To Capture Her Heart (31 page)

I have much gratitude for those who have encouraged me, taught me, and prayed for me. I am blessed by you!

Thank you to my heavenly Father, the Author of dreams, my refuge and my strength.

Thank you to my family for their patience and support.

My father and my husband are the first readers I dare show my manuscripts, and I depend on their keen eye and words of advice laced with encouragement. My dad, Howard M. Worley, published his first novel,
The Stagecoach Murders
, in 2012 at age eighty-nine, despite an aortic valve replacement and followed two days later by a stroke suffered in the midst of completing his western romance, a la L'Amour and Zane Grey. He treated those setbacks as but a blip to his health and got back in the saddle to finish the book. Thank you, Dad, for your true grit. I love brainstorming with my husband, Tom—he gives me encouragement and fresh perspectives. Thank you for enduring with me to the deadlines and beyond.

I've been blessed with three supportive daughters and their
husbands—Jennifer and Shane, Lisa and Jon, and Kelly and Cory—and eight grandchildren, Dylan, Emma, Abbey, Sophie, Olivia, Ashley, Caden, and Brody. Tom has brought more sweet family with his children, Sasha, Steve and his wife Michelle, and three grandchildren, Sarah, Vito, and Vincent—all who have shown me love and support and I thank you!

I have some pretty neat siblings too. Thank you to Linda Lohr, Cynthia Dort, and Mark Worley—each of you show your love and support in your own special way!

A big thank-you to the Southold Indian Museum. And to Lisa Cordani-Stevenson who so graciously kept the museum open for me when I arrived late on a Sunday afternoon. The museum is a treasure, and I'm so thankful for curators like Lisa who enjoy sharing their passion and knowledge!

And continued heartfelt thanks to the Southold Free Library and the Southold Historical Society for their support. I'm especially grateful to Melissa Andruski and Daniel McCarthy for their friendship, enthusiasm, and willingness to assist me.

A huge thank-you to the Revell team, who have become like family to me. A special thank-you to my editor, Vicki Crumpton, who makes my work stronger with her expertise, gentle advice, humor, and encouragement. A big thank-you to Barb Barnes, Twila Bennett, Lindsay Davis, Michelle Misiak, Claudia Marsh, Erin Bartels, Cheryl VanAndel. They and their staff—the talented group who work in editorial, marketing, publicity, cover art, and sales—strive to make my book the best it can be.

I'm forever grateful to Barbara Scott, Greg Johnson, and WordServe Literary Agency. Thank you so much for your belief in my story and continued support!

My thanks always to Bob Welch's Beachside Writers with Jane Kirkpatrick, the Mount Hermon Conference faculty and
staff, and for the huge support of the American Christian Fiction Writers, Romance Writers of America, and Oregon Christian Writers.

And a warm thank-you to my readers—you have a special place in my heart. Thank you for joining me and the Hortons on our journey. Please visit me at
www.rebeccademarino.com
to leave me a message or sign up for my newsletter. I love to connect on Facebook and Pinterest too!

A special thank-you to The BookLits, a group of readers dear to my heart, who encourage me, pray for me, and joyfully put a shout out for me. You are a dream of a team!

1

October 1, 1664

“Did you hear me?”

Patience Terry stood, her hands limp at her sides, and looked into her friend's teary blue eyes. Had not she guarded her heart against this day? Against this pain that ripped through her heart like a thunderbolt?
The Swallow
shipwrecked off the coast of Barbados, tattered and abandoned. No survivors. Captain Jeremy Horton and his crew lost at sea, presumed dead.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her lungs ached, so bereft they were of any air, she of any hope. As her legs gave way, she fell to the pillowed bench in front of Lizzie's hat display and buried her face in the folds of her blue silk skirt. Her shoulders heaved with each silent sob. Mary Horton knelt and drew her into her arms.

Torrents of tears soaked her friend's shoulder, but she could not hold them back.

“That's good, dear. Cry. Let the tears fall.” Mary's gentle hands patted her back to comfort, but Patience's temples pulsed
with each new thought. Would she never be able to look up and see his form framed in the doorway again? Or could he lie hurt somewhere? She'd begged him at his last visit to give up the sailing, to make a home here in Southold. One she dreamt would include her.

