by Jody Hedlund
May 1748
“It was a lie,” Captain Swanwick admitted. “I’m sorry, Newton. But at the time, it was the only thing I could think of to make you leave Kittam.”
They stood together in the Liverpool shipping office of Joseph Manesty. The dank front room smelled of whale oil and tobacco. It was cramped, with the crates and barrels shoved into every corner a testament to the thriving shipping business that Manesty owned. “I knew it wasn’t four hundred pounds,” John responded as disbelief and despair churned in his gut. “But maybe I’ve inherited two hundred from my great-uncle? Maybe even one hundred?”
“There’s nothing.” Swanwick lowered his head, the shame radiating from his stricken expression. “For all I know your uncle is still very much alive and well.”
Newton could only stare at the captain who had become his friend over the past month. After waiting for repairs in Londonderry, being well fed and well dressed and welcomed by the people there, the Greyhound crew had shed their sunken eyes and haggard appearance and had begun to fill out again. Now back on English soil in Liverpool, they were finally at the end of their journey together. “I beg you to tell me that I have at least a small amount.”
Swanwick didn’t respond. And this time, Newton hung his head. Pain, regret, and confusion hit him with such force he had to close his eyes to keep himself from crying out with frustration.
When they landed an hour ago, he had every intention of finding a horse and riding as fast and hard to Chatham as he could. The journey was at least two hundred fifty miles, and he didn’t want to delay another minute, another second. He’d been away from Polly for nearly four years. And the need to see her had grown steadily more intense with each passing day.
Only prayers throughout the long night had kept him from doing something stupid like stealing one of the longboats and rowing himself to shore. When they finally arrived on the docks after daybreak, a messenger from Manesty was waiting for them. Manesty requested that Newton and Swanwick meet him at his office.
In his haste to leave town, Newton had almost tossed aside the request. Every minute of delay made his muscles tighten until he thought he might explode from the pressure. But he forced himself to accompany Swanwick to the office with the anticipation of leaving the second his meeting with Manesty was completed.
But now…
“Then that means I have absolutely nothing,” Newton said, “not even a farthing to my name.”
“I’m sorry,” Swanwick said again.
Newton shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” He should have known.
“But I did put in a good word with Manesty for you,” Swanwick said.
“Manesty would never hire me.” Not after he’d been irresponsible with the first job offer Manesty had given him on the Jamaican sugar plantation. Manesty wouldn’t consider him, not even if he was the last man available.
Newton’s mind spun. He couldn’t go to visit Polly now, not without anything to offer her. Mr. Catlett would see him coming down the front path and tell him not to walk into Polly’s life again. Already Newton would have a battle regaining Mr. Catlett’s good favor. Without a fortune, the task would be impossible.
He would stay away from her until he had something he could offer her, even if it tore his heart out to do so.
But as he contemplated all the ways he could earn money quickly so that he could win her, he shook his head. “I need to give her up, Swanwick.” His throat ached just saying the words, but once they were out, he knew them to be true. “I can’t keep holding on to her.”
“You don’t need to go to that extreme,” Swanwick started.
“It wouldn’t be fair of me to visit her now. Even if she still wanted me, it could take years before I’d have means enough to be worthy of her. She deserves to get married and have a family before she’s too old for all of that.” Besides, it was possible she already had a serious suitor, was in love with another man. After all, she’d never written back to him, even after he asked her to.
“Even if you aren’t a rich man,” Swanwick said, “not many women can boast of a man loving them the way you do her.”
Joseph Manesty’s deep booming voice jarred Newton. For such a loud voice, a tiny wisp of a man stepped out of the adjoining room and strode briskly toward them. Thin and bald, Manesty wiped a sheen of perspiration from his shining head.
Newton had met Manesty on several occasions as a boy but hadn’t seen him since before the failed job opportunity when he neglected to show up for the ship that was set to sail for Jamaica. He braced himself for well-deserved censure.
