Trading Hearts

Book 2 in the Colonial Courtships anthology

Connecticut River Valley, 1754

“I believe this is the last of what you requested, Mr. Yancey.”

Jonathan Ingersoll set the final crate in the back of the shopkeeper’s cart, nodding to two of his crew to return to the ship. He thanked the good Lord for this substantial order to go with the other orders he’d filled today. It would tide him over during the coming winter months when the frozen river made his normal trade route impassable. Trade hadn’t come easy lately. He turned to face Yancey only to see the man had moved to the side of the cart.

"Hmm,” the shopkeeper replied, sounding distracted.

“Is there something amiss, sir?” Jonathan knew the order was accurate. He’d double-checked and verified it himself. But the man’s wrinkled brow and pursed lips made him second-guess his careful calculations.

“No, no,” the man finally said. “Everything is in order.” He held up a pouch cinched closed with a cord and dropped it into Jonathan’s hand, the coins inside clinking against each other. “You are a good man and an honest trader, like your father before you.” Covering Jonathan’s hand—coin pouch and all—with his own, Yancey gave a nod. “I am certain you still feel the loss of such an honorable man. But it is a pleasure to continue doing business with your family.”

“The pleasure is mine as well, Mr. Yancey.” Jonathan withdrew his hand and turned toward the wharf. His father had taught him everything he knew. How could he not honor him by continuing in his trade? No time for melancholy thoughts, though. He had a schedule to keep, and the tide waited for no one. “I shall return after the spring thaw,” he said.

“Headed back up to Glassenbury?”

Jonathan looked over his shoulder. “Yes, I am.”

“Keep a watchful eye on the water levels up that way,” the shopkeeper said. “The shoreline as well where the river narrows.” He grabbed hold of the horse’s reins and turned the cart toward town. “We have had some unseasonably heavy rains of late, and there have been reports of swollen riverbanks.”
“It will remain uppermost in my mind,” Jonathan replied, tucking the coin pouch into the leather satchel at his hip. “I shall instruct my first mate and crew likewise. You have my gratitude.”

Without any further word, he and the shopkeeper parted ways. Jonathan made haste down the path to the river’s edge, where some of his crew waited. As the seaman rowed the launch toward the ship, the Rivier Handelaar, Jonathan stared at his awe-inspiring vessel. His crew was among the best to be found. They worked in rhythm as well as the ebb and flow of the daily tides. And his ship stood like a beacon in port, beckoning to all who gazed upon it. From the red griffin figurehead at the stem that Uncle Phineas had carved, all the way to the stern, every mast, sail, deck, and hatch gleamed to perfection. It told all who beheld the Dutch fluyt, this belonged to a successful merchant tradesman. That man was once his father. Now it was Jonathan, and he intended to do everything within his power to continue the notable legacy.

After accepting the hand of his boatswain as he crested the rail, Jonathan made his way to the upper deck.

“What is our next destination, Captain?” his second mate asked, ready to give the orders to again set sail.

Yancey’s words rang foremost in Jonathan’s mind as he looked upriver. Once again, the steady droplets of rain fell. The gray clouds and precipitation had been a constant companion for several weeks. For a brief moment, Jonathan considered making port right there in Saybrook. But he might as well push as far north as possible.

“Let us press on toward Selden.” Jonathan pointed to the mark on the map his second mate held splayed out in front of him. “We have several deliveries there,” he said, tapping the dot, “and lightening our load will undoubtedly be a benefit to us as we enter into the swollen waters farther north.”

Shouts rang out, commands floated on the air, and all crew on deck scrambled to heed the orders. Every man knew his duty and did it without complaint. In fact, they seemed to thrill to the task. Yet another reason to thank the Almighty Lord for the favor granted to him and his ship. The sails caught the damp, chilly breeze, and the ship made its first jerk as it headed for the mouth of the Great River.

Two hours later, with their most recent round of deliveries made and customers satisfied, the ship continued on its way toward Glassenbury. Each mile brought Jonathan closer to home. He could almost smell the fresh bread his brother Micah baked, and the aroma of his mother’s onion pie tantalized his taste buds even without the actual presence of the fare. No matter how long he was away from the inn, or how often he had to travel his trade route, the welcoming warmth of home called to him and made each journey that much more satisfying. Only two more stops this day before he could genuinely give the orders to make way toward their home port.

