My Dear Sophy

by Kimberly Truesdale

  And so it was no surprise that the young man leaped into action to convince Papa when Captain Croft offhandedly suggested that they all join him when he returned to his ship the next day. Freddy almost stood on his seat and hurrah'd at the prospect of seeing a real ship.

  “Papa! You must let us go! It would be so wonderful to see a real navy ship!”

  Papa laughed. “My boy, we should most likely be in the captain's way. He has duties and no time to entertain us aboard ship, I'll be bound.” Freddy turned pleadingly to Captain Croft, who quite quickly relented.

  “Not at all, sir. It would be a delight. We don't ship out to Portsmouth until Sunday and so my Saturday afternoon is quite free to entertain guests. Besides, if young Freddy here can see the discomfort of a true ship of the line, perhaps he will not feel so inclined to run away to one.” The company all laughed at this. Even Freddy entered into the good-humored teasing. “The reality is sadly disappointing to the marvelous creations of the imagination, I am afraid.”

  Freddy ignored the last part and turned back toward Papa. “See? Watchet is not far – a few hours' ride at most. We can go and come back in the same day. It would be so easy.”

  Papa considered, taking delight in making his unruly youngest son squirm in anticipation. There was really no question of his finally relenting. Sophy smiled to herself to see the gentle power play between father and son. And to see how Freddy was being patient, where before this past week he might have thrown a fit. Papa hemmed and hawed while Freddy practically danced in anticipation.

  “What do you think, Edward? Would you approve of this trip?” Papa asked. Freddy looked like he might go into a spasm. His brother could sink the whole thing. But the truth was that Edward was as eager for the trip.

  “I wouldn't mind it, Papa. It could be fun,” Edward conceded, excitement dancing in his eyes while he tried to remain calm. Freddy let out a hiss that sounded a little like a triumphant 'yes'. It was not every day one had the opportunity for such an adventure.

  Having obtained both his sons' opinions, Papa turned to Sophy. “And you, my dear, would you enjoy such an outing?”

  Sophy hesitated, only to tease her brothers. “Hmm...” Freddy groaned. “I think that sounds like a delightful idea, Papa. I, too, would like to see a ship of the line.” Sophy looked around. Her brothers and Captain Croft were all grinning at her. Her heart gave a flutter at the latter. She quickly suppressed the rush of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.

  It was settled. Saturday morning they would leave for Watchet. Papa had declined the trip, saying he would make up too many in the party. But the Crofts volunteered to play the chaperones. The Reverend, Mrs. Croft, Sophy, and the captain would ride in the carriage while the boys would take the horses, including the hired one Captain Croft had ridden into town.

  They would pass a few hours on the journey and then spend the afternoon on the ship. It was to be a rare treat for them all. No one, however, was willing to consider that the end of the day would mark a sad goodbye. They would return to Milverton with one less in their party. For the moment, they focused on the anticipation of the journey ahead and the new sights they would see.

  * * *

  Connie laughed as Edward and Frederick sped past the carriage window. A couple of miles into the journey they had decided to race. Frederick wasn't doing so badly, considering he was astride the hired horse Connie had brought to town the week before.

  Sitting across from him in the carriage, Mrs. Croft shook her head and 'tsked' at the boys. “Those boys should slow down or one is liable to be hurt.”

  “Surely you cannot be worried for them, Mama. After all these years of living with rambunctious boys, raising three of them yourself!”

  Mrs. Croft eyed her son disapprovingly. “A mother is always worried for her children, dear Connie. We simply learn to hide it most of the time.”

  The Reverend chimed in. “Same thing for a father. We pretend to be stony pillars of strength, but we are generally even more worried than mothers, having no idea what children are supposed to do. You shall see, my son, once you are a father yourself.”