“Newton, my boy,” the man called almost jovially. “The Brownlow will be outfitted and ready to set sail this summer.”
“Aye, good that, sir,” Newton said tentatively. Could it be the man was giving him a second chance after all?
“When can you be ready?” Manesty cocked his head and pinned him with a serious stare. “Will three weeks suit you?”
Was the man offering him a position as a sailor on one of his ships? “What are your expectations, sir?”
“I’d like you to outfit her and find a crew. Then I expect you to command my ship with as much expertise and skill as I heard you did the Greyhound.”
“Command?” Newton could barely get the word out.
“Of course command. What do you think I expect of my captains?”
Newton scrambled to make sense of Manesty. Was the man offering him a position of captain on the Brownlow?
“Your father and Swanwick both testify that you’re ready for the position,” Manesty continued. “And after your time in Africa and familiarity with the coast, I think you’re just the man I need.”
Swanwick nodded. “Aye. Newton is one of the most skilled sailors I’ve met. He’ll make you a very fine captain, sir. Not only that, but he’s not the same man I met a year ago. He’s completely changed his life for the better.”
Newton nodded at Swanwick, grateful for the words of praise, although he wasn’t sure that he deserved them. The front door of the office opened and several more men ducked inside. Their rolling gaits identified them as seafarers, likely sailors coming to sign on for a voyage on one of Manesty’s many ships.
“So we’re all set?” Manesty asked, starting to move toward the newcomers. “Swanwick, you’ll take the Greyhound out again once she’s ready?”
Swanwick nodded hesitantly, and Newton could see the fear in the back of the man’s eyes. After barely surviving on the floating wreck of a ship, he wouldn’t be too eager to take her out again, even if she was repaired. The many months in Africa’s equatorial waters had rotted the Greyhound’s timbers. Besides that, Manesty was known for his frugality and for reducing the cost of his ships, often sacrificing safety and durability for profit. But he also offered incentives and bonuses to his captains who could bring back the most cargo.
Manesty didn’t give Captain Swanwick a chance to protest. He was already skirting several barrels halfway across the room.
“And Newton, I’ll see you back here in three weeks,” Manesty boomed. Manesty was giving him a second chance the same way God had. A growing sense of unworthiness came stealing back. He didn’t deserve Manesty’s confidence any more than he deserved God’s love. Would he be worthy of the man’s trust? He prayed he would but knew deep inside he still had a long way to go in becoming a new man.
Polly paused by the front gate. “Good afternoon, Miss Donovan.”
The woman was scratching Prince’s curly head, and at Polly’s greeting she straightened. Other than a few more creases in her forehead, Miss Donovan’s appearance hadn’t changed much while Polly had been away to school. Unfortunately, neither had her spinster status. She was still dependent on her brother.
“Miss Catlett.” Miss Donovan managed a smile, her lips thin, the lines in her pale cheeks crinkling like flaxen linen that was stiff from disuse. “Visiting the almshouse again, I see?”
“Yes,” Polly replied. Her mother had finally allo
wed her to accompany her to the almshouse in the months since she’d returned home. She’d hoped the charity work would fill the gap inside. She’d hoped that by focusing on those less fortunate, she could forget about her own maladies, not that she had many. She had so much for which to be grateful. Even though her father had never regained his position and still struggled to provide for their family, they had more than the unfortunate souls residing at the almshouse. She had to remember that every time discontentment surfaced.
Polly swung the empty basket draped over her arm and glanced ahead at her mother, who was already entering the house. “We decided to do so early today, to avoid the rainstorms.”
Miss Donovan tipped the brim of her hat back and peered up at the darkening sky. The wind was beginning to blow with more force, swaying the branches with their new leaves. “Oh, what do you know. It is looking like rain.”
