Surrender the Dawn (17 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Sanders,” Luke said. “You are dismissed.”

With a scowl, the purser scurried from the cabin.

Mr. Keene cocked his head toward the door. “The man makes a good case, Cap’n. Why not continue the hunt while your luck is high?”

“Not luck, providence, Mr. Keene,” Biron interjected in his usual confident tone.

Ignoring him, Luke sighed. “Because I have matters to attend to at home first.”

Sam’s face twisted into a pout, and Luke raised a hand to silence him. “I promise we will set out again within the month.”

“What matters could be more important than money?” Mr. Keene cocked a smile that made him seem more callow than one would expect of a man over forty. “Ah, I know.” He pointed a finger toward Luke, flinging his soot-stained sleeve through the air. “A woman?”

Luke flattened his lips. “None of—”

“If it is a woman,” Mr. Keene interrupted, “my dear captain, might I remind you that the more money you have, the more women you can attract.”

Sam chuckled at the man’s display, but Luke studied Mr. Keene as an uncomfortable feeling of familiarity swamped him. “It depends on what type of women you wish to attract.” Luke said the words before he even knew from what cultivated corner of his conscience they had hailed, for he certainly had never been meticulous about the sort of female companionship he had kept before.

Biron smiled his approval.

Luke cleared his throat. “Mr. Keene, will you do me the honor of
taking command of the British merchantman?”

Mr. Keene’s dark eyes flickered. “Of course, Cap’n.”

Sam fidgeted in his spot as if he could hardly stand still. Though Luke knew what the boy wanted, he hesitated to send him along with Keene. The man’s company could only besmirch Sam’s innocence. But Luke couldn’t keep the two apart forever. “Sam, you may go with him as his second in command.”

“Thank you, Cap’n.” The lad grinned. Mr. Keene grabbed him by the neck and fisted a hand playfully over his hair the way Luke often did with John.

A longing to see his brother filled Luke’s soul until it ached. A mist covered his eyes, and he turned to gaze at the charts spread across his desk. “Biron, as soon as we are done here, divide the prisoners between the two ships and lock them up below.”

Sam’s laughter faded. “Where are we heading, Cap’n?”

“We’ll sail for Wilmington first thing in the morning and sell the ship and cargo there.” Luke faced forward again.

“And then?” Mr. Keene shifted his stance. “The crew is asking.”

“We’ll find a place to anchor safely. I’ll assign a few men to stay with the ship and the rest are free to head over land to Baltimore. Unless the men prefer to stay in Wilmington until I return. It’s up to them.”

Keene’s eyebrows leapt. “To spend our shares on women and wine.”

Samuel grinned and threw his shoulders back. “Aye.” His voice came out deeper than normal.

Mr. Keene chuckled. “You’re too young for such pleasures, boy.”

“No, I’m not.” Sam shot a glance at Luke. “Am I, Luke? You took up drinking and gambling at my age, didn’t you? I heard you tellin’ Biron.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his desk. Suddenly his vile habits didn’t seem so appealing. In fact, they sickened him. Concern rose within him for this young, impressionable lad. Associating with crude sailors would do nothing to produce the qualities esteemed in a true gentleman. And for some reason Luke wanted more for the boy. In truth, he suddenly wanted more for himself.

“Mr. Keene is right, Sam. You’ll go home and visit your mother and father. I’m sure they are anxious to hear how you are faring.” No, he would not have Sam fritter away his time and money drinking and womanizing, ending up an empty-handed failure in ten years.

Just like Luke.

Sam frowned and scuffed his shoe over the deck. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Keene grabbed the boy by the arm, winked at Luke, and headed out the door.

After they left, Biron opened his mouth to say something when a knock on the door sounded. A sailor entered, bottle of rum in hand.

“Mr. Sanders’s compliments, sir. He sent over a crate of rum from the brig.” The sailor set the bottle on Luke’s desk.

At the sight of the amber liquid, Luke’s throat became a desert. “Thank you, Mr. Willis. That will be all,” he managed to squeak out.

With a nod, the sailor left and closed the door behind him.

Luke rubbed his stubbled jaw. The rum teetered in the bottle like liquid gold with each movement of the ship. He hadn’t had a sip in over two months. During the first week, he’d trembled so badly, he’d thought his brain would shake loose. Didn’t he deserve a drink after winning the battle today? After all he’d endured?

Biron quirked a brow. “You promised her.”

Luke nodded.

Thunder growled outside the windows. Wind whipped pellets of rain against the glass as if God, aware of his weakening resolve, was warning him to stay away from the tempting liquid.

Or perhaps it was just a portent of coming doom. For the mantle of success that lay temporarily across Luke’s shoulders was sure to slip off soon enough.

  CHAPTER 12  

C
assandra laid the back of her hand over Hannah’s forehead. Heat radiated from the child. Still feverish. Hannah moaned, and Cassandra wrung out a cloth in the basin and dabbed it over the little girl’s face and neck before laying it atop her forehead again. Streams of bright sunlight rippled over the bed in defiance of the sickness within, highlighting Hannah’s damp red curls as they formed delicate patterns across her neck. The little girl turned her head on the pillow and let out a ragged sigh.

Dexter, lying across the bed at Hannah’s feet—where he’d remained since she’d taken ill—lifted his head at the sound but then laid it back down on outstretched paws with a moan.

