Beloved Counterfeit (2 page)

“You’ve come,” Opal called. “I hoped but didn’t dare ask.”

Claire glanced behind her at the bustling port city she’d come to call home. How many years ago had she stood on this same platform and stared back at a Hawkins vessel in the hopes that she’d found a new life?

It seemed like yesterday, yet she and Opal had lived a lifetime since then.

“That you, Ruby Red?”

Claire suppressed a groan. He hadn’t called her that since their childhood days.

Tommy tossed a rope to a crewman and came to stand by Opal, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Isn’t that something? I didn’t expect I’d get two lovely ladies for the price of one.”

Ladies. Price.

Claire sighed. An unfortunate choice of words, though she knew he likely did not make the same reference as she.

“You know what your problem is?” Tommy released Opal to lean over the rail. “You’re far too serious.”

“Am I now?” This from a man who hadn’t said two words to her in six months.

“Yes,” he said as he offered a courtly bow. “What if I promised to help you bury the serious Claire O’Connor at sea? Next time your feet touch dry land, you’ll be Ruby Red, sailor of the seven seas.”

His laughter was contagious, though she’d not let him know. “I never liked it when you called me Ruby Red,” she called back.

Tommy pretended to think. “How do you feel about plain old Ruby? Not that you’re either,” he said.

“Look here, Tommy.” Opal came to the rail and gave Tommy a playful nudge. “She’s my sister, but I’m your wife, so you’d better be careful.”

“Your wife?” Claire swallowed hard. “Since when?”

“I married her weeks ago,” Tommy said, “but she was afraid to tell you.”

Opal looked apologetic. “I know you wanted big things for me, Claire, but I love him. We’d planned a fancy ceremony. You would have liked doing that for me, I know.” She linked arms with Tommy. “We didn’t count on being blessed with a little one so quickly.”

By degrees, the picture became clear.

“Come aboard,” Opal called. “I’ll play, and you can keep watch. When the baby comes, you can be her auntie Claire.”

“His,” Tommy corrected.

“Or perhaps one of each.” Her giggle sounded almost like the Opal of her youth. “Claire, please. We’ll have this adventure together.”

Together.
In a moment, Claire made her decision; for a lifetime, she would regret it.

Chapter 2

March 1837

Fairweather Key

Ruby O’Shea stood at the surf’s edge and forced herself not to stare at the horizon. It had become a bad habit, this watching for a ship she prayed would never arrive, and today she resolved to break it.

Seven Sundays ago, she’d started thinking about allowing the Lord to bury the name of Claire O’Connor and all the ugliness that went with her. Yesterday she’d gone and done it. Now she was well and truly Ruby O’Shea.

At least that was how she figured things worked. After all, the Bible said Jacob wrestled his way into a new name and a clean slate. If he could earn the name of Israel and get the promise of a nation rising from him, maybe she, too, could claim a fresh start and a name change.

Her conscience prickled, a sure sign according to the preacher that she still had some business to attend to with God. “I’m new at this, Lord,” she said as she lifted her skirts and stepped over the skittering surf. “Maybe You could give me a nudge and tell me what I’ve forgotten to confess.”

She lifted her eyes to the cloudless sky and waited. Nothing. Maybe it was the change of name, though she’d found no other way to leave the past behind and keep the future safe. The last name he’d expect her to have would be Ruby. The name she hated.

“Lord?” An east wind lifted her braid and slung it over her shoulder, and a lone gull screeched overhead. Still, God did not answer.

“Maybe I didn’t ask right,” she said as she turned her back to the water and dug her toes into the wet sand. “At least when I get it wrong, You don’t whack me like—”

No. She’d been promised her past was just that—past—and her scarlet sins were white as snow. That meant all of them. Even the ones so shameful she couldn’t tell a soul except the Creator, who’d promised He would toss them down to the bottom of the ocean.

“Now that’s something I know a bit about,” she said as she picked up a tiny shell with her toes and kicked it into the air. It landed a few yards away and rolled down into the water.

“Just about everything I ever cared about except the girls is down there at the bottom of the ocean. My sins might as well be there, too. Sort of evens things out.”

It didn’t, but Ruby figured if she said it enough, she’d believe it. The idea wasn’t any more farfetched than the thought that anyone could forget who and what she’d been.

