Beloved Counterfeit (4 page)

“He’s right,” Josiah added. “We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot. Remember when I took the
Caroline
to go back to my sinking ship and find Isabelle when the others refused to? You ended up the only man who would stand up to Judge Campbell and fight to free me from jail, and you were the one I stole the boat from.”

Micah shrugged and decided to lighten the mood with humor. “Some days I have to wonder if that was such an honorable thing.”

Josiah gave him a good-natured jab. “And my wife would likely agree.”

“In all seriousness,” Caleb said, “I’m being pressured to provide the name of a man who will take on the organization and training of men to protect the island in case of Seminole attack. Emilie’s got her heart set on a trip to Santa Lucida, so this issue must be settled today.”

“Then pick Josiah. He’s a better man for the job than me.”

“I’ll not argue the point of which is the fittest for duty.” Caleb nodded toward Josiah. “But I also doubt there would be much happiness in the Carter household should I name Josiah to that role and keep him from accompanying his wife to Santa Lucida.”

“She’s been looking forward to meeting the woman who has become Emilie’s substitute mother,” Josiah said.

“Yes,” Micah said carefully, “I see the dilemma.”

“Then we’re agreed.” Caleb returned to his seat. “All that remains is for me to send word to Washington that I’ve found my man.”

Micah swiped at the beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the November chill. How easy it would be to take on that role, to accept the vessel that would take him out of his job at the warehouse and back onto the open ocean.

He’d carried on the ruse of being an upright citizen for all these years. What were the chances he’d ever be found out?

Yet God knew.

He had always known.

And loved Micah anyway.

“I’ve done as you asked and listened to your proposal,” he said to Caleb. “Now I’d like the same in return.”

Caleb’s nod gave him the go-ahead to speak, yet Micah found his voice would not come. Twice he cleared his throat, but the words refused to dislodge. He was left studying the toe of his boot and praying the Lord would allow him the confession that was long overdue.

The judge seemed to sense his trouble. “Is there something in your past that might prevent you from accepting this position?”

Micah nodded, unable to lift his gaze.

“Did you kill anyone?”

He jerked his head to meet Caleb’s even stare. “No.”

“Are you a thief?”

Again Micah replied in the negative.

“In that case, I’m satisfied in offering you this position.” Caleb shrugged. “Whatever you’ve done, it can’t possibly disqualify you from the work the position requires. Unless you can’t shoot a gun. That’s not the case, is it?”

“No,” Micah said, “I’m a decent shot.”

“Then it’s settled.” Caleb paused to run his hands across the edge of the desk. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything, Micah, because I’m certainly not asking. I’m living proof a man can have a past and still have a future.”

Micah considered the statement. Certainly the Washington lawyer turned Fairweather Key judge had overcome the fact that his mother’s Benning family tree held more pirates than lawyers. He’d even managed to snatch up Emilie Gayarre from right under Micah’s nose.

“I don’t need to know, either,” Josiah said. “You’re a good man. I’ve watched you, and I know it to be true.”

The temptation to shake hands on the deal weighed heavily on Micah. How easily he could see himself at the helm of that vessel. What he couldn’t see was standing up on Sunday morning to preach with this lie hanging over his head.

Micah swallowed hard. The Lord was fair even when what He asked was hard.

“Only fear the Lord, and serve him in truth with all your heart: for consider how great things he hath done for you.”

Serve Him in truth.
Indeed, it was time, even if he served the Lord from a jail cell instead of the pulpit.

“I’m a deserter, Judge Spencer,” he said before cowardice could take hold again, “and I’m thinking you might want to throw me in that jail of yours rather than promote me and give me a gun and a boat to patrol with.”

Chapter 4

“Viola, darling, you know I love you.” Dr. Daniel Hill rose from the blanket so quickly he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course I do.”

“Then I want you to understand that no matter what may happen, anything I do is out of love for you.”

“All right.” She gave him a sideways glance as she folded the blanket and set it aside. “Is something wrong, Daniel?”

“Wrong?” He shook his head then reached to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Of course not. It’s just that, well, one never knows what the future holds.”

