Newton and Polly

by Jody Hedlund

  Newton scrambled to right himself and avoid another blow. But now his father stood unmoving, his attention focused on the broken jug, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of their fight.

  Newton used the opportunity to put the entire table between himself and his father. Even if he’d known the discipline was coming, a familiar helpless rage simmered deep in his gut.

  “I shouldn’t have come home,” he said hoarsely. “And I shouldn’t have expected you to understand.”

  His father stared at the shards of pottery a moment longer before uncurling his fists. The tight muscles in his jaw slackened, giving way to a weariness that made his jowls sag. The sign of weakness didn’t last long before the captain wiped it away with another scowl. “I understand you much better than you think.”

  “That’s right. You have me all figured out because you listen so well and take the time to understand what I really need.” Bitterness burned in Newton’s throat.

  “You may not like the decisions I make regarding your future,” his father said. “But surely you can see that I’m only trying to help you better yourself, that I only want what’s best for you.”

  “Or mayhap you’re more concerned about keeping your standing. Mayhap the job was a way to make you look good.”

  His father shook his head and released a long-winded sigh. “You’re impossible.”

  There was that disappointment again. And frustration. He’d never measure up to what his father wanted for him. Somehow he would always fall short.

  “For the love of all that’s holy, John,” his father said in a wearisome tone, “then tell me. Why didn’t you want the supervisor position in Jamaica?”

  “I decided I didn’t want to leave England for so long.” He couldn’t tell his father about Polly, could he? Would such a revelation help or hurt his cause?

  His father’s lip curled with disdain. “Likely, you were too busy at the pub to make it to the ship on time.”

  “Aye, go ahead and think the worst of me. Again.”

  “If it’s not the truth, then tell me what is.”

  The footsteps on the floor above them had stopped. Newton had no doubt Thomasina and the children were listening to every word. Newton focused on the oval picture above the fireplace. It was a small Baroque painting of the conversion of Saint Paul that his father had bought in Venice, one of the few treasures that graced his home. His mother had always loved the painting because she said it reminded her that no one was ever too evil or too far beyond the reach of God’s grace.

  “Tell me why you didn’t want the job.” His father’s tone told Newton he had little choice but to tell the truth, that his father would demand it of him sooner or later.

  Newton lifted his chin and met his father’s sharp gaze. “I met a girl.” He braced himself for scoffing, for a laugh, for some snide remark.

  His father didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead he seemed to look deep into Newton’s soul before settling his attention on a pair of silver candelabras on the mantel that had once belonged to his mother. “Who is she?” his father asked softly.

  “George and Elizabeth Catlett’s daughter.”

  “So that’s where you’ve been?”

  Newton nodded.

  His father’s attention shifted to the creamy porcelain figure of a delicate woman next to the candlesticks. It was another gift he’d bought Mother during one of his voyages. “Then you’re serious about her.”

  “Aye. I want to marry her.” Once the words were out, Newton knew them to be the absolute truth. Polly was too young to consider a union now. But in a couple of years, when she was older, he would ask for her hand. In the meantime he had to start preparing, start showing himself worthy.

  “Will the Catletts allow it?”

  “I think so. If I’m able to provide for her, then I believe Mr. Catlett will give me his blessing.”

  “She’ll be accustomed to a lifestyle that you may not be able to give her, at least right away.”

  “She’s young. So I have a couple of years to work and save.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Now that I’ve thrown away another good opportunity? His father didn’t say the words, but John knew that’s what he was thinking. “I don’t know, but I couldn’t leave her for five years.”

  His father didn’t speak for a long minute. Finally, he sighed and his shoulders sagged. “I can get you a job on a merchant ship, the Expedition, heading to the Adriatic, as an able-bodied seaman.”

  The position and pay would be better than that of captain’s boy or a common seaman, which was all he’d been on previous voyages. He’d be gone for months, which would still be too much time away from Polly. But it was better than five years.

  “If you come back with good reports,” his father continued, “then you’ll have more opportunities for advancement for the next voyage.”

  Newton hesitated.

  “The Expedition is leaving in two days,” his father said bluntly.

  “Two days?” That was too soon. Newton’s whole body resisted. What if Polly forgot about him while he was gone? What if she fell in love with Billy Baldock? Or what if Susanna involved her in some new danger and he wasn’t there to protect her? “You can’t find me any office work with the Royal African Company so that I can stay here?”

  His father shook his head. “It’s a miracle I was given a job with them. They would never bring on a man as young and untried as you.”

  “And there’s nothing anywhere else? No other work?”

  “Except for the jobs you decided not to take.”

  Newton pressed his lips together to keep from releasing his frustration. He had never been apprenticed for any trade. He had never been educated for any profession. All he knew was the sea. And like his father, that was the surest course before him.

  He’d be a fool to spurn the offer to earn his pay as an able-bodied seaman. He’d be a fool to throw away another chance his father was giving him.

  He would simply have to console himself that the time would pass quickly and soon enough he’d be back with both money and experience in his pocket. And then he could visit the Catletts again, and when he did, he’d make his claim on Polly once and for all.

