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Duxboro has yet to prove to be a successful trading port. I think perhaps East Boston might be an ideal location. As a matter of fact, I shall shortly have some business in Boston to attend to and wonder if you’d care to accompany me for a day or two while you wait for your ship to be rigged. To be quite frank, although I may excel in shipbuilding, I have a limited background in trade. Were I to embark on such an enterprise, it should not be a sole venture but a partnership. I would require a partner with practiced knowledge of market conditions in various ports. Someone familiar with merchant routes. Do you perhaps know of anyone interested in such an undertaking?”
    Amused by the discreet invitation, Brogan took a moment to consider the possibility of a partnership with Nathaniel Huntley. Could this present a resolution to his future with Drew? And would such an alternative require he share his son with Huntley?
    Nay, Brogan would not share; the boy was his. “I might be interested myself if I hadn’t waited a lifetime to own a ship as grand as the Yankee Heart . Now that I possess her, I find my ambitions directed toward a more independent way of life. I do not envision myself tied to the responsibilities of a shipping business.”
    “I understand exactly how you feel,” Huntley acknowledged. “You are overwhelmed at the prospect. However, allow me to pass on the wisdom of my own years and experience.”
    A church bell rang loudly as the carriage rolled past the burying ground. Children were making a game of jumping from one stone to the next without stepping on the grass.
    Brogan watched as Huntley scanned the churchyard, no doubt looking for his own children. When the chime quieted, the shipbuilder continued. “I have enjoyed a very successful career and address you in all honesty. There is an independence accompanying wealth which is unequaled, even surpassing that of being master of your own ship.”
    “Ah, but there is more to life than financial riches, sir.”
    Huntley gave a jolly chuckle, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. He slowed the carriage to a halt, set the brake, and then carefully secured the reins around its handle. “Wisely stated, Captain. Most young fellows do not embrace such a sentimental view. And how can I argue? I shall not say another word then, but my offer still stands for a day in Boston. I would welcome your company.”
    “Thank you, sir. I should enjoy the trip.”
    Brogan alighted from the carriage and glanced about. From all quarters, men, women, and children arrived, either on foot or horseback, some by carriage. Neighbors shook hands and engaged in friendly conversation. Some leaned against the fence where the horses were hitched, while others rested on benches or under the shade of a nearby tree. Children chased each other across the grounds and rolled in the grass, but Drew was not among them, and Brogan was growing impatient to see his son again.
    The church bell pealed.
    The windows of the Congregational meetinghouse had been opened wide to allow for the heat of the day. A stray chicken perched on one sill. Brogan entered alongside Nathaniel Huntley, and as he proceeded down the aisle, his bootheels dug into the carpet with the heaviness of each stride.
    Faces turned to inspect the newcomer whose bronzed complexion announced him a man of the sea. A group of ladies giggled amongst themselves, and Brogan understood the reason. Seamen such as himself visited a parish only on occasion, when in port.
    Another toll rang in his ears. He glanced toward the front of the meetinghouse and found them—Lorena and Drew.
    Drew stood on the upholstered seat of the family pew, dressed handsomely in a pumpkin suit with a white blouse and ruffled collar. His jacket hung askew over a sling protruding out the back pocket of his pantaloons. Buttery curls framed his cherub face and trickled down his nape.
    Both he and Lorena conversed with a comely youth suited in