Beloved Castaway (34 page)

The smile faded as Tate stepped away and returned to his work. “Takes a big man to admit he’s wronged someone, Carter,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

Josiah stepped over a tangle of rope and, by habit, reached down to work the knots out. Squatting, he completed the job, coiled the rope, and then rose.

“I can’t help but notice you’ve got a big job here.” He paused to choose the correct words. “I wonder if you might need some help.”

“I reckon I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need some help.” Tate looked up from his work. “Trouble is, I can’t pay you.”

“Truthfully, I’d be grateful for something to fill my time.” He nodded toward the wheelhouse. “Today I’ll work for half of whatever’s in that lunch bucket. Tomorrow we’ll see if I think it’s worth coming back for. Deal?”

Tate grinned. “Deal.”

That evening, Josiah returned to the boardinghouse tired, dirty, and in better humor than he’d felt in weeks. The work was hard, and Micah Tate was sorely lacking as company, but the feeling of a job well done made up for it all.

He thought of breaking his vow and going to visit Isabelle but fell asleep before he could manage even a trip downstairs to supper. The next morning, Josiah awoke before the sun with his muscles complaining and his neck red and paining him. His fine linen shirt and smartly tailored trousers would not last long under the punishment of the Florida sun, yet it was all he had.

Josiah donned them in the dark and yanked his boots up from the place where they’d fallen last night. With William still fast asleep, he crept downstairs, then sat on the porch and stepped into his boots.

“You thought you’d be getting away from me, did you?”

He turned to see his landlady standing behind him. “I thought not to wake you,” he said. “Forgive me for doing so, anyway.”

“Aw,
pshaw,” she said. “I’ve been cooking for an hour. Now come and eat. A workingman won’t last in these parts if he doesn’t see to his belly first.”

Despite Josiah’s protest, Mrs. Campbell sent him off with a hearty breakfast, a pot of fresh coffee, and a pail containing a lunch fit for two.
 

The wrecker smiled as Josiah approached. “You look as if you’re moving in,” he said.

“Now that’s not a bad idea.” Josiah chuckled as he handed Tate a mug, then steadied himself before pouring black coffee. “What do you charge for a room here?”

Tate sobered. “You know, that’s not a bad idea at all.”

“What’s not a bad idea?” Josiah set the coffeepot down on the wheelhouse and settled Mrs. Campbell’s bucket next to Tate’s.
 

He shrugged. “Never mind. I’ve got some thinking to do before I say anything.”

“All right.” Josiah reached for the hammer. “Speak up when it’s time for lunch. I tend to get wrapped up in my work and forget.”

The redhead laughed. “Well, I don’t miss a meal, so you’re safe with me.”

Later, in the shade of the banyan tree nearest the spot where the
Caroline
was docked, Josiah nursed a full belly and the intense desire to take a nap. He glanced over to see that his companion was of a like mind, so much so that he’d set his cap down over his face.

Leaning against the bark of the gnarled tree, Josiah closed his eyes. He might have stayed there all day had a bell not shrieked through his sleep.

“What’s that?” Josiah said as he scrambled to his feet.

Tate turned to stare out at the horizon, shading his eyes with his hands. “Looks like we got trouble.” He turned his attention to Josiah. “Forget any work on the
Caroline
this afternoon.”

Josiah dusted the sand off the back of his trousers and adjusted the cap Tate had loaned him. “Why’s that?”

Before Tate could respond, the call of “Wreck ashore!” answered for him.

The wrecker bolted for his vessel and stopped short to turn around. “You just going to stand there, Carter, or are you coming with me?”

Chapter 28

To be back at sea after so long ashore would have been exciting enough, but to be chasing time and tide to save lives made boarding the
Caroline
even more gratifying. As the vessel plowed through the warm green water, Josiah placed the spyglass to his eye.

“There,” he said to Tate. “See, she’s listing to starboard.”

He handed Tate the spyglass and took the wheel. “I see her,” Tate said. “Looks like we’ve got ample time to work.” He lowered the spyglass. “It’s not always that way.”

