The Beaches and Brides ROMANCE COLLECTION: 5 Historical Romances Buoyed by the Sea

by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis

  Edward rose. “Shall we take you home, ladies?”

  “I’d love to see the ship dock.” Deborah’s eager brown eyes darted from him to the scene beyond the window.

  “I told Mother we’d be home early,” Abigail said with a note of reluctance. “Elizabeth was ill this morning, and we need to help with the dinner preparations.” Deborah sighed. “All right. I’d forgotten.”

  Edward went to the door and told one of the clerks to run out and secure a carriage for them. When he turned back, he saw that Jacob was gathering up the bolt of rose-colored material and smiling at Abigail. Her face bore the most serene expression Edward had seen her wear since his return. Instead of allowing pangs of jealousy or depression to assail him, he sent up a quick prayer of thanks.

  “Jacob, perhaps you’d like to see the ladies home,” he said. “I’ll head for the wharf, and you can meet me there when you return.”

  “If you’re sure you won’t need me for half an hour.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Edward walked with them out the front door and around to where the hack was waiting. When Jacob and both ladies were aboard, he shut the door.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Jacob said through the window.

  “Fine. We’ll go over the manifest together.” Edward tipped his hat to the sisters and stood back. The driver flicked the reins and headed away from the harbor.

  Edward stood still for another moment, trying to analyze his feelings. Why wasn’t he upset today? The woman he’d loved for years had jilted him last night. He could only conclude that God had answered his prayers for peace.

  As the coach turned out of the yard, Deborah leaned out the window and looked back, waving at him. Her hair had escaped the straw bonnet and flew about her rosy cheeks.

  Edward couldn’t help smiling. He lifted his hand and waved back.

  Late that evening, Edward bent over the ledgers in his father’s study at home. No matter how many times he went over the accounts, he could find no fault in Daniels’s bookkeeping. Even the price of the painting Jacob had purchased was as he’d represented it. Still, something was amiss. Edward was sure of it. The Prosper had brought a good income to the company on every voyage until his father’s death. Then she had made a run to the Caribbean that should have been profitable, but instead the goods sold barely covered the expenses for the voyage. Edward totaled the sales three times, then compared his figures to those of the schooner’s previous voyages. Perhaps it was poor judgment in the goods purchased in the islands.

  The next voyage had brought in a little more but was still far below the amount the Prosper usually earned. He then laid the figures side by side with the earnings of the Falcon and found that the European trade was far outearning the Caribbean voyages.

  Edward ran a hand through his hair and looked at the clock. It was late, and he was tired. Perhaps things would make more sense in the morning.

  But the next morning, he saw no more logic to the figures than he had the night before. The custom at Hunter Shipping was for the office staff to work a half day on Saturdays unless a ship was docking. Edward carried the ledgers back to the office and called Mr. Daniels into his private room.

  “I see what you mean, Mr. Edward,” Daniels admitted after Edward had carefully pointed out the troublesome amounts to him. “I did notice that the last couple of voyages were not so good for the Prosper, but I thought it was just one of those things that happens occasionally.”

  Edward shook his head. “I’m at a loss, Mr. Daniels. But I’m not sure the company ought to consider buying another ship if profits are falling.”

  “They’ve increased in other areas.”

  “Yes. The Falcon and the sloop have both done very well on their recent voyages.” Edward leaned back in his chair. “I just don’t understand it. The Caribbean trade has been our mainstay, and those cargoes were all good products.”

  “Not as much coffee as we like to get,” Daniels mused. “Less of the high-profit items, more of low-profit goods like rice.”

  “Perhaps you can get me the copies of the Prosper‘s manifests from these voyages,” Edward said. “Now that you say that, I’d like to compare the percentages of different goods she brought back.”

  “Yes, sir. Perhaps it’s just a matter of instructing Captain Stuart on what merchandise you want him to trade for.”

