Owned by the Ocean (11 page)

***

Brant left lunch assured of his future, but with a new weight
pressing down heavily on his shoulders. He walked the five miles
back to the beach where they had come in the night before. The long
boat was no longer there, but the
BlackFox
was still anchored just off
shore. He waved his arms for a few minutes, and then saw a long
boat being lowered.

Karl and
Christopher met him on the beach. “Everythin’ taken care of?”

Brant nodded, but remained silent. Rowing back to the
BlackFox
he felt elated
but the news of his father’s illness had him troubled. He hadn’t
intended to make any contact with his father, but now he was faced
with his possible death and the unwanted feeling of responsibility
for his younger brother, James. If Calvin died, he would have no
one.

Back on the
BlackFox
he was greeted with cheers and pats on the
back.

“
We’re back in business, boys. Let’s make port.”

“
Brant?” Karl approached him as they sailed around the coast
towards the harbor.

“
Yes?”

“
You okay?”

“
Fine.”

“
What’s the plan?”

“
We sail for England with the morning tide.”

The voyage to England was rough sailing. It was dangerously
late in the season and storms were a growing concern. They
weathered a couple large gales that had Brant wondering if he’d
made a mistake, braving the treacherous seas this late in the year.
But the
BlackFox
docked in London safe and sound, if a little worse for wear,
in early June.

Upon docking
and paying the required fees, Brant left the ship in Karl’s care,
rented a horse from the nearest livery, and rode towards his
father’s estate. It was a long ride, especially in the heat of the
day, but Brant hardly noticed; his whole mind consumed by thoughts
of his ill father. Was he too late? Would his father even agree to
see him? Would James be bitter and angry with him for leaving?

Riding up to
the estate it looked the same as it did four years ago when he had
left. Brant recognized a much older Markus walk out of the stables
to meet him, and waved.

“
Is that you, Master Brant?”

“
It is, Markus. How have things been?”

“
Not so good. You've heard about Sir Foxton?”

“
I have.”

“
Doc says he ain't got much more time. You best go see
him.”

“
Thank you, Markus. I rented the horse, is there any way we
can arrange for him to get back to the livery? I think it is best I
spend some time here.”

“
I'll see to it.”

“
Thank you.”

Brant walked
into the house, taking the steps leading up to it two at a time. He
walked in with a bang of the door, the sound echoing through the
large house and announcing his arrival to anyone who might be found
inside.

Brant didn’t
have to wait long for the brisk, echoing footsteps to come from
upstairs. James walked down the stairs and met his brother in the
foyer. “Can I help you?”

Brant smiled a
little. His brother held himself straight and tall, his arms
clutched behind his back and wore a perfectly pressed and starched
shirt and breeches. Not a speck of dirt could be found on him.

“
How is father?”

“
Brant?” James’ face lost its impassiveness and was replaced
with a hesitant grin.

“
Who else?”

All semblance
of propriety disappeared with a laugh and James jumped down the
last few steps to embrace his estranged brother. “You're back! Are
you staying for good? I missed you! Leo told me that you had left
and that you were okay but when I asked when I'd see you again he
said he didn't know.”

Brant laughed
at the bombardment of questions and held up his hands to slow his
brother down. “I'm here for a little while, I'm not sure how long
yet. Now slow down and tell me how father is.”

James face
turned serious, and Brant had to smile a little at the series of
emotions he was seeing pass over his brother’s face in such a short
span of time. “It isn't good, Brant. The doctor says he doesn't
have much time left. I heard Markus talking, he isn't even sure how
he's lasted this long.”

“
What is it?”

“
Consumption is what he called it. The doctor said that
sometimes people recover but it's extremely rare and at father's
age it seems to have hit him quite hard.”

“
Can I see him?”

“
He has been asking about you--”

“
Take me to him.”

James led
Brant up the stairs and into their father's room. “Father? There is
someone here to see you.”

“
Who is it?” Calvin’s voice had lost much of the strength it
had once carried. Now it was raspy and weak from too much
coughing.

“
It's Brant, Father.”

“
Send him in.”

Brant walked
in and James shut the door behind him, staying out in the hall.
Calvin Foxton was a shell of the man Brant had once known. His body
looked weak and frail, his skin hanging loosely off his thin
frame.

“
So, my prodigal son has returned. Have you come to beg my
forgiveness in hopes of getting my fortune while I lay on my
deathbed?” He was taken over by a fit of coughing and Brant rushed
over to help him sit up in bed.

“
No, I came to say goodbye. I’m a captain now; I don’t need
anything from you
.
”

“
Is that supposed to impress me?”

“
Four years, father. I left four years ago and I'm a captain.
You are supposed to be proud.”

“
I'm dying; the last thing I care about is what you've
accomplished. Nothing you say or do is going to change the fact
that James is going to get every pound of the
inheritance.”

Brant
grimaced. He hadn’t come here for money, he’d come here to make
things right, and yet his father could only think about what filled
his coffers. “I left. I never expected to be included in the
inheritance after that.”

“
At least you aren't a complete fool.”

“
Calvin Foxton doesn’t raise fools,” spat out Brant,
struggling to hold in his growing anger.

“
And yet you threw away everything I gave you and chose the
life of a common sailor.”

