Elizabeth Meyette - [Love's 01] (7 page)

As she was tending Andrew that evening, Mr. Gates came in and checked the boy over carefully.

“Andrew is doing well. This rest is what he needed more than anything. He will be weak for quite some time. Continue to spoon feed him, Miss Wentworth, though soon he will be feeding himself.” He smiled at her reassuringly.

“Thank you for all that you have done, Mr. Gates,” and trying to sound nonchalant, she paused. “How is Captain Brentwood? I have not seen him on deck.”

Mr. Gates peered at her for a moment. “I wondered if you had forgotten about him, lass. He is not faring as well as Andrew, I am afraid. He would not rest and is now lying with a fever.” Emily looked at him with large, fearful eyes. “He has been calling your name, missy. Perhaps if you spoke to him it would help bring him out of this.”

“He called my name?” she exclaimed. “I do not understand, sir.”

Again Mr. Gates studied her. “Do you not, lassie?”

Emily looked down at her folded hands. “Will he recover, Mr. Gates?”

“It is hard to say right now. He has a strong will to survive. But remember, lass, he was in that icy water as well as your brother, and with a nasty gash in his hand, too.”

Suddenly Emily was filled with remorse for the way she had treated the man who had saved not only her brother’s life, but once her father’s as well.

“I shall go to him if you think it will help, Mr. Gates.”

“It cannot hurt, lassie, and it was your name he was calling.”

Emily was shocked when she entered Jonathon’s quarters. He lay on his bunk plucking at the sheet and mumbling incoherently. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and the light sheet that covered him was damp. The crewman beside his bed rose and left at a nod from Mr. Gates. Striding over to the bed, Gates wrung out a cloth from a bucket of water nearby and gently washed the sweat from Jonathon’s face. A worried frown puckered his brow, and he turned to the girl.

“This fever could last the week or it could break today. The sooner it breaks the better. He needs liquids and cool water compresses. If the truth be known, lass, I need you more here than in your brother’s cabin.” He looked at her pleadingly.

“He saved my brother’s life as well as my father’s, Mr. Gates. I shall do anything I can,” she answered.

“That is the girl. I shall get some fresh water; you see if you can get him to swallow a couple drops of the drinking water. I shall be back soon. And do not worry; we shall keep a close watch on Andrew.” He left the cabin and Emily turned to her task.

Sitting beside his bed, she looked down at Jonathon’s flushed, sweaty face. His dark hair clung to his head, and his lips moved in an inaudible litany. His fingers plucked at the sheets, and he turned his head from side to side.

Pouring a little water into a cup, Emily reached beneath Jonathon’s head and propped it against her arm. She held the cup to his lips and, though much of it dribbled down his chin, she thought some of it went into his mouth. Gently easing his head down, she withdrew her arm. Finding a clean cloth, she wiped his brow, his cheeks, and his neck, and wrung it out again and placed it on his forehead. Her tender care seemed to have a calming effect. Mr. Gates returned with fresh water and some food for Emily.

“Your presence seems to have made a difference already, Miss Wentworth,” he commented.

Emily continued her routine throughout the day. She began talking gently about anything that came to mind, for the sound of her voice seemed to calm Jonathon, too. Emily was surprised when someone came in to light the lantern and bring her food. She had been so involved in tending Jonathon that she had not noticed the sun slipping into the arms of the sea.

Jonathon had quieted considerably and at times even appeared to sleep comfortably. When his inaudible ravings began, Emily talked to him in gentle, soothing tones, as to a frightened child. Once she caught herself holding his strong, lean hand. Another time she bent close to his ear and stroked his forehead. She studied his face as he slept and was struck by his incredible handsomeness. Dark eyebrows arched over deep, brown eyes, which, although closed now, were etched in Emily’s memory. High cheekbones framed a straight, aquiline nose, and his soft lips hid straight, white teeth. Emily stared at his lips, now parched and dry, and remembered the feel of them against her own. She was overcome with an urge to bend down and press her lips against his once again. Before she knew what was happening, she realized she had leaned over him. Pausing, she looked at his face then gently brushed her lips against his. Drawing away she felt embarrassed, as though she had taken advantage of him.

