Beloved Captive (32 page)

When she disappeared into a rainstorm, he chased her but could not find her. He spent the rest of the dream searching for the woman with one slipper while grasping its soggy mate in his hand. In the other hand, he held a note that could spell his doom, the ink on the page running in dark rivulets down his hand and leaving a trail in the slick mud.

An altogether odd experience.

“No more naps, and early to bed,” he said as he rose to straighten his waistcoat and gather his senses, “lest I begin to believe I’ve become a part of some strange Brothers Grimm story.”

* * *

August 19

Over the next few days, Caleb kept his vow, though it was easier now that he had Micah Tate in his employ. True to the wrecker’s word, he had the work done in record time, allowing Caleb to catch up on things the previous judge had let go.

Caleb thanked the Lord for His provision, and thanked Micah Tate by offering him a raise though he’d barely begun his employment.

Among the items Mr. Tate could not handle was the threatening correspondence received on the last mail boat. Caleb locked the soggy remains of the letter in his office and set thoughts of its origin aside. Until further evidence appeared, he could only pass it off as some petty criminal’s attempt to rankle a newly appointed judge.

And this judge refused to be rankled, though thoughts of Emilie Gayarre and her schoolhouse came close to accomplishing the feat. On more than one occasion, he’d attempted to research the case of the schoolhouse funding only to find no precedent for or against its construction. Ultimately, he decided, it would come down to whether he could justify the expense.

He concluded he could not. Not if he wanted to return to Washington.

And that, he knew, was what he wanted more than anything.

At least, he believed he did.

Then came the troubling thoughts that plagued him most during the dark nights and while pouring his heart out to the Lord.
“The truth shall set you free.”

But the truth, should it be known, would do just the opposite. The grandson of Ian Benning would never be allowed into the hallowed halls of Washington or, for that matter, be given charge of a seagoing vessel as a member of the United States Navy.

At best, the truth might win him a permanent posting in Fairweather Key. He had only to look at the bitter old judge he’d replaced to know exactly what sort of sentence that was.

Life without hope of parole.

Chapter 33

August 22, 1836

The month-long break from school had barely begun, and already Emilie was at her wit’s end.
 

“Good morning, Miss Gayarre,” Judge Spencer called. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

He looked quite fit and rested, a marked contrast from the last time their paths had crossed. The cut of his naval uniform and the swagger in his step served to emphasize this man was not among his peers but rather his constituents. She shook off the memory of their embrace and chose bluster over the embarrassment seizing her.

“With me?” Emilie looked around before shaking her head. “Again?”
 

Shouldering past a group of dock workers, Caleb Spencer arrived at her side. “Perhaps we should have this conversation elsewhere. In my office?”

“I don’t know, Judge Spencer,” she said. “Our discussion at the schoolhouse certainly had the gossips’ tongues wagging. In the future, perhaps our conversations should be held in a more public place.”

“Gossips? Whatever would they find to say about us?” He looked truly perplexed. Then, slowly, understanding dawned. “You mean, they think I, that is we, that. . .”
 

Heat flamed her cheeks as she recalled the frantic warning Isabelle had given regarding the talk at the mercantile the morning after the storm. It seemed as though someone had been looking out their window at just the right time to see her run past, her skirts raised and at least one foot bare.

Evidently the judge had been close enough behind for the seeds of doubt to be planted. In a town as small as Fairweather Key, it took no time for the word to spread that the new judge had chased the schoolteacher down the hill in a raging storm.

What might they have said if they’d seen Caleb and her moments before she fled the cabin?

In any case, Caleb Spencer seemed to be the only one who hadn’t heard the story.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He turned to note a gaggle of
 
fishermen’s wives staring from their circle near the edge of the docks. “Your reputation, Miss Gayarre,” he said as he raised his voice to a level they could not miss, “is beyond reproach, and anyone who might think otherwise is welcome to speak to me personally on the subject.”
 

