“Which may be sooner than we hope.” Matthew chortled.
Daniel tugged up his oversized breeches—the only pair Noah had found onboard to fit the lad. “How do you know everything in your life is going to turn out for good if you’re not at the end of everything in your life?”
Matthew’s gray eyes flashed. “The lad makes a good amount o’ sense.”
“So, I must wait until my death to verify what God says is true?” The sarcasm in Noah’s voice surprised even him.
“Or you can just trust Him now and be done with it.” Daniel smiled. “Seems to me, He knows a lot more about our lives than we do. ’Sides, He loves us.”
Noah flexed his jaw and he steadied himself as the ship bolted again. The faith of a foolish child. A foolish child who knew nothing of life.
Daniel’s eyes twinkled. “What if God put together all the things that happened: me and my pa gettin’ impressed, then you and your lady friend and crew bein’ impressed, the escape, even leaving Miss Marianne behind”—the twinkle faded from his eyes for a moment—“all of it for this moment when a simple merchantman takes on a British war ship.” He grinned. “It could be your destiny.”
“I don’t believe in destiny,” Noah growled, trying to ignore the lad, trying to ignore the longing buried deep within him—a longing for some meaning to his life.
Daniel frowned and lowered his chin. “It don’t matter if you don’t believe. You have a destiny just the same. But you have to surrender to God to find it.” He shrugged. “An’ then you have to do it.”
Noah clenched his jaw. He patted his pocket where Jacob’s bloody handkerchief lay. He knew the boy meant well, but Noah refused to believe destiny had led his brother to his death. Refused to believe in a God who allowed such a destiny. No, it was far easier to believe there was no such thing. That God was aloof and distant and kept His hand off the affairs of men.
Daniel’s eyes widened and he pressed a hand over his heart. “I feel God telling me that you do have a destiny, Mr. Noah. Yes, a great purpose!”
Noah pressed down upon the boy’s shoulder, hoping to silence him. “I’m afraid God takes no note of me or my life.”
“God takes note of everyone,” Matthew added.
“I’ll have no more talk of God or destiny!” Noah barked, instantly regretting his tone. “If the Almighty has been orchestrating my life, then He is nothing but a cruel taskmaster—one I will never be able to please.”
“He’s not anything like that, Mr. Noah.” Daniel’s voice weighed heavy with sorrow.
Luke excused himself and leapt onto the main deck. Noah couldn’t blame him.
“If I didn’t know better,” Matthew said to Noah, “I’d think you were describin’ your father.” He gave Noah a look of disapproval before hobbling away.
Noah flinched. Was he mistaking God for his father? Hadn’t Luke told him the same thing back on the frigate? But God had not proven himself to be any different from Noah’s father. Both had far too many rules. And all it took was one mistake to invoke their disapproval.
A mistake like Noah’s jealousy of his brother—a mistake that had sent Jacob to his death.
He wanted no part of a God like that.
The sun descended farther toward the horizon off the port side. He glanced aloft. Mountains of bloated canvas crowded the masts. Salty mist sprayed over his face as the ship rippled through the sparkling sea on a north by northeast course. If the weather and wind held, they would catch the HMS Undefeatable in no time.
“I’m coming, Marianne,” he whispered into the wind. “Be strong, princess.”
He drew in a deep breath and gripped the railing. Strength and an unusual, if not misplaced, confidence surged through him. Nothing could stop him now.
“A sail. A sail!” someone shouted from above. “Four points off the starboard beam.”
Below, on the main deck, Luke darted to the railing and peered at the horizon.
Daniel stood at attention as Noah drew his scope to his eye. A two-masted sloop came into sharp view, the Union Jack flapping from her mainmast. He lowered the glass. Luke scrambled up the stairs and marched toward him.
“It’s a British war sloop,” Noah stated.
Luke nodded. “And she’s bearing down on us fast.”
♦♦♦
Gripping the broom, Marianne swept the painted canvas that served as a rug in the center of the captain’s cabin and gathered the dust into a pile by the door. She had already scrubbed the deck, served the captain two meals, brought his clothes down to the laundry, and polished five lanterns that now hung in various spots on the bulkhead. Her back ached. Her feet hurt. And her stomach growled.
