Beloved Captive (7 page)

“Did you know I laid awake and cried for her?”

He looked away. “I was told of it.”

“And you let me believe I was the cause of her leaving.”

Now he stared. “Do you not think this was difficult for me as well?”

“For you?” The temper she’d held at bay broke free, and she gave voice to her outrage. “Unlike you, I had no anesthesia for my loss. I neither took to the bottle nor knew what I was missing. How dare you ask me such a question?” Emilie stumbled from the chair toward the door.
 

“If I am such a bad person, then darken my doorway no more, Emilie Gayarre. What use would you have for a father like me?”

Papa scalded the air with another round of curses that only the slamming of the door could silence. Even as she fell onto the cotton-cloud softness of her childhood bed a few moments later, Emilie could still hear the old man’s voice ringing in her ears.
The biscuit she’d attempted to eat for breakfast lay heavy as a rock in her stomach, and her prayers felt as though they bounced off the canopy of her bed and dropped like lead onto the rose-strewn carpet below.

Emilie rolled onto her back and stared up at the blue silk overhead. As a child, she imagined it to be her own piece of the New Orleans sky and wondered what the sky might look like wherever her mother laid her head.

Her mother.
 

Emilie shook off the thought and left her room to slip into Papa’s bedchamber. The room sparkled with the fresh cleaning. Likely, Papa would appreciate the efforts on his behalf once Nate fetched him. Though there was no need to hurry, she hastened nonetheless to retrieve the miniature of Sylvie from the bedside table. Returning to her room, Emilie lay with it beneath her pillow until finally the morning rain gave way to the brilliant fingers of golden afternoon sunlight.

Despite the change in weather, Emilie knew only a return to Fair-weather Key would truly lift the melancholy that had settled like a fog around her. If only she’d ignored the tug of responsibility and had accompanied Reverend Carter on his voyage three days ago.

Darken my doorway no more, Emilie Gayarre
.

She rose. Long gone was the defiant attitude of the morning. In its place was a resolve to leave New Orleans forever. With her mother dead and her father lost to her, what other purpose did remaining behind serve?

A soft knock was followed by Cook stepping into the darkened room. “Mercy, child, you can’t hardly go without eating.”

“I couldn’t, really,” she said as Cook lifted the silver cover to reveal more food than three people could eat.

Cook shook her head. “What happened to that girl I danced a jig with this morning?”

Emilie shrugged and tucked her feet beneath her. “Perhaps you will bring her back by telling me about my mother.”

“She was young and fair, and your papa was plumb taken with her,” Cook said as she leaned against the door. “And she with him.”

Reaching to clutch a pillow to her chest, Emilie regarded the older woman with what she hoped was a calm expression. “Did she love me?”

“Sweet girl, your mother loved the idea of you more than life itself.”

“Yet she did not. . .” Tears prevented her from continuing. Cook came to Emilie and wrapped her in an embrace. When Emilie had collected herself, she leaned away. “Yet,” she continued, “I never knew her.”

 
“Honey,” Cook said as she straightened, “she was weak from your birth and never recovered. I reckon neither did your papa.”

The simple answer made all the other facts fit together. Emilie glanced at the clock on her mantel. A quarter to two. “I’ll need Nate to bring the carriage around.”

“Yes’m,” she said, “I’ll fetch him now.”
 

When Cook had gone, Emilie climbed off the bed and walked past the tray to don her shoes and reach for her handbag. As she leaned over, something slipped from her pocket.

“The letter.”

Emilie retrieved it and hurriedly slipped it open. Inside, she read two paragraphs of chatty information from Isabelle, then one more that contained an impassioned plea for her quick return.

 
“And pray that our father has given his consent to fund the schoolhouse project,”
Emilie read,
“for I fear Judge Campbell is as stubborn as ever on his deadline of the first day of August.”
 

A second page followed, this filled with the scribbled notes of every child who attended Emilie’s makeshift classroom school in the parlor of the boardinghouse. Emilie held the letter to her chest as she counted the weeks until the judge’s deadline.
 

