My Dear Sophy

by Kimberly Truesdale

  * * *

  Miss Wentworth was getting up to leave and Connie felt oddly distressed at the prospect. Dinner was over and there had been no expectation that the Wentworths would stay for the afternoon, but still the time seemed to have run too short. And he had learned nothing more about her. He'd had no time to talk with her on her own. He'd only told stories of himself to amuse to his parents and the guests. But he had been persuaded to talk too much and now the time had been wasted. With an uncharacteristic sense of urgency, Connie leaned toward his father and asked if he would mind terribly if their guests were invited to stay. Instead of answering his son, the rector spoke aloud.

  “My dear Wentworths, would you be amenable to staying for the afternoon? We could use the company. My son's stories fare much better with a bigger audience.” The rector smiled at his guests.

  The boys looked enthusiastically to their father. They had listened as only young men could to the tales Connie had spun of his adventures across the world. Connie smiled to himself at the thought of their rapt attention throughout the meal. He remembered being a young man of their age. To a young man who'd lived his whole life in Milverton, tales of adventure seemed exotic, a chance to live vicariously through someone else. Even the boys aboard his ship could sit rapt for hours, asking the older sailors for story after story of the seafaring life and tall tales of the sea. Sailors learned early how to spin yarns. Often it had been their only form of amusement on the Pleasant.

  Connie knew that Edward and Freddy would talk of nothing else for weeks after he left. But for now they had convinced their father to stay for the afternoon. They did not have to push him too hard. The doctor seemed to be enjoying himself as much as his sons were. And Miss Wentworth... Connie sneaked a shy look at her. Her mouth had quirked into a lopsided smile that seemed to show she was also pleased at the prospect of an afternoon in company with the Crofts. His father had spoken of blessings this morning and here was one. Connie had been given the gift of the afternoon, and he must make the most of it.

  Miss Wentworth had entirely intrigued him with her easy conversation – when she spoke – and guileless manners. This morning he had tried his best to concentrate on the well-meaning parishioners wishing him happy and welcoming him back home after so many years. But his eye had continually wandered to where Miss Wentworth was standing, surrounded by her own group of well-wishers. Connie had found himself wondering what she was saying to the people who flocked around her. He wanted to know what made her bend her head together with the ladies and what made her laugh or look serious.

  From observing her in the churchyard, Connie had seen that Sophy listened. To everyone she met, she listened with her whole attention, but she volunteered very little of her own conversation. He had seen how the townspeople had been around her. But she talked only in answer to their inquiries, parceling out her words to achieve the most impact with the least effort. When she spoke, her companions listened.

  The trouble – as Connie had discovered during their too short luncheon – was that she rarely spoke first. There was an inwardness about her. Though Sophy was in the crowd, she was not of it. What would she say if he could get her to speak freely? The question had plagued him all morning. Now he was glad for the opportunity of more time to try and draw her out, to find out what was really in her mind.

  This desire had to wait, though, as the questions from the boys started again even before they had all retired to the comfortable drawing room. Connie found himself again at the center of attention, surrounded by friends and family all eager to hear more stories of his life at sea.

  “How did you become a sailor?” Edward asked.

  “He begged me until I found him a place!” The rector laughed heartily before his son could speak. “The boy was quite persistent in his desire. I guess it was good that he knew what he wanted.”

  “Indeed,” Connie laughed along with his father. “I seem to remember a conversation that ended with my dear mother saying that I should be allowed to go and be forced to muddle on with it, no matter if I liked it or not at the last.”

  Mrs. Croft joined in her son's good humor. She did not deny his allegation. “Why, yes I did! You were such an intent little boy that I do not believe your father or I could have stopped you from going to sea. So we decided you had better get to it and deal with the consequences like the man you wished to be.” Her eyes sparkled with humor before turning a shade wistful. “I did consider that you were too young. Your brothers were leaving for school and you were my last boy. I did hate to see you go. But you have done us all proud. You muddled through quite fine, I guess.” She grinned at Connie, who began himself to feel a little wistful.