Sweep. Sweep. Dust flew through the air, transforming into tiny pieces of glitter that danced in the afternoon sunlight. Amazing how something so base and dirty could become so beautiful when exposed to the light. She pondered that thought as she watched the thin line of the distant horizon fill the stern windows, then fall out of view, then rise again, then fall. She barely noticed the sway of the ship anymore, barely had any trouble remaining upright. Another month out to sea, and she would forget what it felt like to walk on something that wasn’t heaving to and fro.
She continued her sweeping. Ten days had passed since she’d read Esther. Ten days had passed since she thought she’d heard God’s voice in her cabin telling her He loved her and was with her.
And nothing had happened.
If she was here for a purpose, other than cleaning and scrubbing and serving, she had no idea what it could be.
She sneezed and dabbed at the perspiration on her neck. It had been a little over three weeks since Noah had dropped over the bulwarks and disappeared into the sea. Since then, each day had slipped by, snatching a bit more of her hope in passing. If Noah had found his ship and intended to come after her, surely he would have arrived by now. She swept more dust into her growing pile. But why would he? What could he and his merchant ship hope to accomplish against such a formidable foe?
She was on her own.
I am with you, beloved.
She sighed and gazed around the cabin. “Lord, where have you been?” She leaned on the tip of the broom. “I need you. I need to know what you want me to do.”
Trust me.
Shouts filtered down from above, followed by the pounding of feet on the deckhead. Within minutes the snap of sails thundered, and the captain’s booming voice rang through the timbers. Marianne stared above, wondering what caused all the commotion.
The sighting of another ship, perhaps? Her heart froze. The frigate jolted and the purl of the water against the hull grew louder. She listened for any further clues, but only the muffled voices of the crew and the chime of a bell drifted over her ears.
She pondered going aloft to see what was happening when the door swung open, crashing against the bulkhead. Marianne jumped, then moved out of the way as the captain charged into the cabin. Lieutenants Garrick, Reed, and Jones followed on his heels.
The stomp of their boots hefted her pile of dust into the blast of wind that entered behind them, scattering it across the cabin.
She blew out a sigh and laid a hand on her hip. Lieutenant Garrick’s gaze slithered over her, and she resisted the urge to swat him with her broom.
Captain Milford circled his desk, dropped his spectacles onto his nose, and leaned over a chart.
The three lieutenants doffed their hats, stuffed them between their right arms and bodies, and lined up before him.
“Here we are.” The captain’s finger stopped on the chart. “And here is where we spotted her.”
Lieutenant Reed leaned on the desk and peered at the chart. “I’d say not more than eight miles northeast of us.”
The captain studied Mr. Jones. “Are you sure of what you saw?”
The thin, nervous man nodded. “Yes. American. I’d swear by it, Captain.”
American. Marianne’s ears perked up.
“If the admiral’s information is corr
ect, it must be the USS Constitution. We could be upon her tomorrow.” Garrick’s voice dripped with greed.
“Yes, my thoughts exactly, Mr. Garrick.” The captain lengthened his stance and grabbed his chin. “Yet we were told to rendezvous with the Guerriere at this location.” He pointed at the chart.
“Perhaps they spotted the enemy and took pursuit, Captain,” Mr. Jones offered.
The captain’s eyes twinkled. “And if so, I believe they would appreciate our help.” He rubbed his hands together. Then grabbing four glasses from his cabinet, he lined them on his desk and poured brandy into each one. “We are at war, gentlemen. At war with a bunch of quarrelsome, jingle-headed farmers who have more backbone than brains!” He chuckled and grabbed his glass.
More backbone than brains, indeed. Marianne feigned disinterest as she kept sweeping.
Garrick stiffened his back and grabbed one of the glasses. “There’s nothing like the pounding of the guns to get your blood pumping.”
“The Americans don’t stand a chance, sir.” Reed took another glass. “Didn’t the admiral say this laughable rebel navy only possessed six frigates, three sloops, and a few smaller vessels?”
Garrick’s malicious laugher filled the cabin. “Compared to our six hundred warships, one hundred and twenty ships of the line, and one hundred and twenty frigates. Egad, are they mad?”
