My Heart Belongs in the Shenandoah Valley

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Oh, dear …” Mother’s dark brows knitted a heavy frown.

  Mac perceived problems. “What is it, Mother?”

  “Nothing, dear. Nothing.”

  “It’s something.” Mac arched a brow as an uneasiness crept over him. “Tell me, Mother.”

  “Very well. I won’t mince words.” She inhaled deeply. “Our family is facing hardships.”

  “What?” Mac jerked back. “How can that be?” He paused to think on it. “Certainly, there were losses last year when the British sailed in and occupied Alexandria, but the books were in order when I left.”

  “Ask your father and Prescott, dear. I don’t know all the particulars.”

  “Please.” He took his mother’s hand. “Tell me what you do know.”

  “We’ve dismissed all our household staff except for Pearl.” Sorrow and disappointment weighed down her features, and her dark eyes lost their gleam. “She’s an average cook, and I’m learning. Your father said it’s never too late for a woman to learn her way around a kitchen.”

  Mac couldn’t believe his ears. His mind failed to grasp his mother’s words. “Is this due to the vessels Albright Shipping lost last year when the British invaded Alexandria?”

  “Partly.”

  The truth pressed in on him. “And due to the scandal I caused when I returned home from war.”

  “No one blames you, son.” Mother’s cool fingers gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. “However, you may just be our family’s salvation.”

  “Me? How?”

  “We should wait to discuss this until your father and older brother are present.”

  “I’d rather hear it from you than Prescott to be sure!” Father usually left the dirty work to Mac’s older brother.

  “Gwyneth has a younger sister,” Mother began, referring to Prescott’s wife. “She’s a pleasant enough girl, and—”

  “Stop.” Mac held up a hand. “I know where this is heading.”

  “She has a large dowry.” Her tone indicated she meant to tempt him. “Twenty thousand pounds.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  A little pout pulled at her mouth. “But you’d rescue our family’s shipping business and marry into a family with a good name. Your reputation will be restored. The Albright name will be restored.”

  Mac pushed to his feet. “Mother …”

  “I know you miss Mary. We all do. We loved her too.”

  Mac closed his eyes and steeled himself for the guilt soon to shower over him.

  “Rarely do people marry for love. Marriage is a business arrangement. A partnership. I’ve heard you say so yourself.”

  It was true. Hadn’t he told Lily the same thing not too long ago?

  “I have changed my views on marriage, Mother.” He walked to the cold hearth and propped his elbow on the rich walnut mantel. A breath of early autumn blew in through an open window, fluttering the gold draperies. “I’ve decided I will marry for love. For richer or poorer.”

  “Oh, my soul …” Mother pulled out her fan and waved it frantically in front of her face. “You’re our only hope, Mac. Our salvation.”

  “I’m sure we can find hope elsewhere.”

  “Your father and Prescott have been over and over all our alternatives.”

  “And marrying me off was the best they could come up with?” Mac regretted his harsh tone. “Mother,” he began again, reclaiming his seat beside her. “Don’t upset yourself. Prescott has never been a creative thinker, but now that I’m home, I will help him and Father develop a suitable solution. One we can all live with.”

  Still working up a wind with her silk fan, Mother gave a stiff nod. “I hope so. Our very existence depends on it.”

  What have you been doing with the company’s funds?” Mac ceased his pacing and paused in front of his older brother.

  “None of your business.” Bringing his brandy snifter to his lips, Prescott slammed its contents down his throat.

  Mac’s patience frayed. What the tiring journey from Middletown hadn’t achieved, his older brother’s arrogance was about to. “If I’m to be the company’s ‘salvation,’ as Mother put it, I think I deserve to know why.”

  “You deserve?” Prescott’s hazel eyes darkened. “Ironic that you should choose those words.” He rose from the brown leather chair, a sneer on his lips. “Many in this city think you deserve to hang.”

  “A moot point.” Mac’s blood began to boil. “I was acquitted of all the ridiculous charges the prosecuting court jester dreamed up.”

  “Except they weren’t that ridiculous.” Prescott arched a well-groomed brow.

