Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  Not waiting for an answer, Cassandra brushed past Mrs. Northrop and stormed into the parlor.

  And found Mr. Heaton perched on the sofa across from her mother.

  She sat as though a pole had been inserted into her spine. Her expression matched her stiff posture. The air thinned in Cassandra’s lungs. She closed her eyes for a second then opened them, expecting a new scene to appear in her vision rather than the one that made no sense at all.

  Before she could inquire as to what was going on, Darlene leapt from the chair beside her mother’s and flew to Cassandra. “Cassie, Cassie!”

  Kneeling, Cassandra pulled the girl into her arms and showered her neck with kisses then nudged her back to examine her. No cuts or bruises and only a few stains and tears on her gown. Cassandra’s anger returned. “Where have you been? I was so worried.”

  Mr. Heaton rose from his seat as if to explain. His presence filled the room and ignited a tempest in her belly.

  Ignoring him, Cassandra focused on her sister.

  “I’m sorry, Cassie.” Darlene thrust out her bottom lip. “I went to get Dr. Wilson for Hannah.”

  “Can you imagine, all by herself?” Cassandra’s mother whined. “Oh, my poor head.” She batted the air around her with her handkerchief.

  Darlene sniffed and lowered her chin, but Cassandra wasn’t buying her sister’s penitent act. An act Cassandra had perfected when she was Darlene’s age. Standing, she straightened her shoulders. She would have to deal with her sister later.

  “Mr. Heaton, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked. “Tell me you didn’t lose the ship. I fear I cannot stand any further disasters tonight.”

  “Quite the contrary.” His smile was sincere, lacking its usual sarcasm.

  “He saved me, Cassie.” Darlene slid her hand in Cassandra’s and dragged her to the sofa.

  Where Mr. Heaton stood.

  Too close. Cassandra could smell the sea on him, along with wood and rum and something else that curled her nose. She retreated a step and laid a hand on the back of a chair for support.

  “I was kidnapped! You should have seen him make quick work of that villain.” Darlene scrunched her face into an evil twist.

  “I had a bit of help.” Mr. Heaton chuckled.

  Cassandra’s brows drew together at the affectionate exchange that passed between them. “What vill—”

  “Oh, it truly was quite heroic, Mr. Heaton.” Her mother’s words did not match the look of suspicion she cast his way. “We are deeply in your debt.” She picked up her bell. The strident ding ding ding only added to Cassandra’s befuddlement.

  Mr. Heaton bowed. “My pleasure, madam.”

  Circling the chair, Cassandra sank into it before her legs gave out. Mrs. Northrop entered with a tray of tea and her mother’s tonic.

  Darlene inched to stand beside Cassandra’s chair. “I got lost, Cassie, and then this evil man grabbed me.” She demonstrated by clutching her arm, eyes wide. “He told me he was taking me to be his daughter.”

  “Oh my.” Cassandra leaned forward, hand covering her mouth.

  “Then Mr. Heaton fought him off.”

  “He did?” Cassandra lifted her gaze to Mr. Heaton. A grin quirked his lips.

  “Then I threw a rock at him.” Darlene flung her hand in the air.

  “Such behavior for a young lady,” her mother said with scorn as Mrs. Northrop poured tonic into her tea and handed her the cup.

  “Your sister has quite the aim. She struck him square on the head.” Luke lowered himself to the sofa. “Reminded me of someone else.”

  “Oh, to think how close we came to losing you.” Cassandra’s mother sipped her tea then set the cup down as her eyes misted over. She beckoned to Darlene and the girl dashed into her embrace.

  As Mr. Heaton smiled at the scene, Cassandra allowed herself a longer glance his way. Dirt marred his breeches and waistcoat, while black smudges lined his once-white shirt. Gunpowder? Strands of loose hair spilled from his tie, while at least two days’ stubble peppered his chin. His rugged masculinity stole the breath from her lungs. Indeed, he looked more like a pirate than a privateer. No wonder her mother was swooning so.

