Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (13 page)

“No, the letter . . . I expected to find Pastor Collins.”

“He had to see to some matter.” Gordon took a step toward her. “Was there news from England?”

“Yes, everything is . . . well, Anne is married.”

“Your sister? My hearty felicitations.” But there was no indication in either expression or voice of finding any pleasure in the news. “Nicole, we must speak.”

“Gordon, please, I . . .” Her heart thudded within and she could not go on.

He squared his shoulders and spoke in a voice that didn’t require much volume to command. “Yes, it must be now.”

She nodded once and sank into a chair at the table. Now it was to be. And why not? She’d had weeks and weeks to decide. What could be gained in delaying the matter any longer? And yet her heart fluttered within her chest like a frantic bird in captivity.

Gordon returned to his seat. Now that the moment had come, he seemed unable to collect himself. He took several deep breaths. “My dear Nicole, you must be aware that more than mere obligation has compelled me to accompany you on these journeys.”

She nodded. Not because of his words, but because she already knew what he was about to say. Just as with Anne’s letter, Nicole somehow sensed the message even before he said it. She turned inwardly to God, crying, begging Him for an answer. A direction. A moment of calm and clarity.

“I have accepted these responsibilities out of my growing affection for you.” Gordon spoke with the quiet forcefulness of one who had thought long and hard over his words. “I have sought to show you through my deeds just what sort of man you have encountered. A man whom you can trust to uphold your concerns as his own. A man who seeks nothing more than your joy and your trust. And, God willing, your love.”

“God willing,” she echoed in a whisper.
God, please speak to me. Tell me what I should do here, what I should say
.

“The longer we are together, the deeper my affections have become.” Gordon reached across the table. “I have hoped for some sign from you, some beacon that, were I to pay suit, you would respond favorably. I have waited and hoped through many trials. But I can wait no longer. The world is turning, Nicole. Times are harsh and pressing in from all sides.”

“Gordon—”

“Please, I beg you, let me finish. You have not asked me to do so, but I should be willing to give up the sea. Even with the chance for advancement and a future, I would put my career aside. And willingly. Without hesitation or provision.” Then he took her hand, held it with both of his, and said, “If only you will accept my suit and agree to become my wife.”

There it was. The words she had dreamed of, yearned for. And dreaded. She clenched her eyes shut for a long moment and pleaded once more for God to make His will known to her.

When she opened her eyes, it was to find Gordon eyeing her with the bleak countenance of one who already knew he’d been denied. “Is it such a hard thing that I ask?” he said.

“No. No, it is not.” In fact, it was so easy that to say anything but a wholehearted
yes
left her quaking with fear that she would be making a terrible mistake. She searched the silent chamber, the stone walls, the roof, the rainspattered windows. And found nothing.

“You may as well speak it aloud,” he said dismally, withdrawing his hands from hers. “I can see it already upon your face.”

Nicole stared across the table. The anguish in her heart lay between them. “Why are you not able to believe with me?”

Of all that she might have said, this clearly was what he least expected.

“I beg your pardon?” said Gordon.

“
Believe!
” The word echoed back at her, its starkness shouting that perhaps she was trying to convince herself as well. “To share my life with you means you must share my faith in God! I have tried to make that clear to you. You speak of commitment and obligation. So do I. You say you have tried to show me who you are. That I have done too. And yet you have refused me, time and time again.”

“Refused you?” His voice was incredulous.

“But you have! Every morning and evening, each time I invited you to join me in reading the Scriptures, in prayer. I
begged
you. And your constant response was no. How else can I answer you now?”

“My Nicole,” Gordon began slowly, “I shall speak frankly. Strong woman that you are, I fail to see why you insist upon being so enamored with religion.”

“I—you—”

“Wait, I beg you. I have no problem with the church, with faith, in its proper place. But all of life must be kept in reasonable balance. Wind and sail and tide and season, all must be brought into harmony. Then will the ship run taut and true and hold to its correct course.”

“Impossible,” she murmured. Not at his words but at the dilemma she faced. “It is impossible.”

