte drifted from the open door of the drawing room. Mr. Catlett hadn’t moved, and the questions in his eyes hadn’t dissipated. “What are your plans, John?”
Newton had the feeling that the man’s desire to know went deeper than just a casual curiosity. Obviously after Newton’s flippant remark about kissing Polly, the man would want to know his intentions toward his daughter. Newton supposed his infatuation with her hadn’t gone unnoticed by either Mr. or Mrs. Catlett. It was only natural that Mr. Catlett would question his future plans before allowing him to pursue Polly any further.
What could he say without making himself look like a fool? In all his time among the Catletts, he never once mentioned his opportunity in Jamaica. He simply told them he was between shipping assignments. He certainly couldn’t admit now to Mr. Catlett that he’d thrown away a perfectly good chance to make a great deal of money because he didn’t want to leave Polly for so long. And he couldn’t admit he had no other job awaiting him, not even as a sailor.
After their last voyage, his father had finally retired from the sea. He’d been granted a position as an agent with the Royal African Company and so wouldn’t be captain of any more ships. Newton wasn’t so sure he wanted to be a sailor anyway. Maybe he could retire from the sea like his father and find some other kind of work.
“I’m not certain of my plans yet, sir,” Newton said slowly, knowing that his answer was important, especially if he wanted any chance at winning Polly. “I have a couple of prospects but need to pursue them a little further.” The half truth came easily. He did have prospects even if they weren’t good ones.
Mr. Catlett studied him for another long moment before clamping him on the shoulder in a friendly squeeze, careful to avoid the tender spot that yet remained from where he’d been caned. “Why don’t you take some time to figure out where you’re headed?”
It wasn’t exactly a dismissal, but Mr. Catlett’s message was clear. He wasn’t welcome to consider courting Polly unless he laid out a course for his life and a means to provide for her. As much as he dreaded facing his father again, he’d have to make the trip to London and pray that after his father’s anger subsided, he would use his connections to find him a different job, preferably one close to Polly.
“Good that,” Newton said. “You can count on me, sir. I’ll deliver Miss Smith to her home and then attend to my business.”
The angular lines in Mr. Catlett’s face softened. “You’re a fine man, John. And I bel
ieve in you.”
The praise took Newton by surprise. He wasn’t accustomed to compliments. His father believed that truthful criticism was more helpful in the long run than flattery. Perhaps it was, but he couldn’t deny that Mr. Catlett’s words moved through him like a strong current, pulling him deeper into the family whether Mr. Catlett intended it or not.
“Thank you, sir,” Newton said, his voice cracking unexpectedly. Here he had found a home unlike any he’d ever experienced, even when his mother was alive. Now that he’d experienced such family life, such acceptance, such stability, he didn’t want to leave.
But if he ever hoped to have a chance at winning Polly, he had to go out and prove himself first. Mr. Catlett would clearly have it no other way. And even if he wasn’t ready to leave, Newton knew Mr. Catlett was right. It was time to go.
The next morning the hired carriage came early. The driver loaded most of Susanna’s bags and trunks as Susanna raced around the house with Mrs. Catlett, packing small items that she had missed.
Newton waited silently inside the front door. His horse was saddled and ready. He’d said good-bye to Mr. Catlett that morning before he left for work, and he’d already said good-bye to the children who stood in the hallway quietly watching Mrs. Catlett and Susanna. Polly waited a few feet distant, but she could have been a league away for all the communication they’d had.
Her face was pale, having lost all the glow of the previous evening. The dark circles under her eyes were especially visible today, the sign that she had lost sleep to her praying. What did she have to pray about today? He wished he could ask her to pray for him, even though he wasn’t sure anymore if God really cared about answering petitions regarding his welfare.
Why not ask her? Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for her coat on the rack. “Come out with me for a minute,” he said draping, the garment over her shoulders. “I have something I want to show you.”