The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,88
breeze lured Graham like a siren’s call, drawing him closer to the water. The familiar seaport sounds—men shouting, hammers pounding, gulls crying—helped him breathe easier . . . until he recollected why he was here.
All along the wide River Mersey, ship masts, dressed in canvas sails and draped with ropes, reached skeletal fingers into the sky. Frigates lined the docks, crammed tightly in a sea of rope and sails.
His heart beat a steady cadence in his chest. He was that much closer to Lucy.
Behind him, the post chaise transporting Amelia and Mrs. Hammond jostled over the cobbled streets. He turned in Starboard’s saddle to see if he could catch a glimpse of Amelia. The thrill of hearing her address him with the intimacy of his Christian name had been the bright spot of his dark morning.
Graham consulted the directions he’d received from a nearby merchant and raised his hand to alert the driver that their destination was near. Across the bustling street, a tiny stone church nestled beneath ancient elms. To its left, a crooked fence encased a tidy graveyard, and just behind that sat the vicarage. Stephen Sulter’s house.
Graham drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty air. Stephen Sulter. Their paths had been destined to cross again. He waited for a cart and donkey to clear the way before urging Starboard forward. What would it be like to see the man he’d revered as a midshipman and later as a lieutenant? The man who’d taught him how to lead others, to judge fairly, and to develop discipline . . . the very man who had led him to God?
His stomach tightened. God had used Sulter as an instrument to open his eyes to the wonders of what a personal relationship with him could bring.
And what had he done with that relationship?
Graham pushed the question to the back of his mind as the door to Sulter’s house opened. A tall, thin man stepped outside, a grin spread across his face. Time’s paintbrush had turned Sulter’s dark hair gray and etched wrinkles into his leathery skin, but his long-toothed smile was unmistakable. Memories rushed Graham in chaotic disarray. Stephen Sulter knew him better than any other person, living or dead.
Sulter reached for the bridle and steadied the animal as Graham slid to the ground. Then he reached for Graham and embraced him as tightly as any father would. “Can it be? Graham Sterling!”
It was not discomfort but regret that caused Graham to stiffen a little at the affectionate greeting. “Did you receive my letter, sir?”
The other man sobered. “Just an hour or so ago. I regret our reunion must be on such difficult terms, but still, it is good to see you, my boy.”
The carriage pulled up to the house just as a round little woman burst out of the house and flung her arms around Graham. “Graham Sterling!”
She squeezed him in an awkward embrace and then stepped back, face flushed and arms akimbo. “As I live and breathe, there now, let’s have a look at ye.” She eyed him from the top of his hat to the tips of his dusty boots. “Well, there now, see, Captain Sulter!” She turned her beaming face to her husband and flung her hand in Graham’s general direction. “He’s not a thing like the boy we saw last. So tall. And handsome, at that.”
A smile cracked Graham’s face. Mary Sulter was the closest person to a mother he’d had since he left Eastmore. How she used to fuss over him. Cook his favorite meals. Mend his clothes. Give him advice. Words didn’t seem enough to express his feelings upon seeing her again. “Mrs. Sulter. I hope this visit is not an imposition.”
“Imposition? Glory be!” She waved her hand in the air, her ruddy face beaming with pleasure. “You are always a welcome guest in this house, Graham Sterling, and don’t you forget it. As soon as Captain Sulter said you’d be arriving today, I set about making your favorite pound cake. See, I haven’t forgotten.”
Graham felt his dusty sense of humor slowly returning. A sense of comfort spread from his chest to his limbs. He was home. Why had he waited so long to return?
“I knew you, of all people, would not forget.”
She leaned in closer, pushing past her tall, narrow husband. “I am very sorry to hear about your young wife. And your daughter! Oh my, I haven’t ceased praying since my Stephen told me the news.”