“On the contrary,” he argued. “I speak with the reason of one who has survived troubles and storms that I doubt you could scarce imagine.” Again he reached for her hand. “This I promise you, on the power of our love and the future I desire to give you. No captain can doubt the power of God. Yet this must be matched by a will tested and seasoned by the sea.”

This time it was Nicole who withdrew her hand. She finally said, “I fear I have nothing more I can say to you.”

“Indeed.” Gordon rose from the table, his expression downcast. “Then I have no choice but to bid you a good day.”

A good day?
Her heart echoed the words with a pain so deep she clasped her hands to her breast.

Chapter 12

The harbor master conducted his business from a stone hut positioned at the wharf ’s most seaward point. A squadron of fourteen longboats had been drawn up alongside the hut, the oars laid out in proper military fashion to await their next call. The harbor wasn’t particularly busy, as the blockade squadron was out to sea and the war delayed the onset of spring trading.

This much Gordon had picked up from tavern scuttlebutt over a glum lunch. His men had settled at another table, one closer to the door, leaving their captain well alone. Officers were granted unquestioned isolation at times, and never had Gordon needed it more than now. A black rage had swept over him, only to depart and leave him so miserable he had longed for the fury again just to keep him from drowning in despair. He’d tried to focus on the talk from other tables so as to avert his attention from the storm within.

The table across from him held a group of merchants up from New York, quaking in their boots over the prospect of being caught up in a battle. Things had been fairly quiet all winter. Yet there were signs of coming conflict, especially on the roads leading north. And word had it the Americans were preparing likewise. This meant the merchants had received top price for their goods. If only they now could return in safety to their homes.

Gordon left the inn and crossed the rocky beach toward the harbor master’s quarters. His men continued to hold well back. Gordon hadn’t spoken a dozen words to them since departing the hostel, only that they would be bunking on board the vessel. When one of the soldiers dared ask if Nicole would be joining them, Gordon had resisted the urge to raise his fists to the rain-drenched sky and rage at the futility of everything. His negative response prevented any further questions.

He knocked on the stout oak door of the hut. Hearing a call from within, he opened and said, “A good afternoon to you, Master,” determinedly courteous in spite of his inner anguish.

Like most good harbor chiefs, this one was retired navy. His grizzled, weather-beaten features born of countless watches before the mast matched a voice that was the bark of one long used to hailing the topgallants. “Do I know you, sir?” he rasped out.

“No, but I hope and pray you know my vessel. Captain Gordon Goodwind at your service.”

“Goodwind, Goodwind, where have I heard that name. . . ?” Bushy silver eyebrows shot up until they disappeared beneath the brow of his cap. “One moment, Captain.”

He went to the open window, peered into the distance, and shouted, “Avast there, Tyler! I say, Tyler!”

A stocky youth came bounding across the rocky beach. “Aye, sir?”

“Run, do what I told you. Don’t just stand there, lad! Hop to it!”

“He’s here?”

“Just you do as I said, and be right smart about it!” The master slammed the window shut, then scrambled about his desk till he came up with a long-stemmed clay pipe. “Will you join me in a bowl, Captain?”

“Thank you, sir. But the pleasures of tobacco have thus far eluded me.” Even while he stood there with the sounds and smells of the sea all around him, Gordon felt none of the anticipation that normally accompanied a new voyage. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, we have just journeyed from the back of beyond. My men and I are quite exhausted and eager to get on board.”

“Certainly. Won’t keep you a moment.” But the master refused to meet Gordon’s eye as he spoke. Instead he searched the potbellied stove for tinder, then made a studied business of lighting his pipe. Through wreaths of smoke, he finally continued, “There’s just the matter of some documents not left in my care.”

“Forgive me, sir, but I fail to understand. We sold and off-loaded all our stock prior to heading inland.”

“Yes, well, that is . . .” The master moved back to the window and looked with some consternation through the glass. “Here they come!” he cried. “Now we’ll have it all out and done!”

But before the harbor master could reach the door, it flew open and Carter exclaimed, “Captain, a dozen or so redcoats with arms at the ready are headed this way!”

