Beloved Captive (19 page)

June 13

Fairweather Key

Emilie had been home three days, and already the memories were fading. Not the horror of seeing a man crumpled on the cabin floor, or the abject terror she felt at being held captive not once but twice. Not even the memory of a day spent as Miss Crusoe in paradise.

No, those things would fade over years, not days or even months, if they faded at all.

It was the memories of her father that seemed to slip through her mind like sand through an hourglass. His face, his voice, she struggled to remember these exactly as she left him on their last day together. Even the note he’d written to accompany the gold donated for the school was lost to her, along with the gold.

For to think of Jean Gayarre was to press away thoughts of other things.
 

Emilie had never managed to ask Isabelle’s advice on how to look forward rather than gaze into the past. Knowing that Isabelle loved her despite her confession and the facts of their birth warmed her heart and gave her hope that someday she might love herself as well.

As was her habit, Emilie took her coffee onto the eastward-facing porch of her tiny cottage on the edge of town and waited for God to put on His morning show. With last night’s storm safely over and the world washed clean, the day promised to be glorious.

First came the faint smear of purple at the easternmost corner of the sky. It spread like butter melting, the color fading from deepest purple to violet and then to the same blue as Emilie’s favorite bonnet.
 

Like moths drawn to a lantern, boats from the fleet docked east of the city floated toward the horizon. By degrees, the color blue climbed higher in the Florida sky, pushed along by the orange tendrils of a growing flame just below the edge of the ocean.

When the flame rose over the horizon to become a ball of light, Emilie set aside her coffee and picked up her Bible. It was not the Bible of her youth, the one she’d traveled with to New Orleans, then lost with the sinking of the
Sunday Service
. She’d purchased this one in a market in Havana that offered items salvaged from ships. The book had been a rare find and a commodity that held little value for a people whose language was not English.

The bookmark, a fat tangle of multicolored threads made by the schoolchildren as a gift on her last birthday, caused her Bible to open easily to the book of Isaiah. Emilie began reading where she had left off the previous morning at the beginning of chapter 59.
 

 “Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear: but your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear. For your hands are defiled with blood. . . .”

Emily slammed the Bible shut and set it on the porch rail, then looked down at her hands. Defiled. Yes, she felt that way.

Then another verse from Isaiah, one she’d read many times but never appreciated so much as now, came to mind: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

“White as snow.” She certainly didn’t see that when she looked at her hands. “Perhaps one day.”

“Perhaps one day you shall what?” came the booming voice of Hezekiah Carter.

Emilie smiled and rose to greet the pastor, who stood at the edge of the garden path she’d put in just before her departure, the silver knob of his cane glinting in the morning sun. “Just wondering at the Lord’s timing,” she said. “An everyday occurrence, I assure you.”

“As with us all.” His expression sobered. “How was my friend when you left?”

Emilie ducked her head then looked up to trace her finger across the corner of the porch post. “His old self, actually,” she said. “A bit feisty, a bit weepy.”
 

“I see.”

“He listened to me talk about Jesus.” Her gaze lifted to meet the pastor’s. “And he didn’t interrupt me.”

“Did he—”

“Profess faith?” She shook her head. “No.”

“I see.” He shrugged. “So we leave it up to the Lord.”

“And His timing.” She smiled. “See, yet another thing to wonder about.”

Reverend Carter looked away, then returned his gaze to her,
seemingly to study her expression. Emilie felt a bit uncomfortable
under his scrutiny but said nothing.

“I got a letter from him, actually,” he finally said. “It arrived the day before you did.”

“Oh?” She bit her lip. “What did he say?”

“That he gave you a miniature of your mother.”

She thought of the tiny painting and made a note to take the pieces apart so they could better dry out. “He did.”
 

A noisy seagull swooped past to land on the roof of the outdoor kitchen. Several others followed, each jostling for position on the tiny structure.

Reverend Carter nodded. “He mentioned something else.”