Marianne felt his eyes on her, no doubt hoping to gloat her into a reaction, but she kept her gaze on the deck. When he faced forward again, she swept dust onto his boots.
“It will be good to put these rebels in their place.” Mr. Reed nodded.
Sweep. Dust showered over Mr. Reed’s boots.
“And restore order to the colonies,” Captain Milford said. “To the war, gentlemen.” He lifted his glass.
Mr. Jones grabbed his.
“To victory!” Garrick said, and all four men raised their glasses together.
A sour taste rose in Marianne’s mouth at their pompous display. The sharp scent of brandy filled the room
“Besides, I hear their land is rich and free for the taking.” Mr. Jones sipped his drink.
Marianne ground her teeth together and swept dust onto Mr. Jones’s boots.
The captain gazed out the window. “Ah, a nice piece of land to call my own.” He seemed to drift to another place as the men stood savoring their drinks.
“Blast it all!” The captain growled so loud even the lieutenants flinched. “Unfortunate that night falls within an hour.”
“We shall catch them at first light, Captain,” Reed said with confidence.
“If they have not outwitted us.” The captain’s weary eyes surveyed the chart. “We shall see.” He raised a gaze to Garrick. “Maintain our present heading and place extra men in the masthead to keep a weather eye out for her.” He slammed his glass down on the desk. “Let us find this American rebel and give her a hearty British welcome.”
They all chuckled and tossed the brandy to the back of their throats.
Fire burned in Marianne’s belly. Of all the impertinent, bombastic, audacious...who did they think they were? Congratulating themselves on a victory not yet won.
The captain grinned. “Who knows if we aren’t here for such a time as this?”
Marianne froze. She lifted wide eyes to the captain, fully expecting to see his taunting smile directed toward her. But he paid her no mind and began pouring the men another drink.
For such a time as this.
Marianne’s heart sped to a rapid pace.
What are you trying to tell me, Lord?
For such a time as this.
Yes, they were chasing an American war ship, intent on destroying her. But what could Marianne do? She was a nobody. A prisoner. A servant. Was she supposed to take on an entire ship full of British sailors and soldiers?
She gripped the handle of the broom until her fingers reddened. Yet hadn’t she done something similar on Noah’s ship? Disabled the entire ship all by herself? She sighed and continued sweeping. There was no cargo to ruin on board this ship. What else could she do? She searched her mind for her conversations with Weller about accidents aboard a ship. What else had he said would disable a ship?
The tiller. Blood rushed to her head.
“Look what you’ve done, you insufferable woman.” Lieutenant Jones stared down aghast at his dusty boots. The other men followed his gaze.
“Egad!” Mr. Reed lifted one foot up to examine the damage as Garrick’s curse raked over Marianne’s ears.
All eyes shot to her.
She shrugged. “My apologies, gentlemen. How careless of me.” Forcing down a smile, she swept the broom over each of their boots, scattering the dust into a cloud.
The captain cleared his throat and gave her a look of reprimand that held a promise of punishment. But that didn’t matter anymore. Marianne had a plan. And she knew exactly what she needed to do.
Chapter 25
Noah studied the oncoming sloop. His gut wrenched. From what he could tell, she carried fifteen thirty-two pounders on her main deck, six twelve pounders on her quarterdeck, and two carronades mounted on her forecastle. Twenty-three guns in all and probably more that he couldn’t see. He snapped his long glass shut. The Fortune pitched over a roller, and Noah gripped the railing. Salty mist stung his eyes. He gazed above where every inch of bloated canvas was set to the gusty breeze.
And still the sloop gained.
“Bring her as close to the wind as you can, Mr. Pike,” Noah ordered the helmsman.
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
The sails snapped. The ship canted to larboard as blue squalls swept over her deck. Noah balanced himself and stared at the oncoming ship. With the confidence of a mighty predator, she dashed after her prey, white spray foaming at her bow.
“What does she want?” Matthew staggered to Noah’s side.
“We are at war. She intends to take us as a prize.” Noah’s voice gave no indication of the fear gnawing at his gut.
