The cabin had fallen deathly silent, all eyes upon him. Embarrassed, Brogan shook off his dark thoughts and returned to the table to offer his Bible to Lorena. “Here. I hope it will comfort you. It has done little for me.”
She observed him with a sweetly curious expression, then turned to Jabez seated beside her. “Do you know why he is angry at God, Mr. Smith? He hasn’t stopped scowling since this conversation began.”
Jabez nodded knowingly. “Unfortunately, miss, the cap’n believes the Almighty does not smile favorably upon him, keeping those things he desires most out of reach.”
She straightened, taken aback. “But how can that be, Mr. Smith? Captain Talvis is a successful and acclaimed war hero. He is possessed of wealth and master of his own ship. What more, pray, does he desire?”
“Avast talking about me as though I were not standing here.” Brogan forced the scowl from his face. “Here, Lorena. You wanted the Book. Take it.”
She pressed it back into his holding. “I was hoping you would do the reading.”
His irritation returned. “Me? Surely Mr. Smith would be better suited. Aboard ship he conducts Sunday services. That is his collection of hymnbooks on my bookshelf. He’s been active in the religious revival to improve the moral condition of seamen and promote temperance.”
“That is very good of you, Mr. Smith,” Lorena acknowledged. “But allow me to explain my predicament. Before recent events, I’d been reading to Drew from Psalms. I thought, considering the bond it seems you’ve forged with him, that you, Brogan, might wish to read in my stead. It has been a long day and my eyes are tired. If not, I’m sure Mr. Smith would agree.”
Brogan’s throat went dry. His gaze jumped to Drew, who stared back in earnest. This opportunity would allow for one more way in which he could be a father to his son. “I would enjoy that very much. And you, Drew? Would you like me to read to you?”
The lad’s eyes widened excitedly. He reached for his cloth doll. “Oh, yes. Captain Briggs likes to hear, too.”
Brogan resumed his seat and opened the weathered Bible to the book of Psalms.
“Clever girl,” he heard Jabez whisper to Lorena. “I’ve not known man or woman to have such good influence on the cap’n as ye. In getting him to open his Bible again, ye have accomplished in one evening what I have been trying to do for years.”
Brogan lifted his gaze from the page to eye his chief mate with annoyance. And yet not so annoyed as he might have expected.
“The dust flying from that Good Book is fairly choking me.” Jabez coughed and hacked, making a show of waving a hand before his face. “Quickly, Miss Huntley, cover yer mouth.”
Lorena laughed at the jibe, then sat back, hands folded, and gave Brogan her attention. “What have you chosen?”
“Nothing until I have quiet.”
Drew shot her a glare from across the table, pressing a finger to his soft pink lips.
Lorena repressed a smile, but not the gaiety in her eyes.
Brogan gave his son’s curls a tousle, then turned his focus to the page. Dismissing all else from his thoughts, he began to read, “‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters . . .’”
He projected authority in his voice for his son’s enjoyment, but as the moments wore on and he reached the passage “‘Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses,’” Brogan began to feel a conviction from the words he recited aloud. It had been so long since he’d dared have faith, and even then what good had come of it?
“‘He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.’” His voice grew hoarse and thick at the promise. Dare he trust it? “‘Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.’”
What was his desired haven? His son, of course. A family of his own, bound in blood and loyalty and love. Folk to whom he truly belonged and who belonged to him.
He finished the last remaining lines of the psalm as though offering them up in prayer. Whatever the outcome upon reaching Duxboro . . . please don’t let my son be taken from me again.
A light touch on his forearm burned through Brogan’s shirt and flesh to his marrow. He looked down into the sweet face of his young son, gazing up at him with an expression that could be . . . love?
“I had a papa once,” he said. “He sailed into war on a ship with cannons and guns, but he never came back. He gave me Captain Briggs, but I was too small to remember. I think he was like you.”