Prize of My Heart

by Lisa Norato

  She nodded. “Ready.”

  Gripping the oars, he squared his shoulders and put his back into rowing. Lorena ran her gaze up the Yankee Heart’s great towering side and continued to watch in admiration as they sailed beneath the projecting spar of the bowsprit and the shadow of the jib boom’s sail.

  “I wonder why I don’t see Papa among any of the figures on the wharf,” she puzzled as they drew closer to land. “Oh, but there is Temperance and Mrs. Culliford.” Lorena reached up and waved excitedly, catching a glimpse of Edward Hicks’s wife beckoning to her husband in the longboat behind them. Under Mr. Smith’s command, it carried several of the crew as well as Lorena’s and Drew’s trunks.

  Brogan dragged the boat up the beach and lifted them out in turn onto the warm, soft beach sand. While he secured the boat, Drew scrambled up the dunes into Mrs. Culliford’s arms. She stooped to receive him, rocking him in a hug and showering his face with kisses.

  Lorena followed unsteadily on sea legs while Temperance ambled down the dune to her assistance, her voice carrying over the echoing surf and screeching gulls. “Is it really you, Lorena? We missed you so much! Your father has even purchased a fine porcelain tub for you. It waits up in your room. And there are soaps and bath salts of every fragrance imaginable.”

  “I missed you too, Temperance.” Lorena hooked an arm with her sweet young friend. Sand sifted into her sandals and between her toes as together they climbed to where Mrs. Culliford and Drew awaited. They reunited in a huddle of kisses, tears, and hugs. Mrs. Culliford drew her close with an arm wrapped about Lorena’s waist, then tenderly tucked a stray curl behind Lorena’s ear. There were questions about that fateful day, questions about George and what had happened, which for the moment would have to remain unanswered, as shipwrights, workmen, their families, and other townsfolk gathered around to welcome her home.

  “Everyone, please,” she called as Brogan strode up the path to join them. “This is a happy occasion indeed, but your good wishes belong to the hero who has made my safe return to Duxboro possible.” Lorena brought her hands together in applause, and all those fine citizens present lifted their faces to Brogan and joined her.

  Shouts of “Hurrah” rose up. Drew broke away from the onlookers and ran proudly to his papa’s side. Grinning, Brogan reached down and hoisted the boy into his arms. As he continued with Drew up the dune, Mrs. Culliford separated herself to approach him.

  She took his hand reverently between both her own. “On behalf of Mr. Huntley, Captain, bless you for bringing his children safely home. We are truly indebted to you.”

  “You are most welcome, Mrs. Culliford.” Brogan lowered Drew to the ground and cast his gaze warily over the spectators gathered. “Tell me, where is Mr. Huntley, and why is he not here with you?”

  The petite housekeeper spared a glance behind with a smile for Lorena, emotion misting her eyes. “I found him to be in such a state of loneliness and worry that I convinced him to continue with his business trips. Work seems to be the only thing that consoles him. He left for Boston shortly before the Yankee Heart was sighted in the bay.”

  Mrs. Culliford addressed Brogan once again. “I sent word immediately after him, Captain, and expect him to arrive shortly. In time, no doubt, to join you in the meal Temperance and I have been busily preparing. Not that Mr. Mott is not an able cook, but we thought you might be hungry for a taste of Yankee home cooking. Mr. Smith is most welcome, as well,” she was quick to assure him.

  “Mr. Smith will be pleased to hear it. Thank you kindly, Mrs. Culliford. I cannot imagine an occasion when we would decline your home cooking.”

  Brogan appreciated the woman’s excitement at having her household restored. She blushed shyly under his thoughtful gaze and offered him a smile of gratitude, eyes bright.

  She turned next to Drew, sifting her fingers through his long, baby-fine curls. “Your hair has grown since I saw you last. A quick trim would tidy you up nicely before Papa Huntley arrives. Would you let me cut your hair, Drew?”

  The lad turned his face, ducking from her reach. He looked to Brogan instead. “I think I need a nap first.”

  Temperance scoffed. “Don’t believe him, Mother. He never wants to nap.”

