Embracing Redemption, Book Four

By Erin Heitzmann

The war between Napoleon Bonaparte's France and the ruling monarchy in England continues to rage on. When rumors of Spain's intent to join forces with the murderous Napoleon Bonaparte begin to surface, the captain and crew of the Redemption are placed on vigilant alert. Monitoring the activities of the Spanish fleet near the Strait of Gibraltar, their attention is suddenly waylaid by the unexpected death of Paul and Rebecca's infant daughter. Forced to consider the unthinkable, William Jameson surrenders that which is dearest to his heart, while inadvertently setting his most trusted lieutenant, as well as his beloved Rebecca, on a course for certain disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Heitzmann
• Release date: Mar 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301597390

Erin Heitzmann

Erin Heitzmann was raised in Bismarck, North Dakota, and after graduating from high school, spent the next several years in a variety of different places, from as far away as Japan, and as exotic as Hawaii. Erin finally chose Montana as her home, where she met and married her husband Dean. She and Dean live in the beautiful Bitteroot Valley near Missoula, where they have raised five wonderful children, the youngest of which is still at home. Erin served for two years as a Kindergarten teacher at a private, Christian school, and remained on staff at the school as a volunteer until their last child started first grade. Erin then returned to college to pursue a nursing degree, and graduated with honors from Montana State University in 2006. Erin currently serves as the administrator of an assisted living facility in Missoula, and has discovered that working with the elderly population is both her calling and her passion. She writes for the sheer pleasure of it, and hopes that you enjoy reading the Redemption series as much as she has enjoyed writing it.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The familiar, recurring dream jolted Rebecca from an already troubled slumber and without a moment's hesitation, she wrapped herself in a thick, cotton blanket in an attempt to get to the deck before the nausea overtook her. Lieutenant James Edwards waited for her there, his troubled countenance going unnoticed in the waxing light of dawn. He and Phil Sommer were attentive to the young woman's frailty, even though her own husband remained oblivious. Either that, they determined, or it was simple, calloused indifference. Both men refrained from rebuking Paul Burgess however, as they were well aware that he'd been just as overcome by grief as Rebecca with the sudden and unexpected death of their infant daughter, and although the tragic event was already six weeks past, each remained bound up in an all-consuming sorrow that left them foundering in a sea of reproach...Rebecca's turning inward, and Paul Burgess's maliciously directed toward his wife.

Reaching the rail, Rebecca began to retch violently, her face obscured by loose tendrils of curls swaying in the breeze. Needing no words to express his compassion, James Edwards wrapped a reassuring arm about her shoulders to still the unrelenting spasms that shook her already frail frame, and when at last she had finished, she stood in a subdued silence, her head lowered to her chest. Not a day passed by without the distressing nightmare and the ensuing nausea, but still, she found herself grateful for the presence of the two officers who waited for her each morning, alternating days so as to have a moment's respite from the untimely interludes, but their unspoken demonstration of solidarity bore testimony to their deep-seated concern.

I'm sorry, she whispered.

Rebecca, he said, when are you going to stop apologizing for something you have no control over?

Never.

Never is a long time...

Still, it is the price I must pay.

The price you must pay? he scoffed. A harsh curse escaped him as his frustration rose. Why do you continue to blame yourself for what happened?

"Because I am the one who chose to remain onboard the Redemption."

What came to pass had nothing to do with you being onboard the Redemption, he rebuked, his tone sounding more harsh than he intended.

Paul would disagree with you, she replied, a pool of tears welling in her eyes. And I am beginning to think it true as well.

You're wrong, Rebecca, he said, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to meet his gaze. You are not to blame for the death of your daughter any more than Paul is. What happened was an unfortunate event that none could have predicted and none could have prevented.