“Captain,” his second mate called. “You might want to come have a look at this.”

Jonathan made haste to the bow, his trained eyes taking in the scene before them. Yancey had made no mistake in his warning to take heed of rising waters. They were less than a thousand yards from the next village, and what he saw ahead signaled significant danger. He knew the shoreline of the Great River in this segment like he knew his own ship, and it was much wider than normal. To the left and right, where familiar trees usually stood sentinel over the banks, the murky water now encased their trunks, hiding the tall grasses from view.

Howling wind whistled through the branches and across the deck. Darkness descended on them in an instant, and the ship was tossed against the choppy water. His crew scrambled on deck, holding tight to the rigging and adjusting the sails in an attempt to maintain control. A jolt nearly threw Jonathan off balance.

Oh no! They had scraped the shallow river bottom. He mentally judged the distance to the shore. They were too close. Another jolt and another scrape. He had to do something fast, or they would run ashore. There was no way they could fight the current and remain in the center of the river.

“Chambers!” he hollered above the ominous winds.

The first mate rushed to Jonathan’s side, slipping on the soaked deck and righting himself. “Yes, Captain?”

“We need to make port now. The winds are too strong, and the tide is hurling the ship to and fro. We cannot risk pressing through this.” Jonathan looked off to the right where the flickering lanterns in front of what appeared to be a quaint inn fairly beckoned to him. “There,” he said, pointing toward the faint outline of the building. “We will anchor the ship and take refuge at that inn.”

“Right away, Captain.” Chambers saluted and barked out the orders to the crew.

Twenty minutes later, soaked to the skin and fighting against the blustering winds to maintain his footing, Jonathan and a third of his twenty-seven crew members approached the front of the inn. It might not be the Red Griffin—his home—but with its whitewashed front and painted black shutters , at least it appeared clean. He shivered. At this point, anything offering a blazing fire would be a welcome sight.

Lifting the brass knocker, Jonathan gave the door three swift raps. A moment later, it opened, and a petite yet sturdy maiden greeted them with a warm smile that traveled from her delicately bow-shaped lips to her shining gray eyes. With her mob cap slightly askew and several tendrils of wheat-colored hair escaping the confines of her single braid, she looked a great deal younger than what her shapely form belied her age to be. The aromas of beef, baked ham, and what smelled like onion pie assailed his nostrils. His stomach rumbled in response, earning a charming giggle from the maiden before him.

Sweeping off his hat and tucking it beneath his arm, Jonathan bowed. “Good evening, miss. My name is Captain Jonathan Ingersoll, and I command the Rivier Handelaar. The flooded river has forced us to lay anchor about two hundred yards south, and this dismal rain has us all soaked through. My crew and I would be in your debt for a hot meal, if you have it to spare.”

The young maiden curtsied and swung the door open wider, gesturing with her arm in a sweeping motion toward the main room of the inn. “Do come in, Captain Ingersoll. My name is Clara Marie Preston. My father is the proprietor. Welcome to the Higganum River Inn.”

Jonathan stepped aside and allowed the first wave of his crew to precede him. He glanced over their heads into the main room. They weren’t the only ones to whom this inn had beckoned in this dreary weather. His men would have to eat in shifts, and most would likely have to sleep in the hammocks below deck.

“I invite you to choose your tables from those available,” Miss Preston said once they were all inside, “and I will notify my father of your arrival.”

Jonathan touched the cuff of the maiden’s sleeve, and she paused midturn.

“Did you need something more, Captain?”

“Is that perhaps onion pie that I smell?”

“Yes.” Miss Preston smiled. “I baked it myself this afternoon.”

As the maiden walked away, a grin came to Jonathan’s face. Based upon how the skirts of the simple dress fell around Miss Preston’s feminine curves, he’d been fairly close to the mark in his conjecture on her having attained at least ten and seven years. And she could bake the very pie he considered to be his mother’s best dish. This meal just might be the next best thing to eating at the Red Griffin.

Taking a seat at the nearest table, he allowed his gaze to roam the room. So much of the décor reminded him of the Red Griffin. Well-scrubbed floors were dotted with bright rugs. The furnishings showed obvious signs of wear, but they appeared to be of good quality and well cared for. Flickering flames from the chandeliers hung from the beams above cast an ethereal glow about the room. The teasing aroma of that baking ham hung in the air. A scent like that would entice every weary traveler within ten miles to seek lodging at this establishment. If they had to be forced ashore earlier than planned, at least the resulting destination was one possessing a great deal of appeal…in more ways than one.