“Oh?” She reached to toy with the edge of the Bible. “Something you wish to share with me, or is this a confidence best left between old chums?”

The pastor tapped her gate with his cane as if he were counting the wooden slats. “His letter states that you left the city on the twenty-second of May.”
 

Her heart sank. While she’d considered what might happen should her misadventures ever come to light, Emilie had never expected it to happen so soon.

When she did not respond, he continued. “Perhaps my old friend has made a mistake. He is, after all, not a well man.”

Slowly she returned her attention to her visitor. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Thank you. No.” If he had an opinion on why she changed the subject, Reverend Carter wisely kept it to himself. “Actually, I’m here on an errand of a business nature. There’s to be a town meeting today.”

“I hadn’t heard anything about a meeting. Usually the judge makes some announcement. I wonder why he hasn’t done that this time.”

“Simple, Emilie.” Reverend Carter smiled. “Judge Campbell hasn’t made the announcement because he doesn’t know yet.”

“Reverend Carter,” she said, her tone light, “dare I ask what you’re planning?”

He touched his finger to his lips and winked. “It appears we both have our secrets today. I warrant I shall keep mine, and my guess is you will do the same.”
 

Her nod would have to suffice as an answer. She had no intention of saying anything further on the subject.

The pastor turned to leave, then stopped and tapped his temple. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“When I last saw your father, I made him a promise that I would act on his behalf should any suitors come around and express an interest in you.”

Emilie felt her breath catch even as embarrassment took hold. “Really,” she said as she tried not to show her horror at the turn of the conversation, “that’s not necessary.”

He shook his head. “I would be honored to stand in your father’s stead.” The pastor paused. “Unless, of course, you feel I am overstepping my bounds.”

“Oh no,” she quickly responded. “It’s just that, well, there’s really no need.”

There, she had said it. Some women were made to be wives, and other women were not. From her experience, or the lack of it, she fell into the latter category.
 

“Actually, there is a need. You see, there’s a young man here in Fairweather Key—a close friend of Josiah’s—who is entertaining the thought of courting you.” He paused and seemed to be trying to gauge her reaction.
 

She met his gaze. “Surely you’re mistaken.”

“No,” he said, “I’m quite serious.”

For a moment Emilie allowed herself to think of what it might be like to have a gentleman caller. Then, harsh reality struck. Eventually, she would have to tell him about who she really was and what she’d done.

“I can tell I’ve taken you by surprise.”

“You have,” she said.

“And the thought of being courted is distasteful to you?”

She shook her head. “Surely you understand that a teacher cannot be a married woman. It wouldn’t be proper. And there’s the issue of my parentage. You cannot believe I am free to marry, so why bother with suitors?”

“This is Fairweather Key, not New Orleans, Emilie. I’m sure it would be fine.” Her look must have answered for her. “Then perhaps this is a conversation for another day.” He gave her a curt nod, then added a smile. “I shall see you at the courthouse this evening. Five sharp.”

The day passed quickly as Emilie busied herself with catching the children up on their lessons. True to his boast, William had done a fine job in teaching the older ones, but the youngest of the students were now more interested in playing than learning.
 

By the time the last child bade her good-bye for the day, Emilie had need of a nap. If only their boisterous energy could be bottled and saved for moments such as this.

At least she’d been too busy to think. Were she not so occupied, she might have begun to try to guess which of the many single men in Fairweather Key had spoken to Reverend Carter on her behalf.

Emilie pushed away the thought, then gathered up her things and closed the door to the makeshift classroom that had been carved from a front parlor in the boardinghouse. It was a matter of much irritation to the judge that his wife insisted on allowing the school to operate in the establishment she managed.

He was, it seemed, trumped at home by his wife. Emilie suspected this was exactly the reason the old man chose to press the issue of funds for a proper schoolhouse. With the children either gone from his parlor or gone from the island, he could enjoy his meals in quiet.

And despite his size, Judge Campbell did enjoy his meals.