When you convince my husband of that, she whispered through a tortured sob, then perhaps I might start to believe it too. She pulled free of his grip and retreated toward the cloaking darkness of the stairwell, leaving him staring at her through a perplexed despair, deep lines of concern etched onto his forehead. She turned back just before disappearing from sight. Thank you, she said, for everything. Your kindness overwhelms me at times, James. Please...pray for Paul and me. The uncertainty of our future weighs heavily upon my heart.

A solemn nod was the only indication that he heard her desperate plea for help, but the emotions that coursed through him prevented him from giving utterance to mere words. He couldn't help but resent Paul Burgess for the man's continued blame and censure he cast upon his wife, and had Captain Jameson not intervened on more than one occasion, the matter would have resulted in a brutal fist fight. All were aware that Rebecca was drowning in her grief, while her husband stood idly by, waiting to drive the nails into her coffin when she at last succumbed to it. A dark scowl of aggravation contorted his features, and he turned back to the unyielding wooden rail, pushing thoughts of Paul Burgess from his mind less his anger provoke yet another heated argument with the calloused lieutenant.

.

Paul Burgess peered through the shadows toward the portal when Rebecca returned to their berth, fully aware that she wouldn't take notice of his somnolent gaze due to the lingering darkness that pervaded the room. He woke well before dawn each morning when she pulled herself from beneath the warmth of the covers, but he remained uncertain as to why, as well as to where, she might be going at such an early hour. He lay quiet and unmoving, waiting until she had once again buried herself within the thick, cotton folds before rolling over onto his side, desperate for slumber to release him for a time from the festering umbrage that gnawed at him during his every waking moment. He knew Rebecca wasn't entirely to blame for the premature death of their firstborn child, but still, he was certain that had she not been so insistent on keeping the infant aboard the Redemption, their daughter would be alive and well. Captain Jameson refuted this notion, as did everyone else who was sympathetic toward the young woman, which only further served to fuel his bitterness and resentment, and drive a wedge of apathy between himself and his fellow officers. Nevertheless, he'd made the decision precisely four weeks past to put in for a transfer just as soon as he was able, knowing that if time would not heal his pain, distance would. None were aware of his intentions, nor would they be until he took his leave from the Redemption, for he was certain Captain Jameson would deny him his request.

* * *

You rang, sir? George Robbins asked, stepping into Captain Jameson's stateroom.

Yes, the senior officer replied. Have the officer on watch prepare a dinghy to take me ashore.

Would you like a team of men to accompany you, sir?

No. I will travel alone.

As you wish, sir, he said, delivering a polite nod as he took his leave.

The Redemption was moored near Gibraltar, just off the coast of Spain, having been summoned there to monitor the activities of the Spanish fleet. It was rumored that they intended to join forces with Napoleon Bonaparte in his quest to conquer all of Europe, but it was apparent that England had other plans, having long ago grown weary of the pandemonium of war. No, if Spain were to act with such ignorance as to ally themselves with the murderous Frenchman, no doubt their efforts would be hampered by the presence of Britain's finest lingering just offshore.

Mr. Robbins, Captain Jameson called.

The steward reappeared within seconds. Sir?

If Mrs. Burgess is about, tell her to report to my cabin.

Aye-aye, sir.

.

Rebecca lingered beside Eddy in the galley, having found a strange solace in the tedium of the day-to-day duties required in keeping the crew fed. Few words passed between the two of them as they sliced through thick slabs of mutton, but each was secure in the comfortable silence. The cook was grateful for the young woman's presence, although he missed her bright demeanor and cheerful banter. Peering down at her, he wondered if he would ever again see a smile drift across her face, for the anguish of losing her first and only child had cast a dark pall of despondency over her.

Excuse me, the steward murmured, glancing first at Eddy Mayes, and then at Rebecca as he stepped into the galley. The captain requests your presence in his cabin, Mrs. Burgess, he announced, offering the young woman a tender smile.

A brief nod signaled her acquiescence. I'll be back, she said to no one in particular, brushing her hands against the apron she wore before slipping it over her head.

