Copyright
ISBN 1-59310-105-8
Copyright © 2003 by Cathy Marie Hake. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
One
Virginia, October 1860
“Aye, now, you’re a beauty, to be sure.” Duncan O’Brien reached out and caressed the sleek hull. Sawdust, pine tar, and salty air mingled to add to the sense of rightness. He’d just come back from a voyage and resolutely seen to the usual captain’s duties before hastening here. Newcomb Shipping boasted a shipyard all its own. The vessel currently under construction would belong to him.
“We’re making good progress,” John Newcomb, his much older brother-in-law commented as he slapped an open palm against a sturdy-looking bulwark.
Duncan moved about the dry dock with ease, sidestepping piles of lumber, ducking when wenched loads swung overhead, and striding up a plank to reach the deck. John followed right behind him.
Duncan looked about and grinned. “You were modest in saying you’ve made good progress. She’s at least a month ahead of schedule!”
“It’ll be a few months yet ere she’s seaworthy. The framework is sound, and the men tell me the timber is cooperative. Old Kemper declares the last time he had a ship put itself together this easily was when he built it inside a bottle.”
“Old Kemper? If he says so, that makes it even more remarkable.” Duncan didn’t bother to hide his smile. The master shipbuilder had cultivated a reputation for being surly. Indeed he had scowling down to a fine art. In the fifty years he’d been in charge of shipbuilding, Kemper winnowed through many a carpenter to form the team that strove for perfection. As a result, Newcomb Shipping earned local fame for the vessels they turned out. Duncan reverently traced a joist. “This lady is a work of art.”
“You’d be one to recognize that fact.” John clapped a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “I doubt any other captain ever spent half as much time with the construction part of the trade.”
“I paid my dues.” Duncan nodded with mock solemnity. “It cost me half a licorice rope. The day I shared that rope, Old Kemper transformed into the best mentor a landlubber boy ever met.”
John’s eyes widened. “Is that what softened the crusty old man?”
“You tellin’ tales again?” Old Kemper swaggered up. He shook his finger at Duncan. “How am I to command my men effectively if you reveal my weakness?”
“You earned their respect. That’s all you need.” Duncan slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out a twist of paper. He palmed it to Kemper when they shook hands.
“You’re a good man, Duncan O’Brien.” Old Kemper made no attempt to conceal his gift. He tugged open an end of the paper, popped one of the dime-sized, chewy, black candy “coins” into his mouth, and twisted the paper shut once again. As he tucked the remainder of the licorice into his vest pocket without offering to share, he added, “And I’m not.”
They toured the vessel and inspected every last inch. Afterward the three men headed toward the office. Once they finished reviewing the blueprints, Kemper hobbled off. John knocked his knuckles on the plans that lay across his desk. “You’ll need to come up with a name for her soon.”
“I seem to recall you didn’t determine a name for the Contentment until the day before she was christened. I figure the right name will come to me in time.”
“Well, well. I see you’ve truly outgrown your impulsiveness,” John teased as he rolled up the plans and secured them in his desk.
“Probably not entirely. The responsibilities of captaining your grand vessels and crews have taught me the wisdom of paying consideration to actions and weighing decisions instead of trying to patch up mistakes. The ocean is apt to claim souls for any errors.”
“Anticipating and solving problems in advance is a lesson a man learns more than once.” John glanced at the clock in the corner. “Speaking of learning lessons—I know better than to disappoint my wife when she plans a special family supper. The last few evenings, I’ve had meetings. We’d best get going.”
Duncan hefted his duffel bag and accompanied his brother-in-law out of the office. Duncan was a man who straddled two lives. One foot belonged aboard a deck; the other belonged on land where a loving family welcomed him with open arms. He counted himself blessed—a man couldn’t hope for more than to be at ease with his family and his calling.
❧
Brigit Murphy heard a giggle. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Trudy a questioning look.
“I tied me pinafore a wee bit tighter.” Trudy proceeded to dampen her fingertips and smooth back a few stray wisps of her ginger-colored hair. “Miss Emily’s brother just got home, and I’m wanting to look my best for him.”
Brigit shook her head in disbelief. What would make a simple maid like Trudy think a man of distinction might give a fleeting thought to courting her? Such thinking led to pure folly.
Trudy had hired on only a month before her, but she was younger and of a more outgoing nature.
“Trudy, no maid ever keeps a position once her reputation comes under scrutiny,” Brigit whispered, “even when ’tisn’t her fault. Please—”
Trudy’s lips pushed into a spoiled moue. “Oh, your mood’s as black as your hair. You wouldn’t be such a stick-in-the-mud if you knew Miss Emily was a cleaning woman afore she married Mr. John. What’s wrong with a girl like me wishing for the same good luck? Besides, once you see this strapping man, you’ll be trying to catch his attention, too. Why, Duncan O’Brien’s the most dashing sea captain a lass ever saw!”
“I’m not about to chase after a man. Go on ahead and set your own cap for him.”
Trudy waggled her brows. “Not that I’d mind catching the likes of Miss Emily’s brother, but what cap?”
