by Lisa Norato
And yet they most definitely had.
As far as Brogan could tell, the only thing they had in common was the child Benjamin.
Why his son?
Only the fellow seated across from him knew the answer.
Brogan leaned forward, eager to turn the conversation to his advantage and gain the information he sought, but he must proceed with caution, for beneath Huntley’s humble and affable exterior lay a shrewd, accomplished fellow, careful in all respects and keen to keep his wits about him.
Brogan grew weary of hiding his identity. Should he confess all to Huntley right now and be done with it? Unburden his secret and trust in the shipbuilder’s goodwill to help him resolve the fate of his relationship with his son? Here they sat, man to man; it was the perfect opportunity. And yet how could he, not knowing what reaction his news would bring? Brogan couldn’t risk alienating Huntley before he’d had a chance to restore his relationship with Drew.
Nathaniel Huntley, what dark secret do you hide? The man had intentionally avoided his inquiries about Abigail. What influence could she have exercised over him that would have caused Huntley to act so extensively on Benjamin’s behalf? Kindness?
Brogan had a difficult time believing such goodwill existed.
He might never learn the truth of what happened three years ago, never know why Abigail had rid herself of their son on the day before the Black Eagle was scheduled to sail into war. But unwittingly she had saved Benjamin’s life. If she had not given the boy to Huntley, Ben would have been in their townhouse when the fire broke out. He would have perished alongside her.
Abigail had been gone nearly three years, and in the passing of that time, Brogan’s bitterness and resentment had turned to pity.
He realized he was only half listening to Nathaniel Huntley, who had moved on to the topic of his merchant venture and was debating what goods he should invest in to trade.
“Cod,” Brogan heard himself blurt.
“Cod?” repeated Huntley, inviting an explanation.
“Indeed, sir.” Nodding, Brogan laid down his fork. “There’s a wealth of Atlantic cod to be caught in the shallow waters of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. My recommendation is that you start your enterprise by constructing a fishing fleet. Schooners you could easily outfit through your farms. Crew them with fishermen and launch them on expeditions off the east coast of Canada. The catches could be sold to Boston merchants or ferried back home to Duxboro, where you could have the cod salted first.”
“There is indeed a fine profit to be made in the fishing industry,” Huntley agreed, thoughtful. Brogan could fairly see the man’s wheels turning. “Especially with markets in Nova Scotia and the French Indies.”
“Aye. But in trading as near as Boston you could oversee the operation of your fleet yet remain close to your family.” But in offering this suggestion, Brogan wondered, was he referring to Huntley or himself?
Huntley continued to discuss the prospect as they resumed their journey along the Bay Path. They rode a sun-dappled turnpike, bordered on either side by a dense stand of trees, but as the afternoon wore on and daylight began to fade, shadows obscured ruts in the gravel road. They progressed carefully on the last leg of their journey, both travelers and horses growing weary as they reached Duxborotown, when suddenly Brogan spied a man on horseback galloping toward them. The fellow called out and waved for their attention.
Huntley turned to Brogan with alarm. “I believe that is Edward Hicks, my dockyard foreman.”
The approaching figure was a young fellow of medium build, dark hair, and the hale appearance of one employed at working with his hands. Brogan nodded in greeting as Hicks reined his horse alongside theirs, but he could read in the foreman’s expression he had not come to bring good tidings.
“Mr. Huntley,” Hicks greeted, somewhat breathless, “I and several others have been searching for you, even riding as far as Boston. We had expected your return earlier.”
Huntley’s brow creased in concern. “We dallied a bit at the shops this morning. What is it, Edward? Has something happened?”
“I am sorry to say I have unfortunate news, sir. Your daughter is gone. Gone on the ship that carries George Louder to England. She departed with him yesterday.”
“Departed with George? But … how is that possible?” Huntley sat frozen with woe, his face white. “Edward, are you certain? With no word to anyone?”
“A note was left with young Miss Temperance Culliford.”