* * * * *

Clara peered out from behind the swinging door leading from the hallway to the main room, her eyes scanning the occupied tables. When her gaze landed on the handsome captain, her breath caught in her throat. He certainly cut a dashing figure, from the polished black boots and fawn-colored breeches that hugged his long, muscular legs, to the broad shoulders encased in a fitted, navy overcoat, every button fastened and gleaming. That brought her to his face, where the rain-glistened brown hair was tied back in a queue, and high cheekbones gave way to warm, hazel eyes that had caught her attention the moment she opened the door. Well, that, and the rather loud rumble emanating from the captain as soon as he smelled the food cooking.

He sat at a table at the far edge of the room, leaning back in his chair with a nonchalant air, taking in the room with measured observations. Clara self-consciously smoothed her hands down the front of her apron and reached up to check her wayward tendrils. A whoosh of air escaped her lips as she felt the loose strands of hair around her ears and cheeks. She must appear a sight, for certain. Tucking as much as she could back into her braid, she then inhaled and slowly released her breath.

“Clara.” Her mother’s voice sounded from behind, making Clara straighten. “Have you discovered the number of gentlemen accompanying the captain for the evening meal, and what meat they would prefer?”

“No, Mama,” she called over her shoulder. “I am on my way right now.”

“Very good, my dear. Our guests need our attention. We do not have time to dawdle. Please also determine how many will be requiring a bed for the night. I am certain we cannot provide rooms for them all, but we shall do our best.”

With another deep breath, Clara pushed through the swinging door and headed straight for the captain. As her eyes met his, a congenial smile formed on his lips. Had she imagined it, or did he immediately look her way the moment she stepped into the room? The way he watched her as she approached certainly made that reality a possibility. He seemed very aware of her every move, and Clara couldn’t decide if that excited or unnerved her.

When she stood just a few feet from his table, Captain Ingersoll greeted her with a nod. “Miss Preston.”

Clara bobbed a quick curtsy. “Captain Ingersoll.” She folded her hands in her apron and shifted from one foot to the other. “Mama has asked that I inquire after the meal choices of your crew and how many might require a bed for the night.”

The captain leaned back in his chair and smoothed his thumb and ring finger down the sides of his mouth. “Ah yes. I suppose it would be helpful if we told you what we would like to eat, for I am certain you cannot divine our thoughts.”

The mirth in his eyes and the teasing slant of his lips drew out an answering grin from Clara. My, but he was charming. And if she didn’t miss her mark, he knew it as well. Quite a dangerous combination, but appealing nonetheless.

“Well, do allow me to set your mind at ease. My men will take a healthy serving of whatever you have readily available or in abundance. And only six or seven of them will be sleeping here tonight. The rest of us will bunk down on board the ship.”

The rest of us? Clara’s shoulders fell. Did that mean he wouldn’t be staying at their inn? She had hoped to see him for longer than the evening meal. It didn’t appear as if that would happen, though.

“After all, I cannot leave my goods and merchandise unattended, especially in this weather. Who knows what unsavory sorts are lurking about the river, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

Merchandise? Goods? “Oh! Are you a merchant trader?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am. Just like my father before me.”

Her brother, Samuel, was a trader, too. Before his accident, anyway. But he was in town tonight. And considering his attitude of late, perhaps that was a good thing. Then again, maybe it would benefit him to talk with Captain Ingersoll. Perhaps the captain could help.

“Clara!”

Clara turned to see her mother standing in the doorway, an expectant look in her eyes and a stern expression on her lips. Oh! She’d done it again. She must see to the matter at hand. They had a room filled with waiting guests.

“Coming, Mama!” she called in return, pivoting on her heel.

“Miss Preston?” the captain beckoned softly. She again looked in his direction. “Do forgive me for keeping you from your duties. Please,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the expanse of the room, “see to your other guests. I am certain to be here for quite a spell and intend to make good use of your inviting fire.”

She nodded, unable to voice a reply. That last statement filled her with such delight. And she was impressed by the captain’s need to apologize, even though he had done nothing wrong. She could easily while away the hours enjoying his company. Oh, how she prayed the evening would last far longer than usual.

Back to Books