Mrs. Mercer returned home from the cemetery a broken and desperate woman. She couldn’t manage the tavern on her own, not long term. It was a rough crowd that patronized the Rusty Anchor, and she wasn’t safe among men who’d respected her husband but had not a whit of restraint when it came to his wife and daughters. Teddy, being only twelve at the time, was too young to take up the reins of the business or keep his mother and sisters safe from the drunken sailors who’d caused the death of his father, so Mrs. Mercer sold the tavern, asking for a fraction of its worth for lack of having a man of business to guide her. She did, however, negotiate that she and her children would remain in the rooms above the tavern for the duration of her lifetime and work the evening shift at the tavern to make ends meet. The new owner, very pleased with himself for swooping in quickly and securing such a bargain, readily agreed to her terms, glad to have someone who already knew the business and was willing to work for less than he’d have to pay a man.
It was then that Teddy had gone to sea to help his mother support the family. He started out as a cabin boy, then became a sailor, and by the age of nineteen gained the rank of petty officer. He dreamed of being elevated to the rank of midshipman, but given his lowly background, that wasn’t likely to happen; rank was reserved for the sons of the wealthy and influential. Teddy was happy, though. He liked being out on the open sea a lot better than being stuck behind the bar in a dingy tavern, surrounded by the dregs of society, who were more likely to piss themselves where they sat than settle their bill. He spent months away from home, but when he returned, it was as if no time had passed and Sophie’s life was suddenly transformed overnight, her spirits buoyed by Teddy’s good humor and endless affection.
Mr. Brewster hadn’t strenuously objected to Sophie’s friendship with Teddy when she was younger, but once she turned sixteen, his tolerance had seemed to vanish practically overnight.
“I don’t want you spending time with Ted Mercer,” her father had said, his gaze leveled on her over the gently smoking bowl of his pipe.
“Whyever not, Father?” Sophie had asked, taken utterly by surprise by her father’s stern pronouncement.
“Because your association with that boy strains the bounds of propriety, Sophie,” Mr. Brewster replied.
“In what way? You’ve never said aught before,” Sophie argued.
“Sophie, after your mother died, you were in need of companionship, so I didn’t object when Mrs. Mercer took you under her wing and encouraged your friendship with her children, but you’re no longer a child, and neither is he. Ted Mercer is a grown man, and you spending time with him can be misconstrued.”
“Are you saying he’ll ruin my marriage prospects?” Sophie asked, gaping at her father, her embroidery forgotten in her lap.
Mr. Brewster nodded, clearly relieved he didn’t need to explain his decree. “I’m glad you understand, Sophie. Let’s not speak of it again. You may, of course, still call on the Mercer girls when Ted is away at sea.”
Sophie had chosen not to argue with her father, returning to her needlework as if they’d been speaking of the weather or the running of the household, but she had no intention of obeying. It didn’t matter if Teddy scared off potential suitors; he was the only suitor she was interested in. She knew her father wanted what was best for her and had his own notion of the type of man who’d make her a good husband, preferably someone from an old Boston family who was already a partner in a thriving concern. The son of a dockside tavern-keeper who spent his days surrounded by rough seafaring men was not what her father had in mind, especially when the man in question had a mother and several siblings to support for years to come. Had Teddy been an officer in the Royal Navy, an institution her father had great admiration for, he might have been more flexible on the subject, but as Teddy served on a merchant ship, he saw him as nothing more than a glorified sailor.
It was then that their clandestine meetings had begun. Sophie had no hope of meeting Teddy in the evenings, since her father came upstairs as soon as he closed the shop for the night and adjourned to the parlor directly after supper, where he remained until bedtime, so they snatched a few hours together while Sophie went out during the day under the pretense of going to the shops or taking a walk. She was meant to take Agnes with her, but Agnes, who was bone-tired most days, was only too happy to have an hour or two to rest and made no mention to her master that Sophie had ventured out on her own. Sophie never told Agnes she was meeting Teddy, so that Agnes would never have to tell an outward lie if her employer asked where Sophie had gone, and Agnes never asked. She didn’t need to. She knew how Sophie felt and saw no reason to be yet another obstacle in her path. Besides, Sophie was beginning to suspect Agnes had a suitor of her own and had hopes of leaving Mr. Brewster’s employ at some point.
Sophie’s heart leapt with joy when she finally saw Teddy coming down the street. He had his leather kitbag slung over one shoulder and his long strides were those of a man eager to get home, but he slowed his step as he approached the printshop, glancing up at the window where he knew Sophie would be waiting, concealed behind a lace curtain, and tipped his hat. Sophie couldn’t see his expression beneath the brim of his tricorn, but she saw his smile, meant only for her, and lifted her hand in greeting. She knew Teddy couldn’t see her clearly, but as long as he could see her outline, he’d know she’d been waiting for him and they’d see each other soon. Teddy turned away and continued walking, mindful of the fact that Mr. Brewster might be in the front helping a customer and would see him loitering outside. Once Teddy disappeared into his own house, Sophie left her post by the window and went to the kitchen to check on supper.
“Will you be going to the shops tomorrow, Miss Brewster?” Agnes asked, smiling coyly.
“I think I might. It promises to be a fine day,” Sophie replied, grinning at Agnes conspiratorially.
“Yes, I think you might be right. Abundant sunshine,” Agnes confirmed as she removed a pot of boiled potatoes from the fire and went about mashing them with unbridled enthusiasm.
Sophie took down several plates from the dresser and went about setting the table for supper. Her father would be up shortly, hungry and tired after a long day in the shop. Sophie was glad Agnes supped with them, providing a much-needed buffer between father and daughter, especially on a day when Sophie could barely hide her glee. She rearranged her features into a mask of dignified composure as soon as she heard her father’s heavy tread on the stairs. He nodded to her when he came in and went to wash his hands before taking his place at the table.
“Did you have a good day, Father?” Sophie asked as Agnes brought out the soup tureen and set it on the table.
Mr. Brewster gave Sophie a tired smile. “I did indeed.”
“Oh?” Sophie set down her soup spoon, eager to hear the good news.
“I received a large order today,” he replied, his gaze meeting Sophie’s across the table. “A young gentleman who fancies himself a poet ordered three hundred volumes of his collected works,” Mr. Brewster said, grinning. “He is prepared to pay nearly double the going rate if I finish the order within a fortnight.”
“How will you manage?” Sophie asked. Her father needed an assistant, but he refused to engage one and declined her offer of help, seeing to both the printing and the running of the shop on his own.