  Mac turned to his father who, until this moment, had been sitting mutely behind his desk. “I refuse to be tried once more, Father. And by my own brother.”

  “That’s enough, Prescott.” Father’s tone lacked its usual zest. His brown eyes looked dull, and his forehead seemed to espouse permanent worry lines.

  Mac faced his brother once more, taking note yet again of how different they were—always had been. Where Mac possessed dark features, Prescott’s were light. Blond hair, neatly combed back, hazel eyes, a clean-shaven jaw. Expensive attire covered his willowy frame. Throughout their growing-up years, Prescott had been their mother’s pet. Mac, on the other hand, bonded with their father.

  Mac folded his arms. “Where did the money go?”

  “A good deal of it went to you.” Resentment flashed in Prescott’s eyes. “Here you stand, the prodigal son, returning to ask for more funds because, ah, allow me to guess, you deserve it.”

  “Unlike the prodigal son, I have not squandered my inheritance.”

  “Nor have I. So we’re even.” Prescott crossed the imported Persian carpet, refilled his snifter, then returned to his chair. “And it is I who feels as though he’s on trial.”

  Mac wouldn’t stand for his brother’s self-pity. “We’re not quite even. I can account for every coin I’ve spent. So far, Prescott, you cannot.”

  From out of the corner of his eye, Mac caught his father’s movement. He looked over in time to see him, once a bulwark of a man who possessed all the answers, run a shaky hand through his graying black hair.

  “Father, why did you give me the money to begin anew in the Shenandoah Valley if Albright Shipping was experiencing financial difficulties?” The question had plagued Mac since he learned the news of his family’s hardship.

  Father’s eyes shifted to Prescott. “I was unaware of any financial difficulties.”

  “Just as I presumed.” Mac struggled to remain even tempered. This didn’t involve him directly, and he had no intention of marrying his sister-in-law’s sister. “Well, Prescott, what have you to say for yourself?”

  “If you must know, I deserved equal compensation. I have a wife, after all. You, Mac, have no one to consider but yourself. Therefore, I purchased a home just outside the city.”

  “A sprawling tobacco plantation on four thousand acres,” Father added, “with at least one hundred slaves.”

  “Tobacco plantation?” Mac hung his head back and guffawed. “You don’t have the slightest idea what’s involved with being a planter. Why, you were the only boy who disliked getting his hands soiled at playtime.”

  “Scratching in the dirt is what my slaves are for.”

  Mac’s moment of amusement fled. The idea of owning another human being sickened him. After being impressed into service for the British, he had been forced to do menial tasks aboard the frigate, an attempt by the captain to humiliate his American captive. When Mac dared to disobey, which happened on one sorry occasion, he was flogged in front of the entire crew.

  Yes, he’d gotten a taste of slavery then.

  “How can you sleep at night, Prescott?”

  “I sleep very soundly. Thank you.” He drained his snifter again in one gulp.

  “Our parents don’t have a cook. They have dismissed their household staff due to their poverty while you reign like a king over your plantation.”


  Prescott crossed his legs. “I have offered them slaves, but Mother doesn’t want those people in her house.”

  Mac closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Fine. Let’s stop bickering. Instead, let us put our minds together and come up with a solution.”

  “We have a solution.” Prescott cocked his head. “Father and I decided you should marry Samantha Eden. My father-in-law is desperate to find the girl a husband, and she’s worth twenty thousand pounds.”

  “Yes, Mother told me of your cockamamy scheme.” Mac slid his gaze to his father. “And what have you to say about this idea?”

  “Your mother and Prescott deserve all the credit for it.”

  Just as Mac suspected.

  “Thank you, Father.” Prescott’s haughty expression reminded Mac of Silas Everett’s highbrow ways. “At least we agree that I deserve that much.”

  Mac longed to take his brother outside and show him just exactly what he deserved. “Understand this, brother. I’ll not marry Miss Eden or any other female of your choosing. As it happens, I have decided whom I shall marry and when.”

  “Really? And your choice of a wife is … who? A commoner then?” Prescott lifted his chin, taunting Mac further. “A farmer’s daughter, perhaps?”

