Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  A kiss. Just like the one he’d given Cassandra. A casual kiss of friendship. That was all it had been. Which would explain the trollop and the fact that Mr. Heaton had not come to call on her in five days. Cassandra felt a hot flush rise up her neck at how silly she had been.

  “What news?” Marianne wrung her hands together.

  Mr. Heaton gave her a reassuring look. “Nothing yet. But I have an acquaintance looking into it. He’ll question them immediately and come here as soon as he discovers anything of note.”

  Marianne nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Luke.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Noah has been a good friend. More like a brother to me.” Mr. Heaton’s jaw tightened, and for a moment Cassandra detected a slight sheen covering his eyes. He cleared his throat. “I see you have family and friends around you.”

  His gaze brushed over Cassandra as he sat in a chair near the doorway and leaned his elbows on his knees.

  Jacob grabbed a lock of Cassandra’s hair and pulled it from its pin. The late afternoon sun cut a sharp angle of glittering dust across the room. It spun in a frenzied dance, mimicking Cassandra’s insides. Why, when she should be focusing on comforting her friend, did the man’s presence affect her so?

  After several moments of silence in which everyone fidgeted uncomfortably, Reverend Drummond turned to Marianne. “Would you like me to pray, Mrs. Brenin?”

  “Yes, very much.” Marianne smiled and she, along with her mother, folded her hands in her lap. The reverend bowed his head. Cassandra did the same, clinging to Jacob, who with thumb in his mouth, now leaned peacefully against her chest.

  “Father, we beseech You to protect Noah Brenin. Be with him wherever he is and put a shield of Your warring angels around him. Bring him home safely to his family. And, Father, protect the men who did get captured. We pray it isn’t Noah and his crew. But if so, Father, help us to …,” he continued, but Cassandra opened her eyes. She wanted to see Mr. Heaton’s reaction to the prayer, but his gaze locked onto hers—a gaze burning with such strong yearning and admiration that she dropped her chin again.

  “Amens” sounded around the room.

  “Thank you, Reverend,” Marianne’s mother said as Mrs. Rebbs brought in a tray of tea and biscuits and set it on the table.

  Reverend Drummond reached over and touched Marianne’s arm. “You must trust God.”

  “I do trust. But I also know that tragedies come our way.”

  Cassandra nodded. She could well attest to that. What she couldn’t fathom was why God allowed such horrible things to happen to His children.

  Jacob began to fuss and she wandered to the window, rocking him in her arms. Outside the shadows cast their nets over the street and houses, capturing the last rays of light and dragging them away. She tickled Jacob beneath the chin. He giggled. Kissing him on the forehead, she inhaled his sweet scent as he tried to put his fingers in her mouth. She clutched his tiny hand. No, she would never understand how a Father could hurt His own child.

  The clank of spoons on china filled the room, even as the scent of mint tickled her nose.

  “Yes, horrible things do happen,” Reverend Drummond said. “We live in a fallen world. But if you’re God’s child, everything serves a purpose—a good purpose. You remember that.”

  Marianne sighed. “Yes. I learned that lesson well when Noah and I were impressed aboard that British frigate.” She gave an embarrassed huff. “You’d think I would never forget.”

  Cassandra turned around to see Mr. Heaton stretching his booted feet out before him and crossing his arms over his chest. “I beg your pardon, Reverend, but no good came out of my being impressed in the Royal Navy save a sore back and a starving belly.”

  As if just now noticing Mr. Heaton’s presence, Jacob stretched out his arms toward him, nearly leaping from Cassandra’s arms.

  Rising, Mr. Heaton made his way to her, but his eyes were on the boy.

  “Much good came out of that, Luke.” Marianne handed a cup of tea to Reverend Drummond. “You were there. We saved the USS Constitution.”

  Luke’s blue eyes met Cassandra’s—a trace of sorrow in them—before he took Jacob from her arms, flung the boy into the air, and returned to his seat. “Happenstance. The right place at the right time. That’s all it was.”

  Cassandra watched as he set Jacob’s feet on the floor and then held onto his hands to help him stand. His faith was even more depleted than hers. But what did she expect from a man who possessed no morals?

