Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  “I believe I’ll have time for both, miss.”

  “Then I shall see you around seven o’clock.”

  Stepping up on the bulwarks, he leapt onto the dock then turned to extend his hand.

  Against her better judgment, she took it. His strength and warmth seeped though her gloves, sending a jolt up her arm. After he settled her on the wharf, she snagged her hand away, nodded her thanks, and hurried down the dock.

  A voice as smooth and as deep as the sea called after her, “Until tonight, Miss Channing.”

  The teacup rattled on its saucer. Cassandra set it down on the table. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim. “Oh, bother. Please forgive me, Marianne.”

  Marianne Brenin laid a gentle hand on Cassandra’s arm. “Whatever is amiss tonight, Cassandra? You’ve been a bundle of nerves since you walked in the door.”

  “Have I?” Cassandra drew a deep breath. Could it be that she was about to give the remainder of her family’s money to a man she had no reason to trust? A nervous giggle rose in her throat.

  Marianne’s brown eyes twinkled from within a face aglow with happiness. Happy indeed. She had a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, and a promising future.

  Across the room, Noah tossed seven-month-old Jacob into the air. Giggles bubbled through the Brenin parlor, bouncing off walls and causing all within to grin.

  Noah stopped to look at his wife with such deep adoration that Cassandra felt as though she was intruding. She looked away. A yearning tugged at her heart. Would a man ever look at her the way Noah looked at Marianne?

  As if lured by her husband’s loving gaze, Marianne rose and made her way to him. Swinging an arm over her shoulder, Noah drew her close, swallowing up Jacob between them, and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  Marianne ran her fingers over her husband’s jaw then suddenly spun around, her face as red as an apple. “Oh, do forgive us, Cassandra. When Noah returns from a long voyage, I often forget when there are other people in the room.”

  Cassandra couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s happiness. “I seem to recall you once saying you’d rather boil in oil than marry Noah Brenin.”

  Noah stared agape at his wife, his lips curving in an incredulous smile. “You don’t say?”

  Marianne pressed down the folds of her lavender gown. “It was something like that. I truly don’t remember.”

  “Such a thing for Mama to say.” Noah tickled Jacob until the boy burst into giggles again.

  “We weren’t exactly fond of each other back then,” Marianne said.

  Noah kissed his wife on the cheek and whispered in her ear until her giggles matched their son’s.

  The loving scene played before Cassandra like a surreal fairy tale. Her mother and father had never expressed such affection, never even offered each other a kind word or loving glance. Until Noah and Marianne had married, Cassandra had not realized that a husband and wife could cherish each other so deeply.

  The languid face of Mr. Crane filled her vision and chased her cheery thoughts away. If this investment fell through, she’d be forced to marry him.

  Destroying any chance to know the kind of love that filled this home.

  Cassandra stood, hoping a turn about the room would settle her nerves, but she bumped into a table, nearly toppling a small carving of a Baltimore clipper. “There I go again.” She settled the wooden figure.

  Taking Jacob into her arms, Marianne gave Cassandra a curious look as she sat down once again on the settee. “Surely it isn’t Mr. Heaton’s imminent arrival that has you so … hmm … so agitated?” She gave a coy smile.

  Cassandra clasped her hands together to avoid afflicting further damage. “Don’t be absurd, I care not a whit whether Mr. Heaton will be here or not. I simply want this business concluded.” Heat flushed her face, and she plucked out her fan. Her eyes took in her reticule lying on the table. “My family’s future rests with this investment.”

  “Are you sure you wish to align yourself with such a man?” Jacob grabbed one of Marianne’s curls. Wincing, she extracted it from his chubby fingers.

  “Now, love.” Noah strode to the service table against the wall and poured himself a sip of Madeira. “Luke is our friend.”

  “And he is a good friend. But a business partner?” Marianne slid her loose hair behind her ear and clutched Jacob’s hands as he reached for it again.

  Noah sampled his wine then took a seat beside his wife. “I cannot presume to give you advice in this matter, Cassandra, but I will say that no matter what he may appear to be, Luke is a good man.”