  “Was it hard to leave home?” Freddy asked.

  Connie nodded. “Yes, of course. Though I would have been the last to admit it! I kept my chin up for my mother's sake. But that ship did seem awfully lonely until I made some friends.” It had been a long time since he'd thought about those first weeks aboard ship. They had been the hardest he'd passed in his life.

  Connie had never been away from home and his thirteen-year-old self had wanted to be strong. But he found himself only wishing for the comforts and companionship of home. A ship was a strange and confusing place for a full grown man, much less an innocent young boy. It had its own set of rules, its own form of society, its own hierarchy of merit. Everyone started at the bottom and worked his way up. You earned respect on board a naval ship. And there were always men ready to take advantage of your inexperience. Connie had learned that quickly, but not before he had been tricked out of more than one of his possessions.

  Freddy's sigh interrupted Connie's thoughts of his younger self.

  “I wish I could go to sea,” the boy opined.

  Miss Wentworth perked up as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Is that where you were headed yesterday morning, Freddy? To sea?”

  They all turned toward the boy expectantly. In all the shuffle of searching and the relief of his return, no one had thought to ask Freddy where he'd been bound.

  Freddy looked sheepishly around him and then shrugged. “I didn't really have a plan, but I guess that I was headed toward the sea. By the time I had made it out of town, I could only really think about how much my leg hurt.” They all laughed.

  “I guess it's good that Connie here came along with a horse to ride, then,” bellowed the rector. His laughter caused Freddy to blush. Connie felt some sympathy with the young man's folly.

  “I used to run away, too, you know.”

  “Really?” Freddy perked up, ready for another story and forgetful of his own embarrassment.

  “Truly?” The Reverend asked. He seemed startled at the revelation, as if he had never realized this about his son. Connie looked toward his mother, who was trying to conceal a sly smile.

  “Yes, truly, father!”

  “But... but... I never knew it!” The rector protested loudly. Mrs. Croft was audibly giggling now and the rest of the room was on the verge, ready to be let into the joke.

  Connie's face was contorted with the laughter he choked back. He hadn't realized that all these years later and his mother had never told his father. “You never knew, father, because I always came back for supper!”

  At that, Mrs. Croft's giggles turned to hearty laughter. “He never could resist the call of his belly! Connie would come home and announce to me that he had run away but then decided to come back because he knew we would be bereft without him. And then he'd sit happily down to his supper. And all the time I never even knew he'd run away.” The room was howling with laughter.

  Connie wiped the happy tears from his eyes and said, “She only shook her head at me and went on with whatever she was doing, dear old Mama.”

  “I never knew!” The rector shouted again. Every time the laughter threatened to die away, he would say it again and send them back into fits of fun.

  “With such a penchant for running, my boy,” began the rector, “how did you ever manage this long
in the Navy?”

  “There are not many places to run away to aboard ship! And, what's more important, no one to miss me when I am gone,” Connie smiled.

  Doctor Wentworth had noticed that Freddy looked puzzled. “What's the matter, son?”

  “Only thinking about how someone would run away to sea, if he was determined.” The doctor looked alarmed at this statement, so Connie stepped in.

  “It is not as easy as it sounds in novels, young man.” Freddy's face fell. “Not that the Navy doesn't need good men. But one cannot simply walk onto a ship. You have to be taken on board by the captain, so it helps to know a sailor or two – or even a captain,” Connie winked as he said this, “-- who can recommend you.”

  “Is that how you went on board a ship?” Edward had become as interested in the subject as his brother.

  Connie nodded. “Yes, actually. My father knew a chaplain on board the Baron who was able to recommend me a place. The captain liked me and took me on.”

  * * *

  For the rest of the afternoon, Sophy listened as intently as her brothers to the stories Captain Croft told. She listened as he told of his first lonely night aboard ship. She laughed along with him as he told of the antics of his fellow midshipmen. She listened as he told about the exotic travels to the West Indies and to the opposite side of the globe to the East Indies. Sophy listened to it all with the careful attention of one who would never visit these places, one who must absorb all of her experience from books and the stories of others.

