Abandoned Memories (41 page)

He snorted. “Why don’t you ask the lady? She and I are
well
acquainted.”

Not now, Dodd
. For a few moments…a few brief, wonderful moments, Angeline had forgotten about Dodd and his threats. Passion bled from her body and dripped into the foam at her feet, replaced by a chill that threatened to bite her heart in two. It wouldn’t take long for James to put the pieces together. Even now, as his gaze shifted between her and Dodd, she saw understanding tighten his features.

She might as well say the words that thundered silently between them. “Dodd was a client many years ago.” Turning toward the ex-lawman, she stiffened her chin. “I told you James already knows.” Yet, she was afraid to look at him now. Afraid to see his reaction to this new discovery. To her surprise, he took her hand in his. Tears flooded her eyes—tears of joy that quickly turned to pain when Dodd flung his next arrow.

“But does the preacher know that you’re a murderer as well as a trollop?”

Her heart crumbled. Sweet saints, would the man never leave her be? James snapped his gaze to her, his eyebrows bent. She tried to tug her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go.

“It’s true,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

James shook his head, still staring at her.

Dodd stuffed thumbs in his belt. “She killed her uncle, you know. Her own flesh and blood. What sort of woman does that?”

Confusion burned behind James’s eyes. Should she try to explain what happened? Would it make a difference? “I went to live with my uncle and aunt after my father died. He abused me, beat me, barely gave me enough food or clothing…made me a slave in their home.”

Dodd huffed, pulling out his pocket watch and snapping it open as if bored with the story.

“One night he forced himself on me.” She swallowed down a burst of fear at the memory. “He shoved me against a wall in the library and told me if I didn’t do what he said, he’d kill me. I couldn’t let that happen. I was only eighteen. An innocent girl.”

Dodd chuckled. Ignoring him, she continued. “I missed my father so much and hoped my uncle would love me as his own child.” She wiped a wayward tear, hating her own weakness. “We struggled. I grabbed a bronze bookend and struck his head. I didn’t mean to kill him.” Her legs wobbled and James steadied her. “After that I ran away.” She lowered her gaze, unable to bear his steely eyes anymore. “You know the rest.”

“Lovely story, don’t you think, Doc? I so adore the slight quaver in her voice, the tremble of her lips. It adds that extra tug on your heart. She’s very good at what she does. Very good, indeed.”

James released Angeline’s hand. The loss of him, of his strength and warmth, crushed her to the bone. She gazed out to sea, feeling the lure of its peaceful depths.

Thunk! Snap!

She turned to find Dodd toppling backward, arms flailing and curses spewing from his mouth before he landed smack on his derrière in the sand. James shook his hand. Despite the circumstances, Angeline couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips or the sense of satisfaction that welled in her belly. Or the thrill at seeing James defend her honor.

Dodd, however, was not of the same mind. Struggling to rise, he rubbed his jaw. “Fool! Before you make the wench any promises you can’t keep, Doc, you should know that after I get my share of the gold, I’m taking her back to the States to stand trial for murder.”

He’d left her. James had left her standing on the beach beneath an umbrella of moonlight, with but a kiss on her hand to seal his feelings. But at the moment, he had no idea just what those feelings were. Aside from his overwhelming love for her.
A murderer!
Despite the circumstances—horrific as they were—she still had taken a life. Self-defense, yes. But how could he come to terms with such a crime? Yet, indirectly, hadn’t he done the same?

He needed to think. So after Dodd had scrambled back into the hole he’d crawled from, James had excused himself. He had too much to sort out. Too many fears and dreams and hopes and memories and shocking news cycloned in his head. Not to mention he must go over their plan to defeat the beasts tomorrow.

Defeat evil angelic generals. How ludicrous did that sound?

It was too much for one man to handle. Or at least for
him
to handle. So he’d left her there, hope lingering in her eyes and an unspoken plea upon her lips.

Now, hours later, after pacing and praying along the distant shore, peace still eluded him. Falling to the sand in a heap, he drifted into a fitful slumber. He was back on the ship, pitching and rising through a sea of blood. With each flap of white sail and each thrust of the bow, the mighty vessel advanced toward the black, broiling horizon. Shards of flames shot across the darkness, followed by deep growls, ominous and fierce. Stowy perched on the binnacle, his amber eyes latched on James. Ignoring the cat, he dashed to the starboard railing. Foamy blood thrashed the sides of the small dinghy where his friends sat, staring blankly at the gaping dark mouth just ahead. Somehow they kept pace with the ship, though they had no oars or sails.

James cupped his hands. “Ahoy there!” They turned as one and stared at him, fear sparking in their gazes. Fear that turned to pleading. Angeline waved. Hayden shook his head at James in disappointment. Magnolia cried out for help. Eliza clung to her husband who faced the darkness once again, his jaw a bone of defiance.

James spun around and searched the ship. He must help them! He needed rope. He needed to increase the ship’s speed to draw closer. He gazed up at the sails, stark white against a blood moon. Making his way to the ratlines, he tripped on something. The cat sped by him, emitting an eerie meow.

“It wasn’t your fault.” The familiar voice came from behind.

James slowly turned. His legs turned to mush. He stumbled backward. The hard wood of the mainmast prevented his fall. “Father. What are you doing here?”

