My Dear Sophy (2 page)

And what of her own prospects? What did her father plan for her life? Like Freddy, she wasn't sure her father had ever really considered her future. She was simply Sophy. Reliable Sophy. She was of average height and weight. Her hair was thick and glossy brown and held gentle waves when she ever let it out of the simple roll at the back of her neck. Her face wasn't distinguished by any specific features. They were all simply ordinary. And simply Sophy.

Perhaps it was no wonder that her father never really thought about her. At least he'd never talked to her about any plans. She was twenty-three years old now. Perhaps the time for plans had passed.

Over the last two years, Sophy had watched all of her friends get married and move away from Milverton. Only two months ago, Maria Smith, her oldest and dearest friend, had married Mr. Kenilforth right here in Saint Michael's Church. He was a London man she had met while on a visit to a cousin. Maria had been happy and Sophy certainly did not begrudge her that. But she also knew that Maria had been very lucky. Sophy had no London cousins to introduce her to eligible gentlemen. And those type of gentlemen rarely made their way to Milverton.

The entirety of her social circle consisted of people older and younger than herself. She thought of the boys she had grown up with. They were like brothers to her. And many of them were now married in any case. No one thought of Sophy as marriage material. She could not picture any of them as potential husbands, either.

Except for one. A light blush rose to her cheek as she thought about him. He was a handsome young man, but Sophy was unsure if he was thinking of marriage at all, much less marriage to her.

Mr. Joshua Hollingson was the boys' tutor. He had come to Milverton only five months ago to take over the small curacy of Preston-Bowyer only one mile away from Milverton. They had been much in company together and Sophy had found him to be a wealth of intelligent conversation. She enjoyed their time together...

“
Ow!” Edward cried out, interrupting his sister's thoughts. Freddy had a grin on his face that held a pound's worth of mischief. Sophy let out a sigh.

“
Out, out of the house! Both of you! I don't want to see you again until supper.”

The boys willingly obeyed. She could hear them as they argued all the way down the lane. In the meantime, Sophy would enjoy a precious few minutes of peaceful quiet – and a pleasant meditation on her visit with Mr. Hollingson tomorrow – before her brothers returned and the evening chaos began.

There is nothing so beautiful in all the world as my ship at sail, thought Captain Conrad Croft as he looked out over the deck from his position at the wheel. The crew scurried to and fro before him, pulling in the sails and readying for anchor. It was no more than they had done a thousand times over, and yet Connie could sense the excitement running through every sailor aboard.

There were many reasons for this thrill of excitement. The first being that they were returning to England after three-quarters of a year away. It was hardly the longest service they'd seen away from England, but their latest had been a particularly trying passage and the men had grown increasingly dissatisfied.

The
Pleasant
and her crew had been sent across the ocean to Jamaica earlier in the year. Connie had hoped, along with the rest of his hundred and forty-three men, that they would join the fleet there and earn the opportunity to take enemy ships. Anything they took would be prize money added to the meager pay from their Navy salaries. All the way across the ocean the crew had been in high spirits at the prospects before them.

But when they had arrived in Jamaica, the Admiral had turned them right around and sent them back to England with a trade convoy. It was an important commission that showed the trust they placed in Connie and his crew, but it held no promise of reward. The men had grumbled all the way back home.

But as they approached England, the men grew more excited. The
Pleasant
was scheduled for a week in Watchet harbor, where they were anchoring now. Then in a week's time they would sail around the south of England to reach Portsmouth. The Admiralty had called the ship in for repairs.

Since the captain himself was going ashore this time – and since he knew the rare treat would somewhat assuage the crew's disappointment over the lost prize money – Connie had his first lieutenant and friend Brandon O'Brian draw up a schedule to give the men each twelve hours' shore-leave throughout the week the ship was docked in Watchet harbor. When Connie had announced this plan to the crew yesterday, the mood had changed immediately to one of celebration and anticipation.

It was infectious, though Connie did not need any prompting to be excited. This week was going to be a special treat for him as well as his crew. He was going home. What with one thing and another, fourteen years had passed since Connie had seen his childhood home in Milverton, Somerset. He had been back to England, of course, and his family had come to see him at various ports when they could travel. But time had never allowed him the leisure to travel back to his home.

Now they were anchored in Watchet harbor, only fifteen miles north of Milverton. It would be an easy ride to his home. One he planned to make tomorrow morning at first light. Yesterday Lieutenant O'Brian had reminded Connie that he had been away from Milverton longer than he had ever lived there. Connie had been shocked to realize that, at twenty-seven years old, he had spent half his life at sea and away from his family.

That made his homecoming all the sweeter. Connie smiled to himself as he thought of the look on his mother's face when he turned up at their door. Neither of his parents knew he was coming home. He hoped they would be pleased by his return. Though, knowing his parents, he had nothing to worry about.

Connie's father was Mr. Harding Croft – the long time and much-beloved rector of Milverton. Shortly after taking his orders for the clergy at the age of twenty-three, Mr. Croft had married the pretty Miss Maria Harris of Oxford. They had moved to Milverton a year after their marriage on the promise of a post as curate of nearby Preston-Bowyer.

So the newly-married Crofts had moved into the curate's house in the small hamlet. For three years, the couple lived there quite happily. Maria bore two healthy sons – Robert and Geoffrey – and showed herself a confident and caring wife and mother. Absent a nearby mother of her own, Maria turned to the women in her husband's flock. They petted and counseled the young wife through her confinements with all the wisdom of their long experience. They loved her as their own daughter.

