by Jody Hedlund
“It’s not my duty.”
“It is until your captain says otherwise.”
John didn’t respond. And Polly could hardly breathe. She needed to leave now. But fear and sorrow had dropped upon her, and she couldn’t move.
“I think it’s best for you to return to your ship right away,” her father said shakily. “Tonight.”
“Of course.” The scraping of chairs alerted her to the fact that the men were standing. She forced herself to start breathing again and glanced around for a place to hide, except that her feet still wouldn’t work.
“I’d like to say good-bye to Polly if I may.”
“No, John.” Her father’s voice again was filled with sorrow. “I’d like you to depart. And this time I don’t want you to come back.”
Polly pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out her protest.
“Sir?” John asked as though he hadn’t heard her father correctly.
“As much as I like you as a person, John, unfortunately you haven’t proven to be the kind of man I want for Polly.”
“Once I’m out of the navy, I’ll be able to find another job—”
“It’s not just your lack of means. It’s your lack of character as well.” Although the words were spoken gently, Polly guessed they must have slammed into John and knocked him speechless, for he didn’t say anything in response.
“As hard as this is,” her father continued, “it’s better to put a stop to your feelings now, before one of you is truly hurt.”
“I won’t be able to stop what I feel for Polly. Ever. No matter how hard I try.”
“Then do it for her. You know as well as I do, she needs someone who’s trustworthy and reliable and able to take care of her the way she deserves.”
Polly’s chest ached and tears stung her eyes as the reality of what her father was suggesting began to penetrate.
“Give her the chance to forget about you,” her father said urgently. “She’s still young. Let her find someone else.”
“Don’t you think we should let her make that choice?” John asked.
No, she silently screamed. She didn’t want either of them to force her to make a choice. She wanted to please them both and couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing either of them.
“Or are you afraid of her choice?” John asked, and this time his tone turned condescending.
“John, please. If you care at all about her, then do the right thing.”
Heavy footsteps plodded across the study. At the sound of them, Polly spun around and dashed to the stairway. But she wasn’t quick enough. John thundered into the hallway, his features tight with anger.
He stopped abruptly at the sight of her. She had one foot on the first step, her hand on the banister, but she had no doubt that it was clear as summer sunshine that she’d been standing there listening and had heard every word they’d spoken.
She couldn’t keep her lips from trembling. “Don’t make me choose, John.”
The fury in his slanted brow and the anger in his eyes raged for another moment, but then slowly began to lift.
Her father stepped behind John. At the sight of her, his eyes widened. “Polly, what are you doing here?” But from the sudden sag of his features, she knew she didn’t need to respond. He could read the pain and confusion in her face.
“Polly,” John said holding out his hands as if to attempt to explain himself. But then he dropped them. “I’m leaving tonight. I need to get back to my ship.”
She nodded. She’d thought things were going so well. She hoped her parents would give John another chance. And she wanted John to change, even if just a little, so that he could be the kind of man her father would approve of, the kind of man she needed. But apparently he was the same man he’d always been.
John studied her for a long minute as though memorizing each part of her. “Good-bye, Polly.” His voice cracked. Ducking his head, he crossed to the coat rack and retrieved his coat. He stuffed his arms in and then reached for the door handle.
Polly’s chest ached. A sob rose up but her throat was too tight to let it pass. She wanted to call out to him to wait, not to go yet, that surely they could find a way to make things work between them if only they tried hard enough.
He opened the door a crack and then paused. His head was down, his shoulders slumped.
She silently called to him to look at her one more time.
He hesitated a moment longer, then he spun around. His sea-green eyes found hers. The desperation in them wrenched her heart. She didn’t want to say good-bye any more than he did. Could he see that?
With a firm set to his lips, he lifted his shoulders and swiftly strode back across the hallway toward her. Each determined step made her pulse beat faster. And something in the hard line of his jaw made her stomach flip in anticipation.
When he reached where she stood, his arm snagged her and half lifted, half crushed her against his body. From her position on the bottom step, she was at eye-level with him. His mouth came down on hers decisively, without a moment of hesitation, as if her lips belonged to him and him alone.
His kiss was hard and demanding. She could do nothing less than respond, her mouth pliable and ready for him. After so many months of dreaming about it, the real kiss stirred her fiercely, scorching her with its heat.
In the distance she could hear her father yell, “No!”
In that moment, she didn’t care. She mingled her lips with John’s and lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck, to cling to him, to never let him go. But before she could do so, John was ripped violently away from her.
She gasped and stumbled back, bumping the next stair, just as her father swung a fist into John’s face. A thwack was followed by a grunt.
John straightened quickly into a defensive stance. His shoulders stiffened, his hands balled at his sides, and his chin tipped up a notch, as though daring her father to hit him again.
Her father cradled his fist, likely having hurt himself more than John in the punch he’d delivered. Her father wasn’t a violent man. She’d never seen him hit anyone before. But the fury in his eyes told her he’d hit John again if he had to.
“Leave,” her father ordered hoarsely as he stepped in front of Polly. “And don’t come back.”