The two men stood in a subdued disquiet, watching Rebecca until she'd faded into the piercing rays of the morning sun. Their gazes met in a concerned demonstration of empathy, but their unspoken dialogue went unnoticed by the girl. A heavy sigh welled up as George Robbins took his leave to tend to the matter he'd been assigned by Captain Jameson, while Eddy Mayes returned to the task at hand.

.

Captain? Rebecca murmured, delivering a tentative knock on the door.

Captain Jameson stepped across the brief expanse of room to open the portal. Rebecca, he said, beckoning her into a welcoming embrace. He couldn't help but notice how she leaned into him, almost as if she were trying to disappear into the starched lapels of his uniform. He was stunned by how frail she felt within his grasp, so very different from before. Holding her back at arm's length he asked, Have you been eating?

Yes, she said.

How often? he continued.

She shrugged her shoulders. I don't know...when I'm hungry, I eat.

He led her to the settee and urged her to sit before ringing for his steward. As was customary, George Robbins appeared within minutes, having already secured a dinghy to take Captain Jameson ashore.

Sir? he queried, his polite smile lingering on Rebecca.

Prepare a pot of tea, if you would, and biscuits with cream.

Yes, sir, he replied. And, Captain?

What is it?

The midshipman is ready to depart when you are, sir. He retreated into the dim light of the corridor to see to the captain's most recent request.

Captain Jameson studied Rebecca for a time. I'm going ashore this afternoon, he began, to Gibraltar. I am hoping to secure transport for you back to England.

If she was surprised by his comment, she did not show it. England, she murmured, more as a statement of fact than anything else.

Rebecca, he urged. I want you to return home for a time. You are not well. I know your recent loss has overwhelmed you with grief, and I fear that if I do not intervene, you will succumb to it.

My recent loss? she repeated, standing to her feet. She began to pace about the room, her gaze distant and soft. My recent loss I have accepted, she avowed. I know where my daughter is, and I believe with all that is within me that I will see her again one day. Turning back to fix her eyes on his, she continued. "I have long ago set my eyes upon that which is unseen, Captain Jameson...that which I do not know. I try not to question why the Lord chose to take her, because even in this, I must trust He is in control. I have to believe that, or my life...my faith, means nothing. What I don't understand is why Paul has turned against me, but even more than that, I fear he will turn against the Lord."

William Jameson's heart welled with compassion for the young woman making a valiant effort to remain steadfast in the face of this great adversity. Paul has most likely never suffered a tragedy as significant as this, Rebecca, and grief, for a young man such as himself, is sometimes more difficult to contend with.

Does he know you intend to send me back to Portsmouth?

No, and I would rather we not inform him of that until you are ready to take your leave. I am uncertain as to how he will respond, and I am reluctant to see any further distress assail you.

A quiet nod arose. As you wish, sir, she murmured. I will say nothing.

The two were distracted from their deliberations when George Robbins reappeared, a tray heavy laden with a plate of biscuits and a steaming pot of tea balanced with the utmost precision in his hands.

Mr. Robbins, Captain Jameson queried, have you taken your lunch yet?

No, sir, he replied.

The senior commanding officer gestured him to a seat. Then sit. I'm certain Mrs. Burgess will appreciate your company. Glancing at Rebecca, he said, You will eat, do you understand?

She nodded as she took her place next to the captain's steward.

I will return to the Redemption before the dinner hour, Lord willing, and we can discuss things further then. His piercing gaze rested on hers for a time. Do you know how dear you are to us, Rebecca?

Again, she nodded.

And do you understand why I must do this?

Yes, she whispered.

Mr. Robbins, he said, his tone firm, look after her.

I will, sir, he replied.

Chapter 2

You're sending her where? Paul Burgess demanded, his eyes fixed with disbelief on Captain Jameson.

"She is returning to Portsmouth, Mr. Burgess. I have secured transport for her on the Arethusa, a first class warship under the command of Captain Harold MacBride. He is a trusted acquaintance of mine, and has agreed to take her there."

