Though he’d left London convinced he would never again see the man he’d called father, the finality of those five words had caught him unprepared. The memory of those simple words sent a swift searing pain through Derek’s belly, much like a gunshot. He would always remember they’d both been by his side when Harry delivered his painful tidings. These two men were all the family and friends he had-or needed. He waved Harry to join him at the rail where Cushing, silent, flanked his other side. “Two more morose men you shall never find,” he responded. Where Derek found it difficult to uproot the joy in life, Harry tended to trip over it. Tall and lean with arms akimbo, his cousin radiated the happiness of a man about to debark on his native soil-a man assured of the open-armed welcome of his family. “Two more morose men I shall never hope to see.”ĭerek glanced over his shoulder at tow-headed Harry Coatsworth. At five-and-twenty, Derek understood loss too well, and so had never pressed for details. Though he laughed readily and was always the first to join in song, creases etched in his leathery face hinted at personal loss. Slightly past his prime, Cushing stood strong of limb and broad of girth. Even without words, the older man’s presence buoyed Derek. They continued to stand their watch over the hive of activity on the dock while the ship was safely moored. “It’s time for us to forge ahead with our lives.” “Aye,” Derek agreed absently as he gripped the rail and stared out over London again, besieged by long-buried memories more turbulent than the stormy seas they’d traversed. May we never again make such a harrowing journey.” His servant shuddered at the gentle gibe. But after living in the panorama that was India, his homeland appeared dingy and overcrowded.

From the throng on the docks-more active than an ant colony-to the chimneys belching smoke into the gray sky, he’d once thought London the most exciting city in the world. On deck of the East India ship, Derek Vaughan drank in his first bittersweet sight of London in eight years.

Lying Eyes by Amy Atwell