Surrender the Heart (17 page)

She reads the Bible to my men
. Frustration boiled within Noah. He glanced at Luke who was leaning on the port railing, Matthew beside him, both their gazes riveted upon her.

Noah marched over to them. “What is going on here?”

“I believe your fiancée is reading from the Holy Book.” Luke made no attempt to hide his smirk.

“She is not my …” Noah flatted his lips. “I can see that. But why?”

“It’s the Sabbath,” Matthew said as if that should clear any confusion. He shifted his bulky frame. “She marched up here and announced that she’d be performin’ Sunday service for those men who’d be interested.” He shook his head and chuckled. “An’ bless me sailor’s soul if most o’ ‘em didn’t come a runnin’.”

Noah gritted his teeth. “Why on earth is she strapped to the mast?”

Matthew raised an eyebrow that was nearly as bald as his head. “Because the poor girl is afraid of the water. You sure don’t know much about your own fiancée.”

“Confound it all!” Noah ran a hand over the back of his neck as frustration tightened his muscles. “Afraid of the water. Is that what she told you?”

“She didn’t have to. It’s obvious.” Luke shrugged.

“She’s merely attempting to get our sympathy.”

Matthew’s head jerked back as if Noah had struck him. “Are you sayin’ she’s pretendin’? Now why would she be doin’ that?”

“To convince me to return her to Baltimore, of course. She’s not the sweet innocent she pretends to be. Beneath that benevolent facade rages a pompous shrew.” Noah’s harsh tone faded, unable to carry the weight of words he wasn’t sure he still believed. “And blast it all, Luke, why are you listening? You don’t even believe in God.”

“She has a unique way of telling the story of Daniel in the lion’s den. Very amusing.”

“And that, gentlemen”—her cheerful voice brought Noah’s eyes back to her—“is why we must always have faith, even in the midst of hopeless times.”

“Amen.” Agnes clapped her hands together, her full cheeks rosy once again.

“Me wife surely finds pleasure in ‘er company.” Matthew spit to the side.

“She’s no doubt starved for female companionship.” Noah growled. “Enough of this.” He stormed amidships.

Miss Denton gently closed the Bible and lifted her gaze to his. Brown eyes, glistening like cinnamon in the sunlight, scoured over him.

“Service is over. Get back to work!” he barked. The men scattered across the deck like rats in daylight.

“Never mind him, dear.” Agnes leaned over and untied the rope around Miss Denton’s waist then helped her to stand.

Noah rolled his eyes. “Matthew, get that chair stowed below where it belongs.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” His boatswain ran to the mainmast and hoisted the chair in his arms.

Agnes ambled past Noah, adjusted her apron, and pursed her lips. She didn’t have to say anything. Her motherly look of reprimand did its work on Noah’s conscience.

“Sail on the horizon. Off the starboard quarter!” Mr. Grainger shouted from above.

Thankful for the interruption, Noah plucked his glass from his
belt, moved toward the railing, and lifted it to his eye.

“What has put you in such a foul mood today, Captain?” Miss Denton’s voice was soft and assured.

Ignoring her, he gripped the glass tighter and focused on the horizon where the slight shape of a white sail reflected the morning sun. Too far to determine whether she be friend or foe.

He lowered his glass. “It won’t work, Miss Denton.”

She screened her eyes from the sunlight and gazed up at him with more innocence than seemed possible to feign. “What won’t work?”

“Your trying to charm my crew to garner their sympathy.”

Her forehead crinkled. “I am doing no such thing. It is Sunday by my best calculation, and the crew deserves a chance to worship.” A pink hue colored her nose. “I’m surprised at you for not initiating a proper service while out at sea.”

“The sails are gone now, Cap’n,” Mr. Grainger reported.

Noah slapped his spyglass shut and faced her. “For one thing, I doubt God notices when people worship Him, and for another thing, Miss Denton, this is a merchant ship, not a chapel, and these men wouldn’t be caught dead in church when they are in port.” She gazed across the water as if pondering his words, her face pinching. Yet she remained silent. No snide comments, no sharp rebukes, no haughty insults.

Where was the spoiled little goose he’d known as a child? The one he found such pleasure in taunting. He had thought being mean to her would be easy, that he could pick up right where he’d left off eleven years ago. How was he to know the goose had transformed into an angel during those long years, making it all the more harder to follow through with his plan?

Yet he must not falter. For her own good.

“You think my men enjoyed your sermon, Miss Denton? They only attended because it took them away from their duties.”

She swept her eyes to his, a moist sheen covering them. Noah hated himself for causing it.

“I’ll leave you to your commanding, Captain.” Then avoiding his gaze, she teetered over the wobbling deck and disappeared below.

Heavy fog wrapped around the ship. Marianne leaned over the railing and peered through the mist. Below, the sea chopped against the hull so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Claws of foam reached toward her. One touched her hand and she leapt back. Her breath clumped in her throat. Dashing over the deck, she screamed for help, for anyone. But the only answer came in the creaks and groans of the ship—chiding her, berating her.

She was all alone.

She darted to the railing again. Gurgling sounded. She glanced down. Massive bubbles surfaced from below. The sea had risen and was now within her reach. They were sinking! Laughter rode upon the mist and taunted her ears. She peered into the fog. A small boat formed out of the eerie haze

“Hello there!” she yelled. “Help me, I’m sinking.”

All eyes in the boat shot to her. Her father, her mother, Lizzie, Noah, Luke, Agnes, and Matthew Hobbs. They smiled and waved at her as if nothing were amiss.

“Help me!” Marianne shouted. “Over here!”

They no longer seemed to hear her or even see her.