"She brought this to pass, didn't she?" he muttered through a dark scowl of admonition, his ire roused.

No. It was my doing.

She is my wife, sir, he argued. I would hope to have a say in matters pertaining to her...

In matters pertaining to her? he shouted. "Have you any idea when she took her last meal? Do you know where she disappears to each morning while you idle in slumber within your berth? Your wife is wasting away...drowning in a sea of self-reproach, yet you remain oblivious to her suffering, and even worse, you blame her for what happened! He began to pace about the room in long, angry strides. She mourns the loss of the child just as much as you, Mr. Burgess, if not more so, yet you continue to cast blame upon her for something she had no control over, while you withhold all manner of empathy and compassion!"

I encouraged her to remain in England when we discovered she was with child, Captain.

And you think things would have turned out differently if she hadn't been here, aboard the Redemption...

I know it to be true.

You know it to be true, he scoffed, a grimace of scorn darkening his countenance. Your beliefs are unfounded, Mr. Burgess, and your self-righteous pity is trying my patience.

You'd feel differently if it were your child, sir, he grumbled.

Captain Jameson fixed a steely gaze upon the haughty lieutenant. I'll let that pass, Paul, because I believe your anger has clouded your sound judgment, but let me forewarn you...you are walking a fine line of insubordination.

The young officer held his tongue, his eyes lingering on some obscure fleck of dust on the wall.

Captain Jameson continued to pace around him, his mounting frustration evident in the grim set of his features. Tell me, do you fault Rebecca for wanting to remain here with you? For wanting your child to know you as her father? Six months at sea with less than two days leave would hardly allow for that...

Still, I would have a wife and child to return home to, sir.

They would be strangers...mere acquaintances related to you by name only. Don't be foolish, man! She was willing to risk losing everything to remain here with you...even her own life!

And it would appear that she has, sir.

Not if I can help it, the senior officer growled. You are dismissed, Mr. Burgess. Rebecca is packing her dunnage as we speak. If you make this any more difficult for her than it already is, you will regret it, do I make myself clear?

Perfectly, sir, he said.

.

Rebecca knelt on the floor to pull the trunk from beneath the bed she shared with her husband, the various items she had gathered together much too few in number to fill so large a space. With a sigh of resignation, she slid the wooden chest back into its customary resting spot. Leaning back against the wall, she tugged the intricately carved box Paul had given her from beneath a neat stack of clothing, their wedding date inscribed into the wood with a careful hand and tucked within an elaborate heart. It was the one thing she most wanted to take with her, but yet the one thing she knew she must leave behind, for its very presence here, aboard the Redemption, gave indication to her determination to return, in spite of the heartache she had known here. The lifting of the latch startled Rebecca from her musing, and she glanced toward the portal, her breath catching in her throat. She knew Captain Jameson had summoned Paul to his quarters so as to inform him of her departure on the morrow, but having yet not seen her husband for the greater part of the day, she was uncertain as to his current frame of mind.

Paul Burgess stepped into the room, his expression of aloof indifference belying the resentment that welled within. He was infuriated by the plans that had been set in motion without his knowledge or consent, and although Captain Jameson avowed it had been his intention all along, he couldn't help but wonder if Rebecca hadn't played a part in the clandestine scheme. He couldn't blame her for wanting to take her leave, he knew, as he'd offered little in the way of support and compassion since their daughter's unexpected death. Still, he continued to believe that if the child had been in England, she most likely would still be alive. Tugging his arms from his jacket, he flung it across the bed before pulling a chair across the short expanse of floor to where Rebecca rested, the wary apprehension evident in her eyes. Tell me, Rebecca, he began, his tone low, when were you going to tell me?

Tell you what, Paul? she murmured. That I intend to return to Portsmouth? If we'd been speaking before now, it most likely would never have come to this.

So you're blaming me?

I've never blamed you... she whispered through a tortured sigh.

You lie! he shouted, flinging an accusatory finger toward her.