  Brogan rested a hand atop his son’s head and chuckled, for he understood the lad’s reluctance. Why must I get a trim when my own papa’s hair is so long? he imagined the boy thinking. Brogan’s hair had now grown to where it skimmed the top of his shoulders.

  Observing them, Mrs. Culliford blushed with horror. “Oh, Captain, I did not mean to imply—”

  “Please, don’t apologize, Mrs. Culliford. I agree with you; Drew could do with a haircut. Though, clearly, I do not set the best example on that score.”

  Mrs. Culliford set her chin proudly. “Well, in that case, Captain, you are most welcome to join us. I’ve often been told I have talent with a pair of shears.”

  Shears. The image sent a coldness racing through him.

  Even though twenty years had passed since he’d last seen that nightmare of an orphan asylum, moisture formed on Brogan’s brow. The sharp clip of the steel blades rang in his memory. The cruel, ragged chopping of his hair, meant to disfigure and humiliate. A much-dreaded, oft-repeated punishment and a warning to any other child who dared defy authority.

  He had been signaled out as rebellious, punished for his inability to succumb to the despair of his ill birth, for the fire in his heart that raged against injustice, and sometimes to the extent of a bleeding scalp.

  Never since had Brogan allowed anyone near his head with a sharp instrument. Whenever his hair became too ungainly, he would lop off an inch or two by his own hand.

  “I promise it won’t hurt a bit, Captain,” Mrs. Culliford encouraged sweetly.

  Brogan reminded himself he had nothing to fear from this petite, gentle housekeeper. And a respectable appearance couldn’t hurt his meeting with Nathaniel Huntley. If his little mite of a son could survive a hair trim, so could he. They were bred of the same stock.

  Today he’d put the ugliness of the past to rest. Abigail. The orphan asylum. Painful memories. They couldn’t hurt him.

  Chuckling, he gave the lad’s head a tousle. “We’ll do this together, aye? Get a trimming and make a good showing for Mr. Huntley.” Then to the housekeeper he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Culliford. I would be pleased to join you.”

  She smiled as though delighted to be able to do this small kindness for him.

  The dear woman had no idea how great a kindness.

  A platter of crisped bacon and sausages balanced in her hands, Lorena bid farewell to Brogan’s shaggy blond mane as she watched him push the breadboard table off to one side, transforming the summer kitchen into a barber shop.

  Such a dashing fellow could well afford to wear his hair in any style he chose, and if he preferred a more fashionable length—well, all the good for it.

  And convenient, because this meant that Brogan would be otherwise occupied when her father arrived. She had to prepare Papa. Her stomach twisted awaiting his arrival, knowing what damage could be wrought from the truth. Brogan deserved nothing less, but the man she had come to know and love was not likely to walk away from such a confrontation with her father unscathed.

  Lorena shuddered, departing with her platter to the main house. Temperance arranged the fare on the sideboard while Lorena laid the table, until an unmistakable commotion in the front hall caused her to drop what she was doing.

  “Children!” her father called. “Children, I’m here. Lorena? Drew? Where are you?”

  Lorena hurried from the room to join him in the foyer. Papa stood on the Oriental rug before the opened black-lacquered door, through which could be seen a vista of the bay and Brogan’s three-masted Yankee Heart. He appeared dusty from his travels, even fatigued from the heat. His buff-colored beaver hat tipped precariously to one side, and as he reached up to remove it, his eyes shone with tears.

  “Oh, my darling child.”

  Lorena r
ushed into his outstretched arms. He pressed his cheek to hers, and she felt a little girl again, hungry for her papa’s embrace, comforted by the quiet strength of his voice and the soft brush of graying whiskers that grew low in front of his ears.

  “Are you well? Were you harmed?” Papa stepped back, holding her at arm’s length and assessing her with a long, loving stare.

  Lorena smiled, blinking back tears. “I’m well. Very well. Better than when I left, in fact.”

  “I’ve been lost without you, Lorena. I’ve paced the wharf every day, watching and waiting for your return.” He frowned in a despairing way that Lorena found endearing. Tell me, how did it happen, you getting stuck on that brig? And the letter from George. I don’t understand.”

  Lorena explained.

