The Shipmaster's Daughter

by Jessica Wolf

“That is…unfortunate,” Reed added.

  She pulled her lips into a tight line. Tears perched on the edge of her eyelids, but she didn’t let them fall. Blotches of red covered her upper chest and neck as her breathing turned heavy. With shaking fingers, she folded her letter carefully. “I—You’ll have to excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, she swished past them.

  Jack waited until she was out of earshot to voice thoughts that mirrored Reed’s own. “What are you going to do now?”

  He rubbed a hand down his face. “I have no idea.”

  Dinner that evening was unpleasant. At least, Reed felt it was. The only sound came from utensils clanging against plates and the air was clogged with unspoken words. Reed kept his eyes glued to the table. He tore through his food, barely pausing to taste it. To his right, Jack ate in much the same fashion. He only paused once in a while to level an inquisitive glance Miss Renaldi’s way. As for Luciana, she sat to Reed’s left and hardly touched anything laid before her. Try as she might to conceal her sadness, everyone in the room was clearly able to see the way she dabbed at her tears with her napkin and sniffed too often. Reed might be an unfeeling man, but he understood her emotion. He only hoped it didn’t drive her to stay any longer than necessary.

  As if she knew his own thoughts, her next words worked to lay rest to his fears. “I want to assure you, Signore Hargrave, that this…setback won’t cause me to intrude upon your generosity any longer than it needs to.” She set aside her napkin, spreading her hands across her lap. “I will be gone as soon as I can find a job in town.”

  Reed cleared his throat and put down his spoon. “Take whatever time you need.” He cursed the way his voice sounded, stilted and disingenuous. Why did he have to be so callous? She was without family, without a home, and all he could think of was the day she would be leaving. He hadn’t been like this when Katherine was alive.

  “What do you plan on doing?”

  Luciana turned her eyes to Jack at his question. “Whatever they’ll have me do. My English isn’t as good as it could be, so I’ll take something that requires as little talking as possible.”

  “I think your English is wonderful,” Esther said. She offered Luciana a bright smile, and to Reed’s surprise, Luciana returned it with a smile of her own. It wasn’t as shining as his daughter’s; it was soft and quiet, but a smile nonetheless.

  “Grazie, Esther.”

  “Well, I’m sure that wherever you end up, you will make do just fine.”

  At least Jack sounded sincere. Maybe Reed should take a page or two out of his book.

  Luciana pushed her fork around the rim of her plate, the ghost of a smile drawing at the corners of her eyes. “Your confidence is encouraging, Signore Lipold. Grazie.”

  Peters rung the bell behind them, signaling dinner completed. Reed drew in a low breath, relief easing the knots in his muscles. “Jack, would you like to play a game of cards?”

  Jack crumbled his napkin into a wad. “As long as you let me win.”

  Chapter 7

  Luciana felt the weight of all that had happened pressing upon her chest. She tried to slow her breathing, gain control, but nothing worked. Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her body. Her throat felt tight. Tears blurred her vision. Her hands fisted into her blankets as she screwed her eyes shut. She would not let her emotions win.

  The news of her aunts’ passing had hit her harder than expected. She barely knew the two women, so why did it feel like she’d lost her family all over again? Maybe because now she truly was alone. With her parents and brothers dead, her aunts had been the only two people she had left in the world. And now they were gone, too.

  Luciana thought she had cried every tear in her body earlier that afternoon, but apparently not. More sprang loose, running freely down her cheeks, spilling down her neck. She rubbed at her skin and choked on a harsh sob.

  The world that had once felt so small now felt gigantic. Viareggio was her home; it had been for all of her life. She knew the twists of every street. She knew where the children collected to play after school. She knew where the old beggar woman found her wares and sold them. Italy was a part of her. It ran through the blood in her veins. But now it was gone. It was like a rug had been ripped out from underneath her feet. She was left on the ground, out of breath and out of sorts.

