“Your arrival seems to have worked wonders,” Marina said. “Grace was awake and ready to eat.”
Snapped out of his musings, Richard crossed the room. “That’s good news. To see her well is my greatest wish.” He chose not to delve too deeply into the things happening inside him. Grace was his daughter, and every father wanted his children to be healthy and well. However, he was aware now that Earl’s advice was no longer relevant. He’d accepted the loss of his wife long before her death, but he had a second chance with his daughter and didn’t need anyone’s advice on what to do.
“Goodness,” Marina said. “You’ve eaten the entire bowl.” She brushed a clump of black hair off Grace’s cheek. “Would you like more?”
“Yes, please.”
“Very well. I shall get you some.” Marina stood and bestowed a sun-kissed smile upon the child. “I’ll be back in little more than a moment.”
Richard didn’t know much about ill children but knew shipmates got well faster once they were up and about, and despite refusing to leave, every instinct he had was still telling him to get his daughter and depart this place as soon as possible. “Perhaps Gracie would like to go downstairs to eat.”
Gracie’s eyes lit up. For a moment, he saw himself in her and knew that must be how his eyes glowed when they settled upon the great span of water surrounding his ship. Smiling brightly, she pushed aside the covers and scooted toward the edge of the bed.
“The stairs may be a bit much for her yet,” Marina said gently.
“Not if I carry her,” Richard supplied. Without waiting for Marina’s answer, he asked his daughter, “Would that be all right with you, Grace? If I carried you?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
Marina, on the other hand, seemed torn. “I don’t want her to lose the ground she’s gained.”
“She won’t,” Richard assured her. “I’ll carry her back upstairs, too.” Without further ado, he plucked the child off the bed. She wasn’t any heavier than one of his ledger books and felt far more fragile. Far too fragile. Once again something inside him fluttered. The life of a sailor had always fulfilled him, never left him wondering or wanting more, yet holding his tiny daughter in his arms made him question if he’d made the right choice years ago. If he’d remained in Salem Village rather than returning to the sea, Gracie wouldn’t be in this condition and Sarah might still be alive. They could even have had more children.
“We all have regrets.”
He lifted his head and caught Marina’s thoughtful expression.
“It doesn’t pay to dwell on them,” she added with a smile as gentle as the one she’d given his daughter. “Forgiveness, including ourselves, is the pathway to salvation.”
She was right. No one could change the past; nor should they allow it to possess them. He owed Marina his gratitude, too. If not for her, Grace may have died. He would never have known his daughter then. That thought hit solemnly in his mind and gut.
Not ready to react to that or to let her know she’d read his mind, he gathered the length of material dangling beyond Grace’s feet. “What is all this?”
“Gracie is wearing one of my nightdresses.” Marina had walked around the bed and brushed his hand aside in order to twist up the extra material and tuck it between Grace’s thin frame and his chest. “I needed to wash hers this morning.”
Richard heard what she said but chose to interpret the statement to mean Grace didn’t have ample nightclothes. That should not be. He’d sent material to his dead wife regularly. Yards upon yards of sturdy cotton, knowing the finer silks and other materials he’d once shipped would not be welcome. The last shipment should have arrived this spring, after Sarah’s death. Of course, he hadn’t known she’d died then.
He pondered on that as he carried Grace down the narrow hall. His wife had died. Should he be in mourning? It wasn’t as if he’d held any ill will toward Sarah. It wasn’t as if he’d held any great love for her, either. The affection that had sparked between them had never been given the chance to grow. Not as it should have. Which was just as well. Sailors had no right taking a wife. They were already married to the sea. He’d known that even back then but had let his physical needs overshadow his good sense. Earl had pointed that out to him, and he’d come to accept it over the years.
Richard shifted Grace in his arms, not because of her slight weight—he could have been carrying a sparrow for all she weighed—but because he didn’t want her to bump the wall of the narrow stairway. She lifted her head and gazed upon his face deeply and perhaps a bit critically.
“Are you really my papa?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Marina told me if I prayed hard enough, you’d come.”
Richard glanced briefly toward the woman moving down the stairs ahead of them. He still had more questions than answers. “She was right.”
“Where’s your boat?” Grace asked.
He grinned. “In the Boston Harbor.”
A tiny frown formed before she nodded.
“Would you like to see it?” he asked.
The smile returned tenfold. “Yes.”
“Well, then,” he said, “as soon as you’re better, I’ll take you to see the Concord.”
“You will?”
“Yes, I will. It’s a mighty ship,” he said. “But you have to eat and get strong. It’s a long way to Boston.”
Her little head bobbed up and down. “I will.”
It had been years since he’d seen Sarah, and he wondered if Grace looked like her. He should remember, but an image of his wife no longer formed in his mind. There was no explanation as to why, other than that she’d become nothing more than another payment, akin to taxes or merchant fees. That was no way for a man to think of his family or something he was proud of, even if it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Plenty of captains had wives and families, sometimes numerous ones, just as William had said, in ports all around the world. One of the things he’d carried pride in was the fact he wasn’t like all other sea captains. Not in that sense or in others. He treated his shipmates fairly, along with the merchants and countries whose cargo he hauled. His reputation was well established, and now it would also become known that he took care of his family. He didn’t need to vow it; he knew it.
“What do we have here?” William had awakened from his nap and was precariously rising to his feet as they entered the front room. “Is that Gracie?”
The girl nodded while Marina answered, “Yes. She wants to eat at the table. Would you care to join her?”
“I’ve been smelling that chicken you’ve been boiling all morning,” William said, using both hands to get his stump leg solid on the floor. “It’ll be good to eat some.”
Marina waited for her uncle to cross the room. Richard did, too, while noting how the young woman stood ready to aid William if the need arose. It didn’t. Once the old man got the wooden leg in rhythm with his other one, he scurried past them with the speed of a sailor with two good legs.
“You will be joining us, Richard,” William stated.
It had been hours since he’d partaken in a brief repast before leaving Boston, and all sailors were known for one thing—that of never bypassing the offer of a meal. “Thank you,” he answered and waited for Marina to enter the hall.
In the kitchen that, indeed, did host a very appetizing scent, Richard paused before setting Grace on one of the chairs. Her chin would barely come up to the tabletop if he set her down. Noting a pine box on the shelf near the brick oven built into the side of the fireplace, he crossed