  Cassandra fanned her face so rapidly, a strand of her hair loosened from its pin. Hadn’t she seen some goodness in Mr. Heaton’s eyes earlier that day? Something that bade her trust him? “Yet you relieved him of his duty on board your ship?”

  “Aye, to teach him a lesson.” Noah held his glass of Madeira out of Jacob’s reach. “Truth be told, I miss him. He was the best first mate I ever had. But he couldn’t control his drinking, and I wanted him to realize how damaging the habit had become.”

  Cassandra recalled the smell of rum hovering around Mr. Heaton last night and the way he drank on his ship earlier that day. “I fear your plan has not succeeded.” Snapping her fan shut, she slid into a chair beside the settee. “Oh, bother. Perhaps I am making a mistake.”

  “Even with his drinking,” Noah said, “Luke can handle a ship better than most men I’ve seen.”

  Marianne handed Jacob a doll, which he promptly stuffed into his mouth. She lifted her brown eyes, full of concern, to Cassandra. “Have you prayed about this decision?”

  “Prayer has never done me much good.”

  “I used to feel that way.” Marianne kissed Jacob’s fuzzy head. “I know you’ve been through a lot. But you must believe God loves you and has all your concerns in His hands.”

  “Indeed.” Noah smiled at his wife. “He’s more than proven that to us.”

  Cassandra was about to say that God seemed to shower some people with blessing while ignoring others, when a knock at the door silenced her.

  “Mr. McCulloch,” Mr. Sorens, the Brenin butler, announced. Cassandra released a nervous breath as the city customs agent sauntered into the room, wearing a stylish coat of taffeta, a cravat too large for his tiny neck, and brown trousers.

  Noah stood to greet him as the butler continued, “And Mr. Luke Heaton.”

  Dressed in the same black breeches and leather boots he’d been wearing earlier, Mr. Heaton strode into the parlor as if he were the owner of a fleet of ships instead of a lone crumbling heap of wood and tar.

  Thank goodness the man had donned a shirt, though the picture of his firm chest was forever imprinted on Cassandra’s mind. His eyes locked on hers and remained far too long for her comfort. She shifted her gaze away only to find Marianne and Noah regarding her with suspicion.

  Turning, Noah extended his hand. “Good evening, Mr. McCulloch. Thank you for coming.”

  “My pleasure, sir.” Mr. McCulloch’s disapproving gaze landed on Cassandra. “I see you have found a captain willing to accept your investment.”

  “I have, sir.” Cassandra thrust out her chin.

  “Hmm.” He gave Mr. Heaton a cursory glance. “Shall we proceed?”

  Jacob looked up from his doll and spotted Mr. Heaton. A huge smile split his mouth as he lifted his chubby hands toward him and strained to be free from his mother’s grip. Approaching the child, Mr. Heaton swept him up in his arms and lifted the boy high in the air.

  Cassandra stared, dumbfounded, at the sight of their mutual affection.

  “Jacob just adores Mr. Heaton,” Marianne said with a smile.

  Mr. McCulloch cleared his throat. “I have another obligation this evening.”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Noah directed the man to sit then turned to the butler. “Mr. Sorens, will you please take Jacob up to my mother’s chamber. She promised to read him a bedtime story.”

  Mr. Sorens frowned, folding the loose skin bene
ath his chin, and approached Mr. Heaton, who attempted to untangle the boy’s clinging fingers from the collar of his coat. Finally he placed the whining lad into the butler’s arms, and with a grunt, the man ambled from the room.

  Mr. McCulloch withdrew a stack of papers, a quill pen, and a bottle of ink from his satchel and set them neatly on the table before taking his seat.

  Noah sat down once again beside his wife. Mr. Heaton, however, after declining the chair offered him, stood beside Cassandra—so close, she caught his rugged scent of wood, oakum—and rum.

  Snapping his attention to one of the documents, Mr. McCulloch rambled through a list of questions directed to Mr. Heaton regarding the tonnage, rig, proposed armament, and number of crew on his vessel. After a bond amount was agreed upon, the customs agent scribbled on the document and gazed at him above the spectacles sliding down his nose. “And the name of the ship, sir?”