Weller mumbled beside him. A glaze of terror covered his eyes as he clutched the three fingers remaining on his right hand. “Not again.”
Noah laid a hand on his shoulder, but the comforting words he intended to say withered on his lips.
The Fortune crested a wave, creaking and groaning under the strain.
“It’ll be worse this time.” Blackthorn shifted his large frame. “Especially if they discover we escaped from the Undefeatable. We’ll be hanged or sent to a prison hulk to rot until the war is over.”
Noah shook the words from his ears. He would accept neither option. For both prevented him from rescuing Marianne and stopping the Undefeatable in its mission against the United States Navy. His country’s navy.
He surprised himself at the patriotism welling inside him.
“She’s gaining, Captain,” Luke shouted from the main deck below.
Noah squinted toward the sun, which sat a handbreadth over the horizon. He must stay outside the range of the British sloop’s guns until nightfall. It was the only way. “Blackthorn, take Daniel and gather some men. Go below and find anything we can throw overboard, even our food if we have to, and bring it aloft.”
Blackthorn nodded, cuffed Daniel on the back of the neck, and dragged him along. The boy laughed at his father’s antics. Noah shook his head. Did nothing bother the boy? Was his faith so strong that it pushed back all fear, even fear of death?
Two hours passed. The slowest two hours of Noah’s life. An hour in which Noah’s crew proceeded to toss bars of iron, bolts of cloth, sacks of flour, and kegs of water over the side. The Fortune picked up speed. But was it enough?
Relieving Mr. Pike at the helm, Noah took the wheel himself. He was desperate to keep busy—do anything besides standing and watching the sloop advance upon them. Weller paced the quarterdeck. Matthew dropped below to douse the fire in the stove and settle Agnes somewhere safe should a battle ensue. Luke stood like a stone sentinel at the stern railing, arms folded over his chest, staring a
t the oncoming ship.
A blast of salt-tainted wind tore at Noah’s hair and shirt, bringing with it a hint of cool evening air. Darkness would be upon them soon.
“Mr. Weller.” Noah stopped the man from his nervous pacing. “Gather the men and ready the guns, if you please.” Not that the action would matter. The sloop’s guns outranged Noah’s and could easily hit their target before Noah would have any hope of striking in return.
Beneath the wild black hair lashing about his head, Weller’s dark eyes found Noah’s and a look of understanding passed between them. With a nod, he leapt down the quarterdeck ladder. Daniel dashed across the deck to join him, excitement in his every step, making Noah wonder whether the boy’s father would want his son assigned to such a dangerous post. But Blackthorn had jumped below again, searching for more things to toss overboard.
“She fired a gun!” Luke bellowed.
The lack of fear in his first mate’s voice kept Noah steady on his feet. He’d barely swerved around when a resonant Boom cracked the air. Gray smoke curled up like a charmed snake from the sloop’s bow. The ball splashed impotently into the sea twenty yards off their stern.
Twenty yards too close.
“A warning shot.” Mr. Pike offered as he approached Noah. “If ye don’t mind, Cap’n, can I take back the helm? If I’m goin’ t’ die, I’d rather die at me post.”
A weight seemed to fall on Noah at Mr. Pike’s lack of confidence. But how could he blame the man? Noah had never engaged in battle before. He pried his fingers from the wood, not realizing until then how tight his grip had been, then stretched the kinks from his hand.
Luke sauntered toward him. “I believe they want us to stop, Captain.”
Noah glanced at the sun barely touching the horizon. It would be at least an hour before the darkness would hide them. A very long hour. He snapped the hair from his face. “To the devil with what they want. Have the men go aloft and trim the sails to the wind again.”
Luke gave an approving nod and shouted orders across the ship. Taking a spot at the stern, Noah raised the long glass to his eye but immediately lowered it. The sloop was so close he no longer needed it to make out the details of the ship. At least a hundred men crowded her decks. Crews hovered around the guns, petting and coaxing the iron beasts as they awaited their captain’s command to fire. The captain stood on the quarterdeck. The gold buttons on his coat winked at Noah in the setting sun, taunting him to fight, challenging him just like his brother had done when they were younger.
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