The Heirloom Brides Collection (24 page)

The doctor’s second request was that Tate never make her a promise unless he kept it.

For Mr. Cromwell declared that he himself was letting her down in leaving this life sooner than any father should. They’d both witnessed it crushing Wren. Flooded with emotions, Tate had agreed.

He looked at the twins now. Realized they were staring at him. Tate straightened and motioned the boys to follow him. His thoughts still on Wren and her pa, he said, “Did you know that your father was one of the smartest men I ever knew?”

Their brows lifted in unison, a hunger shining in their eyes.

“He was,” Tate said, letting both solemnity and awe fill his voice, for it was true. “He could read any book and figure anything out. He even made me believe that I could, too. So the same goes for you boys.”

“Really?” Odin asked.

“Oh yes. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was discovering things or helping people.”

“He was a naturalist,” Odin said proudly.

“And a doctor!” Ansel added.

“He sure was. I can’t tell you how many times he helped me. Once”—Tate held out his arm—“I broke this wrist. It was winter, and I’d crashed my sled right into the side of our barn. Smashed the thing to bits, and my arm right along with it. It wasn’t much of a sled, I confess, but it was all I had. And your pa”—he swallowed hard, taking in the sight of their faces watching him, no doubt thinking of the man they’d barely had a chance to know—“he needed to set the bone. And I was crying. I’m sad to say that I was twelve.”

Tate made a play of being sober at such a revelation and knew he had the twins’ rapt attention.

“He told me not to cry and that everything would be all right. But I was so scared. And then he started telling me a story about a sled he’d been building. He said it could hold three boys, easy. And that if the blades were waxed just right, it would fly.”

Tate used his hand to motion how that sled could slip right down a slope. The twins watched him in awe.

“I was sitting there on the kitchen table, and he was feeling my wrist. He told me all about that sled and promised to let me give it a whirl, and before I knew it, I looked down and he was done. My arm wrapped and everything.”

“And did he?” Odin asked. “Did he let you try it?”

Tate grinned and gave a little nod. “He made me wait until my arm healed. And made me promise not to crash into anything. But my, how that sled flew.”

The twins exchanged glances.

“I bet it’s still there in your barn. Have you seen it?”

“We’ve never checked.”

“I’ll help you,” Tate said. “We’ll look together.”

They smiled at him.

They passed another hour stripping branches from the logs, and after seeing the lads safely home for their chores, Tate headed off for his brother’s cabin to see about borrowing some horsepower.

Jase met him on the steps, and Tate stated his request.

While seeming intrigued about the notion of his little brother building a house, Jase simply stuck up his bottom lip and pointed Tate toward the barn where the team was. Thanking him, Tate hitched up. Before the sun went down, he had just enough time to haul the first load of logs up to the meadow. The twins joined him on his trek home, them scarcely able to walk and Tate’s arm bleeding a little.

With supper bubbling on the stove, Wren sat Tate down at the table and gently scolded him as she changed his bandage. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.” He smiled up at her. “But as soon as I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

C
urled up beside the windowsill in the corner of the main room, Wren savored the sound of chirping crickets. A cup of tea sat beside her, and with Grandmother Willow’s notebook in her lap, she tried to focus on the words on the page, even lighting an extra candle to make out the airy print. But with the laughter coming from the kitchen table as Tate and Mr. Parkinson swapped stories of the sea, she was having a difficult time indeed. Tate’s own book had long since been abandoned. From her rocking chair, Mama watched the scene with laughing eyes and rosy cheeks.

“So wait.” Holding up a hand, Mr. Parkinson leaned toward Tate, a chortle shaking his shoulders and the threadbare shirt there. “You jumped into the Atlantic Ocean, off a brigantine in the middle of the night, and were surrounded by whales.”

“Not exactly surrounded, but they were close. You could see their dorsal fins in the moonlight.” Tate raised an eyebrow. “If I wasn’t trying to get to my friend, I’da been screaming like a little girl. As it was, he was doing it enough for the both of us. Have you ever seen an orca up close?”