  January 1744

  Chatham, England

  “My father says I may have a chance at becoming a riding officer in a couple of years,” Billy said, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. Though the gray January day was mild, after the walk home Polly felt the nip of cold also.

  “That would be a fine position,” Polly responded as they stepped through the front iron gate and onto the walkway, her sister Eliza trailing two steps behind them. Polly’s attention shifted again to the neighbors. Mr. Donovan was on the front walkway, arguing loudly with his sister, who stood in the doorway in only her petticoats. Half of her dark hair was pulled up into a coiffure and the other half hung over part of her face as though she’d been interrupted in the middle of her grooming.

  “The children are purposefully letting him out.” Miss Donovan’s voice had grown shrill.

  “When the dog yaps at all hours of the day and night, what can you expect?” her brother snapped back.

  “I expect that they’ll leave him in my chamber where he isn’t bothering anyone.” Miss Donovan’s expression was distraught, and her gaze darted around the front yard.

  “I told you I didn’t want the dog here,” Mr. Donovan said, turning away from his sister and starting down the path to a waiting coach. “It’s already burden enough to have you residing in my home without having to worry about an idiotic dog too.”

  Miss Donovan flinched as though her brother had slapped her in the face.

  “I say good riddance,” Mr. Donovan said.

  “You must tell the children that they need to put on their coats and shoes and commence a thorough search for Prince.”

  He waved a dismissive hand in the air.

  “I insist that the children make every e
ffort to locate him,” Miss Donovan called after him.

  He spoke to the coach driver before stepping up and ducking inside.

  “Prince can’t be left to wander outside on his own!” Miss Donovan yelled, stepping out the door. The tangled hair falling across half of her face did nothing to hide the angry flush. “He won’t survive the cold, and he’ll go hungry.”

  Mr. Donovan responded by slamming the coach door shut. As the driver urged the team forward, Miss Donovan took several more steps outside. She opened her mouth as though to call her brother back, but as the coach rolled away, her shoulders slumped and she clamped her lips together.

  She glanced around the yard anxiously before her gaze landed upon Polly. Billy had stopped with his hand on the doorknob and was watching the coach wobble down the rutted road with narrowed eyes. Eliza was staring with an open mouth at Miss Donovan. Apparently neither Billy nor Eliza had been able to ignore the neighbors’ spat any more than Polly had.

  Polly felt she ought to say something to her neighbor. Should she apologize for eavesdropping? Should she tell the woman she was sorry Mr. Donovan was so calloused?

  Raw, undisguised pain flashed into the woman’s eyes. Miss Donovan lifted shaking fingers and pressed her knuckles to her mouth. She turned back to the door but wasn’t quick enough to hide the swell of tears that came to her eyes.

  Once the door closed and hid Miss Donovan from their prying eyes, Billy whistled softly under his breath. “That man is an imbecile.”

  Polly wanted to agree, but propriety demanded that she say only good things aloud and keep her unkind thoughts to herself. She peered around the barren yard, but saw no sign of the curly haired white dog that Miss Donovan often carried about like a baby. “Shall we do a quick search for the dog about our premises?”

  Eliza started to nod, but Billy’s reply cut her short. “I wish I could, but I don’t have the time right now. As it is, I’ll need to run most of the way back to the Customs House if I’m to return to my position before anyone notices how long I’ve been gone.”

  “Of course.” Polly smiled up at him. He’d gotten into the habit most days of accompanying her and Eliza home after they took Father a basket of lunch. Now that Jack was away at boarding school, Mother insisted that she take Eliza with her anytime she went out. At fourteen, Eliza was two years younger, but still pleasant company. Even so, Polly always enjoyed Billy’s conversation and attention for the walk home.

  Eliza opened the door and stepped inside. Polly followed but paused at the threshold. “Thank you for walking us home.”

  His dark eyes regarded her with apprehension. “I don’t want you to go out searching for the lost dog on your own.”

  She laughed softly. “You know me all too well, Billy.”

  He didn’t smile or laugh in return. “Promise you won’t get involved in the matter?”

  She knew without him saying anything that traveling around the countryside had grown increasingly dangerous over the past few months. New gangs of smugglers roamed up and down the Kent coast. French pirates were seizing English ships with increasing frequency, which meant that fewer goods were reaching England from America and the West Indies. The sugar, tobacco, lumber, and other imports that did make it past French pirates ended up costing much more. Thus the demand for cheaper smuggled goods had increased.

  Her father was working longer hours to patrol the waters of River Medway. Even though the parliamentary Board of Customs had appointed more officials to help catch the smugglers, many were easily bribed to overlook illegal goods. Her father remained among the minority who couldn’t be swayed. But as a result, of late he’d been harried and haggard. Only last week he’d been threatened at gunpoint by a smuggler.

  Billy had been the one to confide in her about the incident, about how close her father had come to losing his life. Although Billy understood her father’s position, he insisted that her father shouldn’t be so strict in his stand against the smuggling, because the next time he might not get away so easily.

