by Lisa Norato
Brogan gaped, letting his horror be known. His brows knit as he pinned Lorena beneath the displeasure of his stare. “So this is why you’ve waited till now to tell me? To the last, you protect that weasel.”
“I was protecting you,” she shot back.
“Me?”
“From yourself. She gave him a pointed stare and to such degree that Brogan quieted and let her continue. “You did the right and wise thing in not acting on your anger. Especially when it would have served no good purpose but to distress Captain Winsor and his passengers, not to mention the wrong example it would have set to a certain impressionable young passenger of your own.” With a sharp jerk of her head, she indicated Drew. “Thank you for choosing the most appropriate course and behaving like a gentleman.”
“George was bad,” Drew growled. He slammed a fist down on the tabletop.
“George did a bad thing,” she said to Drew, “but then you and Captain Talvis arrived as an answer to prayer. And now George is gone from our lives.”
Lorena sighed. She fidgeted with her fork, twirling it between her fingers. “You were right all along, Brogan. George was not to be trusted. I didn’t want to believe evil of a childhood friend. I failed to accept the man he had become.” Her voice grew thick. “Bless you and Mr. Smith and dearest Drew for coming to my rescue. I should not be having such an enjoyable evening otherwise.”
Jabez slipped her a look of awe. “Well spoken, miss.”
Brogan raised his teacup. “To your voyage aboard the Yankee Heart. May it reside in your memory as fondly as corn chowder, fish cakes, and bread pudding.”
Her laughter pleased him, and dinner proceeded with everyone’s energies directed toward Fred Mott’s good Yankee fare. It was a satisfying meal in all respects, so much so that after dessert was consumed, they lingered over another cup of tea.
As he sipped, Brogan noticed Lorena’s eyes wander the length of the cabin to his bookshelves.
“Earlier I noticed what I suspect is the Holy Book on one of your shelves there,” she said. “Is it your personal Bible, Brogan?”
He answered cautiously. “Aye.”
She offered him a sweet smile. “It looks to be well read.”
“It is old.”
“I’ve had a look through my trunk and it seems my family neglected to pack my own Bible. Would you mind—”
“You are welcome to it,” Brogan heard himself reply a little too quickly. “I have little use for it myself, other than to keep it on hand for the ship.”
The soft expression in her velvety brown eyes grew saddened at his words. “Oh? I had thought otherwise. You seem to know Scripture. And in getting to know you, one would think the Good Word had left its impression and that you carried it in your heart. Your Bible sits by your desk in a place of honor. Do you not turn to it for prayer and guidance?”
Jabez cleared his throat and grinned into his cup of tea.
Brogan grew uncomfortable with this conversation. “I’ve trained myself to rely on hard work and bravery, on study and careful thought to carry me through life and battle.” He’d learned not to trust his hopes to a God who would close His ears to the prayers of the baseborn.
He rose from his seat and strode to the far end of the cabin, where he retrieved the Bible off the bookcase. As he held the worn leather-bound pages in his hands, Brogan felt his unworthiness like a darkness surrounding his heart. “Yet there was a time I read it faithfully,” he said in reflection.
A time of shining youth when Brogan was grateful to be at sea. No matter how hard he must work, he was learning a trade. He was free of the orphan asylum. He was traveling far from those whose cruel misjudgment viewed the circumstances of his ill birth as a crime instead of a misfortune. It was a time when some measure of virtue and innocence still lived in him and Jabez’s teachings could stir his faith. Enough to inspire Brogan to believe that God would show mercy to an honest, upright heart, even if that heart belonged to the lowly and baseborn. Enough to make Brogan believe there was more to life than survival.
Then along came Jefferson with his embargo against all shipping to and from foreign ports, leaving hundreds of seamen unemployed, their families left to starve. Soon just trying to survive became all there was.
But life changed after Benjamin’s birth. Brogan had a son. Someone in the world he was connected to by blood. Someone he was responsible for. Suddenly he understood what it felt like to truly love. He grew fiercely ambitious, determined to make a future for his family.
He found not only employment but purpose, for himself and Jabez among the American private sector, businessmen both eager and equipped to participate in the naval war with England. They would be doing more than earning a living. They would fight for the rights and freedoms of their country.
As Brogan sailed the open seas, his wife grew distant. Soon Benjamin became the only link to the love they once shared. He worried about his son during those absences, knowing Abigail resented his time away and grew impatient with the confinement and caretaking of an infant. There were times he even suspected her of being with other men.
Brogan’s last wavering flame of hope for his family had been snuffed out the day Abigail told him Benjamin was gone. It was as though the Almighty had noted his unworthiness and turned His face.
Or perhaps His face had been turned all along.
Sometimes Brogan thought the only thing keeping him alive during the war was his desire to find the boy.
The cabin had fallen deathly silent, all eyes upon him. Embarrassed, Brogan shook off his dark thoughts and returned to the table to offer his Bible to Lorena. “Here. I hope it will comfort you. It has done little for me.”
She observed him with a sweetly curious expression, then turned to Jabez seated beside her. “Do you know why he is angry at God, Mr. Smith? He hasn’t stopped scowling since this conversation began.”
