Heart of the Storm (11 page)

“I think so, but few outsiders share that opinion.”

A young boy, no more than six, ran up to his father. The father picked up the boy, hugging him close. Tears glistened on the father’s face.

“How long have the children been gone?” Rachel said.

“Three weeks.”

“Why so long?”

“The weather’s been too bad to risk a crossing.”

“When will they leave?”

“If the weather holds, Sunday afternoon.”

Rachel watched a child cup her mother’s face. Memories of her mother were vague now. Perfume, soft skin, lullabies.

“Knowing Ben, he will follow you,” Ida said.

Panic flared inside her. “He wouldn’t!”

“He would. He has set his mind to protect you.”

Pride had her lifting her chin. “I don’t want to be taken care of like a child.”

“Then show some spine, girl. Don’t be a weak-willed ninny.”

Anger flared. “I’m not weak-willed.”

Ida met her gaze. “Then take a stand and stay. This is your chance to recapture your life and start over.”

“I don’t know how to live in this world.”

“Those details have a way of taking care of themselves. All you have to do now is say yes.”

Rachel was touched. “Why are you so kind to me?”

Ida shrugged. “I’m not just doing this for you. I’m thinking of Ben.”

Footsteps sounded on the boardwalk. The door to the shop jerked open. It was Ben.

His face was tight with tension, until he saw her standing in the store. He released a breath before he reached for the front door.

The bells jingled over his head. “I saw you leave,” he said.

Rachel felt the sweep of emotion as she stared at Ben. His raven hair was wind-blown and his collar upturned.

“Rachel and I were just having a visit, weren’t we?”

“Yes,” she said. Like it or not, she couldn’t leave this place now. She was bound to it and to Ben in ways she couldn’t begin to describe.

A
heavy silence hung between Rachel and Ben as they walked back to the lighthouse. A scowl darkened Ben’s face. Rachel knew Ben was annoyed.

The reached the lightkeeper’s cottage and stopped at the front steps. He picked a blade of grass and tossed it to the wind. His face was all hard planes.

“I was leaving because I wanted to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection, Rachel.” Frustration punctuated his words.

“So Ida told me.”

He tilted his head back. His gray eyes took in every detail of her face. “Is that the only reason?”

She remembered his kiss. “Of course.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “You are a bad liar, Rachel.”

She blinked, shocked by his candor.

“You left because of the kiss.”

She hugged her bundle close to her chest as if it were a shield over her heart. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Rachel dropped her gaze. She wasn’t a virgin. There’d been Peter, of course, but the sex between them had been cold and unsatisfying. After her initial fears of the bedroom had passed, Peter had lost interest in her sexually. He’d not come to her room in over eight months.

She’d been kissed by suitors when she’d made her debut, but no man’s touch had rocked her as Ben’s kiss had. She’d felt it in every sinew of her body.

Still to talk about such desires out loud felt wanton. “The kiss scared me.”

Ben’s hand tilted her head up so she looked at him. “Was it distasteful?”

Heat rushed through her body. “It was quite pleasant. Too pleasant.”

“You ran because you liked it.”

“Yes.”

A hint of a smile borne of masculine pride touched his lips. “There is something between us, Rachel. I’ve felt it and so have you.”

“That’s the problem.” She spoke so softly.

He released her chin and traced his knuckle along her jawline. “Why?”

“Perhaps because I am half starved for affection. I’ve had none in so long. I fear I will drink up whatever you offer. And when I am satisfied, I won’t want you anymore.”

He took her hand in his. “You are honest. That I appreciate.”

Honest.
She’d not been honest with him. She was a liar and a fraud in so many ways.

Gently he traced circles on her palm with his callused thumb. “What if I’m willing to take the chance on us?”

She couldn’t think when he touched her. “I am damaged goods, Ben. I am good to no man anymore.”

His jaw hardened. “You are afraid, but you are not damaged, Rachel. You are a young, vital woman.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I feel as if I am one hundred years old.” She tipped her head back. When she’d stemmed the tide of tears, she met his gaze again.

“This is about your husband.”

“What?” She could barely breath. “H-he’s dead.”

“The marriage was bad.”

“Yes.”

“But it is over now.”

“Yes! I will never go back to my old life.”

He nodded. “As I’ve said, this is a good place to start over.”