Huntley squeezed his eyes shut in painful reflection. “About a month ago, George requested my permission to propose marriage to Lorena. I assumed she had refused the shipwright, for she never mentioned any such offer to me, not even when I hinted at the subject one evening after supper.”
Brogan saw the shipbuilder’s anguish, and his jaw clenched with the effort to contain his own stinging pride. Had he mistaken Lorena’s affection? Had he imagined fondness in those soft chocolate eyes? He was shocked to realize the severity of his disappointment. His gut burned.
Anger and jealousy flashed hot within him. He had been played the fool. Lorena had accepted Louder’s proposal without consulting her father. It seemed inconceivable and yet another horrible possibility occurred to him. “And what of Drew? Tell me she did not take the lad,” he demanded.
His outburst took Hicks aback. The foreman quickly assured them that the boy was safe at home, then further explained how Lorena had boarded the vessel in search of Drew, whom they all believed had gone missing.
Nathaniel Huntley turned to Brogan in appeal. “We must make haste to home.”
Urging his horse onward, Brogan tore after Huntley and his foreman down the coastal road leading to the shipbuilder’s estate. He insisted on tending to the horses and offered his further assistance. With an expression of devastation, Huntley beseeched him to join the family inside.
Upon leaving the stables, Brogan marched around to the front of the house and knocked on the large black door. When no answer came after his third knock, he attempted to peer through the sidelights, then let himself in and followed the sound of conversation to the west parlor. He recognized the voice of Edward Hicks.
“… and I tried to find a boat to dispatch immediately after her, but no master would agree, no matter how much I offered as payment. So we hastened home to tell you, hoping you’d make a timely return and would know what to do. As the evening wore on and you still had not arrived, several of us set out to search but had no luck in finding you until today.”
Brogan paused in the entry, scanning the faces of those gathered in the parlor. Such sadness. On the sofa, Temperance sobbed in her mother’s arms, while Drew sat by the corner windows in a mahogany lolling chair, staring out at the bay while he clutched Captain Briggs.
“There is no vessel available, or ready to sail after her, sir, save the one now at our fitting wharf.” Edward Hicks addressed Huntley and then redirected his focus to Brogan.
Whereupon every other eye in the room sought him with the same pitiful stare. Nay, it could not be. Were they thinking to send him after Lorena?
Huntley rose and approached slowly, his expression full of hopeful anticipation. “And no man more capable of seeing Lorena safely home, I’d say, than the one now before us. Will you do it, Captain?”
Brogan held the man’s gaze expressionless, then inclined his head toward the shipbuilder. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, one brow raised and lips twisted in a wry smile at the irony of the situation, “but you think to launch the Yankee Heart, an 880-ton merchantman, in pursuit of an impulsive girl who has chosen to run off with her sweetheart?”
Temperance pulled away from her mother to sit erect. “No, that is not the way of it. Lorena did not accept George. She told me so herself. She said, ‘I seek a better life for myself than marriage to a man I do not love.’ She assured me she would not leave us.” The girl swiped at her runny nose. “It is all quite unlike her. It must have been an accident, you see.”
A
man she did not love. Louder. Something inside Brogan found satisfaction in the knowledge, but he quickly tempered any emotion rather than explore it. Instead, he stayed his course of skepticism. “An accident? How could such an accident occur? Lorena need only have disembarked if that were her wish. Besides, she left a note. With you, I’m told, Miss Temperance. Perhaps Lorena changed her mind.”
Nathaniel Huntley moved closer. “Even if Lorena did perchance change her mind—which if you knew her as we do, you would agree it inconceivable—she took no clothing or baggage with her. This was no accident. Something must have happened we are unaware of. I do not know what that something is, and that worries me. I fear she did not depart of her own accord. The letter was not written in her own hand, but by George Louder. I beseech you, Captain. Will you sail after my daughter and return her home to us?”
Brogan considered the roomful of tear-stained faces and pleading stares, but his attention was drawn to the small, forlorn Drew.