  Edward flipped the pages of the latest ledger once more. The arithmetic was flawless. Daniels supervised his clerks so closely that Edward was sure they wouldn’t make a mistake or change the figures without the accountant noticing it. Daniels was past sixty years of age, and Jeremiah Hunter had treated him well. He earned a good salary and was now a part owner in Hunter Shipping. Edward decided that Daniels had little motive to cheat the company. But wouldn’t a man of Captain Stuart’s experience know what cargoes to buy? He’d made eight voyages for Hunter Shipping, and up until the last two, he’d seemed to know how to buy goods in high demand at a low price. Was it just a coincidence that the Prosper had barely made a profit on its last two voyages south?

  Chapter 9

  Deborah opened the Bowmans’ front door a week later and found Edward and Jacob waiting on the doorstep. She had half expected Jacob to come around looking for Abby that evening, but it surprised her to see Edward with him. Of course, they had behaved cordially toward each other the day she and Abby toured the shipping company with them. Now Jacob was laughing at something his cousin had said, and they both turned to face her with smiles on their lips.

  For the first time, Deborah saw a family resemblance. Edward was taller by two inches, and his hair and eyes much darker than Jacob’s. But the nose was the same, she realized, and both had a somewhat obstinate set to their chins. Jacob’s form was more compact, and his legs were shorter, like his father’s. But both had broad, muscular shoulders and were clean shaven, though Edward had admitted to her and Abigail that he had worn a beard of necessity for nearly four years. She tried to picture him in a bushy, untrimmed beard, and that set her off in a chortle.

  “What’s so funny, miss?” Jacob asked, taking a stern posture and stiffening his back.

  “Nothing you need to know. Won’t you come in?” She forced her mouth into a more serious line as she took their hats. “Unfortunately, Abigail has gone with my mother to call on Mrs. Jordan. But they should be back soon, if you’d care to wait.”

  “Only if you’ll join us,” said Edward, and her heart lurched, though she knew he meant nothing special by it.

  “What?” Jacob asked in mock horror. “Deborah sitting with us when she doesn’t have to? Unheard of.”

  She showed them to the parlor, then hastened to the kitchen to fix tea. Hurrying back to her guests, Deborah paused in the front hall to glance in the looking glass. Edward had come back, even though Abby had turned him down. Her pulse surged. Did she dare think he enjoyed being here in spite of the blow he had recently received?

  Although Edward was still reticent about some aspects of his voyage and sojourn on the island, Jacob was more than willing to talk. He was an excellent storyteller, and Deborah suspected that Abigail had not let him tell as many tales of the sea as he would have liked.

  She listened avidly as Jacob recounted the damage sustained by the Egret. He coaxed Edward to tell his part of the story, claiming he’d been wondering about certain points.

  “How did you find Spring Island? Was it by accident, or did you make for it?”

  “It was the captain’s choice,” Edward said, settling back in his chair with a steaming cup of tea. “He’d brought a compass and a quadrant with him when he climbed down into the boat, as well as a chart and a copy of Bowditch’s navigation tables.”

  “Ah!” Jacob eyes gleamed. “We had a compass, but that was the extent of our navigating tools.”

  “The winds weren’t right for us to head for the Society Islands or the Marquesas,” Edward said. “I suggested Hawaii, but Captain Trowbridge said it was more than a thousand miles away. We were m
uch closer to this little island in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t sure we could fetch it, and it would have been disaster if we’d missed it. We all would have died of thirst in another day or two. But through God’s grace and the captain’s knowledge, we made it.”

  “It’s too bad our boats were separated,” Jacob said.

  “Yes, but that was part of God’s plan, too. I believe that now. He wanted me there with Gideon and John, and at the last of it, by myself for a good long while.”

  “It’s hard for me to fathom why God would want that to happen,” Jacob said. “Do you think He wanted the others to die like they did?”

  Edward hesitated. “I don’t know. He took them home, one by one, and each passing left a deep impression on the rest of us. The two fellows who were with me the longest didn’t hold much with prayer and faith at first. John Webber was cocky and proud. He ran wild whenever we touched port. But the captain’s testimony before he died influenced John to believe in Christ.”

  “Praise God,” Deborah murmured.

  “And when John cut his arm and began to get feverish, Gideon tended him like a baby. During that time, John urged Gideon to turn to the Lord. Afterward, Gideon came to me and told me he’d had a long talk with the Almighty, and he was a child of God from then on. We had precious fellowship together, Gideon and I.”

