the boat. The edge cut painfully into her ribs because she protected the sleeping boy from the splintered wooden side.
“Me Wufry.” The toddler pointed to her sister. “She Mowie.”
“So you are Mollie,” Susanna said after repeating the word in her mind. She smiled at the other twin, who seemed shier than her sister. “Lucy and Mollie. Two very pretty names. Captain, will you assist Miss Lucy and Miss Mollie to the carriage?”
He reached for Lucy. His nose wrinkled as he took her hand and then reached for her sister’s. Both were in need of a change of clean clothes and fresh napkins because the ones they wore were soaked.
Susanna stood, balancing the little boy against her. He stank, too, but she had smelled worse.
Her gaze met Captain Nesbitt’s over the children’s heads. A smile quirked at his lips, and she found herself returning it. Something lit in his eyes, something powerful. She should look away. She could not. She was held by his gaze as surely as if he held her in his arms. A shiver ran through her at that thought. Not an icy shiver, but a heated one.
A small hand tugged at her bodice, and, grateful that she could break the connection between her and Captain Nesbitt, Susanna looked down to see the little boy was awake.
“Gil.” The smallest boy jabbed a finger at his chest.
“You are Gil?” she asked.
He nodded and ordered, “Down!”
“As you wish.” She set him on the ground. When she straightened, she saw the playful twinkle in Captain Nesbitt’s eyes. No doubt he recognized Gil’s tone because it sounded much like his arrogant one.
Why was she letting the ship’s captain slip into her thoughts so often? Her focus should be on the children and discovering why they had been floating in a jolly boat in Porthlowen Harbor.
As if she had made that last thought a request, Gil took off running faster than she could imagine such short legs could move. She gave chase, but slowed when the little boy stopped beside the man who was feeding the swaddled baby.
Gil tapped the blanket and said with pride, “My baby.”
Susanna glanced back at Captain Nesbitt. She was not surprised that he was watching intently. He had been honest when he said, because he had saved them, he considered these children his duty.
When he motioned for her to take the lead, probably because he had trouble understanding the childish talk, she asked, “Does your baby have a name, Gil?”
“My baby. My—”
A shriek silenced everyone, and she saw the two older boys swinging at each other. The man trying to keep them apart was not succeeding, because one boy ran in and slapped the other before the man could halt him.
“Captain...” she began.
He pushed past her, shoving the twins’ hands into hers. Scooping up the blond boy, he draped him over one shoulder. Then he grabbed the dark-haired boy and balanced him on his opposite hip. They wriggled but halted when he barked a sharp order.
Susanna laughed. She could not stop herself. The two boys were frozen in shock, and Captain Nesbitt looked a bit green about the gills with one of the boys’ rear ends close to his nose.
“My baby!” Gil cried, patting the baby’s swaddling.
The baby screamed again.
He pulled back in horror. “My baby!”
Susanna gave him a swift smile. Babies cried, but not usually with such intensity. At least not when she held one during church services.
Looking past Gil to the old man holding the baby, she asked, “Is the milk fresh?”
“Aye.” He motioned to a lanky boy standing beside him. “Tell m’lady where ye got the milk, lad.”
He stared at his feet. “At the shop. The lady there said it was delivered this morning. Her assistant poured it out while I was watching, and it smelled as fresh as if it had just come out of the cow.”
“What do you know of milking, boy?” demanded the old man.
“Grew up with cows, I did,” asserted the boy.
To halt the argument before it went further, Susanna said, “If Miss Rowse told you that, it is the truth.” She released the twins’ hands and held out her arms. “May I?”
“Aye,” the old man said gratefully. He settled the baby in her arms, then stood with the help of the lad who had gotten the milk.
As she went toward a row of low boulders, a young woman followed her and asked, “Do you need more milk for the little one, my lady?”
Susanna smiled at the young woman. The hem of her dress and apron were covered with wet sand like Susanna’s. Wisely she had bare feet, so she did not have to deal with shoes caked with heavy sand.
“Are you Peggy who is helping Miss Rowse at the shop?”
She nodded. “Peggy Smith, my lady.” She dipped in a quick curtsy but kept staring at her toes. No doubt, the dark-haired girl wondered what Susanna had heard about her, knowing that news spread quickly in the small town. A newcomer like Peggy would be the talk of Porthlowen until something else caught the gossips’ fancies.
“Thank you for bringing milk for the baby. He or she seems full for now.”
The girl started to say something, then hurried away. Sand sprayed behind her as she sped toward the village.
Behind Susanna, Captain Nesbitt barked an order, but the little boys kept swinging their fists at each other. They managed only to hit him. He put them on the ground, trying to keep them apart.
Gil refused to be parted from the baby. He had trailed Susanna to where she sat on a stone. He watched intently as she placed the baby on her lap. She cooed nonsense words to the baby, but it kept crying with all its power. His lower lip began to tremble, warning he was ready to sob, too.
What is wrong? Lord, help me help this suffering child. Both of them.
With care, she began to undo the blanket that had been wrapped tightly around the baby, keeping it secure and warm. It stank like the other children. Each motion of the blanket seemed to pain the baby—a girl, she discovered—more. She slipped her hand under the long shirt so she could rub the baby’s stomach. It was not hard with colic, but the baby screamed again.
“My baby!” cried Gil, tears oozing out of his eyes.
Her own widened when she raised the shirt and saw a tattered piece of paper attached to the garment with a straight pin. Pink spots on the baby’s chest and stomach showed where the point jabbed her at the slightest motion.
“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.
“What is that?” asked Captain Nesbitt.
She looked up, shocked, because she had not heard him approach. His dark coat was stained, and the seam on one shoulder had torn.