Droplets had already dampened Polly’s cloak on the long walk home from the almshouse, but she refrained from remarking about the obvious since she suspected Miss Donovan purposefully came outside when she knew Polly would be returning home. Polly couldn’t begrudge the woman a few moments of visiting, even if the conversations generally went about the same every time they met.
Their meetings were always short. Miss Donovan wasn’t particularly talkative, and Polly didn’t want to risk being impolite by prying with questions of her own. So they always ran out of things to talk about after a minute.
“You are such a saint to take provisions to the poor,” came Miss Donovan’s usual praise.
“I’m only seeking to please God,” Polly countered with her usual response. She only wished that going to the almshouse brought her a measure of satisfaction. But as with her prayers, her charity work felt empty. No matter how many prayers she offered, how content she tried to be with her life, or how often she visited the poor, she couldn’t keep from sensing that somehow she’d failed to live up to God’s expectations for her.
And now after Captain Newton’s visit yesterday, she was even more restless. Of course, she’d concluded that she wouldn’t entertain any thoughts about John Newton. Even if he had really changed and could provide for her, she’d already told Billy that she’d marry him. It wasn’t official yet. At her father’s request to wait, Billy hadn’t posted the banns.
“I saw that your sailor is back.” Miss Donovan shifted her attention to Prince and began scratching him rapidly up and down his back as though he hadn’t had any attention in weeks.
“My sailor?” Polly was confused for only a moment before realizing that Miss Donovan must have noticed Captain Newton coming and going from their home yesterday. She likely had confused him with John, which wouldn’t have been hard to do, especially from a distance. “No, that was Captain Newton coming to give us news about his son.”
Miss Donovan scratched her dog for another long moment before speaking again hesitantly. “It was good news, I hope?”
“Yes, John—Mr. Newton is alive and well in Ireland.”
“Wonderful.” Her pale cheeks took on a pink hue.
“It is wonderful.” Even if she wouldn’t allow feelings for him to fan back to life, Polly couldn’t deny the deep relief that still swept through her every time she thought about John being alive.
Another long silence stretched between them. When a fat raindrop splattered against her cheek, Polly gave Miss Donovan a parting smile and turned to go. “Good day to you.”
“My fiancé was a ship captain.” Miss Donovan’s words tumbled over themselves and barreled into Polly.
She pivoted and faced Miss Donovan again. This time the flush on the woman’s cheeks had turned as bright as the magnolias that lined the fence. Polly didn’t know why she should be surprised by the news that her spinster neighbor had once been engaged and perhaps in love. She supposed she’d assumed spinsters were somehow deficient in matters of love.
She hadn’t considered that Miss Donovan may have once been exactly like her. What had happened, then, to prevent her from marrying her fiancé?
“He and all his crew went down with his ship during a terrible storm,” she said, as though sensing Polly’s question.
Like the storm that had almost killed John? From the way Captain Newton had described the squall and the conditions afterward, John should have perished. It was a miracle the Greyhound had made it to Ireland. John had certainly had his fair share of lifesaving miracles over the years. Surely by now he’d used up his allotment.
Miss Donovan hefted Prince into her arms and buried her face against his neck.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Polly said in a vain attempt to ease the awkwardness of the moment. What more could she say? She supposed that Miss Donovan had waited for her captain to return from voyages, much the same way she had for John. She’d likely placed all her hopes for the future on him. But then one time, he’d never returned. And by then she’d been too old to start courting other men. Or perhaps she’d been too grief stricken. Either way, Miss Donovan was now reduced to a life of dependence with only a dog to love and be loved by.
As though sensing Polly’s pity, Miss Donovan hugged Prince tighter and spun away. “Good day to you, Miss Catlett.”
Newton held the letter from his father in his hands, too frightened to open it. He’d been sitting at the writing table in his Liverpool dormer room for the past half hour unable to work up the nerve to read it.
