Surrender the Dawn (32 page)

“He helped load supplies, checked the lines and the canvas.…” Mr. Keene froze.

“Blast!” Luke struck his desk. Pain spiked into his arms. He spun around. Darkness as thick as molasses seeped through the stern windows, held back only by the occasional flash of lantern light.

“No doubt he was hired by someone else,” Biron said.

“Someone who hates me.” Someone like Lieutenant Abner Tripp. Hadn’t the man sworn to get his revenge? Luke gazed down at the burn scars on his hand. How could he have been so foolish? He should have been on his guard. This was all his fault.

“Who?” Sam said.

Luke swerved around. “It doesn’t matter.”

Mr. Ward and Mr. Sanders returned, shaking their heads. Mr. Keene’s face twisted with rage. “If Flanders were still here, I’d keelhaul him.”

Mr. Sanders shivered, no doubt at his friend’s cruel suggestion. “What will you do, Captain?”

Luke eyed his men. Misfits all of them. Would they stay with him now that his privateering career was over? How far did their loyalty extend, especially to a man like Luke? “I’m going to sell Captain Raynor his supplies.”

Biron nodded. “It’s the right course, Captain. For the boy.”

The older man’s approval settled well on Luke. “But I can’t ask you all to join me. If we are caught, we’ll be hanged for treason.”

The only answer came from the thunder of sails above and the ravenous purl of the sea against the hull. Lantern light flickered over the men as their gazes dropped to the floor. All except Sam and Biron.

“Of course we’ll join you, Captain.” The boy’s enthusiastic smile sent a sliver of warmth through Luke’s frozen heart.

A devilish glint overtook Mr. Keene’s eyes. “I’m in. Treason or not, it’s a way to make money.”

Luke cringed at the man’s lack of scruples.

Mr. Ward scratched his bald head. “What other ship is going to hire a drunken cur like me?”

Mr. Sanders’s eyes widened, and he glanced around at his fellow crewman then back at Luke. “For how long? I don’t fancy a rope about my neck.”

“Until we rescue John,” Biron said.

“Yes.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest, seeking the faith he saw so frequently in Biron’s eyes. “And that won’t take long if I have my way.”

“That’s the spirit, sir!” Sam nearly leapt. And the men chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm.

Emotion burned in Luke’s throat at his crew’s loyalty. “I thank you, gentlemen.”

“What about the rest of the crew?” Sanders’s mouth twitched.

“Biron, choose the men you believe will be comfortable with our mission and ask them to join us,” Luke said, even as the fear of discovery began to gnaw at him.

“In other words, Captain, the blackguards. Those with loyalty to nothing but coin?” Biron arched his brow.

“Yes, those are the ones.” Luke huffed. “The rest we’ll inform that our privateering days are over and excuse them from duty when we reach Baltimore. Now, off with you.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Grab your supper from the galley and then back to your posts, men.”

One by one they left the cabin, leaving only Biron behind. The first mate shut the door and approached Luke, concern written on his face. “How are you holding up?”

“Not well.” Luke spun around to face the stern windows, not wanting Biron to see the moisture in his eyes. “I can’t imagine what John is enduring right now.”

“He’s a strong lad, Luke. He’s got your blood flowing through him.”

“But he’s just a boy.” Luke rubbed his ear. “And you forget I know what happens aboard a British warship.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“I need a drink.”

“That won’t help anything right now.”

Luke sighed and turned around. “How are we going to get him off that ship?”

Biron flattened his lips and released a sigh. “I don’t know. With God’s help, we’ll find a way.”

Luke huffed. God again. Lowering himself into a chair, he dropped his head into his hands. “I’ve lost him, Biron. I failed him and everyone else.”

The ship tilted, sending lantern light spinning in circles over the painted canvas rug.

“When my wife and babe died in childbirth,” Biron said, “I thought
I’d failed them both, too.”

“How could you not blame God for that?” Luke didn’t look up.

“For a time I did,” Biron said. “But what good does that do? God has His reasons for things, and they’re good reasons. For the ultimate good. I’ll find out someday.”