  “Exactly.” The reverend slapped his knee. “The right place at the right time. Hardly feasible unless there’s a God controlling things, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Heaton?”

  Mr. Heaton’s face hardened like granite. He placed Jacob’s hands on his knees for support then released him. “No, I would not, sir. I cannot believe that. Otherwise it would force me to accept that God is a monster.”

  “Oh my. How can you say such a thing, Luke?” Marianne’s mother gasped.

  Marianne stared at him while Reverend Drummond flattened his lips. But the reverend’s eyes filled with love, not the anger Cassandra had expected. “You have suffered much, Mr. Heaton. But those who have suffered much are destined for much.” He smiled and sipped his tea.

  Jacob wobbled and plopped to the ground on his bottom. Before he could whine, Luke swung him into his lap. “Destined for what, Reverend, more suffering?” No bitterness spiked his tone, just a defeat that made Cassandra sad.

  “We have all suffered,” Marianne’s mother said quietly.

  Mr. Heaton’s gaze shot her way and his expression softened. “Indeed.”

  Up until now, Cassandra had not considered that Mr. Heaton had suffered overmuch. Yet, she seemed to recall that his parents had been murdered by Indians some years ago.

  Marianne passed Cassandra a cup of tea. Her friend’s hand trembled. Taking it from her, Cassandra sat beside her, pondering the suffering they all had endured.

  Reverend Drummond scratched his beard. “God’s destiny is never bad. But it is good and acceptable and perfect just as Paul says in Romans 12:2.”

  Marianne slid her hand inside Cassandra’s as she said, “You speak the truth, Reverend. I have seen God’s destiny in action. His plans are good.” Her glance took in everyone in the room. “They don’t always make sense at the time, but in the end they are always good. A very astute young boy said to me once that since I didn’t know the end of the story, how could I know if the things that were happening to me were good or bad?”

  Reverend Drummond smiled.

  Confusion rampaged through Cassandra’s mind. How could her father’s death and her brothers’ disappearance bring anything good to her and her family? When she looked up, she saw that Mr. Heaton seemed to be having an equally difficult time accepting Marianne’s statement.

  Jacob flung his arms about Luke’s neck. The bewilderment slipped from his face. He smiled at the lad and allowed him to pull strands of black hair from his tie.

  “It’s a lovely thought, Marianne,” Cassandra said. “But I have yet to see it played out in my life.”

  The reverend set down his cup. “You must believe God is good and that He rewards those who diligently seek Him. And you must seek Him, Miss Channing, with your whole heart.”

  Mr. Heaton snorted and stood.

  Cassandra sipped the bitter tea, glancing at the tray for sugar but finding none. She hadn’t sought God, yet she’d been rewarded nonetheless with more than enough money to pay off her debts and care for her family. Was life merely just happenstance? Just a thread of chaotic events? Or were there reasons for everything that happened? A plan? A purpose?

  Yet another knock on the door brought Marianne once again to her feet. Mr. Sorens ushered in a young man dressed in a checkered shirt, pea jacket, and oiled blue trousers. The scent of fish filled the room. His eyes locked with Mr. Heaton’s then glanced over the others. He smoothed down his unruly hair as if suddenly conscious of his appearance.

  �
�William.” Reverend Drummond greeted the man as if they were old friends.

  Mr. Heaton shifted Jacob to his other arm. “By all means, Mr. Yates, do you have news of Noah Brenin?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Luke eyed the sailor, who seemed as out of place in the Brenin parlor as a pirate at a cotillion. Yet his fear for Noah’s fate overcame his patience. “Spill it, man, what news?”

  “Ah, yes.” The sailor grinned. “I have good news. The ship that was caught by the Brits was the Rover, not the Defender.”

  “Praise God!” Reverend Drummond shouted, leaping to his feet.

  Marianne swayed as if she might faint, and Miss Channing helped her to sit back down on the sofa. Clutching her throat, Marianne released a breath. “God is good.”

  “Amen,” her mother added.

  As relief poured through him, Luke thanked the sailor, who dipped his head and spun on his heels as if anxious to leave the cultured surroundings.

