Surrender the Dawn (20 page)

Their footman, still standing in the foyer, glanced his way. “You have saved me and my family, Mr. Heaton.” Her tone had regained its metallic formality. “For that I will be eternally grateful. If I can ever help you, please don’t hesitate to call.” Luke took her hand in his and eased her back toward him, longing to regain a trace of her former tenderness. She trembled and her breath hastened. Was she as affected by him as he was by her? Only one way to find out. He lowered himself to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps a kiss of gratitude?”

Tugging her hand from his, she retreated into the house. “Good evening, Mr. Heaton.”

And slammed the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 14  

F
linging open the damask curtains, Cassandra rubbed her eyes and squinted at the radiant glow of dawn. Pulling her robe tight about her waist, she studied the morning breeze dancing through the leaves of the maple and birch trees outside her window. She’d hardly slept a wink the past two nights. In fact, with candle in hand, she’d crept down to the solarium more than once to check on the ten thousand dollars she’d hidden in her father’s chest. If only to reassure herself that she hadn’t dreamt up receiving the fortune from Mr. Heaton.

One thing she knew for sure, however, was that she hadn’t dreamt up the rake’s inappropriate request for a kiss. Outrage consumed her at the memory. How dare he treat her like one of his common wenches, as if he could purchase her affections with the toss of a coin! She reached up and brushed her fingers over her neck. Then why had her insides melted at the waft of his warm breath over her skin? And her stomach flutter as if a thousand fireflies flew within it?

No doubt it was just the excitement of receiving so much wealth. In one night, her life had gone from poverty, sickness, and shame, to life, health, and a promising future.

All because of the town rogue.

The door opened and Margaret slipped inside humming her favorite hymn. Strands of black hair sprang from her mobcap. “Oh miss, I didn’t
know you’d arisen.” She placed the basin of steaming water on the vanity, then gazed at Cassandra. “Whatever are you thinking, miss? I’ve never seen such a glorious expression on your face.”

Cassandra shook off the uninvited smile. “Nothing.”

“Or
who
were you thinking about? I should say.”

The heated flush that had begun moments before on Cassandra’s neck moved onto her face. She swung about to face the window.

Margaret made her way to the bed and began straightening the sheets. “That Mr. Heaton presents a rather handsome figure, does he not?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Cassandra lied.

“Then you must be the only lady in town who hasn’t.”

Cassandra gave her maid a coy smile. “Well, perhaps I have noticed. But what does it matter? You know his reputation as well as I.”

Margaret finished making the bed and shrugged. “I never put much value in town gossip, miss. Besides, he’s shown you nothing but kindness.”

“Mother disapproves of him.”

“And you?” Margaret cocked her head and smiled.

Cassandra moved to the bed and gripped one of the wooden posts. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Her thoughts drifted to the money, and she lifted her hands to her mouth as tears of relief burned behind her eyes. “We are saved, Margaret. I can hardly believe it!” She hadn’t allowed the reality to settle firmly in her heart. Not yet. Mainly because her thoughts had been consumed with Hannah. What difference would all the money in the world make if Hannah did not survive? Yet, after sitting by her sister’s bedside, spoon-feeding her broth and cooling her forehead with wet rags, Cassandra had watched the little girl finally drift into a peaceful sleep late last night. An hour later, a touch to her forehead indicated her fever had abated.

Margaret took her hands. “Yes, miss. We are saved.”

“We have enough money to last us twenty years if need be.”

“God has been good to you, miss.”

Cassandra pulled away. “I don’t know why God would bless me in this way but neglect to save my father.” She moved to the chair of her vanity and sat down with a huff.

“He’s always been with you, miss. He won’t let His children starve. Look what happened to me and Mr. Daley. After our baby died and we had to sell the chandler shop to pay the doctor bills, we would have been living out on the street, begging for food.” Margaret stepped behind her
and began unraveling Cassandra’s long braid.

“I hired you, not God,” Cassandra reminded her.

“God can use anyone, miss.” Margaret leaned over and smiled at Cassandra in the dressing glass. “Even the town rogue.”

Cassandra stared at her reflection, longing to believe Margaret’s words, longing to believe that God was still with her and looking out for her—that she wasn’t the only one standing between her family and complete ruin.

“I checked on Hannah this morning,” Margaret offered as she picked up a brush and began running it through Cassandra’s hair. “She is sleeping soundly. Another blessing from God.” She began humming once again, and the words Cassandra had often heard accompanying the tune chimed in her head.

After sweeping up Cassandra’s hair and fastening it in place, Margaret stepped toward the armoire and flung open the doors. “What are your plans today, miss?”

“I’m going into town to pay off all our debts and purchase some much-needed food and supplies.” The thought pleased her immensely. Finally she’d not have to endure the looks of pity cast her way from proprietors and citizens alike. Finally, she could hold her head up high in the knowledge that she was as capable as any man to provide for her family.