  “Vomit powder! Why, if I am not the biggest fool to ever breathe sea air. And to think I trusted George. I trained and encouraged him. He grew into a superb architect. I was proud. I knew of his feelings for you, even gave him my blessing. All the while I never suspected what harm …”

  Papa shook his head as though to clear the direction of his thoughts. “Well, you are home safe now, thanks be to God and the decency of Captain Talvis.” He searched the hallway toward the back of the house. “Where is he? And where is Drew, that little rascal? Wait till he sees the collection of stones I’ve been gathering for him.”

  She’d no chance to respond, for by then a noisy procession could be heard at the back of the house. Lorena grabbed her father’s arm.

  “I haven’t time for long explanations, Papa, but be forewarned. Brogan is going to ask to speak to you in confidence, and when he does, he will make a shocking confession. You’ll be surprised to learn he is the one person we never expected to surface when we brought Drew into our home. The widow’s husband was underestimated by us all, for as it turns out, she was not a widow at all.”

  “What?” Papa’s eyes held many questions, but with a squeeze of his forearm, Lorena halted them and continued on. “Brogan is true and fiercely faithful to those he cares about.” She smiled in reflection. “You were wise to put your confidence in him. Still, you’ll be angry when he tells you his reason for coming to Duxboro. But, remember, he was a victim as much as Drew. Be compassionate. Drew loves him. And so do I, Papa. I hope to marry him.”

  “Marry?” Papa sputtered under his breath, his expression a mask of shock and confusion, before his attention was claimed by Drew’s squeal of joy.

  As Papa turned, Lorena glanced down the hall to where Brogan strode hand in hand with the child. Drew had retained his crown of fat buttercream curls, except now they lay closer to his head in respectable fashion. Brogan’s shaggy hair had been trimmed to the nape, parted slightly off-center and combed forward to frame his lean cheeks and long side whiskers.

  She took a careful look at him.

  He wore a pair of gray broadcloth trousers with a strap passing under the heel of his black boots. His crisp linen shirt was not tied with either cravat or neckcloth. Instead, ruffles of an even finer linen adorned the front of the shirt as well as his wrists. The effect made for a stark contrast. Soft ruffles on a thoroughly masculine man. White fabric against his darkened skin. Tender blue eyes shining out a rugged face.

  As Lorena held him in her admiring gaze, they exchanged smiles.

  Drew meanwhile broke away from Brogan and jumped into her father’s arms, where he proceeded to bend Papa’s ear with embellished yarns of their adventures.

  Papa stepped forward, Drew clinging to his coattails, and offered Brogan his hand. “God bless you, good fellow. I sincerely cannot thank you enough. I had every confidence you’d bring my children safely back to me and you have.”

  As they exchanged a handshake, Lorena caught Brogan’s wink. “As it turns out, sir,” he said, “it was my pleasure.”

  Papa beamed with pride and pleasure. “Captain, I insist on housing your entire crew in one of my boardinghouses for the duration of your stay. This evening a celebration supper shall be served them in the dining hall. As for yourself and Mr. Smith, you will dine with my family and me and shall spend the night as honored guests in my home. Mrs. Culliford, please see to their rooms at your first opportunity.”

  The housekeeper smiled warmly. “Sir, from the day you first informed me of your wishes, all these details were arranged, awaiting only the arrival of the Yankee Heart. Now that she has arrived, Temperance and I have anticipated your desire to gather at the table with your children and hear of their adventure. So, before the meal we’ve prepared grows any colder, may I suggest you continue this conversation in the dining room?”

  Papa’s eyes crinkled at their corners, shining with the warmth of his smile. “Excellent. A cup of tea would be most welcome. I can tell you, Mrs. Culliford, I am prepared to allow plenty of time for family in the future, devoting myself less to business and even abandoning my plans for a shipping enterprise, if necessary. How well I have learned the importance of that, suffering as I have without my children.”

  He glanced again at Lorena and Drew, almost as if he found it impossible to believe they were actually sharing the same space.

  Lorena felt Brogan’s eyes upon her and turned. A lump caught in her throat. Despite the gravity of the confession before him, his expression shone with the hope and repentance he carried in his heart. A man of justice and honor and loyalty, he stood prepared to humble himself before her father with the truth.

  She slipped a hand into the pocket of her apricot gown and closed her fingers around the silver thimble he had given her. Smiling her love, she gave him a nod of encouragement.

