Falconer's Quest (21 page)

She shook her head. “Simply because you don’t weep does not mean you have denied your sorrow.”

He stared at her more intently. “How can you know such things?”

“My husband was a bookish man. His greatest strengths were his mind and his voice. Many might have thought of him as weak. Yet he held many traits similar to your own.” She paused a moment to contemplate the book in her hands. “He was tempted by his intelligence to stand away from God. He had perhaps the most remarkable mind I have ever known. He had memorized not merely verses of the Bible but entire books of the Scripture. When we were packing for Africa I asked him why he did not carry a pastor’s library, shelves of reference volumes and teachings. He replied that he did, and tapped the side of his head.”

“I am sorry I did not know him,” Falconer murmured.

“You are quite different from him,” she said. “And yet there is a great similarity. When wounded, you and he do not become angry with God. You retreat. You question whether God truly exists for you. And you condemn yourself for this questioning. You cannot see yourself as others do, John Falconer, and neither could he.”

“I am not a pastor,” Falconer protested.

“But you have a heart for God. Even when that heart is so hurt it is wrapped in veils of remorse.”

“Even when too many of my prayers seem empty? Even when the Scriptures read alien as a foreign tongue?”

“This too shall pass.”

Her softly spoken confidence permitted him to say, “Your words in the morning prayer time have moved me to the core.”

She shut the prayer book and set it to one side. “Perhaps because we share the experience of grievous loss, you are permitting yourself to see what still lies within your own heart.”

Matt sniffed loudly and wiped his face with one sleeve. Falconer reached over and put his hand on top of Matt’s. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps also this is happening because it is
time
. It is
time
to move beyond, John Falconer. And this can only happen when you offer up your pain to God.”

Falconer’s throat felt raw as he forced the confession from his lips. “I do not know how.”

Amelia Henning responded as though she had awaited this since the moment he sat down. “Speaking with your son has illuminated my own path, Brother John. His songs have soothed my spirit to where I can listen again for God’s own breath.” She reached out one hand toward the two of them. “Perhaps you will permit me to return this gift and allow me to speak the words for you this day.”

He did not answer because he could not, save to join his and Matt’s hands to hers. Nor in truth did he hear more than the soft cadence of her words of prayer. Instead, he felt her voice wash over him, reaching down into the depths of his being, stripping away the shadows and the veil.

But the clearest image of that too-brief time was the pressure of her hand, the long slender fingers intertwined with his and Matt’s.

Falconer lay on his bunk fully clothed, his senses on full battle alert. Though the only sound in the cabin came from the creaking timbers and the soft patter of sailors’ bare feet overhead, he knew Matt was awake. Finally he slipped from his bunk and crossed the room. As he sank onto the floor, he heard the rustle of his son’s bedclothes.

Two arms reached out into the black and wrapped themselves around his neck. Falconer held the boy for a time, then said, “Would you like me to light a candle?”

Matt released him, and Falconer shifted across the plank flooring until he came to the small cabinet beneath their porthole. He struck the tinderbox, then lit a candle and placed it in the pewter holder. He returned to his son’s bedside and sat on its edge.

Matt watched him with dark and somber eyes. Falconer stroked the side of the boy’s neck. “Say the words, lad, and I will excuse myself from this mission.”

It was a hard challenge to set before one of Matt’s age. But Falconer felt he had no choice. He had said as much earlier. But this was on the eve of a far more dangerous adventure than their recent encounters. “It is something I would have said to your mother, if she were here. I know I am speaking to you as though you were a man. That has been one of my great failings, you see. I have no experience in raising lads. So I have always felt as though I could speak to you as a grown-up. Which you are, in so many remarkable ways.”

Falconer knew he was going on in uncommon fashion. But he needed to fill the void between the moment and the coming departure. “The words Amelia Henning spoke to me, the ones that had such a powerful effect, she was able to speak them because of you.”

The boy shifted on his bunk and remained silent.

“I know you did not shape the thoughts, lad. But you granted her the ability to look beyond her own grief.”

“I like her.” The words emerged as almost a whisper.

“As do I.”

“Do you think…?” He didn’t finish his question.

“You do not need to hesitate to ask me anything, lad. Or speak your mind on any subject. Not now, not ever. I want nothing but trust between us.”

“Do you think you might like her as you did Mama?”

Falconer hid his surprise as best he could. “I both liked and loved your mother. But I also understand your question. The answer is, I have no idea whatsoever.”

“She’s very pretty. And nice.”

“Aye.”

“Is it wrong to think like that, Father John?”

“No, lad. But you shouldn’t get your hopes up on that score. We’re both recovering from grievous wounds, she and I.” Falconer continued to stroke the soft down below the boy’s hairline. “Is there anything else you wish to say to me?”

A moment’s hesitation, then, “Can I go on deck with you when it’s time for you to go?”

“Aye, lad. If that’s what you wish.”

“Can we pray first?”

“Of course. Why don’t you—”

“I want to hear you pray, Father John.”

Falconer told himself he had prayed with Bernard Lemi. But this was different and he knew it. With his son there was no disguising the hard truth. “You know I feel…I feel very distant from God.”

Matt swung his bare feet to the floor beside Falconer. “Please, Father John.”

Falconer could not deny his son. He breathed in so long he might have been using it as an excuse to avoid doing the impossible. When the breath ended, and when he had refilled his lungs, he shut his eyes and bowed his head over tightly clenched fists. “Lord in heaven, I pray to you though I feel you are too distant to hear my feeble words.”

