Chapter 9

 

Noah shut his cabin door and trudged down the companionway in as foul a mood on the start of this new day as he’d been for the past three. He ran a hand through his hair and plopped his hat atop his head. Although he’d intentionally avoided Miss Denton during that time, he’d heard enough about her from everyone around him.

Miss Denton is so kind. Miss Denton is so generous with her time and strength. Miss Denton is so witty, smart, capable, honest. Could he not escape the woman? Had she cast a spell on everyone around her? Everyone save him. For he knew the real Marianne Denton. Pompous, spoiled, and self-serving. At least that was the way he remembered her. And the reason he had teased her so as a child.

Weaving around a corner, he nodded at a passing sailor and scaled the ladder to the upper deck in two leaps, ascending to where he hoped to continue evading the woman. For she rarely came on deck. Why she confined herself to the heat and stale air below, he could not fathom. No doubt it was part of her plan, along with her drastic change in character, to invoke his sympathies so he would take her home.

But Noah was no fool.

Sunlight struck him along with a cool ocean breeze, feathering the hair against the collar of his shirt. Agnes’s bubbling laughter bounced over him, drawing his gaze to a group of sailors clustered around the mainmast. In their midst, sitting atop a chair, sat Miss Denton with a rope tying her and the chair to the mast. Agnes perched upon a barrel beside her, a huge smile on her chubby face. Noah halted and tried to rub the strange apparition from his eyes.

The sailors chuckled at something Miss Denton said. and she graced them with a smile before returning her attention to a book laid open on her lap.

“And the king spake and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions?” she quoted.

She reads the Bible to my men. Frustration boiled within Noah. He glanced at Luke who was leaning on the port railing, Matthew beside him, both their gazes riveted upon her.

Noah marched over to them. “What is going on here?”

“I believe your fiancée is reading from the Holy Book.” Luke made no attempt to hide his smirk.

“She is not my. . .” Noah flatted his lips. “I can see that. But why?”

“It’s the Sabbath,” Matthew said as if that should clear any confusion. He shifted his bulky frame. “She marched up here and announced that she’d be performin’ Sunday service for those men who’d be interested.” He shook his head and chuckled. “An’ bless me sailor’s soul if most o’ ’em didn’t come a runnin’.”

Noah gritted his teeth. “Why on earth is she strapped to the mast?”

Matthew raised an eyebrow that was nearly as bald as his head. “Because the poor girl is afraid of the water. You sure don’t know much about your own fiancée.”

“Confound it all!” Noah ran a hand over the back of his neck as frustration tightened his muscles. “Afraid of the water. Is that what she told you?”

“She didn’t have to. It’s obvious.” Luke shrugged.

“She’s merely attempting to get our sympathy.”

Matthew’s head jerked back as if Noah had struck him. “Are you sayin’ she’s pretendin’? Now why would she be doin’ that?”

“To convince me to return her to Baltimore, of course. She’s not the sweet innocent she pretends to be. Beneath that benevolent façade rages a pompous shrew.” Noah’s harsh tone faded, unable to carry the weight of words he wasn’t sure he still believed. “And blast it all, Luke, why are you listening? You don’t even believe in God.”

“She has a unique way of telling the story of Daniel in the lion’s den. Very amusing.”

“And that, gentlemen”—her cheerful voice brought Noah’s eyes back to her—“is why we must always have faith, even in the midst of hopeless times.”

“Amen.” Agnes clapped her hands together, her full cheeks rosy once again.

“Me wife surely finds pleasure in ’er company.” Matthew spit to the side.

“She’s no doubt starved for female companionship.” Noah growled. “Enough of this.” He stormed amid ships.

Miss Denton gently closed the Bible and lifted her gaze to his. Brown eyes, glistening like cinnamon in the sunlight, scoured over him.

“Service is over. Get back to work!” he barked. The men scattered across the deck like rats in daylight.

“Never mind him, dear.” Agnes leaned over and untied the rope around Miss Denton’s waist then helped her to stand.

Noah rolled his eyes. “Matthew, get that chair stowed below where it belongs.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” His boatswain ran to the mainmast and hoisted the chair in his arms.