The mantel clock chimed the half-hour as Emilie tiptoed past the kitchen door. “Can you sit a spell?” the judge’s wife called. “I’ve apple dumplings coming out of the oven momentarily, and I know how you love them.”

“I do,” she said, “but I’m afraid I must hurry home today. Might I beg one for tomorrow’s lunch?”

“You might.” The older woman turned around and reached for the corner of her apron, then swiped at her forehead. For a moment, she merely stared.

“Something wrong?” Emilie asked.

“Wrong?” She seemed to consider the question a moment longer than necessary. “No, dear, everything’s fine. Might I ask the same of you?”

“Fine,” she said with a smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just—”

“Be heading over to the big meeting at the courthouse?” She grinned and let the corner of her apron drop. “Yes, I know all about it. But don’t worry. I haven’t told the judge a thing. This time around, he’s brought whatever’s to happen on himself.”

“What is going to happen?” she asked. “Do you have any idea what the reverend is up to?”

“Oh, I’ve a few thoughts on it.”
 

She reached for the dishcloth and opened the oven door. The delicious scent of apples and spices drifted toward Emilie, and her stomach rumbled in protest.

“I heard that,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Now sit yourself down and I’ll fetch something cold to drink. I promise I’ll have you fed and on your way well before the festivities begin.”

Emilie left her things at the door and moved toward the big table where Mrs. Campbell did the bulk of her cooking. Taking up a chair nearest the oven, she watched while the older woman’s adept moves had the sweet treat sitting on a plate in front of her in short order.

“This is dessert, you know,” Emilie said. “I feel awfully decadent having dessert before my dinner.”

“Oh, dear Emilie,” she said in her singsong voice. “One should eat dessert first upon occasion. I have it on good authority that it’s not only beneficial to the body but also to the mind.”

She laughed. “And what authority is this?”

“Well me, of course. Now, see what you think. I’ve tweaked the recipe a bit since you left for that visit with your papa.”

The first bite was delicious, even if she did have to blow on it in order to place the delicacy in her mouth. Emilie waited until the second bite before she dared ask her hostess anything further about the evening’s meeting.

“You mentioned,” Emilie began, “that you might have some ideas of what will happen tonight.”

“Did I?” Again, the singsong voice. “Well, I suppose I do.” Mrs. Campbell sat across from Emilie and tossed the dishrag over her shoulder. “And I suppose you’re being polite by not coming right out and asking what they are.”

“I suppose,” she said before taking a second bite.
 

Mrs. Campbell leaned forward. “Well, all right, if you insist. We all know my husband’s a good man, but he’s just about as stubborn as my daddy’s mule. Her name was Sally and. . .” She shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter what her name was. You get the idea.”

Emilie nodded as she chewed.

“I think all of this got started when the judge decided he wanted to find a way to get his parlor back.”

“Yes,” Emilie said, “and you know how I feel about that.”

“I do indeed, but I’ll not hear another word of protest. This big drafty house is perfect for a school. There’s no need to move it anywhere. Besides, where would you go? Your little house won’t fit three grown folks, much less the two dozen youngsters we’ve got.”

“True.” She set down the fork and dabbed at her mouth with the corner of her napkin. “But we must do something.”

“I think the reverend’s figured out what that something might be.” She pressed her palms against the table and rose. “But mark my words. What happens today is going to surprise all of you.”

“Don’t I get a hint?”

Mrs. Campbell giggled. “If I told you, it would ruin everything.”

Chapter 20

Judge Campbell stepped out of his office to close up for the night and found the whole town had showed up to walk him home. He shook his finger at the reverend, who merely smiled and joined him on the broad veranda that filled three sides of the combination courthouse, judge’s chambers, and jail.

“Welcome to our meeting, Judge,” Reverend Carter said. “Since you’ve been refusing to grant us one, a few of us decided to hold our own.” He looked around. “Actually, more than a few of us.”