  “Agit—”

  “Destiny,” Cassandra interrupted.

  Luke gazed down at her, brow furrowed.

  “Well, which is it?” Mr. McCulloch flipped his pocket watch open, glanced at it, then snapped it shut.

  Luke made a gesture of deference to her.

  “Destiny,” she stated with finality. She didn’t need any further agitation in her life. She needed to create a future, a destiny for her and her family. And to be able to do so on the backs of the British oppressors made it all the sweeter. Opening her reticule, she withdrew the banknote and laid it on the table.

  Luke knelt, dipped the pen in ink, and scrawled his signature over the contract then handed the pen to Cassandra.

  She poised the pen over the spot awaiting her mark. The quill feathers fluttered beneath her rapid breath. Her heart seized. Jacob’s laughter tumbled down from upstairs. Like the countdown to a duel, the grandfather clock in the foyer tick-tocked the final minutes before the deadly shot.

  Or the deadly agreement.

  Mr. McCulloch sighed.

  Cassandra rose to her feet, pen in hand. “Before I sign this contract and hand over my money to you, Mr. Heaton, I have one more condition.”

  Eyeing her, he folded his arms over his chest. “Which is?”

  “That during the time of our partnership, you will cease all drinking and gambling.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Luke felt his forehead crease. Give up drinking and gambling? Was Miss Channing mad? He didn’t know whether to laugh at or berate her foolish request. He chose the former. All eyes shot his way as his chuckle bounced through the parlor—unaccompanied.

  Miss Channing’s eyes turned to green ice. Luke cleared his throat as Noah arose from his seat. Marianne’s brows lifted, and Mr. McCulloch bore his first smile of the evening.

  Miss Channing’s shoe began a rat tat tat on the floor.

  “An excellent idea, Miss Channing.” Noah tugged on his waistcoat and gave Luke a victorious smile.

  Luke growled inside and rubbed his right earlobe. He was tired of people telling him how to live his life. He’d had his fill of that growing up with missionary parents. Their list of oppressive rules still rankled his soul. “Lud, have you lost your senses, miss?”

  “No, sir, I have not,” Miss Channing retorted. “In fact, I believe I have finally found them. Perhaps you should attempt to find yours.”

  Luke shifted his gaze over his friends to seek some measure of sympathy, but the satisfied smirk remained on Noah’s lips.

  “My ability to captain my ship has nothing to do with how I choose to entertain myself.” Luke’s gaze latched on the banknote on the table. He licked his lips. Thoughts of John and Mrs. Barnes stabbed his conscience. They’d be out on the street within a fortnight if he did not procure the rent. And no one else was foolish enough to invest their money with him. Yes, foolish was the word that came to mind when he gazed into those sparkling emerald eyes—foolish and brave and determined.

  And exquisitely beautiful.

  “Well, what will it be, Mr. Heaton?” the customs agent said. “I don’t have all night.” Again, he flipped open his pocket watch and stared at it as if wishing it could transport him to another place.

  Miss Channing placed one delicate hand on her hip. “I’ll not have you besotted while out at sea, Mr. Heaton, putting the crew, the ship, and my investment at risk.”

  Luke ground his teeth together. “I assure you, miss, besotted or not, I’m the best captain you’ll find in Baltimore.” He glanced at Noah. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  Noah nodded with an amused smile.

  “Nevertheless, I’ll not have my money squandered on rum and ineptitude.” Miss Channing snatched the note from the table. Determination glinted in her eyes.

  Luke clenched his fists as the decree built an iron cage around his will. But he had no choice. He couldn’t let John down again. He owed him a life, a future.

  Not a legacy of failure.

  All eyes were on him. Miss Channing held the banknote before her like a gold doubloon before a pirate—like a last sip of rum to a man long deprived of drink.

  Which was precisely what it meant to Luke. He shifted his stance. “Very well. I promise not to partake of drink while I’m sailing. But when I come ashore, I will do as I please.”

  Marianne touched Miss Channing’s arm and nodded. “That certainly seems fair enough.”

  Miss Channing pursed her lips. “No rum on board the ship at all.”

  “My crew will not like that, miss.”