As soon as she finished dressing, Cassandra slipped into the solarium, sat down on her stool, and unlocked her father’s chest. Withdrawing the stack of bills, she placed them in her lap and grabbed her father’s pipe. Drawing it to her nose, she breathed in the spicy scent that always invoked her father’s image with such clarity.

“Papa, I’ve done it. I’ve provided for the family!” She caressed the bills and pressed the wad against her chest. “I wish you were here to see this. Wouldn’t you be proud of your little girl?”

“Ah, my Cassie girl.” She envisioned her father, pipe in hand, looking up from his chair in the library. “I’ve always been proud of you.” He smiled and gestured her forward and Cassandra closed her eyes and
imagined his beefy arms engulfing her in strength and warmth. Tears burned in her eyes, but she forced them back. Today was not a day for mourning. Today was a day of celebration.

After counting out enough bills to cover her errands, she tucked the rest into the bottom of the chest beneath the stack of her father’s letters. Then after one more whiff of his pipe, she placed it atop the missives, closed the lid, locked it, and slipped the key into her pocket.

Stretching, Luke entered the dining room and tousled John’s hair as the boy sat slopping down a bowl of oatmeal. “I smell coffee.”

John beamed up at him then spooned more of the creamy cereal into his mouth.

Mrs. Barnes strode into the room from the kitchen, carrying a tray of biscuits, sausage, and cheese, their decadent scents ambling in with her. “Finally you’re awake.”

Luke yawned. “Never thought I’d miss my lumpy old mattress.” Pulling out a chair, he sat and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“It’s good to have you back.” Mrs. Barnes slid the platters onto the table.

Finishing his oatmeal, John pushed the bowl away and turned to face Luke. “Tell us how you captured that merchantman again.”

Luke sipped his coffee. “I already told you, you little scamp.” Several times, if he recalled. In fact, Luke had spent the entire day yesterday with John and Mrs. Barnes, regaling them with his adventurous tale. All the while John had sat mesmerized, gazing at Luke with admiration—the same admiration on his face now.

“Quite the story.” Mrs. Barnes’s eyes crinkled. “Praise God He kept you safe.”

“Praise God for the money I gave you, Mrs. Barnes.” Luke retorted. “Now you can pay off our debts and buy yourself a new gown.”

“Oh my.” Mrs. Barnes laid a hand on her wrinkled cheek.

John giggled.

Luke glanced down at John’s leg. “And we can afford that new brace for your leg.”

“And then I can go with you on your ship,” the boy stated as if there would be no argument.

Mrs. Barnes’s hawklike gaze scoured Luke from above a pair of
wire-rimmed spectacles.

He rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked back into John’s expectant gray eyes. John was ten years old. A good age to learn how to sail. It was time Luke stopped babying him.

Take care of him, Luke.
His mother’s last admonition echoed in Luke’s mind.
Take care of him.

But that didn’t mean to hide the boy from the world. Luke wouldn’t always be around, and John needed to grow up. Needed to learn how to fend for himself.

Luke sipped his coffee and set the cup down with a clank. “I don’t see why not.”

John leapt from his seat and stood at attention before Luke, reminding him of Samuel. “I’ll be real good, you’ll see. I learn things fast.”

“I know you will. You’re my brother, after all.” Luke swallowed a burst of pride.

“You can’t be serious?” Mrs. Barnes’s red cheeks swelled. “He’s just a boy. And we are at war.”

“There are many boys his age out at sea. Besides, we encountered relatively little danger on my last trip.”

“But you can’t be sure that the next trip will go so well.”

“I can’t be sure of anything in this life.” Luke grabbed a biscuit from the pile and took a bite. His parents’ murder had taught him that. There were no assurances of safety, no guarantees that people wouldn’t get sick—he glanced down at John’s deformed leg. That money wouldn’t run out. That he wouldn’t be dealt another bad hand.

That loved ones wouldn’t burn to death.

Pain throbbed in his right ear, and he lifted a hand to rub it. No, life was nothing but a chaotic matrix of haphazard events. And it was only how a man dealt with those events, good or bad, that defined his success. Success that Luke had only just begun to taste.

Mrs. Barnes clasped her hands before her smock. “But that is no license for carelessness, Luke.”

“Is it careless or prudent to teach the boy to sail?”

“Sail, yes, but privateer … You could be shot at.”

John’s eyes bounced between Luke and Mrs. Barnes. “Truly?” Excitement raised his voice.

Mrs. Barnes let out an exasperated sigh.

Luke stood. “Never fear, Mrs. Barnes. I have no plans to engage a British
warship.” He gave her a mischievous smile and leaned to kiss her cheek.

She shook her head.

“Now, if you’ll both excuse me,” Luke said. “I have business in town.”

“Do you have to go?” John slunk back into his chair.

“Yes. You listen to Mrs. Barnes and do your studies. I’m your captain now. If you disobey me”—Luke hunched over and narrowed his eyes, doing his best pirate impression—“I will make ye walk the plank.”

John giggled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”