  Waving Mrs. Northrop’s offer of tea aside with a No, thank you, Cassandra attempted an even tone, despite the torrent of emotions spinning within her. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing in town, Mr. Heaton.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his blue eyes sparking. “I have good news.”

  Cassandra swallowed. She needed good news. Mr. Dayle appeared in the doorway. “Hannah is asking for you, Mrs. Channing.”

  “Oh, good.” Cassandra’s mother rose from her chair and took Darlene’s hand.

  Hannah. Renewed fear swamped Cassandra. She jumped from her seat. “How is she?” Cassandra started for the parlor doors then turned. “Forgive me, Mr. Heaton, but I’m afraid we cannot entertain guests at the moment. My other sister is quite ill.”

  Her mother gave her a reassuring look. “Never fear, Dr. Wilson is with her now, dear.”

  Cassandra stared at her in disbelief. “But we can’t aff … How?”

  Her mother waved her handkerchief in Mr. Heaton’s direction. “Mr. Heaton brought him along with the medicines she needs.”

  Cassandra flinched, shifting her gaze between her mother and Mr. Heaton. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Heaton will explain it to you.” She turned to face him. “Good evening to you, sir. We are very grateful for your kindness. Mr. Dayle will see you out.”

  Cassandra cringed at her mother’s tone—a tone she used to dismiss servants. “In a moment, Mother. I wish to speak to Mr. Heaton before he leaves.”

  The matron of the house pinched her lips as she raked Mr. Heaton with one of her disapproving glances. “Very well. Mr. Dayle, please stand by. Darlene, come.” She tugged upon the girl, who cast a final grin over her shoulder at Mr. Heaton.

  Mr. Dayle took up a spot just outside the open parlor doors.

  Cassandra spun around to face Mr. Heaton. “I am all astonishment, sir.”

  “I hear that quite often.” His gaze assessed her.

  “But rarely as a compliment, I’m sure.” Cassandra bit her lip, unsure why she was playing the insolent shrew when this man had saved her sister’s life.

  But he seemed to take no offense. Instead, he cocked his head and grinned. “Then can I assume your meaning was of the rare kind?”

  “Indeed.” Cassandra made her way back to her chair. “I cannot thank you enough for saving Darlene.”

  “Do all the Channing women wander about the streets at night?”

  “Not all.” Cassandra fingered the mahogany carving on the back of the chair.

  He took a step toward her. “When she struck the villain with a rock, I had no doubt she was your relation.” Humor rang in his voice.

  Cassandra couldn’t help but chuckle. “Indeed, I fear Darlene is far too much like me.” She gazed up at him and her knees weakened. Weaving around the chair, she quickly slipped onto its soft cushion for fear of falling. “You brought the doctor. How did you know?”

  “Darlene told me about her sister. And being familiar with Dr. Wilson, I took the liberty of calling on him. Then together we interrupted the apothecary’s evening meal so he could prepare the proper medicines.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I will repay you, of course.”

  “There is no need.”

  “I do not take charity, Mr. Heaton.”

  “You won’t have to anymore.”

  Luke reached inside his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a piece of foolscap. Unfolding it, he pressed it on the table. He watched her, anxious to see her reaction at the numbers scribbled across it and totaled at the bottom.

  He couldn’t help but watch her.

  Her demeanor, her expressions, her words all combined into a fascinating play being acted out before him—a play in which numerous actors skittered across the stage of her eyes. How he lon
ged to see admiration make its debut, perhaps, dare he hope, even ardor.

  She examined the paper. Her eyes widened then narrowed in confusion.

  Luke could contain himself no longer. “I captured a prize.”

  She looked up at him. “I see that.” She shook her head, sending her red curls dancing. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to appear so surprised, Miss Channing.” He laughed.

  “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

  Luke reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a leather sack. Untying it, he counted out her share and laid it on the table.

  Miss Channing’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly. She picked up the notes and stared at them as if they were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. “Ten thousand dollars.” Her eyes met his, shimmering emeralds. “I cannot believe it.”