  A raw, undiluted surge of anguish washed over her. She allowed herself to cry, throwing the fear of letting herself feel to the wind. She cried for her country, for the soil she would never feel beneath her feet. She cried for her mother, buried in the cemetery of San Marco. She cried for her father and brothers, hundreds of feet under water. But mostly, selfishly, she cried for herself. She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned.

  Then she sat up. She wiped the tears from her eyes and walked to the vanity. Her skin was red and her eyes puffy around the edges. The back of her hair was mussed. She looked her part: a shipwrecked woman. But she was determined to play it no longer. She often talked with her father about the possibilities America would bring. She would be free to do as she pleased, create whatever life she wanted. He told her she would never be able to do it without the help of a husband. Luciana was hellbent on proving him wrong.

  She would show him. She would show all of them.

  The next morning, after a light breakfast, she sought out Jack Lipold. He was a charming man, handsome and friendly. Questions burned in the back of her mind. Questions which she wanted to know the answers to, and if anyone would be willing to answer them, it would be him.

  She found him in the library, a room she had only visited once since her time of arriving at Yellow Brook. Massive windows on the far wall looked out onto the edge of Eastbourne. Rooftops and chimneys rose in the distance. A bright blue sky hung above the town, dotted with puffy white clouds. It was picturesque. The only thing that took away from such a picture was the state of the library.

  The walls to Luciana’s left and right housed towering bookshelves, each filled to their maximum. In the middle of the room sat a faded green couch, several leather wingback chairs, and a table on which more books were stacked. A stained white sheet hung half-off, half-on the couch. The air smelled heavy with must. Luciana couldn’t help but chuckle as she dragged her finger across the edge of the bookcase. Her finger came away coated with two inches of dust.

  Jack turned around at the sound of her laugh. He put the book in his hand down. “Miss Renaldi, how lovely to see you.”

  “I thought I might find you here,” she said, stepping fully into the room.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “This seems to be one of the few furnished rooms.” She hesitated before adding, “And I asked Signora Peters if she knew where you were. I have some questions.”

  He pulled the sheet off of the couch, sending a flurry dust into the air. He coughed, waving his hand wildly. When the dust and his coughing subsided, he motioned toward the couch. “Won’t you sit?”

  Luciana sat, smoothing her hands over her dress. He crossed to a cabinet on the wall and withdrew a bottle of wine. He sniffed the wine, shrugged, and lifted it toward her. She shook her head. After pouring himself a glass, he sat beside her on the couch.

  “What would you like to know?” he asked.

  Luciana was surprised he was this willing to speak with her. Reed seemed intent on getting her out of the house as soon as possible. He kept his distance from her, and their few conversations during mealtimes were short. How could a man as kind as Jack be friends with one as coarse as Reed?

  She didn’t know where to begin. She wanted to know everything: What happened to Reed’s wife? Why was he all alone in this massive house? How did Jack come across him? Really, she wanted to know everything she was too afraid to ask Reed himself. Having spent this much time in the house, wasting her hours by wandering through empty halls, she knew that if she left Yellow Brook with all her questions unanswered, they would burn in the back of her mind until her dying da
y. Her curiosity could not be quelled unless she had answers. But instead of diving headfirst into personal questions and risk scaring Jack away, she started with something more simple.

  “Tell me about Eastbourne. What’s it like in town?”

  Jack took a swig of his wine. “It’s been around since the Stone Ages, much like the rest of this country. It wasn’t until the Brighton and South Coast Railway brought the railroad here in the eighteen-hundreds that the town boomed, full of gentlemen and their ladies. The pier—what we’re famous for—was opened about twenty years later. It’s a nice town. Large, but quaint at the same time.”

  Luciana looked over her shoulder out the window. It looked so far off, so unreachable. All she had to do was walk out the front door and she would be on her way to a completely new, exciting life. So why was she so scared?

  She swallowed a wistful sigh. “It sounds lovely.”

  “What’s home for you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

  “Viareggio.”

  Jack choked on his wine and sputtered. When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, he wore a smile, much to Luciana’s relief. “Excuse me?”

