Beloved Captive (23 page)

So, day after day, the rides continued. Always he returned to the tamarind tree, though he could never decide whether it was the view or the hope of hearing God’s voice again that drew him.

* * *

July 16

Caleb searched his grandfather’s ledgers, looking for anything that might catch his interest and relieve his boredom. The margin notes were far more interesting than the accounting of supplies in and crops out that made up the majority of the pages.

Each time he found a gem of wisdom in his grandfather’s hand, Caleb would stop and think about it before proceeding. Some were musings on seasons and planting, while others bemoaned the trials and celebrated the victories of a man consigned to live the dual life of pirate and planter.

He rested his chin on his palm. Someone had shaved his beard during the days when he lay between life and death—likely upon the orders of his mother, who detested what she called his savage whiskers. His hair had been cut as well, giving him the appearance of the gentleman he no longer was sure he could call himself.

The only consolation in his altered appearance was that he no longer looked into the mirror and saw the man who’d battled a pirate only to lose to a woman. Where once he had been the Benning, he now appeared to be solidly Spencer.

From Crusoe to. . . What?

Oddly, just as his grandfather expressed in his journals, Caleb felt a bit conflicted by the whole thing. He ran his palm over the spot just above his heart that still plagued him and wondered whether the Lord had allowed his injury as a proverbial thorn in his side much as He’d done with the apostle Paul.

Surely the Lord hadn’t used a woman as the vehicle for such an affliction. Try as he might, Caleb still could not forget the wide brown eyes of the woman whom he thought he was saving. Strange how the best intentions did not prevent the situation from going terribly awry.

“Hard at work?” Fletcher stepped through a broad stripe of dust motes dancing on sunlight to approach the desk, one hand behind his back and his ever-present pipe in the other. “I warrant this will pull you away from Ian’s scribblings.” He dropped a folded page atop the ledger. Imprinted on the wax was the unmistakable seal of the United States Naval Department.

“Naval department?” Caleb shook his head. “What’s this?”

“I’ll leave you to read it, lad.” He turned to go.

“No,” Caleb said. “Stay.”

Fletcher lifted one brow as if surprised but made no move to leave as Caleb lifted the seal and unfolded the page. “It appears, my friend, that I’ve been given a second chance in the naval department.”

“Appears?”
 

“Yes.” Caleb folded the letter and put it away. “The good news is I’ve been offered a full commission as a lieutenant.”

Fletcher’s brows lifted, but he said nothing.

“The bad news,” he said as he took up his pen and turned to reach for the inkwell, “is that I will be assigned an office and not a ship.”

“And has this changed how you feel about accepting the position?”
 

Caleb set his pen down and swiveled to face Fletcher. “No.”

“No?” His nod was curt. “And when will you leave us?”

“The letter requests I leave immediately, though I will need a few days to make the arrangements.” Caleb gave him a sideways look and a teasing grin. “Us?”

“There’s no need for that,” Fletcher said, obviously not amused with the jest. “I’ve come not only to deliver that letter but to speak to you as the head of this household on a matter most delicate. Your impending departure makes a speedy resolution of the greatest importance.”

Caleb gestured to the chair nearby. “Sit, then, and speak your mind.”

“I prefer to stand.”

Was that uncertainty he saw on his mentor’s face? “As you wish.”

Fletcher seemed to be considering his words carefully. Finally, he nodded and took a deep breath, pressing his palms together. “As you are head of this family, I come to you to state that I would have your mother’s hand in marriage, Caleb.”

“Would you?” He suppressed a smile in keeping with the seriousness of the occasion. “And what does my mother say to this?”

“Your mother approves but seeks your blessing as well,” came the familiar voice of Mary-Margaret Spencer. Soon, obviously, to be. . . ? In all Caleb’s life he’d known the man by only one name.

“Come in, Mother,” he called.

She complied, easing into the room with an elegance and grace combined with a wink that caused his smile to burst forth. She looked to Fletcher. “I know you wished I wait until you spoke to Caleb privately, but I found it quite impossible not to join you.”