When their eyes met, Drew bounded off his seat to rush forward. He came to a skidding halt before Brogan, craning his neck to peer upward. “May I come also, Captain?” he asked, excited and hopeful, fully trusting in Brogan’s assent to the voyage.
It was the opportunity Brogan had been waiting for.
10
The thrill of success overwhelmed him. Brogan squatted before his son, thinking that at last he felt whole. A piece of his heart once torn from him was now restored—his son, his own flesh and blood. The love that welled up inside him was stronger than any emotion Brogan had ever experienced.
He’d regained the little lad’s trust and affection, and now with the Yankee Heart, he could give the boy a home. He had only to sail away with Drew and their future together would be secured. All he’d desired lay within his grasp.
He smiled tenderly. “I dare not leave without you, Drew. But we must first ask your papa Huntley.”
Brogan looked to the shipbuilder, throwing it all back to him. Huntley had requested something dear of Brogan. Now Brogan requested something dear in return.
Huntley paled.
Brogan explained that, as he had promised Drew a cruise, he should very much like permission to take the boy along. He hastened to add that Lorena, when rescued, would be comforted by the child’s presence.
The shipbuilder was hardly in any position to argue. He assured Brogan that as he trusted him with his daughter, likewise he trusted him with Drew. Just that easily, Brogan found the opportunity he’d been waiting for. The Yankee Heart could sail away with her prize.
But at what cost?
The uncertainty of Lorena’s fate vexed him. Brogan could not get her out of his thoughts.
Preparations for provisioning the ship began that evening. Jabez gathered the crew and returned to Duxboro the following day, but more had needed to be recruited. Huntley volunteered two of his own men for the duration of the voyage—Edward Hicks, ship’s carpenter, who had petitioned earnestly for the job as he felt, in part, responsible for Lorena’s misfortune, and Frederick Mott, cook, whose culinary skills came along with everything necessary to prepare not only palatable but delicious meals as opposed to dull, standard ship’s fare.
If Lorena had freely chosen to travel with George Louder to England, then his conscience needn’t be troubled. Just his pride.
She’d made her loyalties clear the day of the launching when she’d walked out of the carpentry shop with that weasel, leaving Brogan with naught but troublesome thoughts. Had she indeed run off, leaving her family to agonize over her welfare? It would not be Brogan’s first experience with a woman’s coldness.
But suppose the family was correct in their belief and something had happened to prevent her from disembarking? What if she’d been harmed?
Under less desperate circumstances, Brogan would have enjoyed a rescue mission. Drew thought it an adventure. What would he think of a father who refused to come to the aid of his mother figure? How could Brogan ever explain such unchivalrous behavior to his son? The boy would never forgive him.
Back and forth he weighed his decision. In saving Lorena, he would be a hero in his son’s eyes. The price, of course, would be to forfeit the opportunity to reclaim his child.
A painful choice. If only there were not so much at stake.
Indecision tormented him well into the evening, which Brogan spent for the first time in the quarters of his new ship. With all he’d accomplished to date, he should have been enjoying the most restful night of his life, but sleep would not come. His internal debate continued, and with nowhere left to turn, Brogan humbled himself to reach for his old ship’s Bible.
He hadn’t opened it in years, but as he untied the laces that held it closed, then pressed his palm upon its cracked leather binding, it came to him, not as a thought in his head but in words transmitted directly to his heart:
“A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things.”
Matthew, chapter twelve, verse thirty-five. Though he’d tucked it away and turned from its teachings, once read, the Bible continued to live inside him.
Brogan gritted his teeth, and the tension in his jaw traveled to his temple, where he experienced a painful throb. Like a child begging for attention, something within this “bad” misbegotten orphan desired acceptance from a God who demanded obedience yet bestowed indifference.
He quit his sleeping cabin and strode the length of the day parlor to a smaller sleeping cabin beyond. With his permission the Huntley clan had transformed the room into a cozy nest for their precious girl. They had dressed the bed with quality bed linens, laid an Oriental rug, and hung a silk brocade drapery over the porthole.