  “Viareggio,” she repeated, smiling. “It’s on the coast, like Eastbourne. My father built ships.”

  “Ships? Like passenger ships?”

  She shook her head. “Mostly cargo, but a few passenger ships, si. He was excellent, one of the best in Italy. My brothers were looking to follow in his footsteps.” Her throat grew tight.

  “And you? What did you do?”

  “I wanted to please my father.” Luciana sighed. “After my mother died, he took to gambling and drinking and throwing all of his talent and money away. I did whatever I could to help him.”

  “Didn’t your brothers help?”

  With a short laugh, Luciana shook her head. “I came to ask you questions. How did you—how do you say it?—flip the tables on me?”

  Jack smirked. “I think you mean ‘turn the tables.’”

  Luciana snapped her fingers and a smile parted her lips. “Si, that.”

  He shrugged. “I merely do what every good conversationalist does: ask questions, get people talking about themselves. People love to talk about themselves.” He held up his hands, crossing his legs. “That’s not why you came to me, though. What is it you’re dying to know? I doubt you really want to know about Eastbourne. You could have gone to town yourself in order to find out all that.”

  She closed her eyes and let go of a deep breath. “I want to know about Signore Hargrave.” Heat filled her cheeks as the words rushed from her mouth.

  Jack’s eyebrows raised. He nodded. “Don’t we all?”

  “What are you saying? You don’t even know him?”

  Jack scoffed, shoulders straightening. “Oh no, I know him better than any person on Earth. Save maybe his mother, but they rarely speak. If there’s something you want to know about Reed, I’m sure I have the information somewhere in my noggin.” At her puzzled look, he corrected himself. “My head.”

  “I don’t want you to betray his trust by–”

  He laughed. “I won’t. I’ve been sworn to secrecy over a few matters and I don’t intend on spilling those details anytime soon. But I’m always obliged to help a beautiful young woman who has a thirst for knowledge. What would you like to know?”

  Luciana curled her hands in her lap, steadying her nervous breath with a cough. “What happened to Signore Hargrave’s wife? I’ve seen the portrait in the dining room, but neither Esther nor Signore Hargrave speak of her.”

  “She died in childbirth. Quite a tragedy.”

  “And the house? I would think a man with money would want to keep his house immaculate. This is–” Luciana glanced around the room, wrinkling her nose as unoffensive words failed her.

  “This house is a wreck,” Jack supplied, nodding as though he understood. “Reed has always been a private man and he doesn’t really care what people think. Take his hair for example and make of the rest what you will.”

  Laughter bubbled over Luciana’s lips. “It is very long for an Englishman, his hair,” she said. “My brother Piero had hair like his.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know all of this? Really.”

  Luciana shrugged. “Curiosity.” But why indeed? Why did she care? She knew it ran deeper than her natural-born curiosity, but she told herself it couldn’t be because his generosity—as forced as it was—affected her. Because it didn’t.

  Jack’s quiet, prodding voice tugged her from her thoughts. “You’ll be leaving soon, though? Which, I must add, is a shame.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t ask questions.”

  Jack chuckled, downing the last of his wine. He stood up and brushed his hands off on his pant legs. “Touché, woman, touché. As it has now struck noon, around this time we English break for tea and a bit of snack.”

  “The English eat all the time, don’t they?” Luciana asked, rising from the couch. “Every time I turn around it’s always tea time or crumpet time. Non capisco.”

  Jack smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s what we do. Don’t tell me you aren’t hungry?”

  “Hungry for more answers perhaps, and possibly a bit of food.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, then. Dine with me and I’ll answer whatever questions you have afterwards.” He stuck out his hand, eyes twinkling.

  Luciana readily shook it. She pointed to the door. “Lead the way, Signore.”

  He offered her his arm. “After you, Miss Renaldi.”

  Quite possibly for the first time since crashing on the shores of a new country, Luciana was at ease. Jack was a kind man, a good listener, and witty. She enjoyed his company more than anyone else she’d met in England thus far. And it was an added bonus that he answered her questions so frankly.