  Luke swallowed down his own emotion and pointed to the document. “We caught the British merchantman Hawk and sold her and her entire cargo in Wilmington for one hundred thousand dollars. US customs took twenty thousand, and I split half of the remainder among the crew. I took my share and that leaves you ten thousand.” He pointed to the final number on the document.

  “I heard privateering was lucrative, but I had no idea just how lucrative. Do you know what this means to me, Mr. Heaton?” Now, finally, admiration made an appearance in those green eyes. The sight of it set Luke aback, initiating a torrent of feelings he dared not entertain.

  He cleared his throat. “I cannot promise you this amount on each voyage. I was lucky. Many privateers sail for months before acquiring a prize.”

  She smiled, a genuine, unassuming smile that showered him in warmth. “Where is Destiny now?”

  “In Elizabeth City to the south. We found anchorage there and purchased horses for the two-day ride to Baltimore.”

  Miss Channing sifted through the bills, shaking her head as if she still didn’t believe her eyes. She attempted to speak but her voice choked.

  Luke grabbed his hat from the arm of the sofa. “I should allow you to attend to your younger sister. I was sorry to hear of her illness.” He didn’t want to go—could easily sit here all night staring at Miss Channing—but remembering her mother’s curt invitation to leave, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

  Miss Channing led him to the front door. Opening it, she followed him outside onto the porch. A blast of evening wind gusted over them, enveloping him in her sweet scent of gardenias. He faced her, light from a lantern hanging on the porch sparkling in her eyes.

  She smiled again. “You smell like rum.” Her tone was playful, yet accusing.

  Luke cocked a brow. “Yes, I had one drink, my first in nearly three months.”

  Disbelief shadowed her face. Then taking a step back, she wrinkled her nose.

  He shuffled his boots over the porch, suddenly wishing he’d had time to clean up before seeing her. “My apologies. I just rode into town a few hours ago.”

  “Quite all right, Mr. Heaton. How long will you be staying?”

  “A few weeks. The crew needs a rest. They’ll get restless when their pockets are empty again.” He glanced over the city, blanketed in darkness, then back at her.

  “And you, when will you get restless again?” One side of her lips curved slightly as her gaze probed him.

  Which gave him the impetus to toy with her. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  If you’ll allow me to court you, spend time with you, get to know you. “If I have some reason to stay.” When concern creased her face, Luke regretted his bold words.

  Their footman, still standing in the foyer, glanced his way. “You have saved me and my family, Mr. Heaton.” Her tone had regained its metallic formality. “For that I will be eternally grateful. If I can ever help you, please don’t hesitate to call.” Luke took her hand in his and eased her back toward him, longing to regain a trace of her former tenderness. She trembled and her breath hastened. Was she as affected by him as he was by her? Only one way to find out. He lowered himself to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps a kiss of gratitude?”

  Tugging her hand from his, she retreated into the house. “Good evening, Mr. Heaton.”

  And slammed the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 14

  Flinging open the damask curtains, Cassandra rubbed her eyes and squinted at the radiant glow of dawn. Pulling her robe tight about her waist, she studied the morning breeze dancing through the leaves of the maple and birch trees outside her window. She’d hardly slept a wink the past two nights. In fact, with candle in hand, she’d crept down to the solarium more than once to check on the ten thousand dollars she’d hidden in her father’s chest. If only to reassure herself that she hadn’t dreamt up receiving the fortune from Mr. Heaton.

  One thing she knew for sure, however, was that she hadn’t dreamt up the rake’s inappropriate request for a kiss. Outrage consumed her at the memory. How dare he treat her like one of his common wenches, as if he could purchase her affections with the toss of a coin! She reached up and brushed her fingers over her neck. Then why had her insides melted at the waft of his warm breath over her skin? And her stomach flutter as if a thousand fireflies flew within it?

  No doubt it was just the excitement of receiving so much wealth. In one night, her life had gone from poverty, sickness, and shame, to life, health, and a promising future.