  “Ah, that is the end!” Connie looked conspiratorially at Miss Wentworth. “How am I to argue with a statement like that? Papa, you know you will always win with that kind of talk. 'You will know when you have done it yourself',” Connie perfectly imitated his father and Miss Wentworth laughed. His pulse pounded at the sound until he reminded himself that that path was closed to him.

  “It is the prerogative of old people to win arguments by any means necessary, son. And one I highly prize! We cannot all be as reasonable and educated as you are.”

  “Nonsense, father, and you know it!”

  Another prerogative of older people that the Reverend and Mrs. Croft claimed on the journey was one of dozing off to sleep along the way. That left Connie and Miss Wentworth to talk together. With lowered voices, they quietly laughed at the Crofts across the carriage from them.

  “Shall we doze, as well?” Connie asked, grinning over at his companion.

  “Oh no,” Miss Wentworth said earnestly. “I want to be awake for every minute of this day, to soak it all in.” She looked out the window and sighed with delight.

  “Have you traveled so little, Miss Wentworth?” Connie asked. He felt somehow sorry that this wonderful woman would have so little experience of the wider world. She seemed so curious about it all. He had certainly noticed her rapt attention to his stories.

  “I have. So little that a short jaunt to the sea will be the most excitement I have had this year. It will be all I speak of – perhaps for years to come.” She smiled at him, but Connie could see a hint of sadness. He would sail away and she would go back to life in Milverton, one she had said was pleasant, but so familiar. He could picture it. The same rounds of visits to friends and family, broken only by the cycle of births, deaths, and weddings. But he wouldn't think about that.

  Would she marry? How could she not? She was a woman born to care. She needed a husband and children. She needed a stable life around her. Of course she would marry. And probably she would be wed soon to that curate. The mothers had indicated that it was all but settled. Nevermind that Connie thought she might stifle in this place. He was absolutely certain that what she had told him on the bank of the pond, what she had said about escape she had never uttered to another soul.

  Connie had watched her these past few days, aching for the chance to speak to Miss Wentworth alone again. Though they never had another opportunity like at the pond, he had seen even more clearly how much everyone relied on her but no one really talked to her. No one knew her. Perversely, Connie wondered if she had poured out her true feelings to his rival, that Mr. Hollingson.

  His rival.

  It shocked Connie to realize that was how he thought of the curate now. That was how he had thought of him the other night at the dinner party, too, though Connie had not put his feelings into words then. His rival.

  For what? Connie asked himself angrily. What rivalry had he invented in his mind? What did the two men compete for? Connie knew the answer even as he asked himself the questions. The answer was sitting next to him. In all her beauty and intelligence and love. Sophy's heart, her love was what they fought for. And though Connie had tried to deny it to himself, though he had vowed to set the idea out of his mind, his heart had other ideas. And he now considered the curate his rival for her affections. Connie could not deny that he wanted Sophy for himself.

  That feeling had come crashing into his mind when Miss Wentworth had found him three days ago by the Old Mill. He'd gone out there to think for awhile. Connie enjoyed being with family and friends, but he also liked his time alone. And especially time alone out of doors. To walk freely to new places was a luxury he missed aboard ship. So he had taken the late morning to walk. The Old Mill had been one of his favorite places to play as a boy. The abandoned building was wonderful for hiding games. And the still water was good for swimming. He had fond memories of
the place, so he had made his way there again.

  The heat of noontime had prompted him to remove his coat and relax in his shirtsleeves. He'd sat for awhile on the bank, gazing up into the sky above, not thinking of anything in particular. Simply soaking in the sun of his youth. The sun of home. Intellectually, he knew that the same sun shone everywhere on earth. But his body felt something different. His body knew which sun was home. And so he had sat, with his mind blank, simply letting the sun soak into his skin – already deeply and unfashionably tanned from his years at sea.

  While deep in this relaxation, Connie had suddenly had the boyish urge to skip stones on the pond. He and his brothers used to have contests to see who could skip a stone the best. He'd never been an outstanding competitor, but he had found it to be exceedingly good fun.