Yet one might hope it held a wedding
.

As Viola Dumont made short order of packing the remains of the picnic lunch back into the basket, she watched Dan without caring whether he noticed. He did not, of course, for the shock of mentioning a wedding had sent him into fits of panic once again.

An exaggeration, but only slightly.

She did know he loved her—or at least she knew he called it that. After all this time measured now in years rather than weeks or months, it was something, this thing between them. But she’d begun to wonder if the course of love had run dry—at least on Dan Hill’s part.

Yet today he’d suggested a picnic at their favorite spot on the bluff, the place where the mangroves grew so thick that the tiny crabs skittering about under their limbs were the only sign of life. He’d taken her boating beneath the canopy of green once before. The crabs had terrified her only slightly less than the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her when Dan Hill kissed her for the first time. Odd how their kisses would always bring her back to the creepy tunnel of crab-infested mangroves.

Dan jerked at his collar and grimaced as the salt-tinged breeze lifted a strand of dark hair and brushed it against his jaw. She noticed the bead of perspiration tracing a path down his freshly shaved cheek only to be swept away by the back of his hand.

Only an idiot would think he perspired because of the heat.

No, it was Viola’s uncanny ability to send Fairweather Key’s only physician into either total silence or inane proclamations with one word:
wedding
. “Not ours, Dan,” she quickly added as she stuffed the folded blanket into the basket, though the words tasted sour against her tongue.

He tore his attention from the horizon and offered a far too quick smile. “Of course not.”

Of course not?

Her hopes plummeted, though she plowed on. “You see, I was down at the McGregor home this morning. Ella, her eldest, the one who sells eggs at the market, said she had heard a wedding was afoot for—”

“And the baby?” Dan ducked his head to swipe at his lapel.

“Baby?” Viola paused to try to understand the question. “What baby?”

“You’re a midwife, dear. I assume yours was not a social call given the advanced state of Mrs. McGregor’s confinement.” His tone held nothing but reproach, sending the last of Viola’s dreams of an imminent proposal skittering to the dark place where she hid them.

“Yes, of course,” she managed, clutching the handle of the basket so tightly it would surely break at any moment. Perhaps if she remained silent, the topic of weddings could once again be broached.

Green eyes wandered to the horizon where the sun danced behind the sails of a vessel heading for port. “I trust the delivery went without complication,” he offered.

Leave it to a doctor to try to turn a conversation about weddings into a discussion on medical issues. “It did,” she said as she paused to contemplate once again how to best recover their lost topic.

Dan stopped short and took the picnic basket from her, setting it at his feet. “Vivi?”

He rarely called her by this name, the one he’d somehow convinced her to admit had been her childhood nickname. Like the gulls overhead, Viola’s battered hopes once again soared.

“Yes?”

Reaching across the distance between them, Dan took her hands in his. Viola’s heart leapt as she hoped. . .prayed. . .this would be the moment she’d waited for.

“You’re quite a woman.”

She waited. And waited. Nothing. Instead, he stared at a spot just above her head, not quite making eye contact, yet not ignoring her altogether.

“Thank you,” she finally offered. “And you’re quite a man.”

It was her turn to cringe. She sounded like an idiot, yet most times in Dan’s presence she felt like one. He was superior to her in every way, from his medical prowess to the knowledge that encompassed everything else she held important.

The only thing she did better than him was the one thing that kept them apart. Perhaps he’d found the ability to finally move past that impediment.

“This is not easy,” he said, and she felt his fingers tighten around hers. “I’ve waited until the last minute to tell you lest I show myself to be the coward I’d prefer you not see.”

“Coward?” She shook her head even as she struggled to remain still. “You’re frightening me, Dan.”

He released her hands to cup her face. A fleeting memory of another man doing the same thing on the cathedral steps sent an involuntary shiver through her.

“You’re chilled.” Dan stepped back to remove his jacket and place it around her shoulders. “Now that’s better. Come close so I can hold you until you’re warm again.”

She went into his arms without argument, and she might have stayed there until far past the point at which it might be considered proper. Ever the gentleman, Dan released her before reputations could be harmed.

