The Captain of Her Heart by Anita Stansfield
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Ritcherd rose early for the first time in several days to begin searching again for Kyrah. He felt hope as he scanned the faces of people on the streets. This was not such a big place, and if he had seen her once, he would see her again. That evening he returned to the ship and poured his heart out to Garret, who listened but said little. Still, his encouragement meant more to Ritcherd than he could ever say. He rose early again the next day and continued his search. By the third morning he felt doubts beginning to settle in again, but Garret slapped him on the shoulder and smiled, saying, “I have a feeling you’re close, my friend. I’ll say it again: we will not set sail for England without Kyrah.”
Ritcherd appreciated Garret’s determination as he walked the same streets again and again. But he couldn’t see how such a promise was feasible under the circumstances. They were planning to sail by the end of the week.
That afternoon he returned to the pier, where he saw a woman looking out to sea, wearing a long cloak. Her dark, curly hair was blowing in the wind. His heart went mad as he ran toward her and took hold of her arm. “Kyrah,” he murmured.
The woman turned, startled. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling sick as he let go of her arm. “I’m truly sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Really now.” The woman lifted her brows mischievously, and Ritcherd had no trouble guessing her profession. Her heavily rouged cheeks and the cut of her dress made it evident. “Well, if ye can’t find ’er,” she said coyly, “I might could keep ye company.”
“No thanks,” Ritcherd said bitterly and moved away.
He hurried back to the Phoenix and stood at the stern, gazing out to sea. It took some time and effort, but he finally convinced himself that he hadn’t really seen Kyrah. He’d just wanted to for so long that he believed he had seen her. Kyrah Payne was married to another man. She had left this port a long time ago. And not even the best of luck could bring her back now.
He was oblivious to the dark clouds rolling in until Garret said close beside him, “Looks like we’re in for a storm.”
Ritcherd just grunted to indicate he’d heard.
“What’s on your mind?” Garret asked.
“I can’t do it anymore,” he said. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
Garret said nothing. He just listened.
“I want you to know,” Ritcherd said, “how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Your encouragement means more than I could ever tell you. But I’m not going to hold up the ship for this any longer. You told me once that the number one law on this ship was that nothing was worth any of these men’s lives—not even a woman.”
“That’s true,” Garret said, wondering if Ritcherd would be so appreciative if he knew the information that he was purposely withholding. “However, I made you a promise, and I always keep my promises. If we actually end up sailing without her, we’ll come back. And we’ll find her.”
Ritcherd sighed and resisted the urge to break down and cry. “Perhaps she’s already returned to England. Eventually she’ll go back to her mother, or at least send for her. If I can’t find her that way, well . . . I can start advertising in newspapers, and . . . like you said, I just have to know what happened. But I can’t go on like this. I can’t.”
“You don’t have to,” Garret said, putting a hand on Ritcherd’s shoulder. Then he walked away. Ritcherd continued staring at the sea. He felt sick inside. Sick and angry and scared. Staring into the water, he recalled hearing once that drowning could be quite painless once you stopped struggling. Was that the answer? To stop fighting? Could he just accept that she was gone and forget about her? Could he find any measure of happiness without her?