The man hadn’t aged. No, of course he hadn’t. He was dead. But he looked younger than he ever had. Gone were the lines of grief and tension from his face. Gone was the weariness in his eyes, the gray from his hair. He even seemed to stand a bit taller.

And he smiled now at James as he’d never done when he’d been alive—a smile of love and approval and forgiveness.

“Son, I’ve been sent to tell you something.” He adjusted the white tie he always wore over his black frock. “Something important.”

“But you can’t be here. Not really.” James swallowed. “This is nothing but a dream, a vision.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Dreams have meanings, son.”

The ship crested a scarlet wave, creaking and groaning on the ascent. James steadied his boots on the deck, drinking in the vision of a man he thought he’d never see again.

“My death was not your fault,” his father repeated.

James looked away. “It
was
my fault, Father. I should have been the one at the tavern that night. I should have been the one to come to the aid of Mr. Reynolds. Not you. But I wasn’t at the church when his message came.” James swept guilty eyes toward his father. “Do you want to know where I was, while you were dying from a gunshot wound? While you were lying in a puddle of spit and ale and drowning in your own blood?”

The words bore no effect on his father’s loving look.

Which only angered James. Anger at himself. “I was with a woman. Mrs. Tabitha Cullen, to be exact. The wife of the man who shot you.”

“I know, son.” His father smiled—not a smile of victory or sarcasm but one of forgiveness.

“How can you stand there and look at me like that? Don’t you see? Tabitha’s husband accused Mr. Reynolds of compromising his wife. But it was me who was with her. With her that very moment when you went to stop the brawl. It was me.” James’s insides twisted into a hopeless knot. He should toss himself overboard. A fitting punishment.

To drown in the blood that he had shed.

As soon as James had heard the news, he’d raced to the tavern, knelt before his father. There was already so much blood. James might have been able to save him, but the terrors had gripped him, and instead he’d sat frozen and watched his father die.

“I failed you, Father.” Tears filled his eyes. “As I failed you my entire life.”

“No, no, no.” James’s father laid a hand on his shoulder—a solid hand, a real hand—one that bore the gold ring with the cross in the center that he’d worn to his grave. “You were never a failure. ‘Twas I who demanded too much. Expected more than any son could give. I am sorry, James. I finally know what grace is.” He smiled, and there was such peace in his eyes, James longed to dive into them and be lost forever.

The sails thundered above. A roar brought both men’s gazes to the blackness swallowing up the horizon. “Your friends need you, James,” his father said. “Gather them aboard and fight the darkness. You have been chosen. You and you alone can lead them to victory.”

Dread sent James’s heart pounding. He rubbed the scar on his cheek. “Me? Why me?”

“Why not you?” His father stepped back and began to fade.

“Please don’t go.” James wiped a tear away.

“We will meet again.” His father smiled. “You can do this, son. God is with you.” He gave him one last approving nod before he turned, stepped off the railing of the ship, and disappeared into the mist.

Something bright appeared at the prow of the ship. A white figurehead in the shape of a lamb—a lamb with a lion’s head and a sword in its grip. A glow beamed from within it, casting light upon the bloody sea. Why had James not seen it before?

A fiery arrow shot across the darkness as if the stars themselves were falling. Then another and another. Thunder roared as the ship sped toward the horizon, pitching and rolling and sending scarlet foam washing over the bow. Heart thrashing, James clutched a rope, tied it to the railing, and spied his friends now drifting just yards off the ship. He flung it toward them. Blake caught it, and within minutes his friends climbed over the bulwarks and joined him aboard. Their frightened gazes sped over one another and then to the black hole about to swallow them alive. With determined nods, they took one another’s arms and formed a defiant line at the bow just as the ship broke into the darkness.

“Will you marry me?” It was James’s voice. At least Angeline thought it was, though the words jumbled in the wind.

She turned to find him standing there looking like a schoolboy, his face hopeful, his eyes filled with love, his fingers twitching by his side. By the looks of his wrinkled shirt and trousers, he had passed the night much like she had—restless and filled with nightmares.

“I beg your pardon?”

The rising sun sparkled off his wide grin as he took both her hands in his. “Will you marry me?”

She searched his eyes, firing with golden flecks of hope, and found no trace of betrayal, humor, or anger.

“You want to marry a murderess and a prostitute?” Squelching down the thrill blooming within, she had to be sure he knew what he was asking.

“No, I want to marry
you
, Angeline.”

Emotion burned in her throat: hope and fear and excitement all jumbled together. “When you left last night…” She’d thought it was over between them. He’d accepted her past as a trollop, but a murderer? How could she expect a man of God to tolerate that?

“I’m sorry. I needed to think. Not about my love for you. About what Dodd said, yes, but also about my own life.” He flattened his lips. “I had a dream about my father.” His eyes grew glassy, and he gazed out to sea. “He always expected me to be perfect, and I always failed him.”

“No—” she began, but he silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips.

“I’ve done bad things, Angeline. That night back in Knoxville, you saw me at my worst. Yet despite my own past, I still expected everyone around me to be perfect.” He glanced at the jungle. “I wanted to create a moral utopia where nobody fell away from grace.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But I have discovered recently that where imperfection lives, God’s grace abounds.”

A tear slipped down Angeline’s face.

James continued to caress her fingers. “I have also discovered that none of us will ever be perfect. That’s what grace is for. I will never create a perfect utopia here on earth. I will never be perfect, and you will never be perfect. But God covers all our imperfections if we merely turn to Him.”