Jabez nodded knowingly. “Unfortunately, miss, the cap’n believes the Almighty does not smile favorably upon him, keeping those things he desires most out of reach.”
She straightened, taken aback. “But how can that be, Mr. Smith? Captain Talvis is a successful and acclaimed war hero. He is possessed of wealth and master of his own ship. What more, pray, does he desire?”
“Avast talking about me as though I were not standing here.” Brogan forced the scowl from his face. “Here, Lorena. You wanted the Book. Take it.”
She pressed it back into his holding. “I was hoping you would do the reading.”
His irritation returned. “Me? Surely Mr. Smith would be better suited. Aboard ship he conducts Sunday services. That is his collection of hymnbooks on my bookshelf. He’s been active in the religious revival to improve the moral condition of seamen and promote temperance.”
“That is very good of you, Mr. Smith,” Lorena acknowledged. “But allow me to explain my predicament. Before recent events, I’d been reading to Drew from Psalms. I thought, considering the bond it seems you’ve forged with him, that you, Brogan, might wish to read in my stead. It has been a long day and my eyes are tired. If not, I’m sure Mr. Smith would agree.”
Brogan’s throat went dry. His gaze jumped to Drew, who stared back in earnest. This opportunity would allow for one more way in which he could be a father to his son. “I would enjoy that very much. And you, Drew? Would you like me to read to you?”
The lad’s eyes widened excitedly. He reached for his cloth doll. “Oh, yes. Captain Briggs likes to hear, too.”
Brogan resumed his seat and opened the weathered Bible to the book of Psalms.
“Clever girl,” he heard Jabez whisper to Lorena. “I’ve not known man or woman to have such good influence on the cap’n as ye. In getting him to open his Bible again, ye have accomplished in one evening what I have been trying to do for years.”
Brogan lifted his gaze from the page to eye his chief mate with annoyance. And yet not so annoyed as he might have expected.
“The dust flying from that Good Book is fairly c
hoking me.” Jabez coughed and hacked, making a show of waving a hand before his face. “Quickly, Miss Huntley, cover yer mouth.”
Lorena laughed at the jibe, then sat back, hands folded, and gave Brogan her attention. “What have you chosen?”
“Nothing until I have quiet.”
Drew shot her a glare from across the table, pressing a finger to his soft pink lips.
Lorena repressed a smile, but not the gaiety in her eyes.
Brogan gave his son’s curls a tousle, then turned his focus to the page. Dismissing all else from his thoughts, he began to read, “‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters …’”
He projected authority in his voice for his son’s enjoyment, but as the moments wore on and he reached the passage “‘Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses,’” Brogan began to feel a conviction from the words he recited aloud. It had been so long since he’d dared have faith, and even then what good had come of it?
“‘He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.’” His voice grew hoarse and thick at the promise. Dare he trust it? “‘Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.’”
What was his desired haven? His son, of course. A family of his own, bound in blood and loyalty and love. Folk to whom he truly belonged and who belonged to him.
He finished the last remaining lines of the psalm as though offering them up in prayer. Whatever the outcome upon reaching Duxboro … please don’t let my son be taken from me again.
A light touch on his forearm burned through Brogan’s shirt and flesh to his marrow. He looked down into the sweet face of his young son, gazing up at him with an expression that could be … love?
“I had a papa once,” he said. “He sailed into war on a ship with cannons and guns, but he never came back. He gave me Captain Briggs, but I was too small to remember. I think he was like you.”
Brogan felt the breath flee his lungs. I am your father, Ben. The truth festered inside him, and now Brogan could feel the ties of kinship revive between them. He took Drew’s chin in his hand, tilting his face so he might smile more deeply into those sincere eyes. The lad smiled back. Drew may not yet know who he was, but some part of Benjamin remembered.
The only course left to him was to find the proper moment and reveal himself. Then hope for acceptance, not only from Drew but Lorena, as well. Would they forgive him for believing, not unlike George Louder, that he could take what he’d felt was his by right, when all along he’d needed to earn their love?
Whatever had transpired between Abigail and the Huntleys, he was grateful to Nathaniel Huntley and Lorena for opening their home and hearts to the boy, for giving Drew the love he never would have received from Abigail. Together, they had raised him into a fine, brave lad.
The mystery behind it all, however, continued to eat away at him.
Lorena thanked him again for the day’s events and tonight’s reading, then rose to herd Drew off to bed. “Will you read to us again tomorrow, Captain?” she asked.
Brogan nodded, still thoughtful. “Aye, I shall. Sleep well now, both of you.”
“And you, Brogan,” she bid. “A very good night.”
14
Deep within the abyss of slumber that evening, Brogan was having a hard night. Dreams had dragged him back to the last time he saw his wife alive.
“The child is gone, Brogan. Do you hear me? Gone. How many more times will you have me repeat the words before their meaning sinks into that infernal thickness between your ears? Benjamin is gone … forever!”
Reeling from disbelief, he searched for a sign to the contrary, all the while fearing the worst. He scanned the parlor, furnished in Abigail’s ostentatious preference for dark floral chintz décor, heavy Empire furniture, and lacquered screens. Not a trace of motherhood remained. Abigail had rid herself of their two-year-old son.