Agnes ambled past Noah, adjusted her apron, and pursed her lips. She didn’t have to say anything. Her motherly look of reprimand did its work on Noah’s conscience.

“Sail on the horizon. Off the starboard quarter!” Mr. Grainger shouted from above.

Thankful for the interruption, Noah plucked his glass from his belt, moved toward the railing, and lifted it to his eye.

“What has put you in such a foul mood today, Captain?” Miss Denton’s voice was soft and assured.

Ignoring her, he gripped the glass tighter and focused on the horizon where the slight shape of a white sail reflected the morning sun. Too far to determine whether she be friend or foe.

He lowered his glass. “It won’t work, Miss Denton.”

She screened her eyes from the sunlight and gazed up at him with more innocence than seemed possible to feign. “What won’t work?”

“Your trying to charm my crew to garner their sympathy.”

Her forehead crinkled. “I am doing no such thing. It is Sunday by my best calculation, and the crew deserves a chance to worship.” A pink hue colored her nose. “I’m surprised at you for not initiating a proper service while out at sea.”

“The sails are gone now, Cap’n,” Mr. Grainger reported.

Noah slapped his spyglass shut and faced her. “For one thing, I doubt God notices when people worship Him, and for another thing, Miss Denton, this is a merchant ship, not a chapel, and these men wouldn’t be caught dead in church when they are in port.” She gazed across the water as if pondering his words, her face pinching. Yet she remained silent. No snide comments, no sharp rebukes, no haughty insults.

Where was the spoiled little goose he’d known as a child? The one he found such pleasure in taunting. He had thought being mean to her would be easy, that he could pick up right where he’d left off eleven years ago. How was he to know the goose had transformed into an angel during those long years, making it all the more harder to follow through with his plan?

Yet he must not falter. For her own good.

“You think my men enjoyed your sermon, Miss Denton? They only attended because it took them away from their duties.”

She swept her eyes to his, a moist sheen covering them. Noah hated himself for causing it.

“I’ll leave you to your commanding, Captain.” Then avoiding his gaze, she teetered over the wobbling deck and disappeared below.

 

♦♦♦

 

Heavy fog wrapped around the ship. Marianne leaned over the railing and peered through the mist. Below, the sea chopped against the hull so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Salivating claws of foam reached toward her. One touched her hand and she leapt back. Her breath clumped in her throat. Dashing over the deck, she screamed for help, for anyone. But the only answer came in the creaks and groans of the ship—chiding her, berating her.

She was all alone.

She darted to the railing again. Gurgling sounded. She glanced down. Massive bubbles surfaced from below. The sea had risen and was now within her reach. They were sinking! Laughter rode upon the mist and taunted her ears. She peered into the fog. A small boat formed out of the eerie haze

“Hello there!” she yelled. “Help me, I’m sinking.”

All eyes in the boat shot to her. Her father, her mother, Lizzie, Noah, Luke, Agnes and Matthew Hobbs. They smiled and waved at her as if nothing were amiss.

“Help me!” Marianne shouted. “Over here!”

They no longer seemed to hear her or even see her.

A figure appeared near the bow of the small craft—glowing in white light, shining and brilliant. He held up a lantern and faced forward as the boat drifted farther away.

And disappeared into the fog.

Marianne jerked up in bed. Her breath leapt into her throat. She laid a hand on her heart to quell its violent thumping. Tossing her coverlet aside, she swung her feet onto the floor and dropped her head into her hands. Oh, Lord. What does this mean? Will everyone I love abandon me? Even You? Can I trust no one? Why has all this happened to me? Father’s death, Mother’s illness, our poverty, my forced engagement, and now me upon this ship. Why have you abandoned me?

I will never leave you.

Marianne brushed the tears from her face. A spark of hope lit in her heart. Had she heard from God or merely imagined His voice? She looked up. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A mist as thick as the one in her dream slithered into her cabin. She stood, hugging herself against the chill. The rush of water against the hull sounded like a thousand voices taunting her, belittling her. Trust? You can’t trust Him.

She twirled the ring on her finger. The ring her father had given her. The only thing of value he had ever given her. Before he left her and her mother all alone in this world. Marianne should have sold it when she’d had the chance. The money from the sale would provide a few months of food and medicines. Why hadn’t she sold it? The silver felt cold and hard against her fingertips, and she released the band.

