"You'll be all right, won't ye?" the carpenter asked, hanging his tools on the wall. He had taken Joseph under his wing and grown quite attached to the young boy. "You'll get breakfast and supper?"
"I don't know," Joseph replied in an exasperated tone. He sighed. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, Burt. I can take care of meself." He slung his pack over his shoulder. "Be seeing you." He smiled and exited the shop.
Burt ran after him, calling, "Joe! Joe, don't get yourself killed, hear?"
"I'll try!" Joseph called back.
The Defender wasn't set to depart for another five days, so he had plenty of time to get there on foot. He passed by his old home of the way. It still surprised him at how large it was. He had gotten used to living in a one-room shanty, and the truth was, if they hadn't inherited the old house, he would have lived in a shack all his life. There was a new family living there. The kids were playing in the street while their parents sat inside drinking cheap tea and eating stale biscuits. He thought about asking if they had known his mother, but before he had decided, it was too late to go back.
Soon after, he spotted the Wells residence. He snorted. Their house didn't look as though it had caved in. They must have run into money, he thought.
All of the sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by a mature-sounding woman. "Joe? Joseph Nagel, is that you? You look so different, I hardly recognized you!"
He stared at her, remembering the last time they had been together. She had stood in front of her parents, accusing him of trying to rape her.
Her smile ebbed slightly. "Well, don't just stand there, say something! Don't you remember me? It's Emeline Wells!"
"I remember, Miss Wells," he said, removing his stocking cap.
"Well, are you going to kiss me hello or not?" she demanded, sticking her cheek out at him.
"Wouldn't be proper, Miss," he said, ignoring her rosy cheek. Joseph put his hat back on and started to walk away. "Good day."
She looked flustered for a moment, and then cried, "Joe! Joe, wait!" He stopped. "What's the matter with you? I know the last time we met, the circumstances weren't exactly wonderful, but…can't we put it behind us? I have."
"I'm happy for you," Joseph replied coolly. "But you didn't get thrown out into the street when you were fourteen." He turned to her, sighing. "Look, I've got to be on my way. I've been drafted into the Navy."
"Oh? Which ship?" she questioned.
"Defender," Joseph responded. "I don't want to be late, so…"
"The Defender doesn't pull out until Monday--you've got plenty of time to get there." She grasped his hands. "Why don't you stay with me? We've a lovely guestroom that we never use. Oh, please, Joe," she insisted. "We can take the buggy down to the port on Sunday." She smiled. "Peter's in the Navy as well. He's a lieutenant."
"You must be proud," Joseph said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
"Come," she said, beaming.
"Your parents won't approve," he said worriedly as she pulled him through the door. "I'll find an inn--." He stopped. Her father was sitting in a velvet armchair by the fire. Joseph would recognize that bald head anywhere.
"Who's that with you, Emeline?" he asked, turning around in his chair.
"It's Joseph Nagel, Father," she replied slowly and clearly. Mr. Wells blinked a few times. "Don't you remember him? He and his mother lived a few blocks away…until she died."
Mr. Wells was silent for a moment, then he said, "Molly Nagel…wonderful lady. Terrible husband…gave her that boy…can't place him, I'm afraid. They were that poor family…God knows how they lost all that money."
Joseph narrowed his eyes. Money? What was the old man on about? But before he could think on it, Emeline took his arm again and pulled him away.
"Sorry, Joe, my father forgets things. Mother and I don't know what to do with him," she said, shaking her head. "I told them that I accused you falsely, but he doesn't remember that I lied in the first place." She led him up a staircase and into the guestroom. "It's a bit dusty--we never even come up here. Peter!" she suddenly exclaimed.
Peter Wells turned from the full-length mirror to face them. He was wearing a tight-fitting blue uniform and had been adjusting his hat before they entered.
Joseph suddenly felt embarrassed to be wearing a filthy white shirt and trousers. "What are you doing up here, Peter?" Emeline questioned.
"Making sure my uniform fits," Peter replied with a toss of his blonde hair as he made to tie it back. "You know how tailors are these days," he added pompously. He stared at Joseph for what felt like an eternity, and then said, "Ah…John Nagel, was it?"