“I’m an idiot. I’ve been so busy worrying myself with the past that I forgot about the future of these children.”

The thought carried her all the way to the docks where, under the watchful gaze of Nate, she secured passage on a respectable passenger ship originally headed for Cuba. A few well-placed coins and a stern discussion between Nate and the captain regarding the fact that Emilie was a lady of quality bought her direct passage to Fairweather Key, where she would be deposited before the vessel continued on to Havana.
 

 
This accomplished, Emilie walked back toward the carriage with mixed feelings. The portrait now bounced and jostled against her leg from its hiding place in the pocket she’d sewn into her skirt. Two days hence, she would be headed home.

* * *

Surely they all knew of tomorrow’s departure, but no one who lived inside the gates at the Gayarre home seemed willing to mention the fact. Cook greeted Emilie with the same smile at breakfast and said not a word. When the older woman returned with a tray for Papa, Emilie regarded her with surprise.

“I figure you’ll be wanting to take this up yourself,” Cook said as she turned and made haste out the back door.

“Subtle,” Emilie muttered as she rose to fetch the impudent woman. But as she reached the back door, she changed her mind.
 

Only a coward would slink away without saying good-bye. “And I am not a coward,” Emilie shouldered the tray and headed upstairs.

Thankfully, Papa was sleeping, so she left the tray and slipped out of the room without waking him. The same thing happened when his dinner was delivered, making Emilie wonder if the old man was as fearful of holding a conversation as she.

The evening of the twenty-second of May, with her bags packed and waiting by her door for the next day’s sail, Emilie decided the ruse was over. Rather than bring Papa his tray, she instructed Cook to do so, then waited until she heard the sounds of his spoon scraping the plate before she entered the room.

“I’ve been caught,” he said. “Come in and close the door.”

She did as he asked but remained near the exit lest he repeat his vile behavior. “Have you been informed of my departure?”

His expression remained unreadable. “According to Delilah, you sail at dawn.”

Emilie nodded rather than speak.

His arms were thinner, his breathing more labored, but the embrace was as welcome and comforting as the rare hugs from her childhood. More so, she decided, for this might be the last time he offered one.

“I don’t have to go,” she whispered against his already damp shoulder. “I can stay here until. . .” She couldn’t say it.

“You’ll go because you’re needed there.”

She looked up into his eyes. “How did you know?”

He waved away her question with a sweep of his hand. “I’ll not allow you to travel unaccompanied. Allow me to send Nate with you.”

“Absolutely not, Papa,” she said. “You cannot spare him, and I have no need of him. The vessel I’ve chosen is a respectable ship whose captain produced impeccable references. Nate negotiated the fare and had what appeared to be quite a stern discussion with the captain.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be traveling directly to Fairweather Key, so the trip will be brief.”

Papa seemed to consider her statement. “It will be as you say then,” he said as she rested her head against his chest once more.
 

“Thank you, Papa, for understanding.”

“Yes, but, dear Emilie, understand this: I’m an old fool,” he said softly as he patted her hair. “You’ve filled a place in my heart that will remain long after you’ve gone.” He paused again, and Emilie could hear his ragged breath as it seemed to catch in his throat. “Will you forgive me for all I’ve done?” He paused. “And for all I’ve failed to do?”

Emilie let out a long breath and tried hard to remember every detail of the moment. To her surprise, her father pushed her away to hold her at arm’s length.

“I need to hear it, daughter,” he said. “I cannot rest without hearing your words of forgiveness.”

His image swam before her until she blinked away the tears. “Yes. I forgive you.”

Chapter 7

May 26, 1836

Aboard the merchant vessel
Sunday Service

Four days at sea, and Emilie felt as green as the dress she wore. “An unfortunate choice of attire,” she muttered as she adjusted the strings on her bonnet, then attempted to rise though the floor beneath her seemed to do the same.
 

