Free How Dark the Night by William C. Hammond

Once clear of the lighthouse on Little Brewster Island, Captain Bennett ordered the clipper’s foresail, fore staysail and flying jib set. With the extra press of canvas and a fifteen-knot offshore breeze kicking in, Dove leapt forward like a living being, her sails taut and thrumming at the leech. Foam creamed out from her stem as she drove through a light chop of cresting waves. Long past Provincetown she hauled her wind and headed southward on a close haul. Off the coast of Cape Cod and Nantucket—and the dangerous shoals lurking beneath those waters— Dove passed by a number of vessels bound for Georges Bank—named in honor of England’s patron saint—and the rich harvests of cod and halibut there for the taking.
    Since the beginning of the cruise, Katherine had stood either amidships, when the spray was active, or at the clipper’s very bow, exhilarating in the splendor of the sun-drenched sea sparkling around her. Richard was concerned, for the sea air was cool, but he was loath to call her away and diminish her obvious joy. Plus, he knew from long experience that gainsaying Katherine when she was determined to do something was at best an act of futility.
    â€œVery well, my lady,” he said to her late in the afternoon as he stood on her windward side amidships with an arm wrapped around her waist. “If you’re going to remain topside, allow me at least to go below and get you another layer. I can see your breath, it’s so cold, and the wind is not wont to show mercy even to you.”
    She leaned her head against his shoulder. “As you wish,” she said happily. “But I promise you, I am not cold.” She looked up into his face, placed a hand on each side of his mouth, and kissed him hard on the lips, her mouth open. “Thank you,” she said softly, when reluctantly she pulled away from him.
    â€œFor what?” he asked.
    â€œFor this,” she answered, gesturing with both arms. “It has been a long time since I have felt so alive!”
    Richard went below to the locker in the after cabin and took out a fleeced coat lined with goose down, the warmest he had brought. Back up on the weather deck, he walked aft along the flush deck to speak to Captain Bennett at the helm. “What are we making, Frank? Good Lord, it must be fifteen knots!”
    â€œMore like eighteen, Captain,” Bennett replied, allowing a rare glint of satisfaction to shine through, “last we threw over the chip log. We’ll have a hundred fifty sea miles behind us by nightfall, another hundred by morning. If this wind holds, I daresay the crew and I will be taking supper Sunday night at Gleason’s Pub in Bridgetown.”
    â€œI doubt that,” Richard said, grinning, “but I appreciate your optimism.” He clapped Bennett on the shoulder and made to walk forward with the coat.
    A word from Bennett stopped him. “Captain?”
    â€œYes, Frank?”
    Bennett chewed his lower lip and pushed back the black hair blowing across his forehead. “I’m a bit concerned about your missus, sir,” he said finally. “Never in my life have I seen a woman so pleased to stand on a rolling deck. It’s a marvel to watch, I admit, but I can’t help being worried. In her state and all,” he added uncomfortably.
    Richard nodded as a smile played across his lips. “I appreciate your concern, Frank. In fact, I suggest that you go up there and advise her to go below. But be forewarned: she tends to set her own mind on things, and it can be the very devil to change it. You’re welcome to try, however. You have my blessing and I wish you the best of luck. I’ll take the helm in the meanwhile.”
    Bennett continued chewing his lip as he mulled the implications of Richard’s suggestion. “That’s all right, Captain,” he said eventually. “I’d be a fool to think I would have better luck than you. If