“I
am
a wanton woman,” she thought, for she had longed for responding lips to answer, for arms to encircle her and draw her down to him. She felt an unfamiliar longing, an ache she did not comprehend. She stared at Jonathon.

“What madness have you brought upon me?” she whispered.

One of the crew relieved her for the night and before she went for her nightly stroll, she looked in on Andrew. She was surprised to find him awake and felt guilty when she realized she had not inquired about him all day.

“How are you feeling, Andrew?” she asked.

“Oh, I shall be back on deck in no time,” he smiled wanly.

“Not if you value your life, for I will see you shot at sunrise!” his sister scolded. “You rest now, Drew. I shall be back in the morning.”

“I hear you are tending Jonathon,” he smiled, but his voice betrayed his weakness.

“Mr. Gates said I was needed more there than with this reckless boy who got what he deserved,” she teased sternly. Bending over, she kissed his forehead. “Thank God you are all right,” she whispered. Andrew closed his eyes and slept.

Emily set out for a short stroll on deck, but realizing how tired she was, went below to prepare for bed.

• • •

Emily continued her routine with Jonathon the next day. His ramblings were not so frequent, and his color seemed improved. Mr. Gates came in often and encouraged her assistance. That afternoon Jonathon’s fever broke, and he fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. Mr. Gates’s face showed immense relief, and he credited Emily’s care for the quick improvement.

“I could not have run this ship and given the Captain such careful attention, Miss Wentworth,” he explained. “You may have just repaid him for your brother’s life.”

“I am glad I could help, Mr. Gates,” she replied sincerely. “Shall I continue as before?”

“No, you may go to your brother now. I shall have the men look in on Captain Brentwood when I am not with him.”

“As you wish,” she replied, strangely disappointed.

Andrew looked much stronger and was happy to see Emily.

“How is Jonathon?” he asked.

“The fever has broken and he is resting quietly. Mr. Gates says he is past the most dangerous point now. His hand seems to be healing well, also,” Emily answered.

“Em, why do you dislike Jonathon?” Andrew asked.

“It is not that I dislike him, Drew, it is just that … well, he was thrust upon us at such an awful time. Perhaps I connect him with Father’s death somehow. And he holds everything we own — we shall always have to answer to him. We do not need a guardian, and I resent having one. He tries to take Father’s place. And he thinks I am a child,” she finished lamely.

Andrew looked at her strangely. “Em, he was not thrust upon us; we were thrust upon him. And he had nothing to do with Father’s death. If anything, Father knew he could rest easily because Jonathon would care for us. Perhaps we do not need a guardian, but I do not think Jonathon proposes to take Father’s place. And, Emily, I have seen the way Jonathon looks at you. He does not think you are a child.” Andrew had countered her every argument.

Emily blushed at his last sentence, realizing its truth. He certainly had not kissed her in a fatherly fashion. Looking at her brother, she appreciated once again his astuteness.

“Well, then, I do not know why I dislike him. I just know that he always laughs at me,” she said defensively.

“He does not laugh at you, Em. It is just that you take everything so seriously; he sees the humor in things.”

“Well I see nothing humorous about being snatched from our homeland, whisked onto a ship, and sailed across an ocean to be deposited in a foreign land. And we do not have any say in the matter,” she fumed.

“Well, you could have married Michael and his mother,” Andrew teased mischievously. He might have gone too far, but Emily needed perspective. He watched her face soften from a glower to an equally mischievous grin.

“One must know one’s place in the company of one’s elders. Children should be seen and not heard,” she mimicked Mrs. Dennings perfectly. Both of them broke into laughter. Emily realized that Andrew was right. It could always be worse.

They chatted through supper and Emily took her evening walk before retiring. On the way to her cabin, she paused at Jonathon’s door.

“Captain Brentwood is greatly improved this evening, Miss Wentworth,” Mr. Gates spoke from behind her. He carried a cup of broth. “I have some business to attend on deck; could I impose on you to assist him in taking some nourishment?”