Not that anyone cared what a woman of her age did. After all, she was no Emilie or Isabelle Gayarre.

“Yes, thank you,” she said as she blinked hard. “I’m much better now.”

A lie, but she kept her mouth shut against retracting it.

Dan gave a curt nod before lifting the basket with one hand and sliding his arm around her waist with the other. “Perhaps this is a topic better broached another day.”

“What?” she said as she kept her attention fixed on the path ahead. “The baby or the wedding?”

He stopped short, nearly sending her toppling forward. “Neither, actually. You see, I was about to tell you that I must—”

“Kiss me.”

“Must I?” His expression softened as he set the basket aside and pretended to consider the situation.

“Indeed, you must. At once.” She smiled. “I insist.”

A daring move, yet it worked. Whatever bad news Dan Hill was about to deliver would now be postponed if not indefinitely, at least momentarily.

The kiss ended, Dan once again took up the picnic basket. Without a word, he forged ahead. Tempted as she was to remain in place until the doctor realized he walked alone, Viola was smart enough to realize that might not happen until he arrived on her doorstep and found her missing. With a sigh, she shouldered her pride and followed Dan Hill yet again down a road that led away from the question of matrimony.

* * *

“Micah Tate a deserter?”

The expression on Caleb Spencer’s face said much more than the words he’d just spoken. Having known Josiah much longer than Caleb, Micah couldn’t bring himself to chance a look in his direction.

The hope of finding relief in telling the truth of his past shriveled under the two men’s stares. Now that he’d opened his mouth, there was no turning back. Rather than pace, Micah sank back into the chair and then, in defiance of his shame, straightened his backbone.

“Yeah,” he said as he tried not to match his tone to the way he felt. “It all started back in January of ’28. We’d come to Texas with Austin in ’21 and were doing pretty well for ourselves on a piece of land that ran right up to the Brazos. Caroline and the baby were puny, but I figured it to be the cold weather, you know? Weren’t more than a few sneezes and a sniffle. Seems like I would’ve known if it’d been worse.” He paused until the memory dimmed, then swung his gaze to Caleb. “Maybe you heard about the Fredonia Rebellion.”

Caleb nodded. Josiah, however, looked puzzled.

“The alcaldes in Nacogdoches declared independence from Mexico,” Micah explained. “Something about disputes over land grants, if I remember correctly. Austin sided with the Mexicans and mustered up our militia to head up there and help them put down the rebellion. Didn’t take long. Those who didn’t run ended up in trouble with the Cherokee for involving them in the spat. I was standing guard outside the Stone Fort when I got the letter.”

He rose, unable to sit any longer.

“You don’t have to go any further with this,” Caleb said. “I believe I understand.”

“No. You can’t possibly. I walked—no, I pretty much ran when I couldn’t hitch a ride in some farmer’s wagon—all the way home, only to find two fresh-dug graves and a whole bunch of people looking at me like I was responsible.”

“So you left.” This from Josiah, who now stood and placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder.

Micah shrugged away from his friend. “Yeah, I left. Seems I was good at that. I left Caroline when she needed me. Left the militia without asking for leave.” He paused only to draw in enough breath to continue. “Figured it was just as well I kept on walking until I found a vessel leaving out of Galveston with need of a deckhand.”

“And you ended up here.” Caleb shrugged. “I can find nothing to hold against you, Tate,” he said. “The way I see it, you did what was asked of you then returned home with good cause. Unless I’m mistaken and you left the battlefield.”

“No, the fighting was done,” Micah said with the last of the air from his lungs.

“And your homestead?”

Again he was back on the banks of the Brazos; again he pushed away the memory. “Closed the door and walked out with the clothes on my back and the money we were going to use for spring supplies. Far as I know, it’s all still there gathering dust.”

The judge leaned back in his chair and seemed to be thinking. Finally, he reached for pen and ink then opened his drawer to find paper.

“What’re you doing, Caleb?” Josiah asked, his voice rising. “You’re not turning him in, are you? Micah Tate is a good man, and you know it. Why, just last night over supper my father declared him to be the only candidate to replace him in the pulpit.”