Patriot's Pride Read online

  The remembered warmth of her heaving chest against his torso had his heartbeat drumming relentlessly.

  She turned and gasped when she saw him. “Why aren’t you with Mrs. Ulery?”

  “I sent for men to carry her to her cabin.” He glanced at the towering mountains of water. How could a sea voyage possibly cure him? “Hats and caps are certainly a problem in this weather.”

  “Yes, and I neglected to bring an extra cap.” Her hands tangled in her hair as she fought to control it.

  He wanted to comb through the golden mass with his fingers. “One of the other women might loan you a spare.” He hoped they did not. He wanted to enjoy the entire journey gazing at her hair that trailed down her back.

  “Miss Cavendish and Miss Boulton became suddenly ill. There can be nothing left in their stomachs. I came up here for a breath of fresh air, but…perhaps…you know of…a decoction…or tincture to help them….”

  Was she asking for his help? He curled his lips in a wry smile. Some physicians were convinced of the efficacy of bleeding for seasickness, for they thought the sufferer had bad blood. However, in this particular case, he had his father’s knowledge to guide him.

  Her quicksilver eyes turned misty. “I am sorry if I’ve been sharp with you.” She lowered her gaze. “I have a-a distrust of doctors.”

  Was this an apology? She surprised him at every turn. Of course, she was not the first person to question a doctor’s methods. Derrick had found no physician capable of alleviating his melancholia in the wake of Julian’s death.

  “My experience is based on my knowledge of surgery,” he remonstrated.

  “Does it make a difference?”

  He stood transfixed as her flaxen hair fluttered about in the wind. He decided she was quite beautiful, despite her plain clothing and her adversarial disposition.

  “Are you going to answer me?” She lifted her gaze to his again.

  Her eyes, like mirrors, reflected his sorry image—the haggard, weary man he had become. The sight startled him for a moment. He drew in a great breath and glanced out at the horizon, wishing for the impossible, a trip backward in time. He shook his head, more to clear it than to make a reply.

  “A friend of mine, an apothecary, gave me several bottles of bitters before I left. He said his decoction never failed to help those with acute cases of seasickness.”

  She pulled back her golden hair, twisting it into a knot, but the wind kept playing with it. He longed to bury his hands in the silky strands.

  “May I give some to the women in my cabin? They are suffering greatly. They’ve emptied their stomachs, but continue to retch.”

  The wind intensified and whistled in the rigging. It reminded him of the screams of men begging for mercy. He shut his eyes. It did not help. Unbidden, a series of images from the battlefield flashed through his mind—men writhing in pain, blood and entrails, and vomit. And Julian.

  Save me, Derrick!

  I cannot save you!

  Assailed by the memories, the horror overwhelmed him and there was no way to stop it. Nothing, not even opium, removed the terrible memories. He ground his teeth together.

  “Are you ill?” she asked. Her hand pressed upon his.

  Her touch sent warmth up his arm and he opened his eyes. “No—no. It is this motion which I find difficult to endure.” He lied and swallowed the bile in his throat.

  “Standing here in the fresh air and looking at the horizon helps me get my bearings.” Her small hand squeezed his and the grisly images faded slightly. Sunshine bloomed in her smile, and his body flooded with warmth.

  “Yes, my father recommended staying on deck if possible.”

  She removed her hand and the chill crept back into his soul. “I doubt the women in my cabin are able to stand at this point.”

  “Give them the bitters. One spoonful every few hours.”

  The ship slammed down into the trough of a wave. He grabbed her hand as he clutched at the rail. “Perhaps we can prevent each other from falling.”

  “Indeed, we do not want any more broken bones.” The sweetness in her voice chased all the demons haunting him to the back of his mind.

  They made halting progress until they reached the doorway on the quarterdeck. She stopped and took in a deep breath of the bracing air. “I do not like to stay below decks. It is…unsettling. Is this normal for the ocean to churn into such mountainous waves?”

  “Strong winds cause great upheavals in the water—even though the sky is cloudless.”