Fletcher shook his head. “Perhaps this is a discussion best had later.”
 

“Well, Fletcher,” Caleb said as he watched his mother entwine her fingers with the tutor’s, “should you marry this woman, I warrant this will be the norm rather than the exception.”

“I welcome it,” Fletcher said.
 

“Then there is one final question that must be answered before I give my blessing.” Caleb crossed his hands over his chest as if preparing for a serious discussion. “Fletcher, in the two decades I have known you, I’ve only had one name by which to call you. Now that you and my mother will be wed, what shall she be called?”

The older man smiled. “Mrs. Fletcher, of course.”

Caleb could only laugh. “Of course.”

Chapter 24

July 18, 1836

When they were not working on their vessels or saving ships stranded on the reef, the wreckers took on the job of bringing the old dwelling up to the standards of a schoolhouse. Their wives, mothers, and daughters had freshened up the interior with colorful curtains and the exterior with a garden and beds of brilliantly blooming flowers. By the middle of July, Micah’s shack had become a proper school.

Micah had decided to live aboard the
Caroline
, a curious choice considering the offer of free food Mrs. Campbell had made. As had become her habit, Mrs. Campbell prepared a meal for those who were working at the schoolhouse and sent it with Emilie after school. Usually her arrival was preceded by the sound of hammers or saws or of men’s voices discussing the events of the day. So when Emilie arrived at the appointed time, the heavy cast-iron pot in hand, she was stunned to find no work being done and not a single man, woman, or child in sight. She left the food inside and walked around the perimeter of the property until she was certain the site was empty, then went back and retrieved the pot.

Retracing her steps with the intent of returning the food to Mrs. Campbell at the boardinghouse, she took a shortcut that led her toward the docks and the courthouse beyond. Clustered around the courthouse steps stood most of the men who would normally be fighting over chicken legs and bragging on the quality of Mrs. Campbell’s latest pie.

Deciding that whatever was transpiring had the men-only look to it, she kept to the other side of the street and picked up her pace. Surely Isabelle would hear from Josiah what had caused the impromptu meeting and inform her as soon as she could.

Emilie crossed the street just before the boardinghouse and almost got run into by Viola Dumont as she burst out the door of the infirmary. “I’m terribly sorry, Em,” Viola said. “I was just with the doctor helping to deliver the Thompson twins when I heard the news.”

Emilie shifted the heavy pot to the other hand and shook her head. “What news?”
 

Isabelle swept past, then stopped short. “Emilie,” she said, nearly breathless, “have you heard the news?”

“No,” Emilie said. “I have not heard the news, and if someone doesn’t tell me the news, I’m going to—”

Isabelle gave her a look then continued walking, Viola at her side. “Aren’t we testy today.”

“No, we are not testy. We are tired of carrying this heavy pot and tired of guessing what the news is.”

“Emilie?”
 

She turned. Micah Tate approached. He wore his work clothes and swiped at the sawdust on his sleeves as he walked. “I thought I saw you leaving the schoolhouse site. Here, let me carry that.” He reached for the pot and easily lifted it from her hands.
 

Emilie flexed her fingers. “Thank you,” she said as she worked the cramps out of her knuckles.
 

“Where are we going with this?” He turned back toward the docks. “Out to the site?”

“I’ve just come from there, and no one was around, so I figured I’d take it back to Mrs. Campbell. Say, what’s going on down at the courthouse?”

“I don’t know.” Micah gestured to the opposite end of town where the church sat on a rise a few blocks away. “I was helping Reverend Carter with some repair work to the church roof. When I left the schoolhouse, half a dozen men were there.”
 

“They’re all down at the courthouse now,” Emilie said.
 

He gestured to the iron pot. “Why don’t we drop this off with Mrs. Campbell and see what all the fuss is about?”

Micah loped up the boardinghouse steps, and Mrs. Campbell met him at the door. “Have you heard the news?” she called as she pressed past him.

“No,” Emilie and Micah said in unison.