You couldn’t trust your own father. How can you trust God?

Groping for the tiny table at the foot of her bed, she felt for her flint and steel and with trembling hand, struck it to light her lantern. The glow spread over her cabin, chasing the darkness back into the corners.

I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life. The scripture from John flooded her mind. But her doubts resurrected to do battle with the holy words. Marianne’s heart thrashed wildly. She didn’t know why. Something evil, something dark seemed to hover in the room ready to pounce upon her. She donned her dress and shoes, swung open her door, and headed up on deck. Better to face her known fear than to suffer below with her demons.

A cool night breeze fingered the tendrils of her loose hair as she emerged on deck and made her way to the capstan, which she had learned was the name of the drum-shaped heaving tool she liked to cling to. Light from a full moon cast a milky haze over the ship, making it look dreamlike as it floated on the ebony sea.

A watchman up on the quarterdeck tipped his hat in her direction. After settling against the sturdy wooden frame, she dared a glance across the sea. The moon hung over the horizon like a giant pearl, its milky wands setting the waves sparkling in silver light.

It shall be established for ever as the moon, and as a faithful witness in heaven.

Another Scripture from the Psalms floated through Marianne’s mind. The moon was God’s faithful witness. Was He trying to tell her that He still loved her and was with her? A lump burned in her throat, and she swiped a tear from her cheek.

Trust me.

Releasing the capstan, Marianne took a step toward the railing. She grew weary of all the struggles in her life, weary of feeling so incredibly alone, but most of all she was weary of always being afraid. She slid her other shoe across the wooden planks. The ship rose over a swell, and she threw her arms out on either side to steady herself. Another step. Lord, can I trust You?

As if in answer to her question, the ship plunged, and she nearly stumbled. Her heart thumped against her ribs. A spray of saltwater stung her face.

No. I can’t. She slowly retreated.

Right into a firm hand on her back.

She whirled around to find Noah behind her. She wobbled.

“Steady now.” He gripped her shoulders.

Shrugging off his hands, she backed away from him, only to realize she was but inches from the railing. She dashed toward the capstan and gripped its familiar firm wood. Even in the moonlight, she could see the look of confusion on his face.

He proffered his elbow. “Milady, may I escort you to the railing? I believe that’s where you were heading before I interrupted?”

Marianne hesitated. Why was he being kind? She could not trust him. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “I can make it on my own, thank you, Noah.”

“Captain.”

Did the man’s arrogance never end? “Captain Noah.”

“Just Captain will do.” He grinned.

Releasing the wood, Marianne started out again for the railing. “What brings you up here in the middle of the night?”

He chuckled. “I could ask you the same. But it’s not the middle of the night. Dawn will be upon us in minutes.”

Marianne inched her shoes over the planks, forcing down her fear, determined to prove to this man that she was no coward. “Do the floors on this ship ever stop wobbling?”

Noah grinned. “Decks. The floors on a ship are called decks, Miss Denton.”

She grimaced. “What does it matter? You know what I mean.”

“If you are to spend months aboard, you should know the terminology so you aren’t mistaken for a landlubber.”

“But I am a landlubber.” She huffed. “A landlubber who has no intention of becoming a seaman—or seawoman.”

Noah walked beside her all the way to the railing as if he cared whether she fell. Marianne gripped the railing, the perspiration from her hands sliding over the wood. Taking a spot beside her, he inhaled a deep breath as he gazed upon the obsidian sea. He shook his hair behind him. Moonlight washed over him, setting his sun-bronzed skin aglow and dabbing silver atop the light stubble on his jaw. He planted his feet part and clutched the railing, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath his shirt. He seemed to have the weight of the world upon him, and Marianne tore her gaze away before any further sympathetic sentiments took root.

Facing her, he studied her intently.

Marianne stared at the railing, the moon, the fading stars, anywhere but at the liquid black death upon which they floated or the liquid blue death in the eyes of a man who hated her. “Can I help you with something, Captain?”

“It’s true then.”

“What?”

“You are afraid of the sea.” He glanced at the tight grip her trembling hands had on the railing.