A figure appeared near the bow of the small craft—glowing in white light, shining and brilliant. He held up a lantern and faced forward as the boat drifted farther away.

And disappeared into the fog.

Marianne jerked up in bed. Her breath leapt into her throat. She laid a hand on her heart to quell its violent thumping. Tossing her coverlet aside, she swung her feet onto the floor and dropped her head into her hands.
Oh Lord. What does this mean? Will everyone I love abandon me? Even You? Can I trust no one? Why has all this happened to me? Father’s death, Mother’s illness, our poverty, my forced engagement, and now me upon this ship. Why have You abandoned me?

“I will never leave you.”

Marianne brushed the tears from her face. A spark of hope lit in
her heart. Had she heard from God or merely imagined His voice? She looked up. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A mist as thick as the one in her dream slithered into her cabin. She stood, hugging herself against the chill. The rush of water against the hull sounded like a thousand voices taunting her, belittling her.
Trust? You can’t trust Him
.

She twirled the ring on her finger. The ring her father had given her. The only thing of value he had ever given her. Before he left her and her mother all alone in this world. Marianne should have sold it when she’d had the chance. The money from the sale would provide a few months of food and medicines. Why hadn’t she sold it? The silver felt cold and hard against her fingertips, and she released the band.

You couldn’t trust your own father. How can you trust God?

Groping for the tiny table at the foot of her bed, she felt for her flint and steel and with trembling hand, struck it to light her lantern. The glow spread over her cabin, chasing the darkness back into the corners.

“I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”
The scripture from John flooded her mind. But her doubts resurrected to do battle with the holy words. Marianne’s heart thrashed wildly. She didn’t know why. Something evil, something dark seemed to hover in the room ready to pounce upon her. She donned her dress and shoes, swung open her door, and headed up on deck. Better to face her known fear than to suffer below with her demons.

A cool night breeze fingered the tendrils of her loose hair as she emerged on deck and made her way to the capstan, which she had learned was the name of the drum-shaped heaving tool she liked to cling to. Light from a full moon cast a milky haze over the ship, making it look dreamlike as it floated on the ebony sea.

A watchman up on the quarterdeck tipped his hat in her direction. After settling against the sturdy wooden frame, she dared a glance across the sea. The moon hung over the horizon like a giant pearl, its milky wands setting the waves sparkling in silver light.

“It shall be established for ever as the moon, and as a faithful witness in heaven.”

Another scripture from the Psalms floated through Marianne’s mind. The moon was God’s faithful witness. Was He trying to tell her that He still loved her and was with her? A lump burned in her throat, and she swiped a tear from her cheek.

“Trust Me.”

Releasing the capstan, Marianne took a step toward the railing. She grew weary of all the struggles in her life, weary of feeling so incredibly alone, but most of all she was weary of always being afraid. She slid her other shoe across the wooden planks. The ship rose over a swell, and she threw her arms out on either side to steady herself. Another step.
Lord, can I trust You?

As if in answer to her question, the ship plunged, and she nearly stumbled. Her heart thumped against her ribs. A spray of saltwater stung her face.

No. I can’t
. She slowly retreated.

Right into a firm hand on her back.

She whirled around to find Noah behind her. She wobbled. “Steady now.” He gripped her shoulders.

Shrugging off his hands, she backed away from him, only to realize she was but inches from the railing. She dashed toward the capstan and gripped its familiar firm wood. Even in the moonlight, she could see the look of confusion on his face.

He proffered his elbow. “Milady, may I escort you to the railing? I believe that’s where you were heading before I interrupted?”

Marianne hesitated. Why was he being kind? She could not trust him. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “I can make it on my own, thank you, Noah.”

“Captain.”

Did the man’s arrogance never end? “Captain Noah.”

“Just Captain will do.” He grinned.

Releasing the wood, Marianne started out again for the railing. “What brings you up here in the middle of the night?”

He chuckled. “I could ask you the same. But it’s not the middle of the night. Dawn will be upon us in minutes.”

Marianne inched her shoes over the planks, forcing down her fear, determined to prove to this man that she was no coward. “Do the floors on this ship ever stop wobbling?”

Noah grinned. “Decks. The floors on a ship are called decks, Miss Denton.”

She grimaced. “What does it matter? You know what I mean.”

“If you are to spend months aboard, you should know the terminology so you aren’t mistaken for a landlubber.”

“But I am a landlubber.” She huffed. “A landlubber who has no intention of becoming a seaman—or seawoman.”

Noah walked beside her all the way to the railing as if he cared whether she fell. Marianne gripped the railing, the perspiration from her hands sliding over the wood. Taking a spot beside her, he inhaled a deep breath as he gazed upon the obsidian sea. He shook his hair behind him. Moonlight washed over him, setting his sun-bronzed skin aglow and dabbing silver atop the light stubble on his jaw. He planted his feet part and clutched the railing, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath his shirt. He seemed to have the weight of the world upon him, and Marianne tore her gaze away before any further sympathetic sentiments took root.

Facing her, he studied her intently.

Marianne stared at the railing, the moon, the fading stars, anywhere but at the liquid black death upon which they floated or the liquid blue death in the eyes of a man who hated her. “Can I help you with something, Captain?”

“It’s true then.”

“What?”

“You
are
afraid of the sea.” He glanced at the tight grip her trembling hands had on the railing.

She hated that it was so obvious. She hated showing this man any weakness. “You need not concern yourself with me, Captain.”

“As captain, I must concern myself with everyone on board.” His
brows lifted. “What has me quite baffled, miss, is in light of this fear, why you would steal the very instruments which will aid us to shore. What were you planning on doing with them? Tossing them overboard?”