Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

comforting to feel the smooth gold between his fingers. He hadn't gotten to wear the earrings much over the years, but with going back to sea, he put them in again. During his earlier sailing days, they were his good luck charms. Granted, they hadn't brought much good luck to the pirate who he'd removed them from, but that was seven years ago and he'd managed to get out of more than one tight spot since then. Hopefully, there was just enough luck on the worn pieces of gold to get him through this time.
    "'ey there, pretty! Mr. Barrett is wanting to speak with you. He's in his cabin."
    Jonathon glanced in the direction the rough voice came, spying the first mate. He nodded to the man and turned from the rail. "Thank you."
    As Jonathon neared the sailors, they gave friendly nods and greetings. He'd earned their respect when as they set sail he worked along with them and proved his competency as a seaman. But then, it was out at sea that he'd grown into a man, and even in the years since he'd left sailing to make a life for himself in America, his body still remembered its way around a ship.
    If only he'd never left. He'd thought he would go to land to find wealth and live happily. None of those things came true. Had he stayed sailing the Atlantic, he may have been spared from so many hardships and heartaches. Certainly these most recent ones.
    Jonathon entered a narrow hall. Reaching Barrett's cabin, he combed his windswept hair with his fingers and knocked on the door.
    A gruff bellow replied, "Come in!"
    Jonathon stepped inside to find Benedict Barrett at a table, leafing through some papers. A lantern swung with the roll of the ship, causing Barrett's balding head to alternately shine, then be dropped into shadow.
    Barrett leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his paunch stomach. "Mr. Addison. Have a seat."
    Jonathon made his way to a bolted down chair. "Thank you, sir." As he sat, he focused on Barrett with an expectant look, hoping to prompt the man to move onto business, which was likely to happen even without the look. In his time of knowing Barrett, if there was one thing he'd found true with the man, it was when it came to business, Barrett was sharp…and ruthless. The man may have pulled him from prison, but he felt no gratitude toward him, and Barrett's actions were only meant to help one person - Barrett himself.
    Barrett regarded Jonathon with a scrutinizing gaze. "You look well. You've taken care of yourself."
    "You requested as much of me, since my appearance is paramount to the success of this endeavor."
    "Indeed it is. Mr. Jenkins says you've done exceptionally well in your lessons on Japanese culture and language. He says you still struggle with the written language, however."
    Jonathon nodded. "Yes, I still confuse many of the characters, but I feel confident in my ability to communicate."
    After he'd accepted Barrett's proposition, Barrett had actually left him in prison until the day to set sail came, ensuring he wouldn't flee. Each day, the mousey Mr. Jenkins, a self-proclaimed expert on Japan, came to the prison to instruct him on the country and her people. He'd thought it was a form of torture at first, but gradually found his curiosity and interest piqued. Since he'd known so little of the nation, it was as though he were discovering a new and fabled land.
    Of all the things Mr. Jenkins taught him, what captured his interest most were stories of the samurai; warriors reputed for their masterful fighting abilities, who lived by a sense of honor, duty, and loyalty. They rode through his imagination as romantic figures, fighting ferociously with swords and spears, having no fear of man or beast, or even death itself.
    It was silly of him, he knew. Regardless of his fanciful notions of the samurai, there was much truth about them he found appealing, from their Bushido code to their history of loving other men.
    As Mr. Jenkins informed him, blushing the entire time, the samurai had their own romantic notions when it came to bi-do , the beautiful way, where it was accepted for a man to share intimacy with another man. The men weren't scorned and persecuted. They didn't have to fear for their lives for doing nothing more than following urges that were in his opinion, as natural as breathing. He knew for himself, he had about as much control over his attraction to men as he had over each breath he took. He could breathe quickly, slowly, even stop it for a while. But eventually, he had no