“
I never intended to be a common sailor. I'm a Foxton and I
had every intention of upholding that name as a captain of my own
ship.”

“
And what to you do? Haul coffee and sugar?”

“
In a sense, and anything else of value that I relieve a ship
of.”

“
So you're a pirate, a common criminal.”

“
Privateer, actually.”

Calvin Foxton
was quiet for some time and then he looked at Brant. “You can stay
here while you’re in London if you wish. Now leave me be.”

“
Thank you, Father. I would like that very much.” It took
everything in Brant to remain quiet and civil with the bitter man
lying in bed. From what he remembered of the prodigal son, he was
welcomed home with feasting and joy. There would be no killing of
the fatted calf for Brant.

Calvin lay
back down and Brant left the room, joining James who was still
waiting in the hall.

“
I didn't hear any yelling.”

“
Can he still yell?”

James smiled
sadly. “If he’s angry enough. How was it?”

“
Better than I expected. He invited me to stay
here.”

“
Your room is all still the way you left it. Father told the
maids not to touch it. He wasn't angry when you left, you
know.”

“
What do you mean?” Brant asked, thinking back to the night
he’d ridden away and the silhouette he’d seen standing in the
window, watching him go.

“
He was just sad. It was as if someone had died.”

“
You mean he didn't erase me from the family inheritance and
prohibit the speaking of my name?”

“
After two years or so his lawyer came over and I think he
changed his will. To him you were dead. I remember him telling me
that you weren't ever coming back and I think he truly believed
that. We spoke of you sometimes, when I asked or when he was
telling stories.”

“
Father told stories?”

“
I think when you left he realized that he drove you away and
he was afraid to lose me as well so he tried harder to be a real
father.”

It was strange
for Brant to be having a real conversation with his brother. The
last time he had seen him James had been six years old. He was now
ten and had matured a great amount. It pained Brant to see that he
had missed so much of his brother’s life.

“
That is hard to believe; a kind Calvin Foxton,” Brant said,
followed by a chuckle that sounded bitter even to his own ears. “I
thought he only knew how to command troops.”

James laughed.
“Oh, he is still like that, but he did try hard to get closer to
me. He told stories and asked me what I wanted to do when I was
older. He even showed me everything we owned and explained things
to me.”

Brant smiled
but it pained him to hear that his brother had gotten the father he
had always wanted, always fought for. Brant could almost consider
himself an orphan after his mother had died. “And now that he's
ill?”

“
He has me sit with him every day for a few hours and he goes
over business with me. This house will be sold when he's gone, you
know.”

“
Why?”

“
Because that is what we thought would be best. I will go to a
boy’s school and this house would be empty. There is still the
Jamaican sugar plantation.”

“
So you will go to one school and then the other until you're
twenty, and then what?”

“
And then I will either go to Jamaica to oversee the
plantation or I will purchase a townhouse here.”

“
You and father have it all figured out.”

“
We do. His lawyer will look after the finances until I
graduate I will be given an allowance each week. Father doesn’t
want me, or our money, falling into the hands of a relative I
barely know. This seemed like the best situation.”

“
Father thinks the best situation is for you to be independent
at ten years of age? You're still so young, James. You're too young
to have responsibilities like this, to have no parental figure
other than teachers and a headmaster in school.”

“
It's what father thinks is best.”

“
What father thinks is best,” Brant repeated the words that
seemed all too familiar. “What do you want, James?”

“
What father says is usually a good idea.”

Brant shook
his head, frustration mounting. “You need to learn to think for
yourself.”

James only
laughed. “I suppose I'll have to pretty soon, won't I?”

His brother
was becoming hard, like their father. Brant was sure he laughed and
he cried like a normal child, but James was completely at peace
with the fact that their father was dying, that the big plan was
for him to be completely alone in this cruel world. Everything
should feel like it was crashing in on him, like it was to Brant,
but instead he laughed it off as if it was just the circle of life
in action.

* * *

During his
time spent at home Brant had daily conversations with his father
about what he had done with his life these past four years—more
often than not his father would grunt in disapproval but
occasionally he expressed delight. Brant knew Calvin would never
admit it but he was sure he secretly enjoyed hearing of Brant’s
adventures because through them Calvin could relive his own glory
days.

Brant was not
invited or allowed to sit in on James’ time with their father as it
was usually discussing affairs of the estate, of which Brant had no
part of.

Time passed
quickly for Brant, but every day when the doctor came to check in
he just shook his head and muttered something along the lines of
“not long now.”

As bitter as
Brant was towards his childhood it pained him to see his father
suffer with each passing day, yet he sat by his side and kept him
company as long as he would allow. Sometimes his father would tell
him tales of his glory years when his was a common sailor in the
King’s navy, working his way up the ranks. He had come from a
middle class family that did not have a lot of money, but Calvin
had worked incredibly hard in the navy and pulled a good wage as
commodore. He saved his money and as soon as he had enough he
invested in a merchant company that dealt largely with the sugar,
cotton and coffee trades out of Jamaica. It was through that
investment that Calvin grew interested in owning his own plantation
in Jamaica. As he grew in favor with the King and the court Calvin
suddenly found himself in a whole new class and had vowed that his
children would have a better life. That was why he had refused to
allow Brant to join the navy.

“
Did you visit our plantation at all while you stayed over in
Port Royale?”

“
No, I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”