  “What a wonderful blessing.” Deborah set her china cup down and folded her hands in her lap, ready to hear more.

  “Yes. God used the storm and the wreck and all that happened afterward to draw those two men, at least, to Himself.”

  “I guess I can see that He brought good from it,” Jacob said. “I’m glad they believed. It’s still hard for me to thank God for letting the ship sink, though.”

  Deborah smiled at Edward, and he answered her, his eyes full of understanding. Their gazes locked for a long moment, and she felt warmth flooding through her chest and up to her face as the blood went to her cheeks.

  Edward was such a dear brother in Christ. If only God would bring a man like him to love her the way Edward had loved Abby. She would not, could not, allow the thought to reach beyond that. On other occasions, she’d felt the flutter of longing in her heart when she and Edward conversed. They comprehended each other perfectly. Hadn’t Abby felt that when she talked to him? How could she not yearn to be with him?

  Even these thoughts made her feel uneasy, as she vaguely discerned an uncrossable line. Edward loved Abby. She could wish for a man like him, and she could wish for his future happiness, but she could not meld those two wishes into one. It would be scandalous.

  She broke the stare with regret and caught Jacob’s eye. He was settling against the back of his chair with a contented smile that she hoped wasn’t a smirk.

  Oh no! He’s imagining things between Edward and me. Or was it her imagination? The sudden prospect that she had betrayed her sister by developing strong feelings for Edward slammed Deborah’s heart. She was fooling herself if she refuted it.

  What had Jacob seen, exactly? Worse yet, what did he think he had seen? She could not deny the undercurrent that had surged between her and Edward. But it wouldn’t be proper to act upon it. Would it? Abby had definitely put an end to Edward’s hopes and was planning her wedding to Jacob. It was wrong for Deborah to feel an attraction for her sister’s rejected suitor. Of course, Edward didn’t feel anything of the sort for her. Did he? And if he did, he was too much of a gentleman to do anything about it so soon. But Jacob’s perception of what occurred was another matter entirely.

  “Edward is considering sailing down to Portsmouth in our sloop soon to look at a ship for sale there,” Jacob said.

  Edward’s features sobered. “Yes, we’re thinking of adding one more vessel to our fleet. I’m looking over the accounts to be sure we’re in good enough financial shape for that.”

  “I thought it was settled,” Jacob said, turning toward him with his eyebrows arched. “You said you would go and size up the ship we spoke of.”

  Deborah saw Edward’s troubled frown, but she decided this topic was a good distraction for Jacob. It was much better than the flutter of guilt she’d felt a moment ago. “When are you going?” she asked Edward.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Jacob said, “We’re waiting on our schooner the Prosper.”

  “We don’t want to lay out any large sums of money until she brings in her cargo,” Edward explained. “But Jacob expected her back several weeks ago. We’ve been watching for her since I returned.”

  “Where did she sail?” Deborah picked up the teapot, and Jacob held out his cup for her to refill.

  “To the Caribbean,” he said. “Captain Frost of the Eden brought me a packet of letters two months past. Said he’d met the Prosper a hundred miles north of Havana and exchanged mail with her. The report I received from our captain indicates the Prosper was doing fine at that time, but we’ve heard nothing since.”

  “Perhaps she’s waiting on her return cargo,” Deborah said.

  Jacob winced and shook his head. “I wish I knew. If she’s been pirated or sunk—”

  “Let’s not borrow trouble.” Edward threw Deborah a reassuring smile.

  “How many men aboard?” she asked.

  “Twenty-four,” said Edward.

  Jacob sighed. “Both the Ramsey brothers are part of the crew, and Ivory Mason’s son. Lots of local boys. The company can’t afford to lose another ship, but beyond that, the loss of the crew would devastate this town.”

  “Then we must pray for the best,” Deborah said.

  “Yes.” Edward gave his cousin a slight nod, as though he’d reached a decision. “As soon as she docks and the cargo is unloaded, I will run down to Portsmouth and look at the Resolute.” He swiveled toward the hall, and Deborah heard the sound of the front door opening.

