Huntley shipwrights oversaw the erection of each of the three masts, and once completed, the riggers set to task. Working high in the masts, others on deck, they wove an elaborate network of hemp rope, which was then trimmed with square sail, all new canvas, crisp and bright, until the running rigging had been completed from jib to royals.
Lorena found something so natural about Brogan’s interactions with Drew, as though he had been with the boy countless times before. In moments like those, it was not the ship Yankee Heart that captured her attention, but its captain.
He’d once called the boy Ben. And then it seemed Brogan had been acquainted with the sailmaker who’d crafted Captain Briggs. Was it just coincidence or did he know more than he let on? Should she be alarmed? Did she have reason to suspect him? Suspect him of what? Lorena sensed no ulterior motive in Brogan, merely a genuine regard for all members of her family. More, she saw something decent and good in him, an innate strength of character she had grown to trust.
No, the warning nagging her spirit these many weeks was not to do with Captain Brogan Talvis.
Now, weeks into the fitting out of the Yankee Heart, Brogan had embarked on a business excursion with her father. Papa was off to Boston to meet with his cordage supplier—John Gray & Son, the famous rope makers.
But Brogan and her papa were not the only ones departing on a journey this day. Jabez Smith had left for Rhode Island to assemble the Yankee Heart’s crew, and very shortly the brig Lady Julia would weigh anchor on a course set for England, George Louder aboard her.
Lorena waited with Temperance on the cobblestone street of a busy Plymouth seaport, preparing to say farewell.
Crates, hogsheads, and barrels lined the wharf while the waterfront buzzed with activity and an assortment of inharmonious sounds that nearly deafened her. Sailors shouted from the docks, some in foreign languages. Great drays loaded with merchandise rumbled over the cobbles. Shoppers milled about the sidewalks of the hardwares and groceries. Blacksmiths, carpenters, and coopers hammered at their trades, and the air reeked of tar and oil from the refineries, candle factories, and ship chandlers across the street.
Amid the chaos, Lorena grew sentimental. More than waving good-bye to an old acquaintance, she was, in a respect, bidding farewell to the past and starting anew. This morning Brogan promised to return from Boston with gifts. When he had asked what she would like, Lorena assured him she did not need anything for herself, thank you. But he insisted, so she confessed that she had misplaced her thimble.
The pleasant thought vanished the moment Lorena noticed George returning.
He came alone.
She hastened to meet him. “George, where is Drew? You promised you would keep careful watch over him.” The boy had asked permission to accompany George during the loading of his trunk.
George dismissed her alarm with an indulgent smile. “He’s with Edward. They’ve gone to fetch the bag of tools I left in the carriage.”
Edward Hicks could be trusted, and Lorena turned her focus to George. Now that the moment had arrived and he would leave their lives forever, she did not quite know how to say good-bye.
Not so Temperance, who was never at a loss for words. “Godspeed, George. We shall miss you. Will you miss us?”
George stuffed his hands into his trousers’ pockets and bowed his head. He kicked a stone across the cobbles. “I shall. I suspect England shall seem quite tame without Temperance Culliford in residence.”
Temperance giggled. “Oh, George.”
Slowly lifting his gaze, he stepped forward while withdrawing something from his pocket—a folded note, Lorena saw—which he immediately pressed into Temperance’s palm. “For you. But, please, promise me you shall not read it until after I’ve gone.”
Temperance nodded, flustered and slightly embarrassed, though not half as surprised as Lorena, who wondered why she did not get a note.
George turned to her then, drawing Lorena into his stare until she grew uncomfortable. She handed him the still-warm packages in her hands.
“These are for you, George. The remainder of the cider cakes we had with tea, and your favorite—a couple of mince pies. I baked them for you . . . for your trip.” She pecked him quickly on the cheek and stepped back, unable to look him in the eye.
Her gaze strayed behind him, where she caught sight of Edward Hicks strolling toward them, a carpenter’s tool bag tucked under one arm. She grew alarmed.
“Edward, where is Drew?” she asked in an accusing voice.
The shipwright’s brows creased, and a look of concern washed over his face. “Why should he be with me? When last I saw him, he was with George.”
“What are you saying, Edward?” George’s voice rose excitedly. “You must have seen him. He followed you. I swear to it.”
Edward scowled. “Of a fact, I left him with you, George. If he had followed me, I would have kept my eye well on him.”
“Meaning to say that I did not?”