“Is that why you came back after you left the Navy?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

He shoved out a breath. “Six months had passed since the peace treaty in Appomattox had been signed. Though most of the field commanders knew of the surrender, some of the Confederate sea captains did not.” He straightened his shoulders. “I was in command of a warship bound for England with a load of delegates—both American and British. The whole trip was designed to show the Brits we were a united country again, the war was over. We were in the North Atlantic when we spotted a ship on the horizon. It was the
C.S.S. Alabama.
I knew her commander was a shrewd man and a great fighter. I’d heard he’d not surrendered. An American delegate aboard—Mr. Martin—ordered that we approach the
Alabama.
I didn’t want to, knowing the risks. However, Mr. Martin insisted. I’d been told before we left port to obey his orders.

“I alerted my first officer to ready the guns and then we turned about to an intercept course. As we approached the
Alabama,
she fired on us. I didn’t hesitate to fire back. The lives of my men and pas
sengers were at stake and I wasn’t going to stand by and let my ship go down. We chased off the
Alabama,
but the incident infuriated Mr. Martin. He’d been humiliated in front of the Brits. He filed charges when we hit port.” Ben shrugged. “I was court-martialed.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“Who ever said life was supposed to be fair?”

She suspected he underplayed his feelings. He wasn’t the kind of man who swallowed injustice well. “The time had come for me to leave, anyway. I’d done all I could do in the Navy. They didn’t need warriors anymore. They needed diplomats. I’m not known for my subtlety.”

So she’d noticed. “You are not sorry you were forced to leave?”

“I am home now. This is where I belong.”

They stood inches apart in silence for several minutes. A flock of seagulls flew overhead, squawking as they circled. The wind rustled the sea oats on the dunes. The tang of the ocean hung in the air.

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Standing here with him, she didn’t feel lost. She felt as if she could conquer any obstacle.

Ben was so close, all she had to do was to lean forward and her lips would touch his. Desire, not
fear, drove her this time. She craved the taste of him; wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her again.

“I’m finished running,” she said.

He squeezed her hand. “Good.”

Rachel spent a restless day and night. Ben had been on duty and she’d tossed and turned, unable to fall into a deep sleep.

She’d dreamed of teaching the children. Of living here on the outer banks with Ben. And of monsters….

At dawn she had awoken, unable to spend another hour in bed. She’d made tea and sliced a piece of day-old bread. Once she’d cleaned up, there was nothing to do. She looked around the lightkeeper’s cottage, peeking into closets and closed-off rooms.

She perused Ben’s collection of books, still in crates in the parlor. She even found a couple of books that held interest. She curled up on the sofa in front of the fire and opened a book.

She read the first line. Her attention wandered and she skipped to the next paragraph. Before she realized it, she’d leafed through fifty or so pages without having read a word.

Frustrated, Rachel closed the book and rose. She paced the parlor. Her restlessness grew and she found the walls of the cottage starting to shrink around her.

She had to get out.

Fear wasn’t motivating her as she grabbed her coat. Annoyance was.

She had the freedom to choose, to live her life now as she pleased and yet she stayed hidden in this cottage.

She shoved her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “I’m not going to keep doing this to myself. I need to live my life.”

Rachel went outside. She’d go to the village and be among people. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do once she got to town. There’d been a time when she’d been completely at ease with strangers; she could walk into a room and strike up a conversation with anyone. But in the last year, she’d fallen out of practice. She’d all but forgotten how to talk to people.

She enjoyed the walk into the village. The cold breeze flapped her skirts as she savored the crisp air and azure sky. This was a fickle land. Already she’d learned that the weather changed without warning here.

The sound of children laughing trickled through the tall thicket of bushes aligning the path. Rachel stopped, smiling.

“Johnny is
it!
” cried a young girl. “Johnny, you must count to ten while we hide now!”

Johnny mumbled something about cheaters, but soon she could hear him counting, “One, two…”

Peals of laughter mingled with the thud of feet against the sandy earth. “Don’t peek,” a girl shouted.

“You always peek, Johnny Freely,” another girl squealed.

Rachel started to move silently down the path, not wanting to disturb their game. Just hearing them bolstered her spirits.

She came to the edge of the pathway, which opened onto a small clearing dotted by shrubs. A wind-bent tree stood in the center of the field. There she saw a young boy, not more than seven. He had red hair, a worn shirt, and jacket and pants that were two inches too short. He had dirty hands over his eyes and he peeked between his index and pinky fingers. He counted, “Seven, eight…

Rachel smiled. “I thought you weren’t supposed to look, Johnny.”

Startled, the boy dropped his hands and stared up her as if she had three heads. “How do you know my name?”

She stood still, worried that she’d frighten him more. “I heard the girls calling to you. They said you always peek.”