When he turned to stare at the women, they fled, likely to convene elsewhere and discuss the brazen judge and the horrified schoolteacher. Oblivious to the damage he’d just caused, Judge Spencer wore a satisfied look as he turned his attention to Emilie.

“No, Miss Gayarre, if you would do me the honor of attending a brief meeting in my office, I would be greatly appreciative.” Again he looked around, this time catching the attention of several elderly women seemingly out for a morning stroll. “I warrant the subject of your reputation will not be discussed as this is official business.”

She stared at him, unable to believe he could make light of something that was extremely vexing to her. As teacher to the children of Fairweather Key, she could not afford the stain of illicit behavior, even if unsubstantiated.

Refusing to allow the situation to escalate, Emilie straightened her spine and walked away. “Perhaps we can discuss whatever bit of business you have while we walk,” she called over her shoulder.

Caleb remained rooted in place. He was the judge of Fairweather Key, and this woman, a mere schoolteacher, must understand this. No longer would he play the fool while she issued edicts then walked away.

He watched her disappear into the crowd until all he could see was a sky blue bonnet dipping and bobbing amongst the fishermen, wreckers, and other dock workers. “This concerns the school,” he called at a volume he knew she could not miss hearing.

The bonnet stopped but turned neither to the left nor the right. Caleb leaned against the wooden piling, intent on waiting her out rather than being the first to give in.

Several wreckers strolled past and, upon seeing him, stopped to greet him. As he listened to the men’s tales of recent wrecks, storms, and other seafaring topics, he kept his attention focused on the bonnet, which still had not moved.

Finally, he drew his focus back to the conversation and soon found himself enjoying talk of a life he’d tasted only briefly. As they spoke of days at sea, Caleb thought of the
Cormorant
and the feel of salt-tinged spray on his face, of the squeal of dolphins playing in the vessel’s wake, of waking up tied to his bunk to keep from rolling off when the seas were rough.

“Judge?”

Caleb shook off the reverie and gave the wrecker his attention. “Sorry. For a moment I was back at sea.”

He’d said too much, yet among these men the statement seemed nothing more than a truth they shared. None born to the sea strayed long from its waves, it seemed. Besides, he did wear the uniform of a navy lieutenant.

The moment passed, and the joviality continued until a fetching woman with fair hair appeared at the edge of the crowd, calling the name of Henry. The poor chap, one of the men in their circle, reddened about the ears while his fellow wreckers made jokes at his expense.

“Come now, lads,” Caleb said. “Let’s not give what we cannot ourselves take.”

That quieted all but one of them, a lanky fellow barely out of his teens. “I don’t know about you poor married folks,” he said, “but the judge and I, we don’t have wives callin’ us home when we don’t wish t’ be called. Ain’t that right, Judge?”

Caleb nodded.

“Yeah, well, the way I heard it, the judge here might not be single much longer,” a portly fellow to his right said as he jabbed the fellow next to him with his elbow.

“What have you heard?” Caleb spoke the words evenly and without inflection. “And more important, from whom?”

Silence reigned. Henry slunk away after his wife shouted for him once again. The others looked longingly after their departed friend, but none made the move to depart.

“I would have an answer, sir.” Caleb caught sight of the blue bonnet. Had she moved closer? She certainly wasn’t walking this way at the moment, and for that he felt only relief.

“The wife,” he began, “seems she heard from Miz Ivan’s over at the mercantile who heard from Miz Carraway down to the funeral home.”

Caleb gave up on trying to follow the logic of the man’s statement and focused on controlling the damage. “Did you stop to think that perhaps this was idle gossip and not based in fact?”

As soon as he asked the question, he saw the bonnet begin to move. Toward him. Caleb swallowed hard.
 

“I didn’t mean no harm, Judge,” the wrecker said quickly. “If it ain’t so, then it ain’t so.”

“Yes, well,” Caleb said as the bonnet disappeared for a moment, “in the future, I suggest you mention to your wife that she cannot believe everything she hears.”

The bonnet reappeared and seemed to be picking up speed. If only the docks weren’t so crowded this morning.