  All because of the town rogue.

  The door opened and Margaret slipped inside humming her favorite hymn. Strands of black hair sprang from her mobcap. “Oh miss, I didn’t know you’d arisen.” She placed the basin of steaming water on the vanity, then gazed at Cassandra. “Whatever are you thinking, miss? I’ve never seen such a glorious expression on your face.”

  Cassandra shook off the uninvited smile. “Nothing.”

  “Or who were you thinking about? I should say.”

  The heated flush that had begun moments before on Cassandra’s neck moved onto her face. She swung about to face the window.

  Margaret made her way to the bed and began straightening the sheets. “That Mr. Heaton presents a rather handsome figure, does he not?”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Cassandra lied.

  “Then you must be the only lady in town who hasn’t.”

  Cassandra gave her maid a coy smile. “Well, perhaps I have noticed. But what does it matter? You know his reputation as well as I.”

  Margaret finished making the bed and shrugged. “I never put much value in town gossip, miss. Besides, he’s shown you nothing but kindness.”

  “Mother disapproves of him.”

  “And you?” Margaret cocked her head and smiled.

  Cassandra moved to the bed and gripped one of the wooden posts. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Her thoughts drifted to the money, and she lifted her hands to her mouth as tears of relief burned behind her eyes. “We are saved, Margaret. I can hardly believe it!” She hadn’t allowed the reality to settle firmly in her heart. Not yet. Mainly because her thoughts had been consumed with Hannah. What difference would all the money in the world make if Hannah did not survive? Yet, after sitting by her sister’s bedside, spoon-feeding her broth and cooling her forehead with wet rags, Cassandra had watched the little girl finally drift into a peaceful sleep late last night. An hour later, a touch to her forehead indicated her fever had abated.

  Margaret took her hands. “Yes, miss. We are saved.”

  “We have enough money to last us twenty years if need be.”

  “God has been good to you, miss.”

  Cassandra pulled away. “I don’t know why God would bless me in this way but neglect to save my father.” She moved to the chair of her vanity and sat down with a huff.

  “He’s always been with you, miss. He won’t let His children starve. Look what happened to me and Mr. Daley. After our baby died and we had to sell the chandler shop to pay the doctor bills, we would have been living out on the street, begging for food.” Margaret stepped behind her and b
egan unraveling Cassandra’s long braid.

  “I hired you, not God,” Cassandra reminded her.

  “God can use anyone, miss.” Margaret leaned over and smiled at Cassandra in the dressing glass. “Even the town rogue.”

  Cassandra stared at her reflection, longing to believe Margaret’s words, longing to believe that God was still with her and looking out for her—that she wasn’t the only one standing between her family and complete ruin.

  “I checked on Hannah this morning,” Margaret offered as she picked up a brush and began running it through Cassandra’s hair. “She is sleeping soundly. Another blessing from God.” She began humming once again, and the words Cassandra had often heard accompanying the tune chimed in her head.

  Come, thou Fount of every blessing

  Tune my heart to sing Thy grace

  Streams of mercy, never ceasing

  Call for songs of loudest praise …

  After sweeping up Cassandra’s hair and fastening it in place, Margaret stepped toward the armoire and flung open the doors. “What are your plans today, miss?”

  “I’m going into town to pay off all our debts and purchase some much-needed food and supplies.” The thought pleased her immensely. Finally she’d not have to endure the looks of pity cast her way from proprietors and citizens alike. Finally, she could hold her head up high in the knowledge that she was as capable as any man to provide for her family.

  As soon as she finished dressing, Cassandra slipped into the solarium, sat down on her stool, and unlocked her father’s chest. Withdrawing the stack of bills, she placed them in her lap and grabbed her father’s pipe. Drawing it to her nose, she breathed in the spicy scent that always invoked her father’s image with such clarity.

  “Papa, I’ve done it. I’ve provided for the family!” She caressed the bills and pressed the wad against her chest. “I wish you were here to see this. Wouldn’t you be proud of your little girl?”