  “America has no commoners. Thomas Jefferson wrote that all men are created equal.” Mac bent to meet his brother’s gaze. “That goes for your slaves.”

  “Spare me. Jefferson, himself, owns slaves.”

  Frustration pumped through Mac’s veins and knotted at the base of his skull. This conversation failed to move forward even an inch. It seemed to go around and around. Massaging the area that pained him, he strode to the bank of windows which overlooked the street. The sun had begun its descent in the western sky, and activity outside had died away. He thought of Lily and wondered about her recovery. He hoped—no, he prayed—that she was up and about by now.

  “Do we know the young lady you’ve decided upon?”

  Mac turned and faced his father. His understanding with Lily wasn’t a secret, although he had said nothing about it during the journey here from Middletown. He would have spoken up, however, if Everett mentioned his intention to marry Lily.

  “No, you don’t know her. She’s my new next-door neighbor, and we have but an understanding. I’m in no financial position to ask for her hand yet. But I shall.”

  A snort came from Prescott.

  “My hope is that in a year’s time I’ll be ready.”

  “Planning is crucial.” Father dipped his head in approval. “You are wise to set future goals.”

  “I learned well from you, Father.”

  “Indeed.” The older man smiled for the first time since greeting Mac earlier.

  “Shall I take my leave so you two can enjoy your slobbering reunion?”

  Mac glanced at Prescott. “Green with envy, are you?” One brotherly jab for another seemed fair. “Or perhaps your verdant complexion is due to a bad crop of tobacco.” He chuckled, and even Father snickered.

  Prescott’s face reddened. “Go to the devil, Mac.”

  “I have been there, brother, and have changed my ways.” Mac regarded his father. “But I digress. What I intended to say is that Miss Laughlin, my next-door neighbor and subject of my interest, has asked me to invest two hundred pounds in one of your merchant vessels. Have you any ready to set sail?”

  “We have a ship moored on the River Thames,” Prescott muttered. “She’ll be setting sail soon.”

  “Good.” Mac rubbed his palms together. The information proved positive.

  “Unfortunately, any earnings we make on the wares in her hold,” Prescott said, “will go to pay the captain and his crew their salaries plus back pay, as we were unable to pay them for their last undertaking. We also owe suppliers.”

  “So you will break even?” Mac set his hands on his hips.

  “More or less.”

  “Which is it?”

  “Less, if you must know.” Prescott helped himself to a third brandy, not that Mac was counting. “We have been running on a deficit for some time now. I’m afraid it’s finally caught up with us.”

  “There’s more.” Father pushed slowly to his feet. “We were unable to hire a crew for our merchant sloop Ariel, which is scheduled to sail for Massachusetts, and the goods in the hold spoiled.”

  “In order to garner business, we guaranteed the shipment. Now we owe our consigners.”

  “That was a mistake,” Mac said. “You cannot guarantee shipments. Captains and their crews encounter any number of calamities at sea.”

  “I tried to tell Prescott that.” Father walked around his desk and to the sideboard where he filled a brandy snifter for himself.

  “Yes, well, it’s not my fault the Albright name cannot be trusted in this city.” Prescott downed his brandy.

  “Ariel was set to sail for France with a cache of weapons, musket balls, beaver pelts, gunpowder, and whale oil.” Father sipped from his glass. “However, one of the barrels of oil somehow burst, soiling the furs and making our loss all the greater.”

  “A devastating loss,” Prescott added.

  “I am sorry to hear of your misfortune,” Mac said. “Truly, I am. However, I fail to see how my marrying a woman for her dowry would help. Yes, you could pay your consigners, but that would only plug one crack in a leaking dam.”

  “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong.” A slow smile spread across Prescott’s face. “If you marry Sam, the Albright name will be salvaged. Her father, my father-in-law, Jethro Eden, possesses much clout, not only in Alexandria, but in all of Virginia. He has been a guest at Monticello numerous times.”

  “Then why hasn’t such grace been given to you?” Mac still failed to understand the fix. “You’ve already married an Eden daughter.”