The tap of Cassandra’s mother’s slippers as she paced at the foot of the bed joined Hannah’s mumbles and Margaret’s whispered prayers in a grim melody that only further darkened Cassandra’s spirits.

“Oh, what are we to do?” her mother said.

Cassandra turned in her chair to see her mother wringing her hands then spinning about to cross the room again. Fair curls, which were usually strung tight around her face, hung loose over her cheeks. Her blue eyes skittered to and fro from within a pale, droopy face, and though it was nearly midday, she still wore her nightdress and robe.

Cassandra approached her, touching her arm, halting her in her worrisome trek. “She will be all right, Mother. Don’t vex yourself so.”

Margaret stopped her prayers and looked up from where she knelt on the other side of the bed as if expecting Cassandra to share some profound revelation.

But Cassandra had none. In truth, she didn’t know whether Hannah would survive. It had been three weeks since she’d taken ill, and although she had seemed to be recovering the past few days, last night after the medicine ran out, the poor girl had taken a turn for the worse.

Her mother’s lip quivered. “How do you know that?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I have lost my husband and most likely both my sons. I cannot lose my daughter.”

Margaret gazed lovingly at Hannah then bowed her head again over her open Bible.

No!
Cassandra stomped her foot. There would be no further tragedy in this house. Not if Cassandra had anything to do about it.

She took hold of her mother’s shoulders. “You won’t lose her, Mother. Hannah is strong. She will recover.”

“But Dr. Wilson said there was nothing he could do. She needs the medicines.” A tear spilled from her mother’s eye. She batted it away. “And we can’t afford any more.”

Drawing her mother close, Cassandra wrapped her arms around her. The scent of jasmine swept the foul odor of illness from Cassandra’s nose—if only for a moment—as her mind spun, seeking an answer. But there was none. She had run out of money weeks ago.

Margaret raised her head. Her misty eyes found Cassandra’s and they exchanged a sympathetic glance, making Cassandra wonder how her maid fared reliving a tragedy that must be so fresh to her heart.

“The silverware.” Cassandra stepped back from her mother.

The elderly woman wiped her swollen face. “What do you mean, dear?”

“We still have that silver serving set, do we not?”

“No, we sold that last month.” Her mother frowned.

“Oh, bother.” Cassandra bit her nail and took up her mother’s pace. “What of the china oil lamps?”

“Gone.”

“The painted plates from France?”

Her mother shook her head.

“All of it?” Cassandra knew her mother had sold some household items last week in order to buy the medicine and some additional food,
but she hadn’t realized just how much they’d lost.

Hannah groaned and Margaret eased a lock of her hair from her face.

Her mother sniffed. “Yes. Everything of value.”

Cassandra rubbed her temples. Something tickled her neck. Earrings. Unhooking them, she held them out. “I have these.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “And I have my pearl ones. They are all I have left.”

“Run up and get them for me, Mother, will you? And any other jewelry you can find.”

With a nod, her mother sped out the door, her robe fluttering behind her.

Cassandra knelt by the bed and took Hannah’s hand in hers. Placing a kiss on the heated flesh, she glanced at Margaret. “I know this must be hard for you.”

Her lady’s maid swallowed and lowered her chin. “My sweet baby Grace is in heaven now. A far better place.” Though her voice trembled, the conviction within it bespoke of firm belief.

“How did you ever recover?”

“With God’s help, one day at a time.” Margaret smiled.

Cassandra gazed at Hannah, her ashen skin covered with red blotches, her damp hair clinging to her forehead, her hand limp within Cassandra’s. “I would never forgive God if He took Hannah.”

Margaret reached over and touched her arm. “Yes, you would. You would come to realize, as I have, that God is good and loving and whatever happens is for our best.”

How could a child’s death be good for anyone?
Cassandra swallowed down her anger. “I’m not like you, Margaret. I don’t believe whatever some reverend tells me. I want to find things out for myself. And the more I look for God, the further away He seems.”

Margaret closed her Bible and ran her hands over the leather as if the book were the most precious thing in the world. Sunlight rippled over the leather binding, making it glow. “Perhaps you’re the one pushing Him away.”

Cassandra swallowed. Hadn’t Reverend Drummond just said the same thing? Standing, Cassandra waved the thought away. “It doesn’t matter!” She exhaled a long breath, noting the worry in Margaret’s gaze. “Can you sit with her while I’m gone?”

A putrid smell wafted in through the door. Margaret wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”

Cassandra gave her a wry smile. “I asked Miss Thain to make some soup for Hannah.”

“When she gets well enough to partake of some, we’ll have to pray it doesn’t make her ill again.” Margaret’s eyes sparkled playfully. “How long will you be?”

“As long as it takes to sell our earrings and get the medicines from the apothecary.”

A loud crash sounded from below.

Closing her eyes, Cassandra gathered her resolve. What else could go wrong today? Before she made it to the door, footfalls sounded on the stairs, and Mr. Dayle’s harried figure filled the frame. He glanced from his wife to Cassandra, his features twisted in fear.

Cassandra’s throat went dry. “What is it, Mr. Dayle?”

“It’s Miss Darlene.”

Cassandra fisted her hands at her waist. “What did she break now?”

“No.” He shook his head, catching his breath. “That was but my clumsiness. I knocked over a vase in my haste.”

Cassandra’s heart took up a rapid pace. “Then what is it about my sister?”

“Miss Darlene has gone missing.”