Josiah thought back to the night he had tried to bring the
Jude
into the harbor. “It isn’t,” he echoed.

Tate slapped Josiah’s back, then stepped into position behind the wheel, handing Josiah the spyglass. “That tub of yours was going down well before you aimed for Fairweather Key, wasn’t it?”

“Aye.” He turned his face to the wind. “We’d breached the hull, but the crew thought it patched.”

“But the patch didn’t hold.” The wrecker shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Where were you coming from?”

“New Orleans. Headed for London.”

“I see.” The wrecker seemed to be thinking on something. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t know you that well, but I would guess it wasn’t bad navigation that brought you in so close to the reef.”

“No,” he said. “One of my best men was injured. I aimed for the first place where he could be properly cared for.”

The wind brought them near the wreck in short order. Already, several other boats had arrived and were laying anchor. At Tate’s orders, Josiah did the same for the
Caroline
.

“See that fellow over there?” Tate gestured toward a man in a dark hat. “Name’s Sanders. He got here first, so he’s in charge.”
 

Josiah swiped at his forehead and let his gaze scan the wrecked vessel. “What do we do?”

“We do what he tells us.” Tate yanked on his cap. “There seems to be more boats than people, so I’m guessing once Sanders gets all the passengers off, he will use us and a few others to haul back whatever goods we find.”

Josiah leaned against the rail and shook his head. “Let me get this straight. We’re to board that sinking vessel and comb it for valuables, then take whatever suits us?”

Tate looked amused. “Basically, yes.”

“And you make a living doing this?” Josiah shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d call this organized piracy.”

“Don’t let the others hear you say that. We wreckers don’t take kindly to pirates.” Sanders called Tate’s name. Using some sort of signals that Josiah couldn’t quite decipher, the men communicated for a moment. “All right, we’ve got permission to board the wreck just as soon as those two vessels pull away.”
 

“All right.”

“And Josiah?”

“Yes?”

“We’re wreckers, not pirates. We’re on the right side of the law, strictly legal. You understand?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“All right then.” Tate turned to focus on the wreck. “Just remember, I don’t know you so well that I wouldn’t search your pockets when this is over.”

Josiah stepped into Tate’s line of sight. “I welcome that search.” He shook his head. “No, I demand it.”

The next hour flew by as Josiah worked alongside other men to haul out furniture and other valuables and load them onto the vessels ringing the wreck. The
Caroline
made several trips, as did most of the other vessels. Finally, the call of all clear was made, and the last of the wrecking ships pulled away.
 

It was backbreaking work, yet Josiah hadn’t felt this good in weeks.

Years maybe.

As the
Caroline
pulled into her place at the docks, Josiah jumped out to see to her mooring. When she was secure, he gave Tate the sign. Together, they hauled off the last of the items and placed them with the other goods on the dock.
 

Off in the distance, the shell of the wrecked vessel could barely be seen. By tomorrow, Tate assured him, the water would claim her completely.

“Come on, Carter,” the wrecker said. “We’re needed to help get all this into the warehouse.”

“Not yet.” Josiah stepped in front of Tate and slowly pulled the lining from his pockets.
 

The wrecker nodded. “All right.”

Together, they walked over to join the other wreckers.
 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Tate said as he took his place in line.

“Yes, I did,” Josiah responded. “Trust is earned.”

“It is at that.” The wrecker glanced at him. “You’re a natural at wrecking. Ever give thought to making this your livelihood?”

“No,” he said. “I can honestly say I never have.”

Micah Tate nodded. “Well, maybe you’ll think on it after you hear my proposition.”

---

Isabelle found the prospect of moving from the infirmary to the
boardinghouse exciting, to say the least, although it appeared it would not happen for another day. At least Dr. Hill had given up on dosing her with laudanum. The result was that Isabelle could now think and remember. This she gave thanks for and despised in equal measure.

Someone found her Bible at the courthouse and had given it to Viola, who delivered it to her that morning. Now Isabelle could sit beside the window and read God’s Word instead of merely gazing out to sea. It was a welcome change.