“Aye, and they’ll sort you out right smart if you try anything!” the harbor master said, shoving his way outside. He waved frantically to the rapidly trotting soldiers. “This way, lads! This is them here!”

At a barked command from the lead officer, the troops split into two lines and flanked the stunned and confused men. Once the soldiers were in position, the officer ordered, “Hands off your weapons!”

Instantly Gordon realized what was afoot. He felt his mouth tighten with his gut. “You men there, do as the officer says.”

The officer watched them obey Gordon with the steely-eyed mien of one ready for bloodshed. “All right, now drop your arms and step away!”

“Excuse me, sir,” countered Gordon firmly, “but you haven’t the right to do this.”

“Are you Gordon Goodwind?”

“
Captain
Goodwind, yes. And who are you?”

“Lieutenant Driscoll. I fear you are captain no longer,” he sneered.

“Of course,” Gordon said with a calm born from one who had over the years learned to recognize the quiet before great storms. “You have commandeered my ship.”

Gordon’s matter-of-fact acceptance rattled the officer. “You knew?”

“Not until you arrived, sir. But it is evident, is it not?”

“You—” The officer and the harbor master exchanged glances. “You are not surprised?”

“Our nation is at war. It is only natural that—” A slight motion caught the corner of his eye. “You! Wilkins!

Hold hard there!” Gordon shouted. One of the other men moaned the protest. “But, sir! Our ship, she’s—” “Hold hard, I say!” Gordon turned back to the officer but directed his words to his men. “The king’s official representative is the garrison commandant. If he has requisitioned our ship, there’s naught we can do. Is that not the lay of the land, Lieutenant?”

“Indeed it is.” The officer kept one eye on Gordon’s sword hand as he reached into his pouch and extracted a bundle of papers. “Here are the proper documents, including your payment voucher.”

Gordon took his time with inspection of the papers, knowing the longer he remained calm, the less risk there was of a violent exchange. Then his eye fell on the second sheet, and dumbfounded, he said, “You have press-ganged my men still on board the ship.”

“The ship needed skilled hands to sail her,” the officer responded impassively. He waved a hand at the rest of Gordon’s men. “These too are to come with me.”

“I am afraid not, sir.” Gordon rolled up the documents and stowed them away in his tunic. “Your orders were to acquire the men upon the vessel. This you have done. These men are my hired hands, here on land, with no ship to be found.”

“This is outrageous!” he sputtered.

“A strange choice of words, given the circumstances.” Gordon turned to the harbor master. His back to the army officer, he revealed a trace of desperation. “Would you not say I have assessed the matter correctly, sir?”

Being former navy, Gordon assumed the harbor master was no doubt familiar with the horrors of press-ganging, where sweeps were made of many English ports, emptying taverns and inns of all able-bodied men between the ages of sixteen and forty-five. Regardless of their family situation or lack of knowledge of the sea, these unfortunates were chained and led on board ships with neither notice nor any way to contact their kin. They were forced belowdecks and held there until the vessel was well away from port and were kept in service until, if they survived, the war’s end.

The harbor master squinted through his smoking pipe, inspected Gordon’s features, then faced the officer and said, “I must stand with the captain here on this matter, sir.”

“Nonsense! We have been ordered—”

“I heard the orders same as you. And Captain Goodwind has responded to the loss of his vessel as well as any officer I’ve ever known.”

“You can’t possibly suggest we leave these men here under his charge!”

“That’s exactly what I suggest. There will be no trouble here, Lieutenant, so I bid you a good day.” To Gordon, the harbor master said, “You won’t be making trouble for me, now, will you?”

“What is there to be gained by such measures?”

“Nothing good at all, and much bad.” Since the officer stayed standing where he was, the harbor master barked, “I said good day to you, sir!”

“I’ll be having words with Colonel Grudge about this!” the officer huffed as he turned on a heel.

“No doubt you will.”

The lieutenant stomped to the rear of the line. “Company, about face! Double file! Rapid march!”

After the redcoats had left, the harbor master said to Gordon, “I didn’t have a thing to do with the loss of your ship, Captain.”