  “I will pray for less wind and a smooth ride on the water.”

  Pray? He had prayed, and Julian had died. His nostrils flared at the memory, but he shoved it to the furthest recesses of his mind. “If the wind stops, we do not move. We will be becalmed which is far worse.” He stared out at the ceaselessly rolling water. His father firmly believed a sea voyage would help rid him of the terrible phantasms plaguing him. But Derrick wondered if this journey would make the anxiety worse.

  What if I become insane? He shuddered. The dreaded thoughts swirled in his mind and he could not stop them. What if I am already quite mad?

  “If I must suffer a dreadful jolt every time the ship hits a wave for the entire journey, I think I will be deranged by the end of this voyage,” Margaret said.

  Since his thoughts dwelled upon the same morose topic, he made an effort to move on to agreeable subjects. “The sea can be quite pleasant at times.”

  “What happens when we are put upon by lightning and rain?” She glanced up at him with her endlessly fascinating eyes. Why should a farm girl captivate him? He patted her hand.

  “The captain is knowledgeable and skilled.”

  “Do you think this ship is strong enough to withstand this constant battering by the waves?”

  “I told you, my father inspected every seam. The Prosperity is quite solid. It has weathered many storms, and once it was attacked by pirates.”

  “Did they…kill people?” Her lip quivered and he regretted mentioning the incident.

  He wondered why she should worry. She wore no finery. Her neck lay unadorned, and she did not possess earrings or fine combs. Were her golden hair and silver eyes beyond price? What if pirates lusted after more than cold metal? Would a pirate be as entranced with her as he was? That idea disturbed him.

  He cleared his throat. “The Prosperity outran them. She is a fast ship. My father is quite proud of her.” His large hand squeezed hers gently. “Come, let’s go below and I will give you the bitters. Then you can tend to the women in your cabin.”

  The ship continued its wild motion, and they stumbled along.

  Margaret bumped against a door jam and let out a light laugh. “This is like riding a bucking horse or standing on a horse’s back. I saw a man in a circus once who performed such a trick while the animal galloped in a circle.”

  Spoken with the sparkle of merriment, her words should have cheered him, but his brother Julian had been capable of the same talent, and again an image bore down on him. With dreadful clarity, he saw Julian, arms outstretched, standing on the bare back of the horse in perfect balance with concentration furrowing his brow…

  Emotion welled within him, but he ducked his head to avoid the low doorjamb and hid his sorrow.

  They arrived at the now empty infirmary. Mrs. Ulery had returned to her cabin with the help of some of the sailors. He opened the cupboard where he stored the bitters and other syrups the apothecary had prepared for him. Reaching in, he took out a brown bottle.

  “Have you ever visited England before?” Her wistful note hung in the air as she sat in the lone chair in the cabin. The delightful laughter of only a moment ago vanished. Now a touch of melancholy lingered in her voice and tugged at his heart. He did not want her to be glum. She was the essence of light and sunshine. He wanted her to glow, always. For him, grief, anxiety, and depression had become his constant companions. At one point, he’d considered ending his misery.

  “No, but I’ve sailed up and down
the eastern coastline. I have experienced several squalls and other such disturbances. This unsettling part of your journey will fade from memory once we reach England.” His mind would never erase Julian’s death from his memories. However, finding a way to end the scourge of infections which followed surgery would bring him some peace. At least, he thought it would.

  “I doubt I will have much time for amusements. There is family business I must attend to.”

  Was she going to purchase a new cow?

  “From what I understand, a number of pleasant sights—formal gardens, parks, and indeed magnificent castles—”

  “I’ll be near Sudbury, and while I’ve been told it’s quite a distance from Canterbury, I would like to make a pilgrimage to the cathedral if time permits. Miracles have occurred to those who pray there.”

  A spurt of anger threatened to spill over, but he kept his jaw tightly clamped. God did not answer prayers. There were no miracles. Science offered the only hope. Sepsis killed Julian. Most amputees died due to the infection. He must find a way to prevent it. He hoped to read Sir John Pringle’s papers, Experiments Upon Septic and Antiseptic Substances while he was in England. He wanted to find answers.