  “And I’ve blown through her fortune trying to save our family business.”

  “Family business?” Mac frowned. “Albright Shipping is your business, Prescott, entrusted to you by our father.”

  “I am not to blame!” Prescott shot to his feet.

  “And I am not your salvation!” Mac tensed, ready to take on his brother if necessary. Oddly, Reverend Kasper’s words rang in his memory: “Only Jesus imparts salvation. …”

  Father moved between them and faced Mac. “We are in desperate need of a capable sea captain.” His gaze pleaded. “I was never keen on the marriage scheme, but this, I know, will help us.” Father turned to Prescott. “We can salvage what’s left in Ariel’s hold and bid her bon voyage to France.”

  “As much as I sympathize, gentlemen—and I do sympathize—I’m adamant about not returning to the sea.” Mac refused to give in to the pressure he faced and seated himself in the chair adjacent to Prescott’s. “I would ask that you respect my wishes.”

  “From renowned master and commander of a seafaring crew to humble farmer.” Prescott wagged his head. “You are a pitiful fellow.”

  “You will not endear your brother to us with name-calling.” Father spoke through a clenched jaw before his dark eyes slid to Mac. “Please consider my request as a personal favor to me.”

  Icy dread crashed over Mac. He didn’t expect his brother and father to understand his decision. But what he’d experienced at sea during the war, he would never forget, and he longed to put his past behind him.

  “You can do both, you know?” Father stood in the center of the richly paneled room and sipped his brandy. “Captain a ship and farm your land in the Shenandoah Valley. Why not?”

  “But why would I take a chance of being impressed again? The war with Napoleon may have ended, but Britain still claims the right of impressments if necessary, and they consider any captured merchant vessels their prizes. Spoils of war.”

  “The war with England is over too, son.” Father moved back to his seat behind his desk.

  “Not to the British.” Mac knew that firsthand. Taylor Osborn, after all, was a captain in the Royal British Navy. “Americans are still viewed as traitors to the Cr
own.”

  “Perhaps you have another suggestion.” Prescott’s voice beheld an unmistakable edge.

  “I haven’t got a single idea.” Mac hated the way his father’s shoulders slumped forward as if in defeat.

  A sturdy rap-tap-tap behind the mahogany door drew Mac’s attention.

  “Enter,” Father called.

  The door opened, revealing Pearl’s dour face. “Someone to see Captain Mac,” she growled.

  Mac stood and stepped forward, wondering if his guest was Blake, Silas Everett, or even the boys. He’d given them his parents’ address.

  A solid figure dressed in blue walked out of the shadows and into the study.

  “Taylor Osborn. Well, blow me down.” Mac chuckled and hurried to greet his old friend. “I was only minutes ago thinking about you.”

  They clasped hands.

  “Mr. Blake told me you were back in Alexandria.” Taylor’s weather-lined face crinkled with his smile. “I just had to come by and say hello.”

  Mac turned to his father and brother. “I trust you remember Captain Osborn.”

  “Yes, of course, come in.” Father shook Taylor’s hand.

  Prescott gave only an acknowledging nod.

  Mac supposed his brother was entitled to wariness. Taylor was a Brit, after all, and the war’s end hadn’t stopped Americans from remembering the conflict. Taylor, on the other hand, had been granted immunity from any charges stemming from the war in exchange for his testimony in court. He’d sworn to Mac’s and Blake’s impressments into the Royal British Navy and had gone on to describe England’s perspective of the conflict. Simply, its intent was twofold; to prevent America’s trade with France and to keep America from overtaking Canada.

  Taylor accepted the snifter of golden liquid from Father, who, clearly, didn’t hold a grudge.

  “What are you doing back on American soil?” For the first time Mac noticed that, although he was dressed in blue, Taylor wasn’t wearing his military uniform. “Are you here incognito?”

  “Hardly.”

  Taylor’s rumbles of laughter brought back fond memories to Mac. He and Blake had gone from abused prisoners to respected guests aboard the HMS Victorious, and, yes, at times they’d lent helping hands to the crew. They took up arms against pirates—and, yes, Americans.