  “I best be going as well.” Reverend Drummond searched for his hat. “I’ve got business to attend to.” Anticipating the request, Mr. Sorens appeared around the corner, Reverend Drummond’s hat in hand. Grabbing it with his thanks, the reverend called out after the sailor. “I’ll walk with you, lad.” Turning, he bid them all adieu, received Marianne’s heartfelt thanks, and then left the sitting room. Luke could hear Mr. Drummond slapping the sailor on the back with a chuckle as they closed the front door behind them. Did the reverend hold such close acquaintance with everyone in town?

  Marianne’s mother rose and crossed the room to sit beside her daughter. She drew her into an embrace and together they half sobbed, half laughed, while Miss Cassandra gazed on with moist eyes. The tension that had kept the air in the room as stagnant as the doldrums released in a flurry of joy.

  “Well, that saves me the trouble of having to go rescue him.” Luke winked at Cassandra then knelt and set Jacob on the floor, holding him up by his hands. The boy attempted a step on his own. His wide grin, sporting three teeth and a stream of drool, melted Luke’s heart. John was about the same age when Luke had taken over his care. Oh, how he wished he could go back in time and be a better father to the boy.

  But God did not give second chances.

  Marianne sat up and dabbed her handkerchief beneath her eyes. “He’ll be walking before you know it.”

  “Indeed. They grow up fast.” Luke’s eyes landed on Miss Channing, who stared at him with an odd mixture of surprise and admiration. He warmed beneath her gaze, which she quickly swept to the window, where encroaching shadows had absconded with the light.

  “When do you sail out, Luke?” Marianne asked.

  “I leave for Elizabeth City tomorrow. I sent my crew ahead two days ago to prepare the ship.”

  Marianne’s mother gripped the arms of the chair as she struggled to rise. “My goodness, the night has overtaken us unawares. I must bathe Jacob before supper.”

  “I will help you, Mother.” Marianne made her way to Luke. With great reluctance, he relinquished the young boy. And apparently the feeling was mutual as Jacob whimpered and held out his hands toward Luke.

  “Please be careful, Luke.” Marianne clutched Jacob’s hands to settle him. “And if you see Noah”—she looked down with a coy smile—“well, you know what to tell him.”

  Luke nodded.

  “Oh my.” Marianne turned to Miss Channing. “However will you get home in the dark?” Yet Luke caught the tiny smile peeking from the corners of her mouth.

  Miss Channing stood and lifted her chin. “I am quite capable of finding my own way.”

  “Nonsense,” Marianne’s mother scoffed as she moved to her daughter’s side.

  “I would be happy to escort you, Miss Channing,” Luke offered, ignoring the war within him—between his desire to spend time with this captivating woman and his promise to stay away from her.

  Cassandra opened her mouth to say something, but Marianne held up a hand. “There, now, it is all settled.” She approached Cassandra and touched her arm. “Thank you so much for coming, dear friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I’m so pleased things turned out well.” Cassandra clasped her hands together as if suddenly nervous.

  “Mr. Sorens will see you out.” Then turning, Marianne and her mother, along with a whimpering Jacob, left the room.

  Luke raked a hand through his hair and raised his brows at Cassandra. Offering him nothing but a mere flick of her sharp eyes, she swept past him into the foyer, plucked her bonnet and gloves from a table, and waited for Mr. Sorens to open the door. Luke stepped onto the porch after her.

  “There really is no need, Mr. Heaton.” She tugged on her gloves, despite the muggy air.

  “Nevertheless, I would never forgive myself should something happen to you.” Luke could not explain her sudden stony demeanor. Last week at her house, she’d been kind, agreeable, and even quite complimentary toward him at the dinner table. She’d even allowed him to plant a kiss on her cheek.

  Granted, he’d made himself a promise to avoid her. But now in her presence, he found himself longing to see a spark of ardor beaming from her eyes. Just a glimmer of sentiment would be enough to comfort him on his long sea voyage ahead.

  But she kept her eyes from him as she stormed down the steps and out onto the street before he had a chance to offer her his arm. Lud, what an infuriating woman.

  With only a quarter moon and a smattering of stars to light his way, Luke marched after her, overtaking her halfway down the street. He offered her his arm. “Unless you don’t wish to be seen with me.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. Heaton.”

