The boy shook his head no.
Brogan seemed to gather himself before speaking. “Forgive me, I merely meant to comment on the doll’s age. He looks quite worn. He must be well loved and a very special doll if you carry him everywhere, Drew. How long have you and Captain Briggs been together?”
“All my life,” the child said, positioning Captain Briggs in a seat against the jam pot, whereupon he immediately burst into a sermon on the virtues of the raggedy captain. As master of his own home, Drew insisted Captain Briggs would one day occupy a place of honor at his dinner table. Anyone who disapproved would not be welcome.
Lorena had begun to notice Drew no longer referred to Brogan as “the giant.” He was more at ease, more outspoken in Brogan’s presence, as was his nature. And she understood perfectly what was going through the child’s mind. Although he might be allowing a new friend into his life, a friendship with a new and different captain, Drew needed to affirm—not only to Brogan but to himself as well—that his loyalties remained with his old friend Captain Briggs.
She and Drew were obviously both experiencing the same inner tug-of-war. They each felt a bit of reserve, some timidity, but at the same time excitement to be welcoming this unlikely stranger into their lives. What a surprise to find themselves opening their hearts to a man they once mistakenly viewed as a threat.
A new captain and yet . . . something about him so familiar . . .
“Oh, your coat,” she cried, as it suddenly occurred to her. “That is why your coat intrigued me at the launching. It is the same coat Captain Briggs wears, isn’t it?”
Brogan nodded. His expression had sobered. “A blue military coat with pleated tails, red facings, and brass buttons. It is the uniform of an American privateer captain.”
“Not just a sea captain, but a privateer captain,” she mused. “That still does not explain how it is you know of Captain Briggs.”
“Captain Briggs was my commanding officer on the privateer Wild Pilgrim, and it was he who made the recommendation I be given command of the Black Eagle. The Wild Pilgrim employed a sailmaker, a Mr. Thomas Pinney, who being skilled with a needle made costumed dolls in his spare hours. He was commissioned to craft a doll in the likeness of a privateer captain, and we on board christened it Captain Briggs. This is that doll. I would recognize it anywhere. I have never seen another like it and have at times wondered what became of it.”
Lorena got a chill at the mention of a seaman commissioning Drew’s doll. She’d known of his existence of course, but never his name.
With all the colorful and dangerous experiences one would expect filled a privateer captain’s career, why would the crafting of a child’s toy stand out in Brogan’s memory?
Drew listened, intent on every word, though Lorena doubted he understood their full meaning. She was certain, however, he sensed their import. They spoke of a papa he’d been too young to remember, yet still he mourned.
“Who gave you this doll?” Brogan inquired of the boy.
Drew’s soft cupid’s mouth rounded. He glanced from Captain Briggs to Brogan and stared as though seeing him with fresh eyes.
“My papa gave him to me,” he said.
“He means Papa Huntley.” It was not the truth, but then it was the story given to all who asked, so to Lorena it hardly felt like a lie. “My father gave him that doll.”
Brogan turned to her, disbelief in his eyes. What reason would he have to doubt her? This could not possibly be the doll he spoke of. There could be no connection between Brogan Talvis and Drew’s toy. Only she and her father knew that Captain Briggs had been taken from a Boston townhouse that had long ago burned to the ground. Those associated with that place lay silent in their graves.
“Obviously this sailmaker stitched more than one doll,” she said.
With his melancholy blue eyes, Brogan Talvis drew her into the scrutiny of his gaze. He probed her conscience, until Lorena felt her heart pound against her rib cage. Her cheeks burned.
The enigma surrounding the captain deepened. Now Lorena had something new to disrupt her thoughts, something not so comforting and deeply puzzling.
8
Lorena enjoyed Brogan’s attentions in the days that followed.
Together they’d stroll with Drew along the beach, at times venturing far enough to admire the view from Harmony Bridge over the Bluefish River. Sometimes they’d cross Squire Huntley Road to stand on the wharf. Drew would sit upon Brogan’s shoulders as they watched the Yankee Heart’s trim and spars being fitted out.