Prize of My Heart

Brogan bowed lower in anticipation of an answer, but all he received was a gaping stare.

He answered his own question. “Utilize the talents of thousands of Americans who have been trained exclusively for the sea and send out privateers to strike England where she is likely to suffer the most—that is, her merchant fleet. In so doing we drive the price of British goods to the sky and let all England know they cannot infringe on our rights to free trade, nor impress our men.”

Brogan frowned, concerned his zealous views may have exceeded the comprehension of a five-year-old. “Have I confused you, son?”

“George says stealing is wrong!”

Brogan gazed down upon his son’s sweet, scowling face, and then squatted before the lad, his own expression just as intent, yet longingly so. He ached to hold him. Instead, he searched the boy’s eyes, fully aware of the significance of what he would say next and spoke from his heart, heedless of the others in the room. “Drew, taking back what is yours by right is not stealing.”

Jabez cleared his throat, a hoarse warning, or merely an expression of his disapproval. No matter, for Brogan doubted he had disclosed any secrets with just those few words. What he didn’t expect, however, was for Miss Huntley to draw further attention to the remark.





“I find that a rather queer statement, Captain. I mean, I do understand the strategy of our American defense system in sponsoring privateers, but I fail to see how you can justify . . . stealing . . . by claiming . . .”

Her words dwindled to a soft, inaudible whisper that dissolved on her tongue as Lorena watched Brogan Talvis straighten to his full height. He stood with his back to her father, blocking her from Papa’s view, and fired her a condescending glare that dared her to continue.

She didn’t, of course, but her reaction was borne more of shock than fear.

Jabez Smith intervened. “Please do not mistake the cap’n’s meaning, Miss Huntley,” he implored, his expression apologetic. “He is a zealous man and was merely defending a cause he believes in. I can assure ye, the cap’n esteems justice and honor and loyalty like the true patriot he is and meant no offense.”

“And certainly none was taken,” her father quickly assured before Lorena could answer for herself. Then, with a lift of his thick graying brows, he added, “Children, we are talkative this evening.”

She bristled at the rebuke. Did Papa think because she was a woman she did not understand conversation about war? Or perhaps, more accurately, he thought so highly of Captain Talvis that he believed the man to be above reproach. She clearly heard the captain claim that the goods of the British merchant fleet rightfully belonged to the United States.

Lorena did not wish to be unsympathetic, prejudiced, or quick to judge. She knew the realities of war and its hardships. She realized there were times men found themselves in circumstances where no alternative seemed right. Still, that didn’t release him from bearing responsibility for his actions, and as a future man, Drew needed to understand he could not justify taking what was not his to take.

But apparently, any lessons were best taught in private and not before guests, so Lorena swallowed her indignation while her father announced, “Gentlemen, I believe supper is waiting. Shall we proceed to the dining room?”





The diners gathered around a long oval table in a room lit by candlelight, where they were greeted with the clean aroma of bayberry and a heartier one of fresh-baked cornmeal-and-molasses bread.

A warm piece of the loaf had been wrapped inside each individual napkin and left in a tidy bundle on the porcelain dinner plates. Bayberry tapers burned on pewter holders scattered across the mantel, from a tiered silver epergne on the sideboard and in a pair of silver candlesticks on the table. Their flames cast flickering shadows on the white linen cloth, magnifying the three-tined forks to the size of pitchforks.

After a first course of lobster stew, the entrees were brought out: stuffed and roasted pigeons, buttered and sprinkled with crackers and seasoned with sweet marjoram; boiled leg of mutton garnished with Brussels sprouts; a whole cod fish, baked inside a pastry crust and stuffed with lobster and oysters; and roast pork with spiced apple sauce and cranberry relish. There was sage-and-onion pie, boiled carrots, a salad of cabbage, and creamed potatoes.

And mashed turnips. Drew thought they tasted like the worm he ate that afternoon. The oysters resembled it. Captain Briggs liked oysters, because they were slippery going down and didn’t need to be chewed.

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