She hated that it was so obvious. She hated showing this man any weakness. “You need not concern yourself with me, Captain.”

“As captain, I must concern myself with everyone on board.” His brows lifted. “What has me quite baffled, miss, is in light of this fear, why you would steal the very instruments which will aid us to shore. What were you planning on doing with them? Tossing them overboard?” He grinned.

A wave of shame heated Marianne’s face. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the sea rushing past them not twenty feet below. “If you must know, yes, that was exactly my plan.”

He chuckled. Which further angered her. “I assure you, miss, I’ve been at sea long enough to know how to navigate without them. Difficult as it would be, it would only delay our reaching the safety of land.” He leaned toward her until she could feel his warm breath on her neck. “I would abandon your efforts to turn this ship around, Miss Denton. Mark my words, we will make it to England as well as our other ports of call.”

Marianne gave a smug huff. England perhaps, but once he discovered she had ruined his precious cargo, he’d have no choice but to return home to Baltimore. “We shall see, Captain Noah.”

“Your perseverance and ingenuity are commendable.”

“A compliment?” Marianne faced him. “Have a care, Captain, or a crack may form in your heart of stone.”

 

♦♦♦

 

Noah’s smile was rewarded by the curve of Marianne’s lips. Surprisingly, it warmed him from head to toe. Her brown eyes shimmered in the silver light of the moon now dipping beneath the sea. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how beautiful her eyes were? She had removed her bandage, allowing her hair to flow like liquid cinnamon down her back.

Resisting the urge to run his fingers through it, he folded his arms across his chest.

The woman was an enigma. How terrifying the past days must have been for her in light of her fear of the sea. Yet here she was up on deck. Her bravery, her kindness to those she should consider beneath her, her willingness to cook and care for the sick, hammered away at the imperious image he had formed of her as a child. Was she playing him for a fool? Nothing but sincerity burned in her gaze. He wanted to hate her for it. But at the moment, he could find no trace of that emotion in his heart. Quite the opposite, in fact.

She broke the invisible thread between their gazes and glanced away. “What brings you on deck so early?”

“This is my favorite time of day.” Even as he said it, a soft glow spread across the eastern horizon, chasing away the dark night. “See there.” He pointed. “Dawn arrives. A new day. Fresh beginnings.”

Marianne twisted the ring on her finger and eyed him curiously. The light brushed golden highlights over her hair and face, and Noah swallowed down a lump of admiration. Confound it all, what was wrong with him?

The ship bucked, and Noah placed a hand on her back to steady her. Salty mist showered over them and her chest began to heave. “Never fear, Miss Denton, you are quite safe aboard this ship.”

She shot him a look of disbelief. “Are you so determined to make your fortune that you cannot spare a few days to return a frightened woman—your fiancée—to her home?”

The muscles in Noah’s jaw tightened. “You do not know my father.”

“What has he to do with it?”

“This is his ship, his cargo. He and Mother depend on me for their survival.”

“A heavy burden to bear alone.” Her voice sank with genuine concern.

How quickly she transformed from a woman demanding her way to one who cared for his concerns. He looked away from the sympathy pooling in her eyes and thought of his demanding father, hoping to resurge the anger and guilt that kept him strong. “I must apologize for my mother’s behavior at the engagement party. She has taken to an excess in drink as of late.” He lowered his chin. “It is an illness with her.” Confound it all, why was he telling her this?

She laid a hand upon his, jarring him. “No need to apologize, Noah. Many people who have suffered tragedy find succor in spirits. It is understandable.” She offered him a timid smile. “I am sorry.”

Noah felt her sorrow—genuine sorrow that began to melt a part of his heart he wasn’t ready to let soften. “I do not want your pity,” he said in a harsher tone than he intended. He snatched his hand from beneath hers.

She clutched the railing again and flattened her lips in disappointment just as Noah’s mother always did when he’d done something wrong. As he always did.

Unlike his father, Noah’s mother never chastised him openly. She didn’t have to. Noah’s failings and weaknesses lurked about their home, hanging from the dark corners of the ceiling like heckling specters. Which was why he preferred to be at sea. He patted the pocket inside his waistcoat. “My mother drinks because I failed her. And my father. But I will fail them no longer.”