It was all too much to figure out, so she decided not to try.

The island of Fairweather Key was so small she could walk the whole of it in an afternoon. She knew because she’d done it before, though that dark day was another she’d cast into the depths.

Today her walk was with a purpose and must be completed before the hungry souls back at the boardinghouse came looking for their lunches. The fact that she’d been taken under the roof of the most respectable establishment outside of the church still astounded Ruby, for Mrs. Campbell, the owner, was not only the wife of the former judge but also the only live soul to whom Ruby had told the whole truth.

When she had confided in Mrs. Campbell, Ruby had fully expected to be turned out on her ear, along with the girls. Instead, Ruby had been clothed, fed, and given the keys to the front door. Where she came from, people didn’t treat scarlet women that way.

The whole thing made her regret she’d chosen the name Ruby. In her mind, the name had been a joke based on the condition of her character, and one she’d only carried forward once she found herself hauled soaking wet and shivering onto the shores of Fairweather Key by rescuers.

Only the Lord could have planned a trip that ended in a shipwrecking and then began all over again with a new life. Ruby certainly hadn’t figured things to go that way. Now the joke was on her.

“Keep moving,” Ruby said as she stepped over a tiny skittering crab, being careful to keep her skirts above the wet sand.

She was a lady now, and ladies did not tromp through town with wet, sandy skirts. This much she remembered from her childhood, though she’d been hard pressed to remember it even then.

Months of living like someone else on Fairweather Key had taught her well enough that the urge to throw off her frock and dance in the waves was a desire best left in her old life. Yet the yearning plagued her even now.

So did the craving for the one thing that would take away the memories.

“There,” she said as she spied what she had come for.

The pale circle disappeared as the surf rose, the grainy sand playing havoc with the neat reminder of where it had been. Ruby waited to grasp the sand dollar when the water slid away.

“Ahoy there,” a familiar voice called, and Ruby turned to see Micah Tate strolling her way.

Handsome as the day was long, and twice as nice as any other man who’d come within smiling distance of her, the wrecker-turned-preacher never failed to set her jaded heart fluttering. It surely wasn’t his charm; from what Ruby had observed, the fellow hadn’t learned a thing about courting the ladies. Nor was it persistence of any kind, for Micah Tate seemed determined to ignore her every time she stepped into the room.

Oh, he’d compliment her cooking and thank her for the seconds or thirds he always ate, but he rarely spared her more than a passing glance. What she’d really wanted was to ask him about the notes he seemed to be forever making in that big Bible of his.

The only possible reason he would be calling to her now was either mistaken identity or empty belly. She was, after all, in charge of the kitchen at the only boardinghouse in town. And though he lived up near the ridge in a place that reportedly offered a view of the key that none other had, by prior arrangement with Mrs. Campbell, Mr. Tate took all of his lunches and some of his suppers at the boardinghouse.

“Ahoy,” Ruby called in return, though the greeting felt silly.

Spying the sand dollar, she made a grab for it just as a wave surprised her. The impact knocked Ruby sideways, and she skittered like a crab to keep her footing.

“Hey there,” Mr. Tate said as he closed the distance between them in long strides. “I hope whatever you fetched was worth the soaking.”

And soaked she was, from the hem of her skirt to the sleeves she’d starched just this morning. So much for acting the lady.

He seemed to be studying her with some measure of amusement. Or was it disdain? From where she stood, it was hard to tell.

Ruby spared no further time trying to decide. Long ago, she’d decided there were only two things a man wanted from a woman. Given his lack of friendliness, likely this one just wanted his belly full. They always did, even when that wasn’t the ultimate goal.

Mr. Tate continued to stare, though he seemed to be a bit short on words. She dropped the sand dollar into the pocket of her apron and counted to five lest her temper get the better of her. “I assure you I can cook even in wet clothing.”

Her statement startled him, or so it seemed from his expression. “I didn’t worry—that is. . .well. . .I’m sure you can cook just fine even with your skirts clinging to your legs like that.”

So that was it. His belly had taken second place. Well, there had once been a day when that sort of line might have landed a fellow behind a locked door, his wallet significantly lighter, but no longer.

“What are you looking at?” Even as her temper flared, Ruby felt a certain satisfaction that Micah Tate was finally paying her some measure of attention.