"How could I blame you any more than I could blame myself?" she asked, a veil of sorrow falling over her.

His eyes grew cold as he delivered a sharp retort. You assured me no harm would come to the child aboard this frigate.

I assured you that nothing that was beyond the will of the Lord would come to pass.

"Then it's His fault, is that what you're saying?" he snapped.

It is by no one's fault that Leah died...God simply chose to take her home.

Why? he hissed, leaning forward on his knees as if daring her to give reason to the unfathomable mindset of the Lord.

I don't know, she replied. It is not my place to question His ways, but simply to trust in His preeminence.

His preeminence, he scoffed. What kind of God would steal the life from an innocent child?

A heavy despair washed over her at hearing the words uttered with such malicious efficiency. Don't do this, Paul, she urged. You can walk away from me, from our marriage, but don't walk away from God. This is not the only heartache you will know in your lifetime.

"What does that have to do with anything?'

It's so easy to put our faith in God when things are good and well, but He demands that we be found faithful even more so in the face of adversity. It is then we must walk with our eyes shut tight...led only by Him.

You may choose to walk blindly through the course of your existence, Rebecca, he muttered, pushing himself to his feet, but from this day forward, I will take the path of my own choosing. I will no longer dwell in the ignorance of where your faith has led me. He took a quick turn on his heel and disappeared into the corridor, desperate to escape the emotionally charged tension that pervaded the small room.

Paul Burgess, the very one Rebecca had forever loved without condition, had dealt a cruel and efficient blow to her already wounded spirit, but in spite of her welling despair, she crawled to her knees and began to utter desperate words of intercession for the man. Her prayers continued long into the night, until at last, crawling beneath the weight of the covers, she slipped into a restless slumber, her limbs shivering from the unrelenting chill of the floorboards. As was customary, she rose before dawn's first light, the horrific nightmare pulling her to wakefulness and driving her into the hard, brittle rain pelting the deck. She saw Lieutenant Phil Sommer waiting for her at the rail, and casting all thoughts aside for the time being, she lowered her head and began to retch violently.

* * *

Captain Jameson stood with James Edwards and Phil Sommer, their bodies forming a natural arc of protection around Rebecca as she bid her farewells to the men of the Redemption. One by one, those who had come to adore her, as well as those whose lives had been spared only by her unwavering determination, approached her to offer their heartfelt words of gratitude and encouragement. Paul Burgess waited just beyond the perimeter of the crowd, studying the features of his wife through a cautious gaze. How he longed to pull her into a tight embrace, to beg her not to leave him, but certain the young woman would despise him after his malicious accusations flung with such vicious intent the evening before, he remained in a stoic silence, his conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he waited until the others had said their good-byes.

When the lingering remnants of the crew began to disperse, Rebecca turned to the two lieutenants who had been her greatest allies, and had unexpectedly become her dearest friends. Remember this, she said, her emerald eyes fixed on them. "Count it all good. And when thoughts of me come to mind, offer up a prayer for Paul."

They each embraced her with fervent conviction, holding onto her as if they could somehow keep her among the assembly who served aboard the massive frigate.

Gentlemen, Captain Jameson urged, the time has come to take our leave. Glancing down at Rebecca, he said, Would you like to speak with Paul one last time? We can give you a moment of privacy...

Privacy won't be necessary, Captain, she murmured, but if I may take just one moment...

He gave a quick nod of his head. By all means.

Rebecca slipped over to where her husband waited, her uncertainty mounting at the sight of the aloof indifference which shadowed his features. Good-bye, Paul, she whispered, taking hold of his hand. I hope you'll always remember that I count you among my greatest blessings. I will continue to keep you close to my heart, in spite of the distance that separates us.

At a loss for words, he averted his gaze. The pain that accompanied their imminent separation was unbearable, yet he would not relinquish the bitterness that had laid claim over his soul. Don't go traipsing off to France now, Rebecca... he teased, but his words sounded hollow and insincere. Unable to linger in her suffocating presence any longer, he wrapped her in a quick embrace and retreated toward the sanctuary of their berth, in no mood to prolong the distressing moment any longer than necessary.