“If you gents will excuse me, I’ll be off.” He bolted from the group.

“Nice chatting, Judge Spencer,” the younger wrecker called. “I’m glad t’ hear you’re not givin’ in t’ married life like the rest of these blokes.”

Caleb waved in response but picked up his pace.

“I’ll pass the word on to the wife,” the other wrecker shouted. “I told her the idea of you and the schoolteacher carrying on up at the schoolhouse at all hours wasn’t to be believed.”

He’d almost reached the safety of the crowd. Then Emilie Gayarre appeared. When she saw him heading in her direction, she froze.

Chapter 34

At the sound of male laughter, Emilie paused. When she heard
 
someone mention carrying on at the schoolhouse at all hours, she found herself quite unable to move.
 

Upon catching sight of her, the men seemed unwilling to continue their banter. Their leader, Caleb Spencer, however, had the nerve to offer a smile.

Each man who stared—and there were many, for it had obviously become quite the sport to watch her spar with the judge—would likely carry the tale home to his wife.
 

A sick feeling began in her stomach, followed quickly by an anger that burned in her cheeks. Squaring her shoulders, Emilie turned and walked away.

To where, she had no idea. The cottage beckoned, but the idea of the judge following her to that remote location was unthinkable. Should he show up on her doorstep so soon after the incident in the rain, her reputation would never recover.

Pasting a smile on her face, Emilie greeted those she knew while trying not to bowl down those who got in her way. Finally, she reached the courthouse square where the crowd had thinned to just a few vendors and a half-dozen citizens taking in the morning sunshine. She slowed her pace and allowed a deep breath.

Surely given the situation, Judge Spencer would have the good sense to detour into his office and leave her to her own devices. The sooner the nasty rumors of their supposed love affair died down, the better.

Yet the judge caught up to her, heedless of either of their reputations. “I will make this brief,” he said as he cut off her escape. “The answer to the question of funding a new school is no.”

He turned and walked away.

“Wait.” Emilie fell in step beside the judge, then touched his sleeve. “Elaborate, please.”

He stopped to stare at her hand until she removed it. “I’ve given your written request the proper consideration and found I am unable to accommodate your request for a new school in Fairweather Key.”

“And any argument I might make to the contrary?”

“Miss Gayarre, has the time not come to set aside our differences?”

When she did not immediately respond, he set off again toward the courthouse. “Wait,” she called to his retreating back. He took the steps two at a time and disappeared inside, leaving her to decide whether to follow or retreat to battle another day.

“Emilie?”

She turned to see Micah Tate approaching, one arm in a sling and a child at his side. As he neared, she saw the fair-haired tot was little Tess O’Shea.

“Hello, you two,” she said as she strolled toward them. “It’s good to see you out, Micah.”

“I understand you’ve met.” Micah looked down at the little girl. “Tess, she doesn’t look like she swallowed a tiger to me.”

“A tiger?” Emilie smiled as she recalled her last conversation with Tess. “Did she explain?”

Micah chuckled. “No.”

Emilie gave him a quick explanation, then shared a laugh with him while Tess wandered off to follow a butterfly as it danced from flower to flower. “How are you feeling?” Emilie asked.

“I’m great.” Micah’s gaze followed the child, and he grinned. “Once this arm’s healed, I’ll be even better.”

She joined him in watching Tess, who had befriended a pair of elderly ladies and seemed to be entertaining them with some sort of tale. “She’s a sweet girl,” Emilie said. “Not nearly as quiet as her sisters.”

“That’s the truth,” Micah said. “Breakfast at the boardinghouse won’t be the same once Tess leaves.” He seemed to reconsider. “All the O’Shea women will be missed.”

Emilie smiled. “Why, Micah Tate, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you might have designs on that little girl’s mother.”

His face turned near the color of his hair. “I wouldn’t call it designs,” he said, “but Tess’s mama’s a nice lady who’s landed in a set of hard circumstances.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Once she’d spoken the words, Emilie realized they weren’t true at all. She could imagine seeing a ship go down with little left to show for what was on it.