  He shook the bottle vigorously. “Remember to shake this well before you pour out a dose. My friend concocted this after suffering from seasickness himself on a journey to one of the islands in the Caribbean where his father has a plantation.”

  “Is it palatable?”

  He pulled the cork and held the opening near her nose.

  “Ach!” She shoved it away. “That contains strong spirits.”

  “Alcohol is used as a preservative and calms the nerves as well.” He opened his mouth to give her a lecture on the efficacy of alcohol in preserving medicinal concoctions but decided it was a waste of breath. As a woman, she would not understand. Clearly, she knew nothing of chemistry, but he did not expect she would.

  “It leaves people insensible.” With her hands on her hips, she appeared ready to accuse him of poisoning.

  He replaced the cork and set the bottle into the cupboard once more. “Then the women in your cabin shall remain miserable.”

  She stamped her foot. “I don’t want all the women in my cabin to be inebriated.”

  “So they must suffer instead.”

  Her lip quivered while scarlet stained her cheeks. Had he humiliated her? What a surprise.

  “I don’t want them to suffer. They are terribly ill.”

  “At least you are not suffering from seasickness,” he said. “You can offer them empty, but comforting, words.” His pointed barb intended to wound—and it did.

  Her eyes closed and his heart lurched. Had he gone too far? He took the bottle out once more and set it on the table with a loud clunk.

  She opened her wonderful silver eyes and stared at the brown bottle for a moment before picking it up gingerly.

  “If I give them this, will you refrain from bleeding them?” she asked in a choked whisper.

  “Many physicians consider bleeding an appropriate method to relieve seasickness.”

  “Are you one of them?” Mistrust showed in her narrow visage.

  “No.”

  She gave a ragged sigh and clutched the bottle to her chest before leaving the infirmary, but that brief moment where her vulnerability lay raw and exposed astonished him.

  He placed his hand over his chest. Was this a new malady? Or had Margaret upset him so much he was about to die from the strain?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Margaret spent an uneasy night in her cabin. She dosed Louisa and Cecelia with the bitters. The potent medicine did appear to alleviate some of the women’s misery. Yet Louisa’s strange manner continued to unnerve her. Cecelia insisted her cousin suffered from melancholia, but Louisa’s actions seemed far beyond a case of depressed spirits.

  Keeping Mrs. Ulery’s arm elevated proved difficult, for the tossing of the ship shifted her body this way and that. Each movement pained the widow. Margaret changed the cool cloths to bring down the swelling all night long.

  Before dawn, the wild sea became calmer and the women fell into solid slumber. By the time Margaret stepped on deck again for a welcome breath of fresh air, it was nearly noon. Though still exhausted, some tea restored her.

  A few low clouds hovered on the horizon, but the breeze held more warmth than yesterday. The weak sun caressed her cheeks, and she thought of home and all those dear to her heart.

  After several strolls around the deck, she discovered a cozy spot next to one of the boats. She sat down and leaned against a support. Closing her eyes, she offered up her prayers.

  “Good day to you, Miss McGowan.” A deep voice startled her from her supplications.

  She glanced up to see Captain Long standing before her. He made an imposing figure in his blue jacket with the double row of brass buttons. As she hurried to her feet, he extended a hand and assisted her.

  “I am sorry about your companion’s unfortunate accident yesterday,” the captain said.

  “Poor Mrs. Ulery endured great pain throughout the night, too, as the ship rocked. In addition, Miss Cavendish and Miss Boulton were seasick.” Margaret sighed. “I never knew about the violence of the waves.”

  “Half of the crew suffered in wretched misery as well, since it takes time for them to get their sea legs under them again after a long spell on shore.”

  With his full, gray beard and mustache, it was difficult to tell if he was smiling, but a kindly tone sweetened his voice.

  “I am grateful the motion did not affect me.” Who would lend aid to the other women if not me? What a pickle they’d all be in. “Though I do prefer to be on the deck in the open air.”