The man lifted his cap to run his hand through hair just a shade darker than her own rusty red. Likely he was teased about it as mercilessly as she.

Not that she’d dare let down her guard to feel sorry for him.

Yet in all the times she’d watched him sidle up to her table and partake of whatever meal she set before him like a man half starved, Ruby had never really
looked
at him. Only when he turned and walked away did she realize Mr. Tate had not responded to her question.

Guilt, her constant companion, plagued her just enough to cause her to call after him. “Didn’t mean to speak so rudely,” she said, one hand shielding her eyes from the ever-present sun.

He turned and regarded her no less harshly. “Yes, you did.”

The truth, and she knew it. Ruby met his steady gaze and almost smiled. “Yes,” she admitted, “I did.”

The Tate fellow shrugged. “I figure whatever’s got you mad’s something I’m not asking about, so don’t bother to tell me.” He had the audacity to grin.

“There’s no danger in that,” she said.

“I didn’t figure so.”

He shrugged and seemed in no hurry to move as Ruby shook out her soggy skirts and reached for her shoes. Maybe he was like her in that a walk on the beach with only the gulls for company kept the rest of the day on a smooth path toward a good night’s sleep. Maybe when it rained, he, too, paced the confines of whatever room he was stuck in and wondered what sails were heading over the horizon undetected.

Perhaps that was why he’d chosen to build his home on the highest ground in Fairweather Key—so he could keep watch.
What a stupid thought
.
But then, her head was full of stupid thoughts.

At least that’s what Tommy had told her. And Papa before him.

Ruby pretended to fret with her apron strings as she cast a furtive glance at the fellow now standing with pants wet halfway to the knees from the surf. So she had the worrisome habit of forever keeping watch. Life had taught her that things happened when she looked away. Bad things.

If only she’d kept watch that night when Tommy thought to choose her bed over Opal’s. For once, he had been the one who would bear the scars—not her.

She threw another glance toward the horizon; then, as if she were more interested in the weather, she turned her attention to the sky. Puffs of white cotton waltzed across a sky as blue as the girls’ eyes.

The girls.

Her heart caught in her chest as it did whenever she thought of them. Right now, twins Carol and Maggie would be learning their letters and numbers from Miss Emilie—Judge Spencer’s new wife—at the new schoolhouse. Smart as whips, those two, and quick to fit in with their adopted home.

Ruby smiled to think of Tess at the parsonage, helping the reverend’s wife entertain her grandbaby. How much help a four-year-old could be was questionable, but Mary Carter seemed to thrive on having the little girl underfoot. Tess, too, had blossomed under the Florida sun.

“Well, what do you know?” Micah Tate drawled. “I’ve witnessed a miracle.”

She looked his way but didn’t respond.

“Yes, indeed,” he said as he fitted his cap back in place. “I saw a genuine miracle just now.” He laughed, deep peals of humor that rumbled as they rose. “Indeed,” he said a moment later, “had you been standing where I am, you’d say the same thing.”

“I’ll not play your game, Mr. Tate,” she said.

He grew somber. “No, I should’ve known you wouldn’t.”

A nod of good-bye would have to be sufficient, she decided as she felt her apron pocket for the sand dollar. By the time she’d made her way past him, Ruby had already redirected her thoughts to the noonday meal and what she’d be serving with the stew.

The diversion served her well. By the time she’d decided on warming last night’s bread and slathering it with fresh jam to go along with the stew, Ruby had all but forgotten her worries.

Not forgotten, exactly, but she’d certainly shoved them to that dimly lit part of her memory where only the occasional shaft of light and remembrance pierced the darkness.

“Miss O’Shea?” Mr. Tate loped up to join her, his pant legs rolled to the knees and his boots in hand. “Aren’t you curious as to the miracle I saw?”

She picked up her pace and counted off the ingredients for the pie she’d bake this afternoon. Soon the larder would need to be refilled. Thankfully, Mrs. Campbell had trusted Ruby with the household account while she was away visiting her daughter on the mainland. Without the ability to purchase what she needed, the boarders would soon be doing without most everything except the fruit that grew readily on the trees in the side yard and the scrawny chickens that ran about like they owned the place. Humility rolled over Ruby in waves as she thought of the dear woman who knew the ugly truth of her past and trusted her anyway.