  “I care not a whit what your crew likes, Mr. Heaton. Those are my terms.”

  Luke swallowed and stared down at the woven rug beneath his boots, then across the bemused faces of his friends before finally shifting his gaze to Miss Channing. “Very well, you have my word.”

  Mr. McCulloch cleared his throat. “Do say you’ll sign the papers now, Miss Channing?”

  But instead of the satisfied smirk Luke expected to see on her face, she turned to Noah and Marianne with a look of apprehension.

  Noah nodded. “Mr. Heaton’s word is good, Cassandra.”

  Luke flinched at the compliment even as his heart swelled. Noah had never expressed such faith in him before. A sudden sense of unworthiness struck him. Could he live up to such an affirmation?

  With a sigh of resignation, Miss Channing leaned once again over the document. Her hand trembled, sending the pen’s feathers quivering. She didn’t trust him. But how could he blame her when he didn’t trust himself?

  Snatching the signed documents, Mr. McCulloch stuffed them inside his satchel and bid them good evening as he charged out of the parlor, yelling over his shoulder that he would see himself out.

  Miss Channing held the banknote out to Luke. He tugged on it. She wouldn’t let go. Her gaze skittered from him to Noah, then Marianne. Her chest rose and fell beneath the lace trim of her saffron gown. Finally she relinquished it into his hand, following it with her eyes all the way into Luke’s waistcoat pocket.

  But what was one thousand dollars to the great Channing merchant business? Surely she had plenty more where that came from.

  Grabbing her reticule and fan, Cassandra embraced Marianne, thanked Noah, and headed toward the foyer as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. She halted at the parlor door and turned to address him. “I should like to come see the ship when she’s ready to sail.”

  Luke gave her a mock bow. “I am at your service.”

  Miss Channing’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Marianne broke the tension, moving to her friend’s side and weaving her arm through Cassandra’s.

  After the ladies departed, Noah gave Luke that same look of reprimand he’d often given him as captain aboard the Defender.

  Ignoring him, as he always had, Luke sauntered toward the service table and lifted the bottle of Madeira. “May I?”

  “No sooner do you promise Miss Channing you’ll avoid alcohol, than you run straight for a drink.”

  “I am not at sea.” He lifted his goblet. The sweet wi
ne soured as it slid down his throat.

  “Perhaps one day you’ll learn to handle life’s afflictions without numbing your senses.”

  Luke raised his brows. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “It doesn’t take away the pain.”

  “No, but it dulls it enough to bear.”

  Noah crossed his arms over his chest. “Do right by her, Luke.”

  Luke met his stern gaze. He had every intention of honoring their agreement. But what he wouldn’t tell his friend was that no matter how hard he tried, Luke could not guarantee that he wouldn’t fail her as he had everyone else in his life.

  “I probably shouldn’t inform you of this, but”—Noah nodded toward the note in Luke’s pocket—“that’s all the money Miss Channing has left in the world.”

  Luke shrank back. “What of her brothers? The Channing merchantmen?”

  “Gone—both her brothers and the ships.” Noah sat back down on the settee and stretched his legs out before him. “The brothers to Canada to fight and the ships sold to provide for the family in their absence. You didn’t hear?”

  Luke shook his head. “No doubt they’ll return soon.”

  “Perhaps.” Noah scratched his jaw. “Perhaps not. Who knows with this mad war?”

  Luke poured himself another glass. His gut churned. Taking money from a rich merchant was one thing, but taking all the lady had was quite another. Didn’t she know he was not dependable? Of course she did. It was why she had hesitated, why she had demanded he refrain from drink. Luke slammed the Madeira toward the back of his throat. He hated responsibility, avoided it as much as possible. Then why did it always seem to find him?

  “You are now the only one keeping Miss Channing and her family from poverty.” Noah’s sobering declaration rang through the room like a ship’s beat to quarters before a battle.

  “You should have warned her.”

  “Perhaps. But I have a feeling God has caused this arrangement with Miss Channing. That in some way, the association will lead you both to your destiny.”

  With a huff of frustration, Luke faced his friend. “Don’t include me in your mad prophecies. There is no divine destiny for men like me.”