Mr. Parkinson laughed. At the opposite end of the table, Odin and Ansel’s eyes were round as saucers. Pretending not to listen, Wren glanced back at the notebook, only to lift her gaze again when Tate continued.

“For one, it was freezing.” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “And two, I’m deathly afraid of whales. Especially orcas. They’re hunters, you know. You should see what they do to a pod of seals.”

“Which is why your mate was screaming like a girl,” Mr. Parkinson pitched in.

Tate pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Wren covered her face with her hand and didn’t know if she should laugh or cry.

“How did they get you two out?” Odin asked, still looking stunned.

Hiding the side of her face with her fingers, Wren peeked over. Tate caught her watching him, so she gave up on being discreet. He smiled a little as he pulled his gaze from her. He eyed her brothers, then Mr. Parkinson, who was as amiable a guest as they’d ever had.

“They threw down a rope, and we got it knotted around him. Then I held on for dear life.”

“Was he still screaming?” Ansel asked.

“I do believe I joined him at that point.”

The twins laughed, and Mr. Parkinson slapped Tate on the back. Tate winced good-naturedly, and Wren remembered his arm. She’d need to check it before he went to bed.

His book on the table beside him, Tate turned it over, fiddling with the tattered cover. “Honestly, though? He was pretty quiet at that point. He was half frozen. Had been in the water longer than me, and he was tired. The cold water, it slows your blood. Even his breathing was quiet. I’ll never forget those sounds.” Tate glanced toward the dark window. “The sound of the water lapping against the hull. The creak of the rope, our weight, and the rumble of a dozen Norwegian sailors working to pull us up.” He swallowed and pulled his gaze back. “It was very orderly. Very calm. And even though you’re scared, you know that everything is gonna be all right because they’re gonna do everything they can to get you back.”

A sting pricked Wren’s eyes.

“Which is what you did for your mate.”

Tate looked over at Mr. Parkinson after he spoke. “He was my friend, and when he went under, I think I jumped before I thought.” His brow knotted. Looking down at his hand, he rubbed at a small scar there.

Wren didn’t dare move. She simply stared at Tate, realizing how lost he could have been to her. And then it gently hit her. With his eyes shining like that at the memories—his fondness for them ever so clear—he was lost to her in a different way.

“It sounds like you were born to be a sailor,” Mr. Parkinson said.

Tate looked up.

“The sea. It’s hard to get out of a man.”

Tate nodded soberly. His brown eyes lifted to Wren, and she didn’t look away.

“So tell us more stories,” Odin chipped in. “Where do you sleep? What do you eat? Do they make you swab the decks when you misbehave, or is that just for pirates?”

“Oh!” Ansel joined in. “Did you see any pirates?”

Tate chuckled and seemed grateful for the shift. “We slept in hammocks. They’re actually quite comfortable.” He tipped his head from side to side. “Most of the time—”

“Do they sway during storms?” Ansel reached for a cookie. The plate of them a splurge Mama had allowed on account of the two guests.

Tate took a sip of his milk. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He seemed to think a moment as if needing to recall all the questions. “Oh. Food. We ate fairly ordinary things. Stew and potatoes and any fare the cook had on hand, which didn’t vary much. Lots of hardtack.” He made a face. “I wish I’d brought you some. It would put you off sailing for life.”

Wren hid her smile with a bow of her head. The book still in her lap, she folded it and set it aside.

“What was the name of the ship you sailed on?” Ansel asked.

“There were a few different ones. The first”—Tate scratched his head—“was the
Styrke.
It means strength. That was another brigantine. Before that”—he scratched his head again, further mussing his short hair—“Oh, after that was
The Favorite II.
It was fashioned after the first ice ship ever built.”

“And what were your duties?” Wren hadn’t realized she’d spoken until everyone looked her way. She gave Tate a shy smile. “When you weren’t rescuing people from the sea.”