John glanced to the doorway of the drawing room where Mother and Susanna now stood watching with frightened expressions. A flicker of regret passed across John’s features before he finally took a step backward.
His gaze connected with Polly’s. The sorrow, the desire, the frustration in his eyes tore at her heart. “I love you.”
The words crashed into her with such force the sob in her chest finally escaped.
“Someday, I will be the kind of man you deserve,” he said. “I promise.” And with that, he strode across the hallway, walked outside, and slammed the door closed behind him.
The walls reverberated and the hallway echoed with the thud. But it was nothing compared with the hollow bang that ricocheted throughout her body, jarring her bones so that her knees buckled and she slid into a heap on the step.
Her father reached for her, but she turned away from him. He’d only done what he thought was best for her, and deep in her heart she knew he was right about everything concerning John. But she couldn’t face him right now.
She buried her face in her hands wanting to weep, but her soul was too anguished, her heart too raw to find tears. Her father and mother were whispering in loud, strident tones, and she knew she should apologize for deceiving them, for kissing John again, for encouraging his affection in any way. But for now she was too devastated to say anything.
A slender arm embraced her as Susanna sat down on the step next to her. Susanna pressed a kiss against her hair. When Polly lifted her face and saw the tears streaking down Susanna’s cheeks, Polly’s own tears finally came. She fell into Susanna’s arms, the pain in her chest too much to bear. It was the pain of losing her heart to the man she loved.
Yes, even though
she knew she shouldn’t have, she’d irrevocably and irreparably allowed herself to fall in love with John Newton.
March 1745
Newton dipped the quill in the ink and touched it to the paper, trying to hold his hand steady. His scrawl was nearly illegible. The rough spring waters still rocked the ship, which had been badly damaged by a hurricane-like storm.
Many of the sailors who weren’t injured from the storm were sick below decks. The constant wind and waves were hard for even the most seasoned of them to endure. They’d been lucky to come out of the storm alive. They’d been part of a naval fleet escorting a large convoy of Indiamen and Guineamen merchant ships. The ships had steered a westerly route until they reached the coast at Cornwall, on their way to Devon, where they’d run into the tempest head on.
Newton’s only source of solace was writing letters to Polly. He’d penned a dozen over the past several months since he’d been apart from her. But he’d sent only two and had crumpled up the rest, pinings of his lovesick soul that would likely only scare her with his intensity. He hadn’t sent the two worthy letters directly to her home for fear that her parents would burn them. Instead he’d addressed them to Susanna in London with the hope that eventually she could take them to Polly. If anyone would help him, she would.
The ship rocked sharply, causing his pen to jolt and the ink bottle to slide precariously close to the edge of the table. He grabbed it before it could crash to the floor, which was filthy with the stains of all that had already spilled.
He’d considered writing to his father as well. He’d recently learned that the captain was in Torbay, only thirty miles away, dealing with ship-repair contracts on several Royal African Company ships that had also been battered by the recent storm. Newton had heard rumors that the Harwich might be among the naval fleet that would escort the company’s merchant and store ships. Mayhap, his father could work a transfer to one of the merchant vessels. At least then Newton would have a better chance at gaining his freedom at some point.
But even if his father worked out a deal, he doubted that Captain Carteret would do him any more favors. Ever since he’d broken his leave of absence in December, he’d been out of favor with the HMS Harwich captain and he hadn’t recovered it. He knew he’d been extremely lucky the captain hadn’t flogged him upon his late return to the ship. Mitchell, the captain’s clerk, and some of his other fellow officers had thankfully come to his rescue, making excuses about how he was young and in love and had lost track of time.
A moan from Lewis’s nearby hammock was followed by the heaves of retching.
“Do you need your Bible?” Newton called to the young man, who’d been ill for the past several days. “Mayhap if you pray harder God will heal you.”
Once the caustic words were out, Newton detested himself for them. He was being a she-dog, but he couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to Lewis. There was something about the man’s simple, heartfelt devotion to God that put him on edge. Partly he supposed Lewis’s faith reminded him of his mother and made him feel guilty that he was disappointing her by not living according to her values.
He bent his head over his letter again and tried to read his scrawled handwriting. Between the pitching of the ship and the wildly swinging lantern light, he could hardly focus.
“I will not mortify myself to think I shall return home to find you in another’s possession before I have an opportunity of showing what I could do to deserve you.” His chest still ached every time he thought of Mr. Catlett’s words about not being the kind of man he desired for Polly. He wanted to prove to Mr. Catlett and to Polly that he could be the right man but feared she would find someone else before he had the chance to prove himself. After all, she was a beautiful woman, and if Billy didn’t win her, then another man surely would.
“The first day I saw you I began to love you,” his letter continued. “It has now been more than two years since, from which time till now I have been almost continually disappointed in whatever I have undertaken. It’s true I hope to succeed. But I take love to witness; it is not wholly on my own account, for I shall not value riches but for the opportunity of laying them at your feet.”