Rebecca watched him until he was out of sight before returning to Captain Jameson's side. I'm ready, sir, she murmured, her eyes reflecting the anguish that now threatened to consume her.

He assisted her into the awaiting dinghy, and lowering himself to sit beside her, he gave the order for the midshipman to row them across the Strait of Gibraltar to the Arethusa, alight in regal splendor and listing in a languid fashion on the waves as she waited for her newest passenger to arrive.

Chapter 3

The seas had been relatively calm since the Arethusa set sail for England nearly four days past. Rebecca welcomed the veil of anonymity that came with being among hundreds of men who shared no history with her, nor the tragic details of her past, and she found Captain Harold MacBride to be every bit as kindhearted and genteel as Captain Jameson professed him to be. She was grateful for the man's prudence in refraining from asking her too many questions, nor did she volunteer any unnecessary information. Instead, she was allowed to remain within the safe refuge of the berth which had been provided for her, taking her meals with the senior officer when she chose to do so, and lingering in a reclusive state of melancholy when the travails of the past several weeks happened to wash over her with unexpected force. Absent were the expressions of pity that had seemingly taken up residence overnight on the faces of the Redemption's crew after her daughter's death, and on occasion, when she chose to remain hidden away for hours on end to wallow through her pervading anguish, no suspicions were roused among the men of the Arethusa.

During these times, when her own self-doubts assailed her, she took comfort in the timeless truths written in the bible Captain Jameson had given her, and while the sacred words buried within the pages offered a healing balm to her battered and wounded spirit, the horrific dream that haunted her continued with unrelenting force, compelling her each morning to the deck. On the Arethusa however, there were none who waited for her there. She found she desperately missed her friends...those whom she had come to love, and her husband in particular, in spite of the fact that he despised her for their shared heartache. Still, she remained diligent in her efforts to offer up intercession for him without ceasing, knowing that no prayers were ever uttered in vain. A piercing shard of sunlight blinded her for a moment, drawing her from her pensive deliberation, and with a quiet sigh she rose from the chair she'd been resting in to slip up to the deck, intent on taking advantage of the unexpected break in clouds, no matter how fleeting it might be.

Captain MacBride caught sight of his elusive passenger the moment she appeared from the shadows of the stairwell. He was still unaccustomed to the woman's presence onboard his frigate, and his inquisitive gaze lingered on her as she negotiated a cautious path through the throngs of men to take up her customary place at the railing. She was a solemn lady of few words he'd noted at the start of their departure from Gibraltar, but her zealous determination for refraining from idle chitchat was a tremendous relief to him, for the last thing he'd wanted was to entertain a frivolous, young woman for the duration of their voyage to Portsmouth. William Jameson had offered little in the way of explanation when he'd requested the favor of his transport, but regardless as to his lack of foresight, it was obvious to all who served aboard Arethusa that the mysterious Rebecca Burgess was under a great deal of emotional duress. An occasional glance from the midshipmen coiling lanyards on deck swept over the girl, but she took no notice. Instead, she stared out over the waves, her distant gaze imperceptible to even the most perceptive of minds.

Excuse me, sir, the officer on watch offered.

Yes, what is it? he replied, his attention momentarily distracted as he studied the terse features of his lieutenant.

There is a ship approaching from the northwest, sir. I am unable to identify it as of yet, but I thought you might want to know.

Very well. Keep a close eye on her. We don't want to be caught unaware this far from home...

Aye-aye, sir.

Delivering a sharp salute, the young officer retreated to his position on watch, while his commander returned his attention the woman at the rail. In no mood to endure an episode of frantic hysteria that would most likely occur if the Arethusa were to come under attack, Captain MacBride approached his reticent passenger. Mrs. Burgess, he began. I trust all is well?

Yes, thank you, she murmured.

Are you finding your quarters comfortable?