  “Ah, that’s it then, your reputation has been forever tarnished by our association.” He chuckled, but she did not join in his amusement.

  Instead she shot him a seething glance. “Go back to your trollop, Mr. Heaton.”

  Luke ground his teeth together, suddenly feeling like the cad everyone believed him to be. So, Mr. Crane had followed through with his threat.

  When Luke didn’t answer her, she gave an exasperated huff and hurried down the street. Somewhere, a fiddle played and laughter crackled in the air, but otherwise silence reigned on the city as thick as the night. Rubbing his jaw, Luke followed her at a distance, close enough to keep her firmly in his vision. She blazed forward into the darkness like a wild cougar, a tail of lacy petticoats flailing behind her.

  No, not a cougar, an angel.

  And certainly not one he could ever expect to possess.

  She turned down Baltimore Street. The clip clip of her shoes over the cobblestones echoed off the brick walls of nearby buildings and local watering holes. Music blared from Payne’s Tavern up ahead. Luke knew it well. Why was she traveling this way? Foolish woman. It would be much safer to take the long way around and avoid this section of town.

  Yet still she stormed forward as if she were the indefatigable town rogue, not him. How the lady survived to be five and twenty defied all logic.

  Cassandra charged ahead, only realizing when she’d made it halfway down Baltimore Street that this was not the safest route to take at night. The jangling of a pianoforte, accompanied by a fiddle and raucous discourse, rode upon lantern light bursting from a tavern up ahead. Cursing burned her ears. She glanced over her shoulder, fully expecting to see Mr. Heaton behind her, but he was nowhere to be found. Hadn’t she told him to go back to his trollop?

  Yet she hadn’t expected him to obey her.

  Fear prickled her skin. How could he leave her all alone? Facing forward, she lowered her head and crossed the street, hoping the shadows would hide her until she could make it past the tavern, bustling with patrons, up ahead. Most of whom, she was sure, she did not wish to meet.

  At least she carried no money with her this time. No banknotes. Nothing anyone would want. A shot echoed in the distance, jerking her gaze in that direction. The British? Or was it just a tavern brawl? Clutching her skirts, she quickened her pace, squinting
into the darkness. Moonlight coated the buildings, trees, and cobblestone street in a ghoulish, milky sheen. The sting of alcohol and rain filled her nostrils.

  Across the street, clusters of men hovered under the porch of the tavern, their heated conversations jumbled on the wind.

  She was nearly past them.

  A man barreled down the tavern steps, another on his heels. The first took a swig from a bottle, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and handed it to his friend.

  Cassandra sped to the shadows from a row of buildings up ahead.

  “Hey there, missy!”

  Her heart seized. She started to run.

  “Where ye goin’, missy? Come back here.” The man’s slurred words slinked over her shoulders and slammed into her gut.

  Heavy footfalls pounded the road, growing louder and louder.

  Not again. Cassandra darted forward. When would she learn her lesson?

  “Missy, come join us, eh?” Insidious laughter accompanied the thump of footsteps.

  Perspiration dotted her neck. She heaved a breath. One glance behind told her the two men were gaining. Ducking her head, she raced forward.

  And ran headfirst into a warm, firm body.

  Tar and smoke and wood filled her nostrils. Mr. Heaton. She glanced up, but could barely make out his smile in the darkness. He pushed her behind him then faced the villains and crossed his arms over his chest.

  She peered around his back, her heartbeat steadying, then stepped beside him, fisting her hands on her hips and pasting a look of defiance on her face.

  Her pursuers spotted Mr. Heaton. With wide eyes, they halted, their laughter faltering on their lips.

  “Heaton, what ye doin’ here?” The man’s gaze shifted to Cassandra. She lifted her chin in his direction.

  “The lady is with me, gentlemen.” Mr. Heaton’s stern voice left no room for argument.

  A stream of profanity poured from their mouths. “Come on, Heaton. We was just havin’ some fun. We weren’t goin’ t’ hurt her none.”

  “Watch your language in front of the lady, or you’ll answer to me,” Luke said with authority.