  That's how Miss Wentworth had found him. Singing happily as he skipped stones. She had truly startled him. His heart had almost leaped out of his chest when he had turned to see the brilliant smile on her face, but he had quickly recovered his composure.

  She had teased him into a battle of skipping stones. Then they had spent an hour talking like old friends. Indeed, Connie could not recall anyone else in his life – except, of course, his first mate Brandon O'Brian – with whom he had had such easy conversation. It was remarkable, he thought. She was remarkable. Once Miss Wentworth had started talking, she had been candid and curious about all that he said. She hadn't been afraid to ask him personal questions. And she had answered his as frankly. Connie realized that he rarely talked to anyone like that. All the women in his experience had been coy – or at least playing coy. But Miss Wentworth had genuinely laughed and talked with him. She did not seem to be playing any tricks. Perhaps it was her openness that drew him in.

  And then she had touched him. Connie had been in a reverie, a far away place in his head. Her touch had been unexpected. The sensation had thrilled through him. He'd stopped breathing for a moment. Her gesture of such unconscious kindness had pierced him to the heart. For a moment Connie had felt like crying and laughing at the same time. Even his mother had not reached out to him like that. Not that he'd let her see half of what he had so willingly and easily shown Miss Wentworth that afternoon. Until she had touched him, he hadn't even been aware that he had needed that kind of human contact. It had been so tender and loving that it had made his heart ache in his chest.

  Connie hadn't been able to look at Miss Wentworth for fear that he would scare her with the emotion in him. Frankly, he scared himself. He had wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her close to his heart. But he could not do that. So he'd put his hand over hers, feeling her soft fingers on his bare arm. When he had felt a measure of self-control returning, he had looked up at her, intending to thank her for her kindness.

  But he had found something else entirely. Unexpected desire had surged through him. He could not help dropping his gaze to her lips. He wanted to embrace her with everything in him. And it seemed that she wanted the same. For a moment they had stayed like that, desire making the air heavy around them, verging on the edge of something.

  It had taken every ounce of Connie's willpower not to lean into her and take what he wanted. But the thought of his leaving, abandoning her to the life she was supposed to have here in Milverton. That thought had stopped him.

  Connie ceased his reverie when he realized that he and Miss Wentworth had fallen into silence as they rode in the carriage. His father was snoring softly across the way and his mother's head was resting lightly on his father's shoulder. It distressed Connie to leave again, more than it ever had before. He loved his parents very much. They were such good and loving people. They loved him and, he had realized, maybe for the first time this week, they loved each other. It was unusual enough that he now noticed it. How much of his own ideas about love and marriage had come from these two people? He wanted a love, a companionship like theirs. One that would grow with time. He wanted to spend a lifetime loving his wife.

  Connie's gaze drifted to Miss Wentworth. Could she be the woman for him? She had occupied all of his thoughts this week. And now she would occupy his dreams. She was a good woman, one he could talk to and laugh with. Connie regularly thought nothing of traveling thousands of miles. Yet here was Miss Wentworth, a journey of fifteen miles seemed as exciting as traveling to the ends of the earth. She should travel, Connie decided. Unlike many people, he knew that Miss Wentworth would enter into the life completely. He could see her now. She would take joy in everything. Every new place would be a wonder to behold. He wanted to be by her side when she experienced these things. He wanted to give her the world.

  At that moment, the carriage hit a rut and jerked unsteadily. Miss Wentworth's hand shot out to the open seat between them, trying to steady herself. Without thinking, Connie reached down and put his hand over hers on the seat. He watched as her head whipped around toward him. Connie expected her to snatch her hand away. She seemed startled enough to recoil.

  Yet she didn't move.

  Their eyes met and Connie's heart exploded with joy at what he saw there. It was the same thing that he had seen at the Mill Pond. He knew he shouldn't want this, knew she was destined for someone else, knew he would sail away from her in a few hours. And yet, his heart would not bear it. He could not turn away or remove his hand as he knew he ought. The sound of his blood pounded loudly in his ears. He looked into her eyes and saw that he had not imagined what had passed on the bank of the pond. Miss Wentworth clearly felt something, too.