Brogan steadied himself, straining against the rage coursing through him. He envisioned his son frightened and crying among unfamiliar surroundings, and his ire rose to where steam fairly blew out his ears. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, then slowly unclenched it, his patience waning.
“Tell me where he is.” The words spewed forth as a plea, although that was not his intent. The last thing Brogan wanted was to sound desperate.
Abigail tossed back her head of silky golden curls and postured herself on the edge of the settee in a well-practiced manner that drew attention to her petite frame and the generosity of her endowments. Her dressing gown draped loosely off one shoulder, her skin a perfect alabaster. Six years his senior, she could pass for much younger than her actual twenty-nine years.
Suddenly her beauty disgusted him.
She raised her face to him in defiance, and even the dim lighting could not disguise the exceptional brilliance of her exotic blue eyes. “It is done. He shall be provided for far better than you or I ever could. I no longer have the means to care for an infant, and you, Brogan, most certainly do not. An occasional visit when in port does not make for a doting parent, as you may seem to think.”
Brogan winced at her harshness. By “means” she meant she no longer had any desire to care for Ben. She’d shown little love for the boy, and not for one moment did he believe her attempt at reassurance. Nay, he was not so naive as to trust the motives of anyone who’d condone a mother abandoning her son, anyone who’d agree to spirit away their child. “You believe Benjamin will benefit from the sponsor of strangers, more so than with a father who loves him? To grow up never knowing his origins, his own people?” It was a terrible fate. Brogan knew from experience—a loneliness that tore at the fabric of his being.
She glared back. “You needn’t worry. He’ll be well taken care of, I assure you. Very well.”
Ah, was this her true purpose revealed at last? She was a sly one, this woman. “I see then. It’s money, is it? You sold Benjamin for money?”
His mind grappled for something to persuade her to reveal the boy’s whereabouts. “You know you’ve no need of that money, Abigail. You are more than comfortable, and besides, I’ve been advanced to captain. It’s a captain’s wages I shall be sending you from now on. I’ve been sought in the service of a vessel under my own command. I promise, I shall return whenever and as often as I am able, but what else can I do? I must work; I must provide for my family and aid in the defense of our country.”
“Ah, yes.” She rolled her eyes, a twist of disdain on her lips. “You are to captain a privateer.”
Brogan nodded, hoping he had finally caught her ear. “The schooner Black Eagle, with a crew of forty-two and guns of two six-pounders and three twelves, all waiting to sail. One half of the net proceeds from her prizes goes to the vessel’s owner. The other half belongs to the crew. Of that, I shall receive twenty-two shares. That’s very generous. This venture could prove quite prosperous. For all of us.”
Her bitter laugh slashed through his pain with the sting of a whiplash. “Don’t be a fool, Brogan. We are ‘us’ no longer. You shall not see the boy again. And don’t mistake me for ignorant, because I assure you—I am not. Your missions grow more dangerous each time you sail. In truth, there is no prosperity in your future. I hold little hope of my husband returning with his life. Besides, money had nothing to do with my decision. I parted with the brat because I couldn’t bear the sight of him any longer. The foul stench of his soiled napkins and those infernal cries waking me in the middle of the night. His birth is a mishap I am well rid of.”
Brogan advanced on her. Her pupils widened, reflecting her sudden fear and the fire blazing from his own eyes. In one swift movement he reached for the front of her dressing gown and pulled her to her feet. She shrieked while somewhere on the garment a rip sounded.
“You are still my wife and you will do as I say. Give me the name of the man who has Benjamin.” He bellowed the demand in her face, then clasped her by the shoulders while
from beneath clenched teeth he threatened, “Tell me or I swear I shall—”
“You shall what?” Her eyes challenged him to execute the deed in his thoughts.
Once he had loved this woman for the child she gave him. Now he despised her for taking him away. Still, she was Benjamin’s mother.
His hands fell from her body. Abigail smiled in victory. They both knew he would never harm a woman.
“Why are you doing this, Abigail?” She had him between wind and water, a vulnerable position if he ever hoped to see his son again. “Have mercy. Your own flesh and blood. He’s an innocent child. How can you speak such evil?” He breathed deeply, ignoring her insults and fighting for control as he prayed against hope he’d find the right words to inspire some compassion. “Justify your actions as you see fit, but I cannot abandon my own son. I will not. He’s all I have. If you care nothing for Ben yourself, then why deny him a father who loves him?”
Why indeed?
Today he had come hailing the greatest news of his career, but all his accomplishments and success meant nothing without Benjamin. Twenty-three years of age and he had been advanced to captain … captain … captain …
“Captain. Captain, wake up!”
Brogan’s eyes flashed open with a start. He lay frozen and disoriented, while above him a woman’s features penetrated his drowsy fog. Abigail?
He bolted upright, heart lurching, his chest heaving. At the foot of his bed a shadowy figure held a lantern aloft, blinding him with its golden glare. “Tell me where he is,” Brogan rasped. “Where’s Benjamin?”
“I am here,” returned a child’s sweet voice.
“Ben,” he whispered as relief eased his racing heart.