They’d brought her possessions aboard—a trunk of clothing, books, and needlework to keep her occupied. Gifts and notes of endearment from each member of the household had been left with messages that conveyed their love and contained prayers for her swift and safe return.
It was all rather touching, and as Brogan inspected their work, he could not help but realize his defeat. He had deceived himself in believing he ever had a choice in the matter, in believing it could still all go according to his plan. That he, Drew, and Jabez could sail away and happily live out their lives. Oh, the plan was still in place. Nothing had changed, and yet everything was different. Brogan had changed. Changed, here in this quiet Duxborotown.
Brogan added his own gift to the others—a tiny wrapped package.
And now the Yankee Heart awaited, ready to embark on her maiden voyage, a good three days behind the Lady Julia.
Brogan stood with Jabez at the end of the fitting wharf, waiting for the Huntley household to say their good-byes. Word had spread throughout Duxborotown, and a curious crowd had gathered on shore.
Full of smiles, Drew lugged a ditty bag nearly as big as himself.
“What have ye brought there, young lad?” Jabez asked.
Drew attempted to heave the bag over his shoulder. “I have brought my sling. In case of danger I shall be ready to fight. And Captain Briggs must come with me. Captain Briggs knows everything about sailing ships.”
“Aye, a fine sailor,” Brogan agreed. “Briggs is welcome aboard, but you must both understand, there is only one captain aboard the Yankee Heart. What say you, Master Huntley and Seaman Briggs, are you prepared to obey my command?”
The child stuck his finger in his mouth and nodded.
Brogan inclined an ear. “Eh? What is that? I did not hear a proper answer.”
Drew glared, then straightened, removing his finger to say, “Yes, sir.”
Nathaniel Huntley pushed his way forward to stand before him. The shipbuilder eyed Brogan closely. “Are you certain, Captain, that Drew shall not prove a distraction for you? He has the tendency to get underfoot and is prone to asking many questions.”
At Brogan’s side came Drew’s quick intake of breath, followed by a pitiful moan of “nooooo.” He felt the lad’
s pudgy hand press against his thigh, Drew’s fingers clawing at his tight-fitting trouser leg as though clinging to Brogan for dear life. Nothing could have pleased him more.
“I assure you, Mr. Huntley. Drew is no burden. No harm shall come to him under my watch. You can depend upon me to protect him with my life. On that I give you my word.”
The uncertainty in Huntley’s expression washed away, though not replaced by his usually jolly grin. “I believe you, Captain. In truth, I’d be lost without your assistance. My daughter is worth my very life, and all that I have means nothing without her. I promised her mother before she died that I would protect her and see to her happiness.” The man’s voice began to falter, and he paused for composure.
Brogan knew well enough what pain and turmoil came with loving a child.
“Sailing with the prevailing winds and currents, it shall take the Lady Julia approximately four weeks to cross the North Atlantic,” he explained to the shipbuilder. “From our inquiries in Plymouth, we know from the boat’s agent that she travels eastbound at the latitude of New England, following the main sailing route and taking advantage of the Gulf Stream. As long as weather and wind hold, my confidence remains with the Yankee Heart in being quite swift to overtake her, not only because of her superior design but because she has the cleanest of hulls, this being her maiden voyage. And with her copper bottom I expect she’ll exceed a speed of thirteen knots. Rest assured. Luck is with the hunter, Mr. Huntley.”
“Oh no, Captain, more than luck, I should say. God’s blessing is upon your ship. Lorena was the one to christen her. May the Almighty send you a successful voyage and a safe return,” Huntley said, offering his hand. “I trust you’ll bring my children safely back to me.”
Brogan took firm grasp of the man’s hand and shook it. “That I shall, sir.”
“Then Godspeed, Captain.” Nathaniel Huntley released Brogan’s hand and turned his attention to Drew. He held out his arms. “Give me a hug, then, and you can be off on your adventure.”