  She reveled in the stories. It was not hard to imagine anything the captain described. He had such a way of telling a tale. He was a great mimic and his stories were full of the voices and personalities he had encountered. One of her favorites had been his description of an overzealous wine merchant.

  Captain Croft had begun his tale by saying, “First, let me describe this little man. And he was little. O'Brian and I thought he looked a bit like a barrel. Had he fallen over, I expect he would have bobbed up and down in the water.” The captain had blown up his cheeks, which had driven his audience to delighted laughter.

  “Indeed, I am not quite sure how he fit his rotund body into the little skip he was rowing out to us. But there he was, his fat little arms working double time to row against the tide.” Captain Croft rowed his arms frantically and made a comical face.

  “When he finally pulled alongside of us, the poor man was panting and sweating. We did feel quite sorry for him, even as we laughed at him. Well, he rowed up alongside and shouted up to us in an accent I could not quite place.” Here the captain looked up at the ceiling, pretending to look up the side of a ship and loudly imitated the little man's indistinguishable accent and manner.

  “'Ello, der! I 'ave-a brought de wine fo' you!'” At this ridiculous voice, the captain's audience had dissolved into laughter. He need only say something in the accent to start them all off again. When they had calmed somewhat, Captain Croft continued.

  “Well, we could hardly keep from laughing in the man's face, but we told him he was mistaken and we did not need any wine. He must have stood in that little skip for half an hour trying to convince us that we needed his 'best wine in the world'. A few times, I feared he would fall out of his boat, he was gesturing so wildly at us.” The captain stood up from his chair and pretended to be on an unsteady boat, almost tipping over.

  “Well, he did finally leave us and move along to the next anchored ship, but every time we've taken on wine since then, one of the men has come aboard saying, 'Ello, der! I 'ave-a brought de wine fo' you!'”

  There had also been a raucous tale of a burly ship's cook that had scared all the young midshipmen on their first day aboard ship that had kept them all laughing for an hour. In the captain's hands, the stories came to life. Sophy felt like she knew these people, had talked to them, had been there to witness these stories in the making. They laughed all afternoon as he kept them entertained.

  Inevitably, Freddy had asked about the battles he'd been in. And Sophy – who had been so carefully observing the captain – saw something in him change. It wasn't quite noticeable outwardly. He still had the same energy and humor and vigor in his tales. He still painted the characters of his story in the most vivid way. No one else in the party seemed to notice that his eyes didn't hold the same sparkle as a few moments ago. They seemed shadowed. And his brow showed signs of tension.

  Sophy lost track of the story as she studied his face more closely. Connie was not an old man – twenty-seven by his own avowal – but when she looked carefully at him, Sophy could see the strain of the battles he'd fought. She saw the tanned skin – much too tan to be quite fashionable, but it gave him an air of adventure. From her place in a chair not too far away from him, Sophy could see the muscles of his solid, square jaw work as he talked. His teeth were impossibly white next to his tanned skin. His lips a light shade of pink. He moistened them unconsciously as he told his stories. There were lines around his mouth that spoke of tension. They had not been there when he had told about the wine merchant.

  Sophy watched Captain Croft like this until he turned to look at her, including her in the story. She'd been staring at him again in a most bold way, like she had done yesterday. It took Sophy a moment to register that he was looking at her and had caught her boldly evaluating him once again. When she managed to bring her eyes up to his, she realized that he had caught her. Those lips she had been studying so carefully quirked into a smile that brought a light blush to her face. How mortifying! He had caught her blatantly staring! Again! But it seemed to amuse him, as if he could read the thoughts on her face. After a moment of hesitation, Sophy simply accepted that he had caught her and she smiled back at him.