  “Sir, before I accept further of your generosity, it is imperative I share a private word with you,” Brogan announced. “There is much you don’t know about me, and it cannot wait any longer to be revealed.”

  Papa sobered at that. He looked shaken, uncertain what to expect. “My daughter informs me you have something to discuss, Captain. Come, let us retire to my study. Excuse us,” he apologized to all. “Don’t wait on us, Lorena. Take Drew and eat while the food is warm.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Lorena knew she would not be able to swallow a morsel herself, but for the child’s sake she turned to him and said, “Mmm, is that molasses bread I smell? How long has it been since we’ve squashed gooseberries in a bread and butter sandwich?”

  She led Drew into the dining room, one ear harkening to the sound of her father’s study door as it closed shut.

  19

  After years of agonizing why his son had been taken from him—bitter, angry, haunted by imagination and secrecy—Brogan took heart. At last he’d be granted the peace of mind in knowing what had happened to Benjamin three years ago. Finally, he would get answers. Huntley would deal with him honestly, as Abigail never had.

  The shipbuilder closed the door behind them and gestured to a pair of winged chairs on an Oriental rug before the fireplace. They were tall, handsome pieces, jacquard-upholstered in vibrant red.

  Brogan declined the seat and paced across the wide-plank pine floor to an east-facing window on the opposite side of Huntley’s desk, a desk littered with architectural drawings and drafting implements. He gazed out the panes to a sweeping view of land and sea. Hundreds of questions sprang to mind, yet before he could voice a single one, he must disclose his relationship to Ben.

  Mustering his courage, Brogan turned from the window. “Mr. Huntley, you should know that I am privy to the true identity of the boy you call Drew. I have known from the beginning, in fact, because Benjamin was my reason for coming to you.”

  “Oh.” Except for a slight paleness of complexion, Nathaniel Huntley’s face disclosed nothing. “I hope you won’t mind, Captain, but I believe I shall have a seat.” He lumbered to a wing chair and eased his burden down onto its cushioned seat, gripping the armrests for support. “And here I was convinced you came to me for a ship.”

  He heard betrayal in the man’s tone and reminded himself Nathaniel Huntley had good reason to feel wronged, though B
rogan himself had also been wronged. Brogan was well aware he was not perfect; he had made mistakes, but in his heart he sought forgiveness and to please God.

  He squared his shoulders. “I came for my son. I am the boy’s natural father. I am the husband of the late woman who surrendered Benjamin to you. Abigail Russell Talvis. We were a family, or so I thought, until the day she sent our son away and refused to tell me where.”

  “The widow. Not a widow at all, as it turns out,” Huntley said in a tone laced with distaste. It was the first time he’d acknowledged acquaintance with Abigail in Brogan’s presence. “And now it seems my own daughter has fallen in love with you.” Crooking his neck, Huntley began to massage the base of his skull as though to ease an ache. “You did not exaggerate, Captain. This is all most revealing. But I would like to know why you didn’t come to me when you first arrived in Duxboro. What were your intentions that you chose to keep your identity hidden?”

  Brogan stepped forward and took the chair opposite Huntley’s. Poised on the edge of his seat, he explained everything just as he had to Lorena, beginning with his meeting Abigail along Boston Harbor. He told of Benjamin’s birth and the joy and purpose it brought to his life. He made clear his resolve to be a good father and provider, and how, to his mind, he had been growing successful at both—until Abigail snatched it all away.

  Huntley made no attempt to interrupt, but listened quietly. Brogan detailed his search and how he finally came to discover the whereabouts of his son. He explained his desperate plan to commission the Yankee Heart and then sail off with Ben.

  “My intentions might not have been honorable,” he admitted, “but at the time all that concerned me was my son. Abigail swore I’d never find him. Soon after, she perished in a blaze that destroyed our home, and I knew, even if I were to locate Benjamin, there was no one to speak for my paternity.”

  Huntley’s pensive silence grew unbearable. When at last he spoke, Brogan thought he glimpsed perspiration on the fellow’s brow. “Then tell me why, when you had the opportunity, did you not depart with Drew as planned? Why instead did you go after Lorena?”