Mrs. Campbell bustled on, gathering her shawl about her shoulders as she turned toward the courthouse. “The mail boat just came. Looks like we’ve got a new judge.” She turned to grin. “And just in time.”

Emilie spied Reverend Carter coming her way and waved. “What’s this I hear about a new judge?” he asked as he caught up to her.

“Mrs. Campbell said the mail boat came in and brought the news.” She reached to dust a smattering of splinters off the old man’s shirt front. Obviously, he’d been helping Micah.

“I supposed we’ll only get the details if we go down to the courthouse,” he said as he pointed his cane in that direction.

The door slammed, and Micah headed down the stairs toward them. “After you.”
 

Reverend Carter led the way on the narrow sidewalk with Emilie a step behind. Micah brought up the rear until they reached a spot where the aging and weathered sidewalk proved particularly treacherous.
 

“Careful,” Micah said as he reached up to place his hand on her elbow and guide her.
 

The touch of his fingers on her arm caused Emilie to stifle a gasp. “Thank you,” she managed to say when she’d gathered her wits.

A few steps later, she reached the courthouse square, where the crowd had gathered around an announcement posted on the judge’s door. While Isabelle waited, the men pressed forward to read the sign.

“Well now,” Hezekiah said when he returned with Micah. “It appears our federal government has taken notice of the fine job our wreckers do of filling their coffers.”

Emilie watched several wreckers come away from reading the notice, shaking their heads. “Oh?”
 

Micah nodded. “That letter’s direct from President Jackson’s office. Judge Campbell’s replacement will be some navy fellow from
Washington. Said he’s been detained but will be here in a month or
so.”

“Detained? I wonder what that means.”

“I’ll tell you what that means,” Micah said. “It means we’re under the iron rule of Judge Campbell for another month, and then we get some tenderfoot who’ll likely come down here thinking he knows more about us than we do.”

* * *

August 3

Washington, D.C.

“Admiral Griffin, I assure you the story is quite false.”
 

Caleb stopped his pacing and stood in front of the wide window with the view of the Capitol building and, ironically, his former office when he worked for the attorney general. He flexed his sore shoulder and cursed the damp weather that caused his freshly healed injury to ache even as he gave thanks that the naval department did, after all, wish to have him in their employ.

At least they had wanted him. But now, less than two weeks into the job, it appeared he might be on his way out.

First he’d been shot and nearly killed by one woman, and now he faced a false accusation by another. Staying behind in Santa Lucida to watch the crops grow would have been more pleasurable than this, and he would likely have avoided any further contact with females bent on his destruction. At least he knew his mother didn’t want him dead or married.
Scratch that last one. She’d have me married in a heartbeat if she could arrange it.

Admiral Griffin, Caleb’s commanding officer and the highest ranking member of the naval department other than the secretary himself, sat behind his massive desk and stared in astonishment, his jowls shaking. “Are you accusing my Frannie of lying about your intentions?”

“No, but—”

The admiral leaned forward, and the lamplight gleamed off the top of his bald pate. “So you are willing to offer marriage after such a compromise?”

“No, sir,” Caleb quickly said as he tried not to consider how very much the woman in question resembled her father. There would likely be no battleship going to sea with her name on it unless her father deigned to put it there.
 

“I demand you explain yourself.”

“There’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” Caleb began, “and there’s absolutely been no compromise of your daughter or any other woman, for that matter. Send for her, and in my presence I am certain she would tell you the same.”

“She was quite clear on the events of last evening.” His expression gave away nothing. “Crystal clear, Lieutenant Spencer.”

“With all due respect, I maintain my innocence, sir.”

Last evening. Caleb worked to keep any reaction from his face as he tried to remember where he’d gone and what he’d done. In the two weeks since his return to Washington as an up-and-coming member of the naval department, he’d been feted with suppers, soirees, and the occasional oratorical reading. Last evening had been one in a long line of these events, with the marked exception being his companion.

Yes, he recalled it now. An event at the vice-president’s home. An oratorical reading by some literary person-of-the-moment whose voice put Caleb to sleep in the first ten minutes.