“I don’t have the patience to wait that long.” Luke looked up. Nor could he wait to repay Lieutenant Tripp for his part in this. “First thing I’m going to do when I get home is accept Lieutenant Tripp’s challenge to a duel and send him to the depths of hell where he belongs.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Quite the contrary.” Luke snorted. “I believe I can.”

“No, think, man. If you get your revenge, he’ll know his plan worked. But he’ll see you still have your ship, your crew. He’s no dull wit. He’ll figure out what you’re up to.”

“Not if he’s dead.”

Biron arched his brow.

Luke lowered his gaze beneath the look of reprimand on his friend’s face. “So, I can’t kill him and neither can I take pleasure in beating him to shreds?”

“No. Besides, there’s far grander pleasure in being kind to the man. God’s Word says that if your enemy is hungry, give him bread, if he be thirsty give him water. For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.”

Luke chuckled. “Why don’t I just skip to dumping the hot coals on his head?”

Biron smiled. “Kindness will kill him more slowly.”

“Kindness? You’re crazy, old man.”

“Perhaps. But hear me, Luke. If you arrive in Baltimore a successful privateer, it will drive the lieutenant mad, I assure you.”

Luke studied his friend, allowing his words to form sense in his mind. Yes, perhaps the old man was wiser than Luke gave him credit. Or, this God of his was.

Biron headed for the door. “We’ll be in Baltimore in a few days. Get some rest, Captain. We will think of a way to rescue John.”

Luke heard him leave as the door shut again. Rest, how could he rest knowing what his brother was enduring on that frigate? Rising, he opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of rum. He held it up to the lantern light. Mr. Sanders had brought it to him a few nights ago.
Luke had not taken a sip. Not a single sip. Wanting to honor his promise to Miss Channing. But what did it matter now? What did anything matter now? Uncorking it, he took a long draft, hoping the burning liquid would warm his gut and numb his senses. But after several swigs, he felt nothing but grief—deep seated, clawing into his soul. Lifting the bottle, he tossed it against the bulkhead. It shattered, spraying rum over his bookshelves and onto the deck. Shards of glass clanked to the floor in a glittering shower, dripping with the vile liquid.

Sinking back onto his chair, he dropped his head in his hands once more. “Oh God, what am I to do?”

Sometime in the night, he must have dozed off beneath exhaustion and grief. He dreamed of cannon blasts and smoke and men being lashed by a cat-o’-nine-tails and John crying Luke’s name in echoed ripples over the sea. And in the middle of the mayhem, a glowing figure appeared. Tall and muscular, shining like bronze, with a sword hanging at his side. He said, “Never fear.”

Marianne shoved a roll of dollars into Cassandra’s hands. “Here, take this.”

“How can I thank you?” Cassandra’s eyes burned. “I am so ashamed to have to ask you for help. I know you and Noah don’t have a great deal of wealth.” She slipped the wad into her reticule and set it down on the table.

Marianne cupped Cassandra’s hands with her own. “God has blessed us. I’m happy to help you. So, not another word about it.” Releasing her, she skirted the table in her sitting room and poured two cups of tea, handing one to Cassandra.

“Thank you.” Cassandra warmed her hands on the cup then took a sip. She gazed out the window, where afternoon sunlight splintered the room in glittering swords.

“Now, tell me what happened.” Marianne patted the sofa beside her.

“I don’t really know.” The cup shook in Cassandra’s hands. The soothing mint turned to ash in her mouth. She lowered the cup to her lap. “No one knew where I hid the money. The chest wasn’t broken so they must have used my key, which I keep in the desk in my chamber.”

Marianne frowned. “It must be someone in the house, then. But who?”

Cassandra had driven herself mad the past two days trying to figure
out the answer to that question. All her servants had been with her for years, and she had never seen a spark of disloyalty among any of them. Visions of Mrs. Northrop standing in her chamber a few days ago sped across her mind. But no. The housekeeper had always been a bit of a snoop. Nothing unusual about that. “I fear my mother has taken to her bed with a case of headaches and hysterics, which has left my sisters to run amok through the house.”

“Why didn’t you put the money in the bank?” Marianne asked.