A timid smile drifted across her face. More than comfortable, sir.

Then I must ask that you return there. I have been alerted to an unidentified ship sailing toward us, and it may very well fire upon us if it is not one of our own.

Rebecca, having experienced more hostile action at sea than the man would have expected, simply nodded, unwilling to see the kindly officer regret his decision to allow her passage to England. She disappeared into the stairwell just as quietly as she had appeared, leaving Captain MacBride staring after her in a bewildered unease, for at the very least, he had expected some manner of opposition.

* * *

William Jameson paced about the small confines of his cabin, the agitation clearly evident in the grim set of his features. His recent venture into Gibraltar to secure transport for Rebecca Burgess had disclosed a startling revelation, but not wanting to broach the subject until after she'd taken her leave, he had delayed the terse confrontation he expected would occur until his ire had settled some. Ringing for his steward, George Robbins, he waited for the man to appear.

"Sir, you rang?

Yes, Captain Jameson muttered. Find Lieutenant Burgess. Have him report to my quarters immediately.

Aye-aye, sir.

Within a matter of minutes, a hesitant knock sounded on the senior officer's portal. Come! he called.

Paul Burgess stepped into the room, a mask of confusion darkening his countenance. Captain, you wish to see me?

Fixing a piercing gaze on the young lieutenant, he said, Tell me, Mr. Burgess...how long did you intend to wait before informing me that you've submitted a request for transfer?

I didn't realize it was necessary to inform you of my plans, sir, he replied.

Aboard this ship it is your duty to inform me of everything that affects the status of this crew, he snapped, his eyes livid.

I apologize, Captain. I had every intention of telling you when the transfer was approved.

When the transfer was approved? he bellowed. "Do you not realize that I am the one who approves all transfer requests?"

A crestfallen resignation washed over the contrite lieutenant. No, sir...I didn't realize that. Still, my request to be relieved of duties aboard the Redemption still stands.

Well your request is denied, Mr. Burgess.

His mouth gaping open in disbelief, he said, Sir, I hardly think it fair for you to deny me a transfer...I do not wish to remain here.

Fair has nothing to do with it, the senior officer rebuked.

The only reason you wish to detain me aboard the Redemption is to see Rebecca's return, he challenged, his tone laced with bitter umbrage.

And the only reason you wish to depart is to escape her! Captain Jameson shouted.

"She is the one who chose to leave, sir, so the notion of fleeing her presence is not of my own doing."

I am going to say this one more time, Mr. Burgess. It was I who insisted she return to England. If I hadn't, she would have wasted away to nothing, can you not understand that?

Nevertheless, my transfer request still stands.

And it has still been denied, Captain Jameson snapped. I will see that you remain aboard this vessel until you've dealt with the trials that have assailed you, Mr. Burgess. You cannot escape them by running away, and if I am to be the one to prove that reality to you, then so be it!

An ensuing silence fell over the room. Lieutenant Burgess averted his gaze lest his mounting anger result in a flogging, while Captain Jameson continued to pace around him in long, agitated strides. After several moments he finally spoke, his tone low.

"Paul, listen to me. What you are going through is no different than the storms we've encountered at sea. You're overwhelmed by the force of your emotions, your sorrow, your uncertainty...that is to be expected, but you must steer into them head-on or you will founder. And what will you have gained? Nothing. You've already lost a child...don't lose Rebecca as well."

Rebecca made her intentions known when she took her leave, sir.

And what intentions might those have been? he snapped.

To be free of this vessel, and of me...

As I've told you before, Mr. Burgess, he growled, it was I who insisted she return home for a time.

Well it's apparent that she was just as eager to take her leave as I am.

For entirely different reasons!

Nevertheless, my request still stands.

A cold indifference washed over him. Your request will be noted in the ship's log, Mr. Burgess.

Very well, sir. If I may be excused?