Before Emily could refuse, he pushed the cup into her hand and, touching his cap, turned on his heel and left. Butterflies invaded Emily’s stomach as her hand reached for the latch. Quietly she entered and saw Jonathon sleeping peacefully. She tiptoed to his bed and watched for a moment to make sure he was asleep. Gently she felt his forehead and was relieved to find it cool and dry. She then sat beside him unsure of what to do. Since he was resting so comfortably, she hated to disturb him. Yet it was important he get some nourishment. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and was impressed again by the wide shoulders and well developed muscles. Feeling eyes upon her, she returned her gaze to his face and found Jonathon studying her. She was surprised at how drawn he looked and realized fully for the first time how near death he had been.

“Mr. Gates asked me to bring you some broth,” she said feeling a need to explain her presence. “Let me help you.”

He closed his eyes in compliance. Emily reached beneath his head as she had done many times before and propped him up on her arm. She held the cup to his lips and was pleased when he sipped some broth. The effort drained Jonathon, and he leaned heavily against her arm. His eyes looked into hers in thanks as she gently laid his head back down.

“You must rest now, Captain Brentwood,” she said softly. He closed his eyes, and soon his even breathing signaled his deepening slumber.

Again Emily was seized with the desire to kiss him. She fought it this time and was content to study his striking face. After a while the ache in her back and shoulders urged her to bed and, rising, she picked up the cup. Unthinking, she pulled the sheet a little higher over his shoulders and gently stroked his forehead. Then she turned and left, unaware of brown eyes that followed her.

• • •

A week brought signs of great improvement in both boy and man. Andrew was sitting up playing cards with Emily and the sailors and chafing at being confined to bed. Jonathon was taking more food and, though exhausted, was in good spirits. His hand was healing well with no sign of putrefying. Emily was free to stroll along the deck more and did so as much as possible. All seemed to be more than ready to sight land, though they knew it would be weeks away.

Mr. Gates approached Emily as she watched the waves in endless fascination. “Excuse me, Miss Wentworth; Captain Brentwood would like a word with you.”

Emily headed for Jonathon’s cabin wondering what he wanted. She had not seen him since Mr. Gates requested her help with the broth. Reaching his door, she knocked and was surprised at the strength in his voice when he bade her enter. Jonathon, propped to a half-sitting position in his bed, was making notations in a ledger. Looking up he was greeted with the sight of Emily in a yellow dress that drew out the golden highlights in her hair.

“Come in and sit down, Emily,” he said.

The only chair was the one by his bed since the others had been moved to Mr. Gates’s quarters for dining. Emily complied and sat beside him. She avoided his gaze and cast about the room for something interesting to study. None of it registered in her mind, however, since it was occupied with the awareness of Jonathon’s intense scrutiny.

“Emily, I wanted to apologize for what happened in here the other evening. I am afraid I was quite drunk and …” he began.

Emily felt the blush creep across her cheeks. “It is all right, Captain Brentwood, I understand,” she murmured looking at her hands resting in her lap.

“Perhaps you do not Em, I am not sorry that it happened; I am sorry that I was so drunk that I could not appreciate it as I would have liked. I thought we could repeat the performance so at least I would have the memory to carry with me.”

Emily was furious. She started to rise, but he caught her hand. She was surprised at his strength, but knew she could pull away if she chose to. She did not.

“You egotistical, insufferable, arrogant fool!”

“Easy, Em, I am a sick man,” he grinned. “I was teasing. I really did intend to apologize, but you seemed so upset by such a little incident, that I thought levity would help the situation. Obviously I erred. Please sit down.” Emily sank slowly into the chair. “Let us call a truce, Emily. I shall try to be more serious if you will try to find some redeeming qualities in this egotistical, insufferable fool.”

Emily eyed him. So it was just a little incident to him. Of course, it would be. He had been involved with mature women, probably many experienced lovers, and here she was — young and inexperienced. He probably laughed at the awkwardness of their kiss. And it had set her very soul on fire.
A little incident.

“Do not worry, Captain Brentwood, beneath that jovial, mocking exterior, I am sure there beats a heart of pure stone. But I shall do my best to find something about you that will win my favor.”

“Emily, must we be so formal? Please call me Jonathon. After all, we have become much closer on this voyage. Why, Mr. Gates informs me that it was you who made the critical difference in my healing, that it was your gentle ministrations that chased the demons from my mind and pulled me to the calm, serene waters of recovery. When you save someone’s life, the least you can do is call him by his Christian name.”