  She jumped up. “That must be Mother and Abby.”

  Mrs. Bowman and Abigail joined them in the parlor, and Deborah hurried to the kitchen to get a fresh pot of tea and more cups. When she returned to the front room, all four were engaged in lively conversation about the choosing of Portland as the new state of Maine’s capital and the preparations underway to celebrate statehood.

  Deborah poured tea for Mother and Abigail and sat on a Windsor chair tucked near the hearth and watched them all. Edward and Jacob did not seem to compete for Abigail’s favor. Both participated in the discussion equally, with courteous but opinionated contributions.

  Edward turned to Deborah after a few minutes. “What do you think, Debbie? Should the people be taxed to build new government buildings?”

  “Well, why not? We begged for statehood. We must bear the consequences.”

  She wondered if he was just being polite, including her in the conversation. But his smile made her feel that it was more than that. Edward cared what she thought. The idea that a man she esteemed found her thoughts worth considering brought on a surge of pleasure that was followed by a confusing blast of self-recrimination. She could not, must not consider Edward as anyone more than a friend at this time. It would shock society if he took up with the sister of the girl who had so recently rejected him. But the very idea made Deborah’s chest tighten. If Edward should think of her in that way—it was too intoxicating to contemplate.

  Edward turned his attention to her mother as she inquired about his family, and Deborah shrank into her corner and watched the others. Jacob was fully engrossed in Abigail. He even chatted with her for several minutes about the style of gown she was sewing for the new governor’s upcoming ball.

  Deborah searched Edward’s profile for signs of jealousy but found none. He conversed with Deborah and her mother while Jacob and Abigail continued their chat in low tones, with eyes for no one else in the room. Deborah drew in a long, slow breath. Edward had not come here to pine for Abby or to torture himself by watching his cousin court the one he loved. And she doubted he found her mother’s prattle about the neighbors overly absorbing.

  She peeked at him. His att
ention to her mother’s small talk was flawless, yet … He threw a quick smile her way, and Deborah’s lungs suddenly felt too small to hold the same air he breathed.

  Ten days later, Edward put on his hat and headed for the front door of his family home. He stopped with his hand on the marble knob.

  “I hate to go off to the office and leave you alone, Mother. With Jenny away this morning—”

  “What claptrap! Do you suppose I’ve never been alone before?”

  “Well, no, but …” He looked her over and saw a capable, healthy woman with graying hair, a figure leaning toward stoutness, glinting brown eyes, and a determined scowl.

  “Besides, I shan’t be alone. You’ll come home for dinner, and I expect Jenny to come soon after. And I shall have company for tea at half past three.”

  “Oh.” Edward was taken aback by his gentle mother’s spirited declaration. He supposed she had grown more independent of necessity since his father’s death.

  “Yes, and good company, too.”

  She seemed to be dangling that morsel in front of him, teasing him to jump at it, so he said rather cautiously, “Anyone I’m acquainted with?”

  “Deborah Bowman comes to tea once a fortnight. She’s more entertaining than a gossip, and more sympathetic than a parson. Today is Debbie’s Tuesday, and there’s no one I’d rather share a pot of tea with.”

  Edward smiled, wondering how this bit of information had managed to elude him. “You make me wish I were invited.”

  “Well, you’re not.”

  He left the house, still savoring his mother’s roguish behavior. She was back to her old self. Or perhaps not. This was a new self. She’d gained a verve that assured him she would be all right now, no matter what God placed in her path.

  Her delight at the prospect of tea with Deborah was comforting, too. It told him she’d been enjoying the young woman’s company for some time. Since his father’s death, perhaps. Deborah was a good listener with an unfailingly cheerful outlook. Only once or twice had he seen her frown over Abigail’s standoffish behavior toward him, tiny wrinkles in her smooth disposition. In fact, during the three weeks since Abigail had freed him of his need to look only at her, he’d been taking some rather long looks at Deborah and had decided that her character was altogether pleasing. She matched him in intellect and energy. The idea that Deborah had been bringing sunshine and friendship to his widowed mother brought a warm feeling to his heart.