“I was careless. I had been without funds for so long, I didn’t trust anyone, not even the bank.” Cassandra’s hands trembled, and she set the cup on the saucer with a clank lest she spilled the tea on her gown. “I’ve gone and ruined everything. I’ve put my family at great risk again.”

Marianne touched her hand. “It’s only money.”

“It would have lasted us years.”

“Luke will return soon with more, you’ll see.”

Mr. Heaton’s name sent a spark of joy through Cassandra. “I’ll pay you back upon his return, I promise. Until then, this will help me buy some much-needed food.”

Marianne’s brown eyes sparkled. “Word about town is that Mr. Crane is bringing your family food. A goose one night, two chickens the next, and fresh cod and crab last evening?”

Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly rumors spread in the town. “Is nothing secret?”

“Well, not when the man tells everyone that you and he are courting.”

“Courting?” Cassandra frowned. “Oh, bother. We are doing no such thing. How dare he spread such tales!”

“I wouldn’t be so hard on him. No doubt he considers the courtship firm since you have accepted his charity.”

“Which is precisely why I needed to borrow this money. Good grief, the man keeps insisting he take me to the Fountain Inn Ball.”

“Why not go with him?” Marianne waved a hand through the air, then she stopped and gazed at Cassandra as if she could see into her thoughts. “Unless you are waiting for someone else to ask you … someone who is perhaps out to sea at the moment?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Cassandra looked away.
“If
I marry it will be to a man I can depend on. A man who is stable and grounded. Someone I can trust.”

“Odd. That sounds precisely like Mr. Crane.” Marianne sipped her
tea, a grin playing on her lips.

Cassandra made a face at her friend, though she supposed Marianne was right. Why, then, didn’t Cassandra long for Mr. Crane’s attention? Why didn’t her heart bounce when he walked into the room? Perhaps marriage was not meant to be based on such foolish sentiments, but on mutual respect and financial and familial practicality.

If so, Cassandra would be better off alone.

“I wouldn’t disqualify Mr. Heaton just yet on those counts,” Marianne said.

“Who said anything about Mr. Heaton?”

“Oh, I don’t know.… You just had that dreamy look in your eye again.” A child’s laughter filtered down from above, and Marianne glanced out the parlor door before she faced Cassandra with a smile. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Why did her statement send a thrill through Cassandra?

“Mr. Heaton is my business partner, nothing more.” Cassandra folded her hands in her lap.

“God doesn’t always choose the men we think are best for us. Take Noah and me. For years, I couldn’t stand the sight of him.”

“God doesn’t choose for me. If He does, I can hardly trust Him, given the bad choices He’s made so far.”

Marianne set down her cup. “You’ll see that He is looking out only for your good in the end.”

Uncomfortable talking about a God who obviously paid her no mind, Cassandra stood and made her way to the window. “Noah is not yet returned?”

“No. I do miss him so.” Marianne joined her and gazed out onto the carriages and pedestrians strolling down the street. “And so does Jacob. I pray this war will be over soon and we can get back to a normal life.”

“Only if we win.”

“Indeed.” Marianne offered her a sad smile.

And only after Mr. Heaton has caught another prize.
Cassandra cringed at her selfish thought.

After finishing her tea and thanking Marianne for the money, Cassandra began her trek home. Casting a glance toward the west at the setting sun, she guessed she had enough time to visit the harbor before dark. Pulling the pelisse tight around her chest, she turned down Pratt Street. For some reason, seeing all the ships made her feel close to Mr.
Heaton. And feeling close to Mr. Heaton brought her more comfort than she cared to admit. She shrugged the sentiment away, reasoning that it was only her need for the money he would bring home. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

She greeted several people as she made her way down the cobblestone walkway then darted across the street between a phaeton and a wagon—avoiding the horses’ deposits—to the dock side of the street. Halting, she scanned the bay, its dark waters rustling against the pilings of the wharves. Salt and fish and tar filled her nostrils. A fisherman hawked his fresh catch. A bell rang and a burst of wind tore at her straw bonnet. A few dockworkers turned to look at her. Her eyes landed on a schooner anchored off Spears Wharf. It seemed familiar. She headed in that direction then crept out on the wobbling dock just far enough to see the name painted on the ship’s bow.