Joseph peered off into the thick fog, struggling to maintain his composure. He assumed he’d hidden his attraction toward Mercy. But if the captain had noticed, how many others had as well?

“May I give you a piece of advice?” Captain Hellyer asked.

Already he knew what the captain would tell him, that a man of his station might love a woman like Mercy, but that nothing could come of it, that he must eventually let her go.

Joseph attempted a smile. “Will you allow me to refuse?”

“Your father was a good man.”

Immediately Joseph stiffened.

“I asked you to be my ship’s surgeon because I was convinced you were like him.”

The need to escape the captain’s discourse about his father pressed against him like a westerly. He especially had no wish to have his own shortcomings held up against his father’s stellar character.

Joseph slipped his hands into his coat pockets and started to bow, needing to make his escape. His fingers brushed against Sarah’s silver band and halted him.

He’d wanted Mercy to allow herself to weep over Sarah’s death, knowing the open expression of grief would be healthy for her. Why then couldn’t he do the same? When would he stop fleeing from every mention of his family and start facing his loss?

“I was correct,” the captain said. “You are like him in many ways.”

The unexpected statement eased the tightness in Joseph’s chest just a little.

Captain Hellyer peered toward the horizon and spoke quietly. “My older brother fell in love with a woman who was a commoner, a poor domestic who laundered our family’s clothing.”

Joseph shifted to study the captain’s face. As usual, the man’s expression was stoic.

“There were many among his circle who encouraged him to marry a woman of his station and to keep his laundress as his lover, if he must keep her at all.” The captain paused, then added, “Your father was one of only a few who looked beyond the barriers of class to see Mary as the lovely and dignified woman she truly was.”

His father had looked beyond the barriers of class? The revelation shouldn’t have surprised Joseph, but it did nonetheless.

“Against all adversity and criticism, including my own, my brother married her. On the day of their wedding, my father disowned him.”

Joseph could hardly breathe.

“Of course, after the scandal, I married the woman expected of me,” the captain continued. “I so proudly believed I was doing what was right where my brother had sinned. I believed I would succeed where he had failed. And I would be happy while he was miserable.”

“And were you?” Joseph asked.

“My brother learned early on what I would not understand until much later. When God gives us someone or something, we must not spurn the gift. We must cherish it until our dying breath.”