Dining thus far had been near to impossible, much more so this morning as most of the night was spent lashed to the bunk with a length of rope. Such was the tossing of the waves that she’d felt certain she would wake to find all her things had been bandied about like toys.

The tiny cabin held fast despite the rolling of the ship, and with the sunrise, Emilie saw that so had her traveling trunk. Carefully lifting the lid, she reached for the tin of food Cook had packed for the journey and nibbled at a few crumbs of cornbread. When that went down successfully, she attempted a few more.
 

Soon enough, she’d had her fill and replaced the tin atop the other items in the trunk. As she made to shift the items around and close the lid, a small but heavy package landed atop her foot.
 

“What’s this?” She lifted the paper-wrapped bundle and turned it over. “Where did this come from?” Emilie looked into the trunk and saw that her small traveling case had been dislodged during the night and sprung open. Likely someone had placed this inside for her to find upon arrival in Florida.

Emilie held it up, then gave it a good shake. Moving back to her bunk, she sat beneath the gently swaying lantern and pulled at the string that held the package together. When the tie gave, a substantial sum of money and a folded note came tumbling out onto her lap and spilled on the bunk.

Gasping, Emilie reached for the note and folded it open. “
 
‘
Pour mon
belle fille, Emilie,’
 
” she read. “
 
‘This is for the purpose that calls you back to Fairweather Key.’
 
”
 

She let the note drop and reached to grab a handful of the fortune now decorating her bunk. “For what calls me back to Fairweather Key,” she whispered.

The laughter started as a giggle that bubbled up from deep inside. By the time she’d made an accounting of her newfound treasure, the giggle had become a laugh so joyful she doubted her ability to stop.

But stop she must, for the money needed to be safeguarded until she arrived home to present it to the judge. As she had suspected, the amount in her arms was exactly equal to the sum Judge Campbell required to keep the children’s education in Fairweather Key.

“How did you know, Papa?” she mused as she collected the money and returned it to the safety of the nondescript package.
 

The answer she might never know, but this did not take away one whit from the celebration the town would hold upon her return. Not a penny of this precious money would go to anything but the children’s education, but perhaps if the townsfolk were to pool their resources, the festivities would be something to behold.

A great wave lashed against the vessel, sending Emilie crashing shoulder first into the cabin wall. A check of the tiny porthole showed the sun still shone bright, so the cause could not be a storm. For this, she quickly gave thanks. The tossing and turning of her stomach, however, seemed greatly magnified when the walls were close enough to see their movement.

And she had great need to celebrate, even if those aboard could never be told the cause.

“Sunshine is exactly the cure for this,” she said as she folded the paper and attempted to retie the strings. “
 
‘For these are light and momentary discomforts.’
 
”

The repair of the package complete, she searched about for a place to hide it. Finally, she settled on sliding the package into the secret pocket in her underskirt alongside the miniature of her mother. While it was heavy enough to pull at the waist and tug down on the hem, her green overskirt hid the evidence. That accomplished, she rose and patted her front. Unless someone were to breach the bounds of propriety, the package would remain a secret.

Emilie said a prayer of thanks. Papa might have given the money, but she had no doubt where the idea had come from. She then extinguished the lamp and, with one hand clutching the wall, carefully made her way first to the door of her claustrophobic cabin and then onto the deck. After standing near the rail for a few moments, Emilie found the sunshine did indeed help her queasiness, but the wind buffeted her such that she had to repair to the shadows of the quarterdeck.
 

Other passengers seemed to have the same idea, for none strayed near the rail. Since they left the river and begun plowing across open water, she had seen very few of her dozen or so fellow travelers. Most, it seemed, kept to themselves and their cabins.

A rather sturdy barrel beckoned, and she managed to settle atop it without toppling it in the process. Before long, she’d become so comfortable there that she closed her eyes and allowed the tangy ocean scent to fill her lungs. Her breathing slowed, and a lovely feeling of peace descended.

The ringing of a bell jarred her, and Emilie scrambled to keep from falling. Where was she? Surely she slept in her bed. No, a bunk, that was it.