  They locked eyes for a moment and she was heartened to see that the shadow that had been upon him since he began talking about the war had left him. Sophy wasn't sure what exactly had happened or why her blood had sped up in her veins at his look, but her heart had lifted to see the shadow disappear. She was not quite sure why it affected her as it did and now was not the time to ponder it further. And so she turned her full attention back to the merry party before her and the lovely prospect of more hours together.

  Chapter XIII

  The next few days brought the families into even closer company, though scarcely an afternoon hour passed without the interruption of a neighbor or two come to pay a visit and meet Milverton's hero. For that is what the captain had become since entering the village in such fashion. The town had passed around heavily embellished stories of Captain Croft's valiant derring-do in the war. He appeared to be a modern Hercules, though he had faced a hundred more trials than the mythical strong man.

  During these visits, Sophy watched Captain Croft laugh off the tales and attempt to correct his neighbors when he could. At moments that shadow that had so intrigued and concerned her on Sunday afternoon returned like a rain cloud over his head. He was not comfortable with the mantle of a hero draped across his shoulders and seemed to want to shrug it off. The more the townspeople tried to cast him in that role, the more he withdrew into himself. The villagers didn't want to see it, having already determined to beatify him.

  Freddy and Edward had also deified the captain, thinking of him as their newest hero. Not someone out of a book, but a real live hero come to sit in their parlor and tell exciting stories of the world outside of Milverton. His parents also thought that their son could do no wrong. They loved him and were simply glad to be back in his company. Sophy herself might have fallen into this category had she not been so closely observing the visitor and seen that hint of something else underneath the outgoing and charismatic man in his naval uniform.

  As Captain Croft was the constant center of attention, Sophy had had no opportunity of speaking with him. Not as she had done on that first day when he had turned Freddy around. Since then, Sophy had been waiting for a chance to speak with him again. She hadn't realized it until Monday and Tuesday came and went – like Sunday – without the opportunity. A
few times he had turned to her in a quiet moment and begun to speak. But each time they had been interrupted by a question from one of the boys or the appearance of another guest.

  The second time this had happened, she thought she saw his brow crease for a moment with annoyance. She had recognized it because his feeling mirrored her own. It was the promise of an edifying conversation out of reach. Sophy wanted to talk with this interesting man. And not only about the adventures he had seen. Captain Croft must have so many opinions and thoughts. He was a man who had traveled the world, had seen other lands and peoples. And he had a gift for telling about them.

  Sophy longed to ask him questions. There was something about the stories and the characters he talked about in company that had become unsatisfying for her. She still listened keenly, eager for all she could absorb about the people he had met or the places he had been that she would never see. Sophy was unsure why she felt this way, but as the days passed without a chance to talk only to him, she grew anxious and a bit irritable, as if she wanted him all to herself and was jealous of the attention he bestowed on others. Though she kept quiet, her thoughts towards the others were becoming uncharitable. She disliked the time they took away from her opportunities of speaking with him.

  This was an entirely new feeling for Sophy and she was not quite sure how to temper her thoughts or how to find a way to speak to him alone. So she waited, as patiently as she could, for an opportunity to take what she desired.

  Sophy reflected on this feeling as she walked homeward from her visits. As usual, her Wednesday morning had been full of the normal rounds to all of her friends in Preston-Bowyer. Sophy had heard all of the latest gossip and was obliged to share her own stories of Saturday's events. Everyone wished to know about the handsome naval captain. Of course, many had known the captain as a boy, and so she heard some delightful stories about his youth: like how he and his brothers had once let all of Mr. Brookman's sheep out of the pen. And then had to spend all night rounding them up once the deed had been discovered. Or how someone had dared him to jump into the river from the tallest tree branch and he had done it without a second thought. Or how he and his brothers had scared superstitious old Mrs. Mackenzie by hiding outside of her cottage one evening and pretending to be ghosts. Sophy spent the morning listening to Connie's childhood antics fondly recalled by the people who remembered, and answering questions about what he had been up to for fourteen years.