He’d written a couple of letters to the captain when he was in Ireland. In them both he told his father he was deeply sorry for his disrespect and disobedience over the years. He felt burdened to make reparations almost as soon as he landed on the shore. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. That was too much to ask. But at the very least, he needed to tell his father he was sorry for all the years of grief and disappointment he’d caused him.
Newton realized now that he had to forgive his father for his harshness at times. Although his father had faults, deep down he was a good man. Even when Newton harbored petty and immature grudges, his father had come to his aid. The captain was always willing to help him, even when he was a clot in return. In fact, his father had done it again by recommending him to Manesty for the captain’s position.
Why had his father come to his aid once more? Especially after the disdainful way Newton treated him the last time they were together? Newton’s throat tightened. Certainly the captain couldn’t still love him, could he? Not after how horrible he’d been.
Newton pushed back from the rickety writing table and stood. The cloudy window of the dormer room overlooked the bustling Liverpool harbor and docks with the ships coming and going. The street outside was just as busy with shopkeepers setting out their wares and the many merchants and sailors preparing for their next voyage.
Liverpool was one of the busiest trading ports and also flourished from its shipbuilding, rope making, and iron working. Sugar refining was also a booming industry as ships delivered sugar grown in the West Indies.
The instruments hanging in a ship chandler shop across the street glared at Newton as they did every time he peered out. Handcuffs, leg shackles, and thumbscrews. Also a surgical instrument with a screw device used to pry open the mouth of any shipboard slave who tried to commit suicide by refusing to eat.
He glanced quickly away and pushed down his discomfort and guilt. Liverpool was also the world’s largest slave-trade port, sending dozens of ships to Africa every year.
Although part of him longed to be elsewhere, Newton had accepted the spot Captain Swanwick graciously offered him in the dormer room that he was renting in the King’s Arms tavern.
Newton dropped his gaze back to the letter from his father and released a shaky breath. This would probably be an easier letter to read than the one he hoped to get any day from Susanna. He’d written to Susanna over a week ago, not long after arriving in Liverpool.
The words he’d written still tore at his heart every time he remembered them:
“I have long loved my cousin Polly. I love
her still, as well as ever, and it is that love that makes me now endeavor to relinquish my pretenses. The chief business of this letter is therefore to assure you that I am determined from this moment to divert my thoughts from Polly as much as possible. And though I do not expect ever wholly to conquer my passion, I will endeavor to keep it within my own breast and never trouble either her or you anymore with it.”
After he posted the letter, he questioned a thousand times whether he’d done the right thing. Mayhap he shouldn’t have sent it. Mayhap he should have gone one more time to see Polly. Mayhap he could have talked to her and discovered how she felt.
He dug in his pocket and pulled out the handkerchief she’d given him so long ago. It was threadbare in spots. The lace along the edges was frayed down to nothing. Her monogrammed initials were all but gone. But it was still a part of her. He’d never be able to give her up completely. No matter how hard he tried.
Nay. He shook his head and started to open his father’s letter. He couldn’t keep second-guessing himself. Although the decision tortured him, he’d done the honorable thing for once in his life. He’d released Polly to pursue a life without him. And he wouldn’t go back on it now.
The paper shook in Newton’s fingers as he unfolded it. The date at the top told him his father had written it on the day before he’d set sail for Hudson Bay. When Newton first heard that his father was leaving England and that he’d miss seeing him by only a few days, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Though he’d written the letters of apology, he wanted to make his amends face to face too. As hard as that would have been, especially not knowing how his father would receive him, Newton longed to humble himself before the man as he should have years ago.
But now he would have to settle for his father’s response in a letter. Anxiously, Newton began reading his father’s words. The tone was formal and related mostly to business matters. His father explained his new position in Hudson Bay and expounded upon Manesty’s offer to be captain of the Brownlow. Newton was relieved the tone was cordial but was disappointed that his father made no mention of repairing their relationship. He knew he didn’t deserve it even though he longed for it. He should be grateful his father had written back to him at all. Even so, he couldn’t keep from wishing for more.