“Um…” He rubbed the side of his jaw, and she could see how something in her words had jarred him. “When we weren’t cutting, I helped load the ships. We packed the ice with sawdust. It helps insulate everything, and shipments can be made as far as India or the Caribbean that way. I did a lot of different things. I picked up on the languages quickly, which was helpful to the captains.” He glanced over at Mr. Parkinson as if uncertain how to say all this to her. “Dutch and a bit of French, which were both useful in the tropics, and Norwegian the rest of the time. They used me for trade and different positions, which allowed me to stay inland at times as a cutter to build up those relations. Other times I went to the tropics.” He looked back at Wren. “They used me however they could really.”

“Basically you were a great asset to them,” Mr. Parkinson said.

“Uh, you could say that.”

Wren could see in the humbleness of his expression that he was trying to phrase it modestly. Never had there been a thing that Tate Kennedy couldn’t learn when he set his mind to it.

He talked on, and the notion of those different places flitted through her imagination. She could scarcely picture them even as he described the clear blue oceans. White sands. She said as much, and Mr. Parkinson asked her if she had ever seen the sea.

“No,” Wren said with a soft smile. “I’ve never been. I haven’t been much beyond these four walls.” She realized Tate was watching her, and she forced herself not to look at him until Odin spoke.

“Did you do anything else?” he asked Tate.

Tate turned his cup in his hand and seemed reluctant to talk about it anymore. More so, Wren knew, when he looked at her again. A hint of apology in his expression as if he feared talking of his adventures would hurt her. Yes, there was a time that she was a part of that. But those days were gone. And if he were pressed to choose, she had a feeling it would mean him leaving over those hills again. His spirit was too wild. Too free.

She wasn’t the adventurer he’d made it seem she could be. She wasn’t much more than an anchor. Tethering him. He’d cut the cord long ago, and she was thankful. She couldn’t bear to simply be what held a man into place. Not when the current was pulling him. Wren clutched her hands in her lap and leaned her shoulder against the cool glass of the window. She’d long since known it was time to try and let him go. She didn’t know how, but she wanted to be brave enough, for his sake.

That was the sensible side of her. The other side of her thrashed against the very thought.

Clearing his throat, Tate turned his attention to the twins when they threw more questions his way.

His voice was mellow as he answered. “Ice begins to melt during shipment, and though we do all we can to prevent that, it does happen, and the ice can slip. One storm and a cargo of shifting ice could bring down the ship. So there was the work for keeping it stabilized. Then of course there was deck-swabbing.” He threw Odin a playful scowl. “Only when pirates weren’t attacking.”

Odin and Ansel grinned in unison, and knowing it was well past their bedtime, Wren said as much. Tate tousled their hair as they rose with complaints. But she could see how tired they were after their day with him. Mr. Parkinson belted a thanks for both the stories and the fine meal and toted himself to the front room, where he closed the door. Already, Mama had quietly slipped off to bed, for she was always the first to wake.

Pulling her legs in, Wren looked over at Tate. He eyed her a moment, then his chest lifted in a slow sigh. He propped the side of his face against his fist and turned back to his book. He read awhile, and not knowing what else to say, Wren remembered his arm.

“Were you careful, today?” she asked. “With what it was you were doing?”

He lifted his head and seemed to take a moment to register her words. “Very careful. Do you think…” He felt his arm just below the cut. “Do you think I could be a little less careful tomorrow?” His eyes held a hint of humor.

“If I say no, will you listen?”

The side of his mouth lifted.

She rose and moved toward him to peek beneath the bandage. Her mother had changed it before supper, so it was clean and fresh, and the wound seemed to be healing nicely. When his eyes lifted to hers again, they were so vulnerable that she spoke to break the spell.

“It sounds like you had quite an adventure.” She swiped at a few crumbs, then rested her hand on the table. When he nodded gently, she added that she was glad he was home safe.

“Me, too.”

Hand resting beside hers, he shifted it and brushed his thumb along her fingertips, his expression focused. The touch tingled into her hand, her arm, and she pulled away. He clasped his fingers and rested his fists on the table. Ducking his head, he seemed to stare down at nothing.

“How long will you be staying here?” The words would barely slip out.

“It won’t be too long,” he said softly.

She swallowed hard against the sting.

“I owe you for a few more days. Would you rather if I paid you or your mother?”

“My mother, please.” When his expression conceded her request, she added, “Where will you go? After Kentucky?”