Prize of My Heart

“Cod?” repeated Huntley, inviting an explanation.

“Indeed, sir.” Nodding, Brogan laid down his fork. “There’s a wealth of Atlantic cod to be caught in the shallow waters of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. My recommendation is that you start your enterprise by constructing a fishing fleet. Schooners you could easily outfit through your farms. Crew them with fishermen and launch them on expeditions off the east coast of Canada. The catches could be sold to Boston merchants or ferried back home to Duxboro, where you could have the cod salted first.”

“There is indeed a fine profit to be made in the fishing industry,” Huntley agreed, thoughtful. Brogan could fairly see the man’s wheels turning. “Especially with markets in Nova Scotia and the French Indies.”

“Aye. But in trading as near as Boston you could oversee the operation of your fleet yet remain close to your family.” But in offering this suggestion, Brogan wondered, was he referring to Huntley or himself?

Huntley continued to discuss the prospect as they resumed their journey along the Bay Path. They rode a sun-dappled turnpike, bordered on either side by a dense stand of trees, but as the afternoon wore on and daylight began to fade, shadows obscured ruts in the gravel road. They progressed carefully on the last leg of their journey, both travelers and horses growing weary as they reached Duxborotown, when suddenly Brogan spied a man on horseback galloping toward them. The fellow called out and waved for their attention.

Huntley turned to Brogan with alarm. “I believe that is Edward Hicks, my dockyard foreman.”

The approaching figure was a young fellow of medium build, dark hair, and the hale appearance of one employed at working with his hands. Brogan nodded in greeting as Hicks reined his horse alongside theirs, but he could read in the foreman’s expression he had not come to bring good tidings.

“Mr. Huntley,” Hicks greeted, somewhat breathless, “I and several others have been searching for you, even riding as far as Boston. We had expected your return earlier.”

Huntley’s brow creased in concern. “We dallied a bit at the shops this morning. What is it, Edward? Has something happened?”

“I am sorry to say I have unfortunate news, sir. Your daughter is gone. Gone on the ship that carries George Louder to England. She departed with him yesterday.”

“Departed with George? But . . . how is that possible?” Huntley sat frozen with woe, his face white. “Edward, are you certain? With no word to anyone?”

“A note was left with young Miss Temperance Culliford.”

Huntley squeezed his eyes shut in painful reflection. “About a month ago, George requested my permission to propose marriage to Lorena. I assumed she had refused the shipwright, for she never mentioned any such offer to me, not even when I hinted at the subject one evening after supper.”

Brogan saw the shipbuilder’s anguish, and his jaw clenched with the effort to contain his own stinging pride. Had he mistaken Lorena’s affection? Had he imagined fondness in those soft chocolate eyes? He was shocked to realize the severity of his disappointment. His gut burned.

Anger and jealousy flashed hot within him. He had been played the fool. Lorena had accepted Louder’s proposal without consulting her father. It seemed inconceivable and yet another horrible possibility occurred to him. “And what of Drew? Tell me she did not take the lad,” he demanded.

His outburst took Hicks aback. The foreman quickly assured them that the boy was safe at home, then further explained how Lorena had boarded the vessel in search of Drew, whom they all believed had gone missing.

Nathaniel Huntley turned to Brogan in appeal. “We must make haste to home.”

Urging his horse onward, Brogan tore after Huntley and his foreman down the coastal road leading to the shipbuilder’s estate. He insisted on tending to the horses and offered his further assistance. With an expression of devastation, Huntley beseeched him to join the family inside.

Upon leaving the stables, Brogan marched around to the front of the house and knocked on the large black door. When no answer came after his third knock, he attempted to peer through the sidelights, then let himself in and followed the sound of conversation to the west parlor. He recognized the voice of Edward Hicks.

“. . . and I tried to find a boat to dispatch immediately after her, but no master would agree, no matter how much I offered as payment. So we hastened home to tell you, hoping you’d make a timely return and would know what to do. As the evening wore on and you still had not arrived, several of us set out to search but had no luck in finding you until today.”

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