  “Today is a fine day.” The captain took in a great breath and stared up at the sky—or his sails. Margaret wasn’t sure which made him happier. “Will you and your companion join me for dinner today?”

  “Mrs. Ulery and I are not very entertaining.” She glanced down at her sad brown dress, which looked all the worse for wear.

  “Ah, but you are both beautiful.”

  She stared at him and noticed the twinkle in his eye. “You are quite a flatterer, captain.” She laughed.

  “I tell only the truth.”

  “You exaggerate.” A blush heated her cheeks.

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” the captain reminded. “You and your companion’s presence will cheer me greatly. I spend most of my days crossing the ocean and peering at a lot of water, but I long to hear the simple tales of small towns.”

  Now he had her attention, for she enjoyed nothing more than talking about her hometown. “Then you shall listen to tales of Leedsville.”

  “I am honored.” He bowed and went on his way.

  Margaret sat again and leaned against the support. What stories would she tell him? Only happy or funny ones, she decided. She did not wish to talk about Frances, or her father, or even Colleen who died at the hands of wicked men. No, the war was past. It was best not to dwell on it—though it often invaded her dreams.

  * * *

  “My arm still pains me greatly,” Mrs. Ulery muttered. “I do not think I can be witty and amusing.”

  “The captain claimed he enjoys hearing about the comings and goings of those in small towns.” Margaret carefully adjusted the sling cradling Mrs. Ulery’s arm and placed a shawl gently on the widow’s shoulders.

  “There’s nothing coming and going in Leedsville,” Mrs. Ulery grumbled.

  “Perhaps not in comparison to the town of Bergen, where you used to live, but many wagons pass by east, west, north, and south. Leedsville is a crossroads.”

  “Exactly. They overlook it on their way to somewhere else.”

  “Sometimes, they stop at the inn and eat my sweet buns.” Margaret chuckled. Travelers ate many of her baked goods.

  “Your Aunt Sally bakes wonderful pies,” Mrs. Ulery reminded.

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Do you think the captain might offe
r us some pie?”

  “He did not say what was planned for this evening’s menu.”

  “Does he have whiskey?” The widow’s eager hope shone in her eyes.

  “I imagine he serves wine.”

  “Wine is far too mild for a broken arm.”

  “It’s much better for your constitution.”

  “I’ve a constitution of iron.”

  “Moderation is a virtue in all things.”

  “Humph. Sailors drink rum. I’m sure there’s rum on this ship.”

  “I believe they mix it with water,” Margaret explained. “They call it grog.”

  “I’ll ask for the rum without the water in it.” Mrs. Ulery brightened. “To dull the pain.”

  Margaret held her tongue. The poor woman’s arm swelled, but if she remained in a spirit-induced daze much of the time she might well break her other arm as she stumbled around the deck.

  “Put my old cap on your head,” Mrs. Ulery advised. “Your aunt would be horrified to know you had not covered your head today.”

  “Should I borrow Anthony’s dented hat?” Margaret giggled as she twisted her hair into a coil and fitted the cap over her hair.

  “Anthony is worse than a preening peacock.” Mrs. Ulery rolled her eyes. “Losing a small cap to the wind is not the same as having a plumed hat fly into someone’s face.”

  “It was an unforgettable introduction.” Margaret shivered as she remembered the touch of the doctor’s strong hands when he saved her from falling.

  The women did not need to walk far, since the captain’s quarters were next to theirs. Margaret knocked and the cabin boy opened the door. He bowed with the utmost courtesy, though he did not appear to be more than five years older than her twin cousins were. However, with his neat uniform and impeccable manners, he was a far cry from the rough and tumble twins who were constantly involved in one calamity or another.

  The scrape of chairs sounded as the men rose to greet them. Margaret’s smile faltered when she noticed Anthony, of the flying hat, at the table. His coat of stunning blue silk had a lustrous glow to it.

  The captain bowed. “What a pleasure. More beautiful ladies to grace this humble table.”