Unlikely Heroes - Carla Kelly Page 0,14

ear lobe most tenderly. “You smell of lilacs and Ben.”

She laughed and settled herself closer. “Headmaster Croker dropped by to say that you and I have been invited to the reading of Sir B’s will tomorrow. It will be held in his chambers.”

“Us? I’ll wager you that our friend is leaving a tidy sum to St. Brendan’s.”

Meri nodded. “I doubt I am essential to any such reading, but Thaddeus Croker insisted.” She sat up. “This is strange. He specifically requested that Smitty come with us.”

“Is it so strange?”

“I wonder,” she said, making herself comfortable again. “I watched him during the funeral, dour Smitty who looks older than his years. He…he..you’ll think this absurd…”

“Try me.”

“There are times he reminds me of Sir B,” she said in a rush, as if aware how silly that sounded, and wanted to get rid of the idea in a hurry.

“He reminds me, too.”

“Is this even possible?” she asked, after looking around to assure herself that Smitty and Nick were nowhere near.

“Of all people, you and I know that anything is possible.”

He kept the thought through dinner, which was subdued, until Meri started speaking of more memorable moments with Sir B, some of them humorous. This led to Able’s stories of life at sea with Captain St. Anthony, when Able was a mere sprout and learning his craft, granted, faster than most.

Ben ate a good meal, then settled on his father’s lap as Able read from Euclid in the original Greek, which made Meri roll her eyes and return to her darning. The long, painful day of sending a grand navy man off to his eternal watch had mellowed into a typical evening at the Sixes, almost as if they had permission to return to normal. Nick and Smitty commandeered the dining room table to spread out their next day’s assignments, complain about too much extra work, and demolish the rest of that loaf of bread, well-buttered.

The boys went to bed in good spirits. Meri read to them as she always did – she reasoned they were never too old for that and no one complained – while Able did the same with Ben in his little room. “My boy, let me start you off with Xenophon,” he said, hunkering down with his son. “Do you want the English or the Greek?”

“Greek, Papa,” Ben said. “I should sound out some of the words, shouldn’t I?”

You’re seventeen months old, Able thought. I wonder what your grandfather would think of you, that man near the Santísima Trinidad. “Yes, you should. You try and I’ll help if needed.”

A page or two sufficed for the night. Ben tugged at his eyelids and his respirations slowed. “Goodnight, sweet boy,” Able whispered. He thought of his own harsh days in the Dumfries workhouse, grateful with every fiber of his being that his son would never know that life. No one would ever chastise Ben for reading early, for knowing too much.

Able heard Meri in their room, but he went downstairs as usual, checking all the doors, doing the slow walk that remained a cherished holdover of his sailing master duties at sea. From quarterdeck to gundeck to fo’c’sle and back, he used to walk. Now the slow walk reminded him how much he missed the sea.

And yet, if Angus Ogilvie was correct, his time at St. Brendan’s was coming to an end, at least until the current national emergency passed. He would be recalled to the fleet because Napoleon Bonaparte felt himself ready to conquer England. How on earth could he tell Meri?

Chapter Six

Meridee knew what her man was doing, because Mrs. Perry had told her a year ago how he walked through their house, perhaps even wishing himself at sea again. She smiled to herself as she sat in bed, wondering if he had any idea that she knew how much he wanted to return to sea. Some sixth sense of her own, not as stunning as her husband’s mental equipment but yet there, nevertheless, had alerted her.

It might have been all the hours he and the St. Brendan boys spent on Sir B’s yacht, the Jolly Roger, sailing around the Isle of Wight, and even taking messages to Plymouth. He always came home so happy, smelling of brine and tar. What else could she believe? The sea was a mistress she could live with.

She heard his footsteps on the stairs, listening as he took another look at Ben, then turned their doorknob.

She shouldn’t feel shy, but she did, because she

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