“A beloved Scripture.” She raised her cup to his. “Still, I would be aware of the realities of this cruise and pray accordingly.”
“I’d rather tell you about the Patagonia coast, where countless butterflies swarm the decks and rigging.” He took a long, sweet drink. “Or the colorful coral beds off of the Turks and Caicos Islands.”
“Nay, Henri.”
“All right. The realities...” He lingered on the pale oval of her face and her remarkable eyes, arguably her best feature. “We could founder in heavy weather.”
“You haven’t yet.”
“French buccaneers could trouble us. Or the Spanish.”
“Not to mention their navies.”
He took a deep breath. “We could be ambushed. Torched. Stranded. Imprisoned.”
“Confined to a prison ship.” She shuddered when she said it.
“The crew might mutiny.”
“Nary a chance.”
He studied the cocoa grounds at the bottom of his cup. “There ends all the hazards I can think of.”
“’Tis enough.” She poured herself a second cup. “I’d worry except for this. Surely the Lord didn’t bring us together to tear us apart.”
“Agreed. And your prayers go with me.”
Her eyes held that glitter again. “There was a time I nearly gave up on prayer. I prayed and we parted. I prayed and my mother died. But I also prayed and good came to the almshouse, Eliza made a wonderful match, and you came back to me.”
“It helps to remove yourself from the equation.” All the times he’d wrestled in prayer returned to him like a rogue wave. “I’ve learned to pray ‘Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.’”
“’Tis a brave prayer.”
“’Tis the best, most honest prayer.”
They fell into a companionable silence, solaced by the snap of the fire and cups warm against their palms.
She looked at him pensively. “Tell me about the home you have in mind here.”
Setting his cup aside, he added two chunks of pine to the leaping flames. “Before I sail I’ll show you the place. If you agree, we can breakground in spring for a three-storied house with southern porches, a great many windows, and a walled garden.”
Her eyes lit like the candle between them. Did talk of the future lessen the anxiety of the present? He felt it too, a subtle but tangible anticipation, the future no longer hazy. No longer consumed with missing the other.
“Might you draw me a sketch?” she asked.
At his aye, she assembled paper, a stylus, and a lap desk.
“Alas, I am no artist,” he lamented, wanting to please her. Still, he began a fair etching of a handsome house and floor plan, her enthusiasm spurring him on. Half an hour later he had the details on paper, the walled garden with them.
“I’m enchanted,” she said with a smile.
His hand stole across the table to hold hers, his signet ring glinting just as her posy ring caught the candlelight. “There’s another matter not nearly as lighthearted.”
“Such as?”
“If there’s to be a war, the light will stay unlit. I want you to return to York. Better yet, Williamsburg, safe from enemy incursion and especially corsairs.” He knew all too well the French and Spanish buccaneers, sea rogues who inspired fear and did far worse. “Take your maid with you.”
“I shall. Lucy has left the almshouse for good. She wants to remain in our employ.” Her face clouded. “So my time here as lightkeeper may be brief.”