  They walked arm-in-arm toward the staircase, laughing as Jack made comments on the old, weathered paintings hanging askew on the wall.

  “Jack, there you are. I was just about to head down for some—Miss Renaldi.” Her name fell from Reed’s lips in a surprised breath. He stood a few feet away, one thumb pointed over his shoulder. He let his arm fall to his side, his eyes clamped on her.

  “We were just talking about you,” Jack said. He shot Luciana a bright grin, but she felt her heart skip a beat. She expected Reed to lash out as she saw blush spider up the back of his neck. The only response he gave, though, was the slight inclination of his chin.

  Then he tore his eyes away and righted himself.

  “As I was saying, I was going to head down for some lunch. Would you care to join me?” His eyes slid to hers again, holding her gaze. “You’re welcome, too.”

  She shook her head. Whatever small appetite she had was gone at the intensity of his stare. “I’m not hungry, grazie.”

  He nodded, but Jack elbowed her. “Not hungry? It’s past noon. High time for some nourishment. And who better to eat with than two of the finest men in Eastbourne?” He paused, smirking as he stared at Reed. “Well, one of them at least. Besides, we were headed there anyway.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Luciana saw Reed’s back stiffen. He looked away, sniffing. No, she would rather not spend time with him. No matter how intriguing his story.

  Gently, she laid her hand on Jack’s arm, offering him an apologetic smile. “Some other time. I really must find out when I can go to town.”

  Jack held up a finger. “Did I forget to mention that Reed and I are going tomorrow? You could come along. In fact, we could bring Esther. Make a day of it.”

  At first, the idea seemed repulsive. Reed did not care for her in the slightest, but Jack’s sincere smile and Reed’s groans of protests caused her to accept. Doing something out of spite might not be lady-like or even Christian, but Luciana hadn’t been to mass in years.

  “I think I might enjoy that. It would give me a chance to ask about a job.”

  Jack clapped his hands together; Reed grunted. “Wonderful! Eleven o’clock
sharp, be at the front door.”

  As she watched them walk away—Reed doing nothing to conceal his anger—Luciana couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit excited.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, Luciana met the others at the front door as the clock chimed eleven. Her heart beat rapidly inside her chest at the thought that this very evening she might secure a working position. She could be one step closer to fulfilling her dream.

  Reed rose out of his crouch before Esther, nodding to her as she passed.

  “Good morning, Miss Renaldi.” Esther smiled, leaning against her father’s side.

  Luciana managed to give the girl a small smile in return. “Good morning.”

  “Ah, Miss Renaldi, there you are. Are we ready to leave?” Jack asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “Could you clarify before we go”—Reed held up a finger.—“what the plan for today is? You haven’t told me anything, and you know how I don’t like to be kept in the dark about things.”

  Luciana focused her eyes on his stern, chiseled profile. Why was she not surprised? And why did the sight of a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw make her stomach tumble? She looked away.

  Jack smirked. “I know that full well, and for that very reason, I intend on telling you nothing.” He clapped Reed on the shoulder. “Live a little, be spontaneous.”

  “If I recall correctly, your definition of spontaneous is running off to France after having your engagement called off for the second time.”

  A dark look crossed Jack’s face and his hand slipped away from Reed’s shoulder. “Callous. That was callous, Hargrave.” Glancing at Luciana, he threw on his trademark grin and extended his hand to Esther. “Now that we’re all here, why don’t we head out?” Without giving Reed or Luciana time to blink, he threw open the front door and stepped into the sunshine, Esther in tow.

  Reed flourished his hand toward the door. Gravel crunched beneath Luciana’s feet as she stepped onto the approach. The air was damp and cool, and a slight breeze blew against the unkempt flowerbeds in the center of the drive. She tilted her head back toward the hazy sun. Her nostrils flared at the scent of salt and seaweed. She breathed deeply, relishing the feel of the outdoors. The last time she was outside, she had been standing on the deck of the Charity, fire raining down around her. And she had been—