He frowned. “I don’t always peek.”

“You were this time.”

He scrunched up his nose. “That’s because the girls have made me ‘it’ seven times in a row. I’m sick of being ‘it.’”

“Cheating isn’t the way.”

He walked toward her, his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t cheating exactly. It’s not like I could see anything.”

“But you were trying.”

He shrugged. “Lot of good it did me.”

Rachel liked the boy.

A little girl about the age of ten with blond braids and a calico dress poked her head out from behind a tree. “Hey, Johnny, are you going to come and find us or not?”

When the girl spotted Rachel, her gaze narrowed. She called, “Emma!” Instantly another girl of about the same age popped up from behind a shrub.

The girls approached Rachel. Their gazes narrowed; they were clearly leery of her.

“Who’s this?” the first girl said to Johnny.

“How am I supposed to know?”

Rachel clasped her hands in front of her. “My name is Rachel. What are your names?”

The first girl said, “I’m Ruth and this is my sister Emma and our cousin Johnny.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Are you the shipwrecked lady?” Emma asked.

Rachel nodded. “I am.”

Ruth studied Rachel. “Billy Michaels said you are a mermaid.”

Laughing, Rachel raised her skirts a fraction to show her feet and ankles. “I’m afraid not. Just very lucky Mr. Mitchell was there to save me.”

Johnny rubbed his nose. “He saves a lot of people.”

“How did you get that black eye?” Rachel asked.

He shrugged. “Some mainland kid at the school. He didn’t like my clothes. I punched him. He punched me back.” He looked at her. “Ma said you had a bruised eye.”

Instinctively she touched her left eye. “I did.”

He studied her. “Who hit you?”

“A bad man,” Rachel said. “I don’t plan on seeing him ever again.”

“I wish I didn’t have to see those dumb boys again,” Johnny said.

Emma looked up at Rachel, her eyes wise beyond her years. “The mainland children don’t like us too much. They make fun of our clothes and the way we talk.”

Ruth scowled. “They’re creeps.”

Rachel’s heart opened to the children. “Ida tells me you have to go back on Sunday.”

Johnny kicked the sand. “I ain’t going back. I’ve had it with the mainland. I’d rather be dumb as dirt than go back.”

“He always says that,” said Ruth. “But Uncle Horace always puts him on the boat.”

“Ruth, Johnny, Emma!” The woman’s voice drifted through the trees.

“That’s Ma,” said Emma. “We’ve got to go.”

Without another word, the children ran down the path and disappeared around the bend.

Rachel stood silent. She’d lost her desire to wander around the village. She knew what she wanted to do now.

Captain LaFortune sat by the candle in the old fisherman’s shack. In his hand he held the ring the woman had given him. The rubies glistened in the light.

Forever and always.

The words meant nothing to him. Foolish sentiment. The tossed the ring up in the air and caught it in his hand.

He could trade the ring in town for just about anything he wanted, but he sensed it was worth far more.

LaFortune held it close to the candle and studied the intricate engraving on the inside. That’s when he saw the initials. R.E.

They were the initials of the woman!

Excited, he turned the ring over and over in his hand. Who was she?

He knew if he could figure out R.E.’s identity, he could recapture his fortune.

R.E.

She’d had blond hair, vivid blue eyes and soft white skin. And of course the dark bruise that had marred her skin.

To damage such beauty was a sin. He’d take a woman like R.E. to bed; he’d never beat her.

He shoved out a sigh. But there were men in this world that took more enjoyment from the pain than the pleasure.

R.E.

So young. So lovely.

He’d seen her before but where? And her smoky voice had stoked memories he couldn’t quite bring into focus.

LaFortune let his mind drift to the ports he’d sailed this last year. NewYork. Baltimore. Washington.

The answer danced at the edges of his mind just out of reach. R.E.

E for Edgar, Eggleston, Edmondson. Emmons.

Peter Emmons! Rachel Emmons!

The answer came to him in a flash. He clutched the ring in his hands and laughed out loud.
“Bien!”

He’d met Peter Emmons and his lovely wife Rachel in New York this past spring. He’d been taken by the woman’s beauty but he’d quickly realized Peter didn’t like any man looking too closely at his wife. The man had been obsessed with his Rachel.

Rachel’s bruise, her widow’s weeds and her impatience to leave all made sense now. She’d run away from her husband.

LaFortune smiled.

Emmons was a rich man, indeed.

And no doubt he’d pay a small fortune to get his runaway wife back.