“What if he's not dead? What if he needs me?” She'd always prayed he would come to know he needed her in his life, but Lord, this was not how she envisioned it.

“Oh no, Patience. You mustn't think like that. The ship was pretty well battered. There was such a storm. If survivors were to make land at all, they would have landed on the shores of Barbados. Nathaniel Sylvester brought the news himself. He's just returned from his meetings there. It is such a shock to know both of Barney's brothers are gone. It was so difficult when Thomas died. And now Jeremy. He was more than a friend to me, he was a dear brother.” Her voice trailed as Patience's sobs began anew.

The door blew open as wind and rain swept in with Lizzie Fanning's arrival, nearly lifting one of her own hat creations from her silvery curls. Mary's older sister, and Patience's business partner, Lizzie looked in control as she slid the burgundy wool from her head, gave it a good shake, and settled it on a hat stand. “Mary told me, Patience, on her way here. I'm so sorry.” She enveloped her friend into a hug, her own tears trickling from violet eyes.

Patience did not try to hide the pain etched on her face with furrows tunneling straight from her wrenched heart, or the pools of tears that escaped in rivulets down her cheeks. She'd never told them in so many words of her love for Jeremy, but the two sisters had pulled her into their family long ago and matters of the heart were understood rather than spoken.

Her sobs subsided into soft hiccups, and she drew in her breath. “What now?” was all she could manage.

Mary reached out to smooth Patience's locks. “Barnabas said he would talk to Reverend Youngs about a service for Jeremy. We should have a dinner.” She looked at Lizzie.

“Yes.” She glanced from Mary to Patience. “He shall not be forgotten.”

Patience shook her head. “We don't know that he's dead, though. Oh, why did I not beg him to stop sailing? To stay here? Why could he not see that this would happen one day?”

“He was doing what he loved.” Mary did not look Patience in the eye as she uttered the sentence.

“You don't believe your own words, Mary. Why do people say that? It does not help. I just want him back. Happy or not, I want him here.”

Mary wiped her eyes. “I know, I know. I'm at a loss of what to say. We all loved him. But I know for you 'tis especially difficult. He loved you. I know he did.” She pulled a fresh handkerchief from the pouch at her waist and mopped Patience's cheeks, then dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you, Mary. It means so much to know he loved me. I treasure the time we spent together. But it wasn't enough, was it? He did not love me enough to stay by my side and be my husband.” She took the embroidered cloth and delicately blew her nose. She looked at Lizzie. “I cannot work with you today. I'm sorry. I should like to spend the day alone.” She looked from one to the other. “I love you both dearly. I just need to be by myself.”

Lizzie wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Of course you must. But allow us to bring you a crock of soup or some tea and biscuits. You must eat.” She turned to Mary. “Could you help her upstairs?”

“Indeed. Come, Patience.” She led her to the staircase. “Let me build you a small fire while you change into a robe. It will bring some cheer to the room.”

Mary padded down the stairs. She sniffed. A savory scent filled the house. “That smells good. Patience is sleeping now. I shall go home to see how Barney is faring. He and Jeremy were so close. Will you be all right?”

Lizzie stirred the simmering soup, then wiped her hands on her apron. “I have enough work here to keep me busy while she rests. I need to take stock of my supplies. When Heather Flower came last, she brought two large bags of beads.” She nodded toward the shelves Benjamin had put in for her.

Mary stood on tiptoe and peered into one of the bags. “Beautiful. She is amazing, and she's never forgotten to come back and visit.” She took her cape from the peg and pulled the hood up over her head. “Very well, then. I'm off. Thank you for staying with Patience.”

“I'd be here anyway, Mary. Tell Barnabas hello for me.”

“I shall.” She opened the door to the wind whipping outside and hurried down the lane, pulling her hood close against the slanted rain. She paused at the parsonage and cemetery on the left and once more thought of poor Jeremy before she crossed over to her house.

In the foyer she brushed the raindrops from her cape and hung it near the hearth. It was still early and the house quiet. Barney would be in the back kitchen, having his devotions and stirring up the fire—perhaps putting the first loaves in the oven.

She mounted the stairs and stood quietly as she watched Hannah, thirteen years old and quite the little mother, brush
and braid Mercy's hair. At four, Mary's youngest loved the attention of her big brothers and sisters. Sarah smoothed and aired out the bedclothes, while young Mary helped Abigail change the wash water in the basins. How blessed she'd been when Abbey, Winnie's eldest daughter, came to live with them and help deliver each of her babies. Mary taught her to read, embroider, and cook and she'd become like a daughter to her and Barney. A sister to their children.