"Joe," he replied.
"You're to be serving together," Emeline said cheerfully, "on the HMS Defender."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Really? As what, Joe? Certainly not a midshipman, I hope. They generally give those positions to admirals' sons and wealthy people." Even if Joseph had wanted to speak, he could not have gotten a word in edgewise. "Lord knows you may have been wealthy once, but that was such a long time ago--they couldn't possibly give you that post!"
"They haven't," Joseph said quickly before Peter was able to speak again. "I'm an assistant to the carpenter. I've been drafted into the Navy--I didn't sign up."
"Erm, perhaps I'll see if I can whip up some tea for us all." Emeline disappeared.
"I know you think you're better than me," Joseph began, "but we used to play together when we were lads. Don't you even remember, Peter?"
"Oh, I remember," Peter said, beginning to pace in front of the carpenter's assistant. "I remember you licking my boots to catch a glimpse of the good life. If your parents hadn't invested all the money in that shipyard--and then when it fell through, your father spent the rest of the fortune drowning his sorrows in drink--."
Joseph, suddenly feeling the anger in him rising, grabbed the newly promoted lieutenant by the shirt and lifted him up against the wall. "You'd better watch what you say about my father."
"Joseph…Joseph, I'm so sorry, of course," Peter said in a panicked voice. "Please put me down!"
Still glaring at him, Joseph hesitantly lowered Peter to the ground. He turned away and started down the staircase. He didn't belong here. He needed to get out and get out quickly. He--
"Joe," Emeline exclaimed, "what are you doing?" She stepped in front of him rapidly, blocking the door. "You mustn't leave."
"I can't stay here," Joseph protested.
"Please, don't go," she said.
"What reason do I have not to?" he asked, frustrated.
"I don't want you to." She clasped his hands for the second time that day. "I'm so sorry for everything that's happened to you." He rolled his eyes, looking anxious, and she continued, "But I want to make it up to you!" He sighed. "Please, Joseph!"
"You can't make it up to me. Nobody can." He pulled his hands from hers. "What do you want from me, anyway?"
She clasped his hands even more tightly, and then put her lips on his. Joseph tried to pull away, but she held him close. He gave in, kissing her back, and slipped his hands under her red curls, cupping her delicate face in his rough hands.
"Emeline!" a voice cried.
She pulled away from him, exclaiming, "Mother!" For a moment, a fleeting moment, Joseph had thought that she cared for him. But she was going to do the same thing she had done all those years ago. "Mother, Joseph and I are in love and there is nothing you can do." Joseph's eyes widened in surprise.
"Child, listen to what you're saying!" her mother said frantically. Suddenly the hard look disappeared from her eyes. "Joseph? Joseph Nagel? This is who you're in love with?"
"Yes, Mother, and there's n--."
"Nothing I can do, yes, I know." Mrs. Wells stepped closer to Joseph, wiping her hands clean on her apron. She gently pushed his bangs away from his eyes, now inches away from his face. "Yes, your hair was shorter then. You could really use a good cut. No daughter of mine is going to marry a man with hair like that."
"Mother, Peter has long hair as well," Emeline pointed out, holding Joseph's hand.
"Yes, but his hair is clean," Mrs. Wells said quietly. "Now. When are you to be wed?"
"Wed?" Joseph said, his throat suddenly dry. "Pardon, Ma'am, but we're not getting married."
"Joe's right," Emeline said, nodding to her mother. To him, she said, "You haven't even proposed yet."
"Erm…Emeline, maybe we should…discuss this," he said slowly.
"Discuss what? There's nothing to discuss! You love me, don't you?" she questioned, her eyes wide.
"I don't know," he replied. She stared into his eyes with her blue and glassy ones, now threatening to spill over with tears. Ripping her hand from his grasp, she ran out of the door. "Emeline!" he cried. "Emeline, stop! Come back!" he called after her. The night was dark and all he could hear were the quick sounds of her retreating footsteps on the cobbled street.