Laughter bubbled out of Brigit. The lady of the house didn’t make her staff wear caps. In fact, Miss Emily didn’t dress her maids in black, either. Shrugging at convention, Miss Emily ran her home in a unique manner. Cornflower blue dresses and rotating work assignments kept the maids a merry bunch. None of the maids held a permanent assignment—Brigit was just as likely to be asked to polish the silver or sweep out a grate as she was to be dusting the master’s bedchamber or minding the children. In fact, in the two weeks Brigit had been employed here, she’d seen Miss Emily don an apron and teach her oldest two daughters how to bake bread!
Taking care to tie her ruffled serving pinafore rather loosely, Brigit hummed appreciatively at the aroma filling the air as Cook opened the oven. Roast beef. Until she’d come to work here, Brigit hadn’t tasted roast in at least four years. Another of the Newcombs’ quirks was that the staff enjoyed the same entrees as the family. Miss Emily said it made for less work for the cook, but everyone knew better. The staff adored their mistress and took pleasure in telling Brigit from the very first day that Miss Emily once held a job as a lowly servant and never assumed airs. Clearly she commanded her household by dint of affection, and it ran seamlessly.
Brigit knew the details of running a large mansion. As a landowner’s daughter back in Ireland, she’d been reared with the expectation that she’d wed a well-to-do gent
leman and manage his home. Mum saw to training her well. Then the famine hit. The blight on the crops rated as a horrible disaster, but Da always subscribed to the revelation of Joseph’s dream in the Old Testament and saved for lean times. Year after year things worsened. Farmers left for the New World. Many of the house servants were wives, sisters, and daughters who went along. Brigit and Mum took over the chores.
Never once had they bemoaned the change in circumstances. Saint Paul’s words from the fourth chapter of Philippians became the Murphy family’s credo: “For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Even now, after they’d come to America and her parents lived in a tenement, Brigit willingly took on the role of a servant. She felt God’s presence in her life and counted her blessings. Tonight one of those blessings would be roast beef.
Trudy nudged her. “Just you wait and see. Now that Duncan O’Brien is home, there’ll be a parade of eligible girls coming through the door. He usually manages to talk Mr. John into sending him off on a voyage when the ladies start batting their lashes at him.” She pinched her cheeks to bring up some color. “It’ll be different this time.”
Cook started carving the roast and missed Trudy’s primping actions. “Aye, that it will,” she said. “Trudy, dish up the carrots. Brigit, grab the pitcher of milk.” As if she hadn’t given the instructions, she continued. “I heard Miss Emily tell Mr. John it’s high time she found her brother a wife.”
Goodhew, the butler, wagged his finger. “Keep quiet about him for now. Mr. John wanted Duncan’s arrival to be a surprise for Miss Emily.”
Cook batted away Goodhew’s finger and gave him a peck on the cheek. Anywhere else in the house, they conducted themselves according to their station; but in the kitchen, they switched back into a happily married couple. “It won’t be much of a surprise. I had Fiona set a place at the table for Duncan.”
Goodhew tugged on his coat sleeve. “Miss Emily will be so busy attending the children, she won’t notice an extra plate. Mark my word, as long as no one says a thing, she’ll be surprised.”
Cook picked up her carving knife again. “Be that as it may, the real surprise will be on that young man. If he sets sail again without being pledged to marry, I’ll polish every last piece of silver in this house myself.”
Trudy and the other maid, Lee, exchanged looks. “Who do you think—”
Brigit took the milk and gladly escaped to the dining room. She didn’t want to overhear the gossip. Then again, she did. In an odd way everyone on the Newcomb estate was like a family. Oh, to be sure, she knew it wasn’t anything close to the truth—but the kindhearted close-knit group of servants had made her feel welcome at once. Aye, and Miss Emily never once said a harsh word. More telling still—Miss Emily herself usually minded the children, but if she was busy, she directed Brigit to look after the lasses. The Lord’s way of providing this position for her couldn’t be more clear. A few tales wouldn’t be harmful, but Brigit didn’t want to risk stepping over the line and jeopardizing her job.
“Dinner is served,” Brigit overheard Goodhew say. She quickly finished pouring a glass of milk, then scooted to the side and kept her back to the wall. She’d learned the Newcomb tribe didn’t waste time reaching the table. At eleven, Titus had the gangly legs of a pony. He galloped in ahead of six-year-old Phillip. Both had their mother’s bright red hair. The five-year-old twins bumped into each other as they spilled through the doorway. June shrieked, and Julie giggled. They scrambled into their seats while Anna Kathleen and Lily tried to make more ladylike appearances. At thirteen and ten, they’d both just been warned to act less like hooligans, or their father threatened to cut off their lovely dark brown curls so they’d look like boys. Timothy came in, somber as a priest. At fourteen, he seemed far older than his years. Miss Emily smoothly swiped the book he carried and set it on the buffet before Goodhew seated her. Mr. John came in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then took his own seat.
“I’m so glad you made it to supper tonight,” Miss Emily said, smiling at her husband.
“Are you glad I made it to supper, too?” a deep voice asked from the doorway.
Miss Emily let out a cry of delight, popped up, and dashed over to the tall young man. His auburn curls picked up the lamplight and looked like polished copper. Laughter shone in his bright blue eyes. He lifted Emily and swung her around, then set her down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That makes it official. I’m home.”