  Instead of taking her hand away from his, as he knew she ought, Miss Wentworth – still looking him in the eyes – turned her hand underneath his so that their palms met. Then she gently twined her fingers through his.

  Connie could see her chest rising and falling, breathing as quickly and heavily as he was.

  “Sophy --” Connie said breathlessly. Her name sounded beautiful on his lips. She smiled so brightly he couldn't say anything more. Her reply was to squeeze his hand in the same gesture of comfort she had shown at the pond. It made his heart ache with longing. Tears started to his eyes at the feeling. He wanted to say everything to her. To tell her all that he wanted for her, for them. He wanted to take her in his arms and embrace her. He wanted –

  “Hallooo!” Connie's whirling thoughts crashed in on each other as Edward rode by the carriage and loudly hailed them. The noise caused his parents to start awake. And it had the added annoyance of causing Miss Wentworth to jerk her hand out of his. Connie felt angry and bereft and ecstatic and overwhelmed at the same time. He was next to the woman he loved, he was sure she loved him too, and he could do nothing about it.

  From outside the carriage they heard laughing and then Freddy's voice, comically gruff, saying, “Stand and deliver!” He poked his head into the carriage window and declared, “Your money or your life!”

  Sophy, who seemed to have collected her thoughts much faster than Connie, laughed and pushed her brother's head out the window saying, “Hush, you scoundrel! We'll never surrender!”

  Freddy laughed and went galloping off. Sophy looked after him fondly as the Crofts woke up fully and pretended they had never been asleep.

  “Who was that young rascal trying to steal from us?” The Reverend asked and winked at Miss Wentworth.

  “Do not worry, sir, I sent the rascal on his way. He shall find no quarry here!”

  “Bravo, Sophy! I should take this woman into battle with you, Connie,” the Reverend said. “She would send the Frenchies on their way with no matter whatsoever.”

  Connie's smile was tight as he tried to contain his emotion. He would like to take her with him. His father spoke more truth than he knew.

  Mrs. Croft chimed in, “No, no my dear, that is the wrong Wentworth. If I am not mistaken, young Freddy has caught the Navy fever.”

  Miss Wentworth sighed audibly. “I believe you are correct, Mrs. Croft. He shall soon run away to join a ship. I shall have to talk to Papa about it and make plans before the boy does something rash.�
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  “You know there are worse things the boy could do,” Connie stood up for himself and his profession, but he laughed along with the rest of the group. Laughter was good cover for the surging emotions still pulsing through his body.

  “There certainly are. He has always been a restless and headstrong sort,” Miss Wentworth said.

  “I am afraid I did not help the situation,” Connie apologized. “My tales, I am sure, did nothing to dissuade him from a life at sea. I should have talked more about the hardships and the poor diet and the hell of battle.”

  “Nonsense, son. Do you think that would have dissuaded the lad? Would it have made much difference to you at that age?” His father grinned at him.

  “True, father. I would merely have ignored what I did not want to hear.”

  “So you may take the blame – if, indeed, we must assign any blame at all – squarely off your own shoulders.”

  “Truly, captain,” Miss Wentworth said, casting him a sympathetic look that thrilled through him. “Freddy has always done what he wanted to do. I have learned merely to try to anticipate and plan for all eventualities where he is concerned.”

  “An impossible task, I would think!” exclaimed Mrs. Croft.

  They spent the rest of the ride into Watchet talking of youthful follies and how Connie and his father had fallen into their respective professions. But a part of Connie's mind was always occupied with what had passed between himself and Miss Wentworth. That look, that touch. All the things he wanted to say to her swam around in his head. The chance had passed. The tinge of despair at its passing kept him from truly enjoying the rest of the journey.