Mr. Thompson grinned. “I can’t wait to hear how you got Isaac to let you on board his ship.”
Josephine dropped her eyes to the deck, careful to avoid the lieutenant’s reaction to the statement. “Thank you for the offer.”
He clapped his hands together. “Alright, where’s your trunk?”
She kept her gaze low. “I don’t have one.”
“Well, whatever your belongings are packed in, I’ll carry to the wagon.”
“No need.” The lieutenant’s dry voice interrupted her response.
Josephine crossed her arms and glanced between the men. “I’ve but one small bag. I can carry it.”
Mr. Thompson gave her a puzzled look but nodded. “Very well, but make it quick. Our cook will need to know about the extra guest tonight before he gets started on dinner.”
She spun and hurried back to the cabin, heart racing. With trembling fingers, she pulled on her boots and laced them. She snatched up her satchel and plucked Lola from the chair, carefully setting the bird on her shoulder.
“You stay put. Don’t embarrass me by flying off somewhere.”
With one last look around the cabin, Josephine headed back outside.
When Mr. Thompson saw her, he let loose a good-natured laugh. “A parrot? Isaac, you failed to mention your guest is a pirate.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not a pirate.”
He took her bag from her with a wide grin. “I have a feeling you and Samantha will get along real well.”
The lieutenant cleared his throat. “I’ve got many things to do before the day is over. Miss Montclair, you will be in excellent hands with Christian and Samantha.”
He turned without even saying a proper goodbye. Josephine blew out a breath as he descended the stairs. He definitely hadn’t forgiven her yet.
Mr. Thompson cocked his head. “Usually, he has better manners than that.” He strode to the railing and shouted at the lieutenant’s retreating back. “Don’t forget, five o’clock. Samantha will come fetch you herself if you’re late.”
Lieutenant Caldwell gave a haphazard wave of his hand and disappeared below deck. Mr. Thompson chuckled. “Wonder what’s got him all riled up?” He winked at Josephine and started down the stairs.
She followed him off the ship, trying to take in all the activity onthe docks. As she craned her neck this way and that, a cart full of crates rumbled past, missing her by inches.
“Keep a sharp eye. It’s all business down here, with little regard to safety.” Mr. Thompson offered his arm and guided her up a steep set of stairs between two warehouses.
At the top, she came to a stop. The warehouses along the waterfront had hidden the view of the street and the city itself. Horse drawn wagons and carriages clattered past, and men and women hurried by, arms laden with packages and parasols. Block upon block of buildings seemed to never end.
Savannah was huge.
Josephine’s ears began to ring and she took a small step back, but Mr. Thompson set his hand over hers. “A far cry from the Caribbean, isn’t it?”
She could only nod.
He led her to a wagon and helped her up. Once settled beside her, he gave the reins a slap and they bumped along over the cobblestone street, a huge difference from the dusty dirt roads of Tortuga.
Each turn they took seemed to offer a new scene. Between mansions with manicured gardens, pretty squares with picnicking families, and tall church towers, Josephine’s mouth kept gaping.
She finally turned to Mr. Thompson. “Is Savannah truly a small city?”
He grinned. “For us Northerners, yes, Savannah pales in size. It’s not even a tenth the size of Philadelphia or New York. But in the south, it’s a respectable city.”
They left the city and traded buildings for cotton and tobacco fields with sprawling estates. Eventually, Mr. Thompson turned down a long drive lined by massive oaks, their mossy branches creating a green tunnel. When the house came into view, Josephine couldn’t help a tiny gasp. The gray brick manor stretched to both sides of a whitewashed fountain, with wide, stately windows reflecting the sunlight. A broadverandah, supported by large columns, wrapped around the front. They came to a stop and she stared at the wide double doors at the top of the steps.
“This is your home?”