The truth was, he didn’t care about wealth except for the fact that it could bring him closer to his goal of having Polly. Aye, Mr. Catlett had said that he lacked more than wealth. But Newton had concluded that the man wouldn’t have pushed him away had he a large purse and a substantial income. Aye, Polly’s father wouldn’t have ordered him about like a dog and denied him Polly’s affection if he’d had a better job and been a wealthier man. Sure, he had faults. He needed to improve himself in light of his drinking and gambling and cursing. But if he had Polly, he’d do better.
The cabin door swung open and Mitchell popped his head in. “I need a couple of officers to man a longboat going ashore for supplies.”
“More supplies?” They’d been revictualling in Plymouth Sound for the past month in preparation for their next voyage, rumored to begin in April, just a few weeks away. Of course resupplying the ship had been made harder because Captain Carteret kept the ship a fair distance from the shore. Three sailors had deserted when the ship was at port undergoing repairs. And now, in order to prevent any further desertions, the captain kept the ship riding at anchor.
“Aye, we need more food,” Mitchell said. “The admiralty has finally given us our orders, and we’re headed to the East Indies.”
“I thought we were going with a convoy to Lisbon.”
“Nay. The plans have changed.”
Newton shook his head feeling a sudden rise of panic. “We can’t go to the East Indies. That’s too far away. The journey there and back will take years.” At least a five-year tour of duty.
“All the more reason to get the supplies we need.”
Newton’s head began to spin. “Why are we going? Why the change in plans?”
Mitchell swayed as the ship rocked back and forth under a fresh surge of stormy waves. The clerk’s expression turned sharp. “Look. I don’t know anything more than what I’ve been told. And today I’ve been ordered to put together a couple of crews to head to shore for more supplies. So are you in or not?”
Newton stared at the letter to Polly. Five years? He hadn’t been able to make himself leave for the lucrative plantation position in Jamaica that would have been five years. He certainly didn’t want to leave on a voyage to the East Indies with the navy. There would be no benefit to him in such a journey. Only heartache at being separated from Polly for that long.
Even though her father had told him he wasn’t welcome anymore, he’d decided he wouldn’t let that stop him from seeing Polly when he was between voyages. He’d planned to find a way somehow. But now…if he was gone for years instead of months, he’d certainly lose her.
The very thought made the panic in his gut swirl faster.
“After the favors I’ve done for you,” Mitchell muttered, “I thought I could count on you to help out. But apparently not.” The clerk slammed the door closed.
Newton slumped and let his head drop to the table. Five years. Five years. Five years. The words reverberated in his mind like a death knell. The East Indies was on the other side of the world, and anything could happen in the dangerous seas as they sailed around Africa and India. The ship could be attacked by the French. They could face pirates. They might be wrecked in a storm.
The Royal Navy may have forced him into service, but they couldn’t force him to give up five more years of his life. It was too much to ask.
With a rage borne of desperation, he stood and slammed the table. The bump sent the ink bottle over the edge and crashing to the floor. The bottle didn’t break, but the ink began to trickle out in a dark pool.
Newton stared at the bottle but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. He had to see his father. His father could surely get him transferred. The hostilities with France were still ongoing, but not nearly as heated as they were last year. There had been no rumors of the French
attempting another invasion. Of course, the Young Pretender Charles still wanted to reclaim the throne from King George. But if the French weren’t willing to help him, what chance did the Bonnie Prince have?
Aye. Newton swiped up the ink bottle. His father would have a much better chance of getting him released this time. At least he hoped so.
Newton scratched out a quick note, folded it, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves and made his way to the larboard boom where a crew was assembling. A light freezing mist was falling, and the wind cut through his coat. He glanced with frustration at the distance from the ship to the far-off shore. The rowing would be long and difficult, especially with the ferocity of the white-capped waves.
He almost stepped back into the shadows of the mast, too weary and angry to help with the revictualling. He could send the letter to his father with one of the other midshipmen. But what if they forgot to post it? Or what if they read it and saw his request? He couldn’t chance anyone discovering his intentions. It would only stir up more trouble with the captain than he already had.
“I’ll go, mate,” he told Mitchell, who was overseeing the boarding.
“That’s a good man.” Mitchell slapped him on the back. “The captain wanted me to tell the midshipmen that you have strict orders to make sure none of the sailors desert.”
Newton surveyed the half-dozen men who would be under his charge, huddled in their threadbare coats, with red and running noses and hats askew in the wind. He hadn’t really gotten to know any of the sailors in his charge. As midshipman he’d kept separate from the others unless he had to exercise authority, like now.
“You heard the man,” he called to his crew. “Don’t even think of deserting under my watch. If I get a hint of anyone even thinking of running off, you’ll be disciplined when we get back to the ship.”
As they rowed to shore, the sailors were silent, some even sullen. But they had all the work they could handle fighting the wind and keeping the longboat from capsizing in the waves. When they finally reached the bustling docks with the busy port of Plymouth lining the waterfront, they were spent and chilled to the bone. The freezing mist had dampened their clothes through to their limbs.