Falconer stopped. Matt had placed one hand upon his arm. He felt the stone of his flesh under his son’s touch and realized it was not just his hands that were clenched, but his entire body. Falconer breathed again, this time forcing his chest to unlock. God’s presence rested upon his tightly clenched heart. “Thank you for the gift of this wonderful son, Lord. Thank you for bringing Matt and me together. I do not know why you had to take Ada from us…”

He stopped because his son was sobbing so hard he could not take a decent breath. Falconer shifted Matt’s limp fingers to his opposite hand so he could reach around and draw the boy closer still. His beloved boy cried for them both.

When Matt grew silent, Falconer finished simply, “Keep my wonderful dear son safe, Lord. Keep me safe. Not just now, but always. Make me a better father. In the name of your Son I pray. Amen.”

He remained as he was until he heard the soft knock upon his door. “I must go, lad.”

Matt rose silently from his bed and donned his clothes. At the door Falconer stopped. His hand upon the latch, he turned back. Even though the candle was burned down so it disappeared into the pewter holder, the light was enough to reveal the expression on Matt’s face. Falconer understood all too well. “Lad, I want you to take what I’m about to say and tuck it away safe, so in the years to come you’ll be able to draw it out and remember it well. You are not weak for having cried. You have a strength I do not possess. The strength of an open heart, one not scarred by all the wrong choices I have made. I am eternally grateful for the gift of your tears.”

The boy wiped his face again and said nothing. But Falconer could see Matt had calmed from the words, even though he might not have clearly understood.

The knock was louder this time. Falconer opened the door and said, “We are ready.”

Chapter 24

Falconer was the last man to climb into the longboat. Though the wind was mild, the seas were running strong, which indicated a storm somewhere beyond the horizon. He timed his motions to the boat’s sway, such that he touched down easily.

Bivens said, “One can always tell a well-salted man by the way he handles the ropes. Cast off there, Bosun.”

“Sir. All right, me hearties. Pull hard!”

“And keep your voices down,” Bivens instructed. “We’re running silent and swift from now on.”

The young lieutenant, his arm still in the captain’s sling, seated himself beside Falconer and studied the rising sun. “Not long now.”

Falconer did not respond. His attention remained caught by the image of two figures standing by the lee railing. Amelia Henning rested one arm around Matt’s shoulders. The lad bravely waved him away.

Falconer lifted one arm in farewell. To that, Amelia Henning raised one arm and Matt two. Falconer felt as though he could still hear the woman’s whispered farewell.

He remained warmed by his last moments on deck. Amelia Henning had drawn him and Matt to the side of the vessel away from the longboat and the activity, off to where her actions and her words were as hidden as anything could be on a sailing vessel. “I shall pray for you and your safety and your success, John Falconer. As hard as ever I have prayed in all my life.”

“I as well, Father John,” Matt said with a small catch in his voice.

Amelia Henning’s gaze held a light stronger than the dawn. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that you are a dear and good man to take on this mission. I trust you, John Falconer, and more. If it is possible, you will do this. I have
confidence
in you. I am entrusting my daughter into your care. I wish I could express what it means to be able to say that….”

Then she abruptly reached forward and embraced him. An action so swift it caught them all by surprise. She released him as abruptly and stepped back, her face aflame.

Falconer covered his confusion by turning to his son. Matt clung long and hard to him. But the words of remorse he had expected, or the plea that he could not deny, did not come. Instead, the lad whispered into Falconer’s ear, “When I grow up, Father John, I want to be brave like you.”

Falconer had waited until the lad relaxed his grip, until he could look the boy straight in the eye. “You already are.”

Lieutenant Bivens’ voice interrupted Falconer’s reverie. “Steer us straight east, Bosun.”

“East it is, sir.”

“We want to remain hidden by the rising sun.”

“If they come at all,” the bosun finished for them.

Neither Falconer nor the lieutenant responded. They watched as their ship gradually vanished beneath the horizon. When the topsails were all that were visible, Bivens said, “That should do it. No, keep your oars in the water, men. Hold us steady. We will wait.”

Though there was no one to hear them, they held to silence. An hour passed. Then two. The sun was fully above the horizon now. To the south the heat rose in endless ribbons into a cloudless sky.

“There,” Falconer muttered, pointing. “South by southwest.”

“I do not see them.”

“Further toward the shore. Wait. The mast I spotted has disappeared now.”

A sailor rose from his bench. “Down, man,” Bivens said.

Falconer said, “You may be missing out on a real fight, accompanying me like this.”

“I think you were right in your predictions,” Bivens said, squinting as he searched the tossing sea. “They will probe but not attack.”

Falconer grinned at the younger man. “So you would have forsaken me if there had been a better chance of a quarrel?”

Bivens turned his attention from the water. “Do you know, I believe this is the first time I have ever seen you smile.”

“I see them, sir,” the bosun said.

Bivens returned his attention to the sea. “Where?”

“Wait for the next rising wave, sir.”

Falconer let the smile slip away but remained warmed by its reason. Levity had been lost to him, he had thought forever. Yet now he smiled, not at the lieutenant, but rather at the arms he could still feel about his chest. How was it possible to ache over the loss of one woman and find joy in another’s words? It was a puzzle that remained beyond him.

Bivens muttered, “Oh my…what…?”

This time, half the oarsmen were in the process of rising when the lieutenant rebuked them softly. “Down, I say.”

But it was hard even for Falconer to remain seated. For arrayed across the southwestern horizon was not the single vessel that had been the agreement.

Admiral La Rue had arrived with an armada.

The sea’s horizon boiled with sails.

Bivens muttered, “How many do you reckon?”

Falconer shook his head. Forty, fifty, sixty, the number did not matter. Too many for one lonely merchant ship, no matter how well armed or manned, to fend off. “Take note of how they sail.”