  He didn’t have to remind her of the incident only last month when the cordwainer and riding officer in West Sussex had been tortured to death simply because smugglers had assumed the two men were out to ruin their gang. The smugglers had tied the men to their horses and made them ride with their heads under the horses’ bellies. Then after the harrowing ride, the gang had broken every joint in the men’s bodies, cut off their noses, and finally hurled them into a well. Even if several members of that gang had been captured and hung for their crimes, the incident had only reminded everyone how dangerous smuggling gangs were.

  Billy’s dark blue eyes warned her even now.

  “I can’t promise I won’t search for Miss Donovan’s dog,” she said, her heart still aching at Mr. Donovan’s treatment of his sister. “But if I search, I shall convince Eliza to go with me.”

  Billy’s frown told her he wasn’t completely satisfied with her response, but she reassured him with another smile before he took his leave. When she closed the door behind her, she was surprised to find the younger children standing in the hallway watching her with wide eyes and silly grins.

  “What?” she asked, feeling for her hat. “Do I have gull droppings decorating me again?”

  Young George grinned wider and started to say something, but Sara, one of her younger sisters, shushed him and nodded to the drawing room. “You’re urgently needed.”

  Polly didn’t bother to undo her coat but started toward the open door. “Is Mother home already?”

  Mother had left shortly before Polly to take food and other supplies to the almshouse. Although Polly often asked if she could go with her mother, Mrs. Catlett insisted that she was still too young to witness the depravity and conditions of the poorhouse where privacy was always in short supply.

  Polly didn’t wait for an answer from her siblings as she walked into the drawing room. She stopped abruptly at the sight of the empty room.

  “Why am I so urgently needed—” she started. But the clicking shut of the door behind her startled her. She spun and found herself standing mere inches from the one man she’d given up hope of seeing again. “John?”

  He was bigger than she remembered. His shoulders were broader, his chest and arms thicker and more muscular, his face sun-browned, making his green eyes brighter. Those eyes danced with a mingling of delight and desire that made her pulse patter with a strange tempo, one she hadn’t experienced since the last time she’d seen him a year ago. His jaws and cheeks were covered with a light layer of scruff that lent him a ruggedness and maturity. His hair was longer and more sun-bleached but tied neatly back.

  For several seconds he openly stared at her the same way she was staring at him, taking in every detail about her. He seemed to be the first to recover as he leaned against the door, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave her a half-cocked smile.

  “Good day, Cousin.” His grin crooked higher. “Are you excited to see me?”

  She was suddenly too breathless to respond and utterly embarrassed by how happy she was. She’d had plenty of time over the past months to analyze all the new and strange feelings she had in regard to John. She still flushed when she thought about the good-bye he’d given her in the barn, when he’d held her from behind and buried his face in her hair, when his lips had pressed into her hand.

  Even now, the thought made her stomach jump. No matter how many prayers she’d said and how much penance she’d done, the sounds and scents of that good-bye were burned into her mind and came back to taunt her mercilessly, especially late at night during sleepless hours when she would hug her arms across her chest and pretend it was him instead.

  She told herself that even if she liked John last year, he wasn’t the type of man she should consider for a more serious relationship. Although he was funny and easy to talk to and sweet, he was somewhat reckless and wild spirited, lacking the stability that a woman needed in the long term. Not only that, but he openly questioned his faith in God. How could
she consider a man who didn’t have the same values or beliefs as she?

  She warned herself not to set her heart on a man like him. And she worked hard to convince herself that she didn’t miss him, that she didn’t care if he ever visited again.

  But now standing before him, she knew that she had lied to herself over the past months. She’d cared. She’d been waiting for him. She’d hoped for this moment. The very fibers of her being had yearned for him.

  “Is your delight at my presence rendering you speechless?” he asked with that same playful smile he’d leveled at her during his last visit.

  She had to conduct herself like a proper lady. So she took a step back and offered him what she hoped was a composed smile. “I am delighted to see you, John. How long has it been since your last visit? A few months?”

  She felt foolish once the words were out.

  He gave a short laugh that told her he knew what she was doing. She started to turn away, embarrassed again and knowing she was still just as naive and inexperienced in these matters as she was the first time she’d met him.

  His laughter died and he quickly reached for her arm so that she couldn’t move away. “It’s been three hundred and seventy-five days, four hours, and twenty-three minutes since I last saw you.”

  She didn’t dare look into his eyes. But the words soothed her and brought a smile to her lips.

  “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind,” he continued in a low voice, “not even for a second.”

  Her smile widened.

  The door creaked open then and little George poked his head into the room with a grin that stretched across his freckled face. “Did you like your surprise, Polly?”

  “Yes, George,” Polly replied. “I liked my surprise very much.”

  John reached for George and snaked his arm around the boy’s neck. Then he proceeded to knuckle George’s head. Laughing, George returned the affection by tackling John. Of course, John made a show of letting the young boy wrestle him into a tight hold. For several moments the room rang with laughter and chaos as John made a point of teasing each of the children before finally turning back to Polly.