The year after Winnie died, James, Abbey's husband, passed away and she and little Misha had come back to live with them. They were family, and at the Horton house there was always room for more.

Mary came down the stairs and moved toward the back of the large house. Her sons' lively voices carried down the hall from the kitchen. It was amazing to her that her boys, Caleb, Joshua, and Jonathan, were grown men. Well, Jonathan was almost a man. The youngest at sixteen, he was also the tallest of the Horton men save Jeremy.

As she drew close, she heard Barney telling them the story of Mary and Jeremy working together to bring his blue slate over from England with the epitaph he'd written engraved on the slab. They'd heard the story hundreds of times, had they not? Yet each time they thrilled at the tale, and today the story was particularly poignant.

Mary entered the kitchen and slid next to Barney at the table.

When he finished the tale, she squeezed his hand. “I'm thinking we need to get a stone for Jeremy. It won't be a blue slate, but do you think we could get a piece of marble? Something nice so he shall not be forgotten?”

“Aye. I don't know if we can come by marble easily. We might be able to find a nice slab of granite. John is preparing a Sunday
sermon in his memory, and if we had a church dinner between services, then we could set the stone in the cemetery and have a prayer service afterward.”

Caleb stood up and fetched a platter of ginger cakes, taking one and offering his mother one before setting them on the old oak table. “Are you sure Uncle Jeremy died? Is it not strange to have a funeral for someone when you don't know where they are?”

“He died a watery death, I fear. The service will be for your uncle, but even more so for those he left behind. We who loved him.” Barney ran his fingers through his thick hair. At sixty-four, his hair was mostly white, but he was no less dashing than the day Mary met him at the Webbs' store.

Jeremy was nine years younger. A picture of her brother-in-law played in her mind as he led her around his ship the day they left England many years ago, so young and exuberant and full of life. The last time she saw him, he hadn't changed a whit. Not a gray hair on his head, his tanned skin emphasizing the green of his eyes, the burnished gold of his hair, the scent of the sea clinging to him.

“He was too young to die.” She set the uneaten ginger cake on the table and leaned into Barney. Tears trickled as she looked up at him.

“I know, my sweet. But God knows the plans He has for each of us.” His eyes sagged, and he leaned his forehead against hers. “Jeremy included. We must put our faith in that knowledge. Would you like to accompany me out to see John Corey? He might have a suitable stone. He came back from Gloucester last year with several.”

She pulled back. “Yes, if we take the wagon and Stargazer.”

“Of course.” He gave a nod to Joshua, who promptly departed to the barn.

A half an hour later Mary watched Joshua lead Stargazer around to the front of the house with the wagon. She wanted the best for Jeremy. He'd done so much for her and Barney.

Barnabas and Mary brought the Horton girls over to Lizzie's Hat Shop, along with two barrels of apples from her orchard, before setting out to find a stone for Jeremy. Lizzie set Misha, Hannah, Sarah, and young Mary to peeling and slicing the apples, while she and Abigail let little Mercy help them mix flour and lard for little pippin tarts.

As she baked, the rest of the apples went into the large copper pot over the fire, and Abigail had the girls take turns throughout the day stirring them with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, using a large wooden paddle. The apples simmered down to a dark golden butter. As the storm blew outside, the sweet smell of fall scented the house.

The girls worked together to ladle the thick apple butter into crocks. Abigail helped her clean the kitchen. Patience remained in her chamber, refusing the trays of tea and soup Lizzie brought up to her.

The stairs creaked as Lizzie climbed her way up to her room, a tray arranged with tea and warm pippin tarts. “Here now, Patience. This should be just what you need.”

Patience looked up, her blue eyes puffy but dry. “You may leave it, Lizzie. Thank you.”

“I'll set it here.” She carefully lowered the tray to the table, then sat on the edge of the feather bed. “Would you feel better if you came down to the kitchen? Mary's girls are here.”

Her voice was strained with regret. “No, I shall stay here. Tell them Auntie Patience is not feeling well.”

Lizzie nodded and looked back at her friend as she carefully closed the door.