As he dragged another chair over to the table, Duncan started teasing the children. “I have things in my duffel bag, but only for kids who eat their vegetables.”
Trudy brought in the carrots, Cook delivered the roast, and the other two maids followed in their wake with a basket of hot rolls and braised potatoes. Brigit filled the rest of the children’s glasses and turned to leave, but the stranger halted her motion by resting his large, rough hand on her wrist. Startlingly blue eyes twinkled at her.
Duncan wore the smile of a rascal. “Don’t I get any milk?”
Is he teasing me? She pasted on an uncertain smile. “If you’re wanting some, Sir.”
“Aye. Some say ’tis a drink for the young, but it suits me just fine.”
As she reached for his glass, Brigit wondered why he drank milk, of all things. It must not be an unusual thing, after all, because when Fiona had set Duncan O’Brien’s place at the table, she’d provided him with a glass as well as a coffee cup.
“Brigit,” Miss Emily said merrily, “that’s my little brother, Duncan, back from a voyage. He’s a bit of a scamp and a tease at times, but he truly does like milk.”
Duncan’s brows lifted. “Little brother? Emily, you may be older, but you’re the minnow in the family net.”
While everyone at the table chattered, Brigit poured milk for the handsome sea captain and scurried back into the kitchen.
Trudy stood in the middle of the kitchen with her hands theatrically clasped over her heart. “Oh, just the sight of him makes me heart flutter. That man can sweep me off me feet any day.”
Unaccustomed to the familiarity the staff displayed toward the family, Brigit busied herself with washing some pots and pans. Lee grabbed a dish towel and started drying. Cook came over and slipped another pan into the sink and let out a sigh. “You lasses keep an eye on Trudy. She wouldn’t know proper conduct if she tripped on it, and she’s liable to make a ninny of herself over Duncan.”
“She wouldn’t be the first woman ever to do that,” Lee whispered.
“No, she wouldn’t, but the others have stood a faint chance of actually qualifying as wife material. They all hailed from good families—not from the servants’ quarters.”
Brigit didn’t marvel that women were attracted to Duncan’s fine looks and rakish smile. Aye, and he’d be a good provider, too. He’d be a fine fellow for a lass to contemplate marrying, but any man who captained a vessel wouldn’t be the type to sit back and let others do his matchmaking.
Miss Emily qualified as a force with which to be reckoned, and she had her mind set to play Cupid. If Duncan were half as adamant to remain single, things would be downright entertaining around the Newcomb estate.
Trudy primped in front of the tiny mirror over the washstand. “I mightn’t be a ravishing beauty, but plenty a man’s told me I’m fair pretty. Me mum always said, ‘All’s fair in love and war.’ ”
Lee snorted. “You’d best count on war, not love, Trudy.”
Cook propped her hands on her ample hips and scowled. “You’ll not be dallying with Duncan, do you hear me? It’s not proper, and this is a proper home. Miss Emily’s determined to marry her brother off to a nice young lady, and he deserves more than a servant who can’t read her own name.”
Brigit nodded her agreement. God was no respecter of persons,
but man surely was. Common sense dictated a man of Duncan O’Brien’s station wed a woman whose abilities allowed her to be his helpmeet. Servants were servants, even in America. Brigit Murphy expected no prince to sweep her anywhere. She grabbed the broom and set to work. The only thing getting swept around her was the floor.
Two
“I’ll likely be here for three weeks, if you can stand me,” Duncan answered his sister’s query. “I need to see about several of the details on the ship.”
“Which ship?” June asked.
“The ship he’s building with Old Kemper,” Titus scoffed. “Everyone knows the ship that’s most important to a man is the one he calls his own.”
Duncan shook his head. “Nae, Lad. The most important ship to a man is the one he’s captaining at any given moment. He’s responsible for all souls on board, whether or not the papers say the vessel belongs to him.”
John stared at Timothy, Titus, and Phillip. “You boys heed your uncle Duncan’s words. That sense of responsibility and duty are why he’s the youngest captain in my fleet.”
“Dad, I want to go on a voyage,” Timothy declared. “It’s well past time.”
“Me, too,” Titus chimed in. “Uncle Duncan was going to sea by the time he was eleven.”
Duncan gave the boys a long, hard look. “’Twas a different time and different circumstances.” He didn’t enlarge on the particulars. The family took care not to make references to the period surrounding Timothy’s birth. Duncan had been a wee lad, but he’d had to grow up fast. With Emily working all hours to provide for them, he’d tried to help his dying sister, Anna, with her baby son until John rescued them all.
A faint red crept from Timothy’s neck up to his hairline. Though his nephew never said a word about it, Duncan knew he was sensitive about the fact that his mother’s marriage to John’s brother, Edward, had been a sham; and his own birth eventually cost his mother her life.
Duncan cleared his throat and winked. “I’ve been talking to your father.” He glanced at John. John was really Timothy’s uncle; but for the sake of ease and love, he and Emily called themselves his parents. “I’ve tried to convince him to let the both of you go out with me on a voyage.”
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