The people dearly loved their curate, too. The little hamlet kept him on his feet with an endless round of births, marriages, and deaths. Each of these he observed with the appropriate weight of custom, never scoffing at the small village's traditional ways of marking each occasion. Indeed, Mr. Croft had entered quite enthusiastically into every new thing.

And the curate loved his people as they loved him. Harding Croft was a man ideally suited for his pastoral duties as curate of Preston-Bowyer. He was a man ready to enter into every sorrow or joy with the people around him. He was the first to laugh and the first to cry. He was not afraid to ask for help and took great joy in helping others. He loved his wife and children dearly and always had time to bounce his sons on his knee or, when they had learned to talk, listen quite intently to their childish jabberings.

He was not, however, a very good disciplinarian. That was Maria's job in the household. As a mother, she had learned to set aside some of her own impulse toward levity and indulgence in favor of a necessary sternness when the boys needed it. They must learn to be well-mannered. But, what was more, their mother hoped to teach them kindness and compassion. By and large, she was successful at this task. Her children grew up with a sense of laughter and justice. And all of them were instilled with the idea of service out of love; they found it no hardship to help the people around them, and to do so with an open heart.

Their compassion also made the children keen observers of those around them. Like their parents, they could quietly recognize a fellow human in need and decide how best to help. Charity was not an easy thing, but they found a way to make it palatable.

The Croft children eventually numbered three. Conrad had followed Robert and Geoffrey by only a few years. By the time Connie had been born, the previous rector of Milverton had retired and Reverend Croft had been promoted to the larger parish. Though Preston-Bowyer was only a mile away, and still under the purview of his new duties, the Reverend had felt the change keenly. A new curate would move in to the hamlet and assume primary pastoral care for his people.

But the sadness of parting did not last long, such was the nature of the Croft family, led by their parents to believe the best of all situations. The move to Milverton was an opportunity for the Reverend to tend an even bigger flock, to love them as he had loved the hamlet. Milverton took to the young family as readily as had Preston-Bowyer. It was hard to resist Reverend Croft's open spirit and loving good-nature. One could frequently hear his booming laugh ringing out over the village like the bells of his church.

Connie had missed the sound of his father's ready laughter. And he had missed the patience of his mother. He smiled to himself, only now appreciating what patience truly meant. Sailors could act a lot like unruly children and it was often difficult as captain to act the patient parent. Connie realized that his mother must have been part saint to have raised three boys.

Connie had been only a lad himself when he'd begged his parents to send him to sea. His young imagination had been captured by the newspaper's tales of naval actions in faraway lands, of victories attained for England, of acclaim won for man and ship. Connie had learned all a twelve year old lad could about the Navy and dreamed up the rest. He had dropped hints of his naval ambitions at every opportunity, relating the tales he had learned, and generally trying to convince his doubting parents that he knew what he wanted to do with his life, even as such a young man.

And eventually he had worn them down. His mother had not been entirely convinced, feeling that her youngest son was still too young to set out in the world by himself. But when her husband had brought her a letter from an old school friend – now a chaplain aboard a naval ship of the line called the
Baron
– who had offered young Connie a berth and the opportunity to begin his training, Maria had shrugged her shoulders and told her son he would have to make the best of it. In private, she had been more worried. But with his usual good temper, the Reverend had convinced her that she need not worry so much about her son. He was a strong-minded lad and if he thought he knew what he wanted, they should let him try it. He could muddle through for a few years at least and leave if he wanted to.

That had been fourteen years ago. And while Connie had missed his family, he'd found a new one on board ship. His easy temper and desire to learn had endeared him to everyone. He'd quickly become an excellent sailor and risen swiftly in the ranks, making first lieutenant at the age of twenty. After some valiant deeds in action last year, he'd finally been given his own command – a frigate called
Pleasant
. Connie smiled to himself as he thought of it. The Navy had certainly had a laugh over that name.

Now the
Pleasant
was docked in the port at Watchet and Connie was on his way back to those parents he loved so well. He could not wait to surprise them.

Connie's reverie was interrupted by a cheer from a group of sailors near the foremast at the front of the ship. By the time he had made his way to the group, they had broken out in a merry song. Some sailors were even doing a jig across the deck.

“
What's the occasion for such merriment?” Connie asked the men, his baritone voice carrying even across the raucous singing.

A young sailor by the name of Fitzhugh answered him without ceasing his jig, “Smithy's finally going to ask his girl to wed him, captain!” Another cheer went up among the men on deck. Connie smiled. Their enthusiasm was catching.

Able Seaman Alex Smith – known as Smithy to differentiate him from the four other Smiths on board – looked at his captain with a smile at the same time a fierce blush rose to his tanned cheeks.

“
Is this true?” Connie asked the sailor, raising one eyebrow with the question.

“
Yes, sir, it is.” The seaman waited for his captain to say something. The others had grown quiet also.

“
Well...” Connie paused to consider his words, letting the men stew in the tension. “Well... congratulations, man! It's about time.” Connie smiled broadly and clapped the man on the back, as a cheer went up and the singing resumed. He wished Smithy much domestic bliss and then walked back to the wheel.

Connie had worked for many things in his twenty-seven years, but aside from one grand (or so he had thought at the time) love affair at the age of twenty-two, he'd never much bothered with women. He had focused solely on his advancement in the Navy. Sometimes he felt a keen pang at the lack of a wife, like now, when he saw his young sailor so happy. Smithy would spend his week dreaming of his girl and, finally, marrying her, while Connie would go to visit his parents. He anticipated the visit with all the love in his heart, but how much better would it be to return home to his parents
and
to a beloved wife? But where in the world would he ever meet a woman he might love? He doubted it would ever happen.