Her brows drew together. “Certainly your father understands there are things that affect your fortune that are beyond your control.”

“The only thing he understands is success.”

A breeze lifted the soft curls of her hair and brought with it the fresh smell of dawn seasoned with a hint of salt. Why was she not angry at him for snapping at her? Why did he battle the strong desire to apologize for all the pain he had caused her?

“Anyone can see you are a more than competent captain.”

He cocked a brow. “A compliment? Have a care, Miss Denton. A crack may form in your heart of stone.”

They both laughed.

The sun fanned its rays over the sea, brushing golden light over her face.

Unable to resist any further, he took a strand of her hair between his fingers and relished in the silky feel of it. Her sweet feminine scent drifted over him.

Her eyes widened, searching his.

“A sail. A sail!”

Noah slowly tore his gaze from her brown eyes, and for the first time, he felt the pain of their loss. He shifted his attention to the horizon.

“Where away, Mr. Grainger?”

“She’s to leeward, sir, about four leagues” the lookout shouted.

 

♦♦♦

 

Marianne remained frozen beside the railing while Noah marched away, spyglass raised to his eye. Stunned not by the sighting of another ship, but by the tender look on Noah’s face as he fingered her hair. What had just happened? She had no idea, but she hadn’t time to consider it as the ship exploded in a flurry of activity at the appearance of their new guest. After ordering one of his men below to wake the crew, Noah took a stance on the quarterdeck to study the intruder. Within minutes, sleepy-eyed sailors sprouted from the hatches like gophers from their holes. Luke gave her a wink as he passed and took his place beside his captain.

“Hoist all sail, up topgallants, and courses!” Noah ordered “Mr. Pike, veer to starboard!”

Mr. Heaton repeated the orders, addressing certain sailors to specific tasks.

Marianne’s blood pounded in her ears. Men jumped into the shrouds and scrambled aloft until she could barely see them. They ambled across yards to loosen the sails, dropping them to catch the wind.

“She’s British,” a man above yelled. “A warship. A frigate.”

Following the line of Noah’s scope, Marianne spotted the object of excitement. A red-hulled ship, sporting three masts and crowded with sails, stood out stark against the rising sun. White foam leapt upon her bow as she split the dark waters and bore down upon them.

With her heart in her throat, Marianne made her way up onto the quarterdeck and clung to the mast behind the helm. At least from there she could hear what was happening.

Noah slammed the glass shut and slapped it against his palm. Then turning, he spotted one of his sailors. “Run up our colors, Mr. Lothar.”

Within minutes the American flag sprung high into the wind on the gaff of their foremast.

“What do they want do you suppose?” Mr. Heaton asked.

“I don’t intend to find out.” Noah narrowed his eyes upon their pursuer, his face a mask of confidence and command. No hint of fear glinted from behind his sharp blue eyes as he directed his men to their tasks—men who were quick to obey, their expressions displaying trust in their captain. Mr. Weller leapt upon the quarterdeck and stood beside Noah.

“They have the weather advantage,” he said.

“I can see that.” Noah scratched his chin. “But we are much lighter and swifter. We can outrun them.”

“Should I ready the guns, Cap’n?” Mr. Weller clawed nervously at his scarf with his three remaining fingers. “Just in case.”

Guns. Marianne swallowed. Surely they wouldn’t engage in battle with a British war ship?

Noah gave him a curious look. “No need. We will not allow them to get close enough.” He looked aloft and then off their bow and the confidence slipped from his face. “Mr. Pike, I told you to bring her to starboard.”

The helmsman hefted the massive wheel and grunted. “Cap’n, she ain’t respondin’.”

Noah marched to his side, gripped two of the spokes and assisted him.

“They’re gaining, Cap’n,” Mr. Heaton shot over his shoulder.

“The sails are stuffed wit’ wind.” Mr. Weller scratched his head. “Why haven’t we picked up speed?”

Noah released the wheel and rubbed the back of his neck.

The helmsman gazed up at his captain. “It feels like we’re draggin’ an anchor.”

Marianne’s heart lurched. She threw a hand to her mouth. “Oh drat.”

All eyes shot toward her.

Noah marched toward her, his face a twisted mass. “What have you done, Miss Denton?”