Staring out to sea only made her wonder when the supply ship would arrive. Until she broke the news of her plan to Josiah, she would look but not anticipate.
 

After the deed was done, she could see for herself that Josiah Carter was not the least bit worried about any feelings he might have once claimed in regard to her. After all, she’d been here three weeks and had no memory of any sort of visit from the man.

Three weeks.

Isabelle sighed. It was a blessing, for sure, yet it was not. Indeed, the Lord must want her to continue the journey she had set out upon, for He had done nothing as of yet to deter her from it. Other than this brief side trip, that is.

Her lunch tray remained on the desk, the food picked over and a fanciful embroidered and embellished napkin covering the remains. Emilie set great stock in Isabelle’s appetite, while Viola had long since declared her well and fit.

Yet she remained at the infirmary. Had Isabelle not known better, she might have wondered if Viola Dumont was using her as an excuse to continue spending each day with the handsome Dr. Hill. Viola certainly blushed when the doctor appeared in the room, and she hung on his every word when the man made his daily visits to Isabelle’s sickroom.

A bell rang, and Isabelle set the Bible on the bedside table. The call of “Wreck ashore” drifted through the open window, setting off a flurry of activity. One by one, the wrecking vessels raised anchor and sped toward the horizon. Before long, the harbor was nearly empty.

From her vantage point, Isabelle could not see the wreck, but she managed to spy the spot where most of the vessels were clustered. She began to pray for the unfortunate folks aboard what was likely a sinking vessel, adding a prayer for the safety of the wreckers, as well.

Before long, the boats began to return. The first vessels deposited drenched but visibly thankful passengers and crew on the docks, then headed back to the fray. Next came the sloops and schooners heavily laden with crates, trunks, and odd pieces of furniture. The last to return were those carrying pieces of the ship itself: a bell, coils of rope, a carved figurehead of a scantily clad woman, and other odd items.

After a fashion, a sort of bucket brigade was set up. The items went from man to man in a line of humanity that spanned the space between the vessels and a long, low, warehouse-type building. A man who looked very much like Mrs. Campbell’s husband the judge stalked around like a banty rooster giving orders and taking notes on a length of paper.

Isabelle raised the window and peered out to get a closer look at the excitement. She saw no familiar faces among the passengers and crew, nor did she recognize any of the men who worked to get the bounty to safety.

Then she spied Josiah.

His formal white shirt and trousers set him apart from the others, whose working clothes seemed much more suited to the labor they performed. Yet the captain looked to be quite unhindered as he passed each heavy burden to the next man in the line.
 

A red-haired man stood next to him, and occasionally Josiah and the fellow seemed to share a few words of conversation or exchange a friendly nudge. When the last item had been unloaded, a bell rang, and the men shouted a loud, “Hurrah!” They gathered in a tight knot, and much celebrating occurred.
 

From the relatively hidden viewpoint of the infirmary window, Isabelle could watch without fear of being caught. And watch she did, never taking her eyes off Josiah as he laughed and shook hands with each man.
 

Two fellows approached him, and Josiah’s smile disappeared. Some sort of serious conversation occurred, for at one point, Josiah crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. After a few moments, the men shook hands with Josiah. Finally, the red-haired man joined the trio, and more backslapping and celebrating occurred.

Isabelle leaned back in the rocker and, for a moment, allowed herself to imagine Josiah Carter as her husband. No doubt, she would be the envy of the other ladies in Fairweather Key, for the captain was quite a handsome fellow and had displayed a fine character.
 

Until the truth of her escape from New Orleans was known. Then what would become of them?

The answer was simple. As long as Josiah Carter was associated with her, he would be a fugitive. Even if he found safe haven in England along with her, Josiah would never see his home and family again. Likely, William would grow to adulthood believing his brother to be a criminal.

And then there was the impossibility of any marriage between them.
 

“No,” she whispered. “The penalty for aiding a slave to escape is too high. I cannot allow Josiah to pay it.”

As she watched Josiah step away from the group and sprint toward the boardinghouse, she touched her finger to her lips and remembered their kiss. That memory would have to suffice, for she would soon be pretending she had no recollection of it.