A brusque nod was the only answer Paul Burgess received, but it was all he needed. He had long ago grown weary of the crew's unrelenting harassment in matters pertaining to Rebecca, for he was well aware that she had gained the sympathy of every man aboard the Redemption after the tragic death of his infant daughter. Slipping wordlessly from the room, he proceeded directly to the berth he'd shared with his wife, in no mood to partake in forced pleasantries with a haphazard officer who might be lingering nearby.

* * *

Ship to larboard! the officer on watch screamed.

The Arethusa's second in command, Lieutenant Pete Wellington, shouted out orders to the crew who scrambled to mount a counter attack on the Spanish vessel preparing to fire on them. Captain MacBride stood in a stoic silence near the officer on the quarterdeck, observing his men as they rallied together to defend the massive ship of war against the brutal onslaught of mortar shells. Within seconds a thunderous explosion tore through the air, sending the Arethusa reeling precariously to her larboard side.

Rebecca braced herself for the impact before slipping to her knees, the force of the blast stealing the breath from her lungs. Bowing her head in steadfast determination, she began to utter petitions for the lives of the crew who were forced to remain in the path of certain destruction. The agonized cries of the wounded, already littering the deck and sending rivulets of blood snaking over the wooden planks, was carried across the squalid air to her ears, and she cringed in dismay at not being able to attend to them. Certain she could be of more use in the sick berth, she pushed herself from the floor to go in search of the ship's doctor. It didn't take long for her to locate the spacious berth set in place for the ailing and wounded of the Arethusa, for the howls and groans of agony coming from within created a loud cacophony of sound which reverberated throughout the corridor. Darting inside, she caught sight of the surgeon, appearing much too young for the task required of him. His apron was saturated with copious amounts of bright, red blood as he struggled to subdue a midshipman who'd lost a leg, while torn and battered men lay strewn about the room. Slipping over to where he grappled with the panicked deck hand, she took hold of the man's arms in an attempt to calm him.

Shhh... she murmured, her face lowered to his. It's alright...you're going to be alright, but you must lie still.

The midshipman stared at her in disbelief, his tortured wails silenced for a time. Her placid countenance seemed to have a soothing effect on him, and she continued in her efforts to keep him from thrashing about.

The opiate tonic...can you get it for me? the ship's doctor asked, his eyes lighting on hers.

Where is it?

Third cabinet to the left of the basin...a large, brown bottle with no label on it...

Rebecca hurried to the cabinet to retrieve the medication, and she dispensed a measured capful into the mouth of the wounded midshipman. It's tranquilizing effect was almost instantaneous, allowing her to move on to one of the other gravely injured men, while the surgeon bound what remained of his patient's leg with coarse strips of muslin.

.

Captain MacBride monitored the battle through the smoke filled haze, and when at last the Spanish fleet relented in their assault, he ordered his men to cease fire. The battle weary faces of the crew bore testimony to the ruthless atrocities of war, as dead and dying men breathed their final, earthly breaths. Those who still lived were drug below to the already congested sick berth, where Rebecca worked alongside the ship's doctor to tend to those whose lives still hung in peril.

When at last a minute semblance of order was restored on deck, the Arethusa's commanding officer assessed the damage wrought to his vessel during the skirmish. He saw that the top sail was rendered to shreds, the various bits and pieces of cloth still clinging fast to the splintered mast and rippling in an undaunted fashion in the breeze. Glancing at the dazed crewmen lingering below, he shouted out, You men! Get this mess cleaned up! He stormed from the quarterdeck, desperate to retreat to the solitude of his berth to nurse his grudge against the treacherous allies of Napoleon Bonaparte. A silent curse escaped him when he remembered he carried a passenger, and so instead of fulfilling his wanton desire for seclusion, he proceeded to the cabin Rebecca Burgess had been assigned to. Delivering a tentative knock, he waited for her call to enter, but hearing nothing, he pushed through the door, certain some horrible fate had befallen her. Much to his dismay, he found the room empty. The notion that she would willingly leave the safety of her berth had never crossed his mind, for few