Love's Rescue (18 page)

Rourke ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it off his forehead. Their task had just gotten a lot more difficult. “Then we’ll have to find a way to get her out.”

Poppinclerk’s offer of help came to mind. He’d claimed to have information that would give Rourke what he wanted most. Maybe he knew who was guarding the back gate. Maybe he had a key to enter the Benjamin property. On the other hand, Rourke’s first instincts might be right, and Poppinclerk would walk him straight into a trap.

By the time Elizabeth shut the door to her brother’s room, she had regained her senses. No one could force her to marry. If Mr. Finch had the audacity to announce an engagement, she would counter with a denial. She must.

“Where would you like me to wheel your chair?” she asked Charlie.

“To the desk.”

Now that she had been admitted to Charlie’s domain, she took a good look around. A large desk dominated the front half of the room, while bookshelves lined the wall.

“It looks just like Father’s study,” she said. “I had no idea you were so interested in your studies.”

“There’s not much else to do when confined to a room.”

The truth stung. “I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s a fact.”

This was neither the timid boy of years ago nor the young man who had joked with Rourke. Charles Benjamin II wielded power, even over Father. If not for the withered legs hidden beneath a blanket, his brilliant blue eyes and engaging wit would have captured many a girl’s heart. But the legs made all the difference, and he knew it. Sarcasm tinged his replies, as if he dared her to fight. She could not, for he was stuck in this state because of her mistakes.

The rest of the room served as his bedchamber. A chair and small table sat beside his bed. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall.

“Crutches? You can walk?”

“One of Father’s ideas.” His frown carried into his voice. “He wants to make me whole, but nothing can do that.”

Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I’m sorry.” How many times must she say it before it made any difference?

“You should be. Why would you agree to marry that fool?”

It took her a moment to grasp what he’d just said. “Mr. Finch.”

“Of course Mr. Finch. I’ve never seen a more pompous idiot, and yet you agreed to marry him.”

“I didn’t. At least not knowingly. I wasn’t paying the slightest attention. He must have thought I was nodding in agreement, but I wasn’t.”

“As I thought.” A faint smile curled his lips. “Hold the chair still.” He lifted himself onto the desk chair, then opened one of the dozen volumes stacked on the expansive desk. “I don’t like Percival Finch.”

“Neither do I.”

He lifted his head. “Then why entertain him at all?”

“Father insists.”

“And you obey everything Father says.”

“You tried the crutches, didn’t you?”

Charlie ignored the jab. “I’m not the one getting married.”

“Maybe you can get away with flaunting Father’s commands, but daughters are expected to obey and to marry.”

“Then you would marry a bore just to please him?”

It didn’t sound so noble put that way. “Not to please him.”

“Then why?”

She couldn’t mention the inheritance, for Charlie could claim no share of it. Neither would she allow security to dictate her future. “I will not marry such a man.”

He grinned. “Then you still like Rourke?”

The bald question sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She did. Oh, how she did, but he was gone. He had left her alone to fend off the pressure to marry her father’s choice of suitor. Just like Mother. The similarity hurt. “How I feel doesn’t matter.”

“That sounds like Father speaking.”

She turned away.

“Avoiding the truth won’t make it disappear,” he said.

“Rourke is leaving. Perhaps you did not hear. He is returning home for as much as a year.”

That silenced him. She felt his hurt. Rourke was the only person who visited Charlie, his sole friend. Elizabeth had received a note from Rourke. Apparently Charlie had gotten no word.

“I thought you would know,” she whispered.

He shook his head, putting on a brave front. “What Captain O’Malley does is none of my concern.” He turned the page of his book, pretending to study, but his eyes did not move.

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you to the harbor that day, your life would be normal.”

Charlie stared down at the book, his curly locks hiding his expression.

“I’m sorry.” Each word took enormous effort. “I-I know you’ll never forgive me. I accept that. It’s my fault. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Still the bowed head. Still the silence.

Elizabeth backed away, sick at heart. If he would not accept her apology, what could ever bring them together again?

The answer came in an instant. “I will wait for Rourke.”

Charlie finally looked up. “Do what you want, Lizzie. You always have.”

The truth of the accusation struck harder than the tallest wave. Her selfish desire had cost Charlie the use of his legs. Then she had let Rourke take the blame. Now they were both lost to her. A sob rose up her throat. She could not let it out. She could not let Charlie know how deeply the guilt hurt. Blinded by conscience, she yanked open the door and ran.

E
lizabeth pored over the diary, looking for something that could mend her relationship with Charlie. The next entries consumed the weeks leading to her birth. Her mother had turned her anguish into busyness. She oversaw every detail of the new nursery, made baby clothing, and followed every directive of the midwife.

Still, the question lingered. Who was the other child? Finally, a month before Elizabeth was born, Mother wrote just one line in the diary.

I asked Charles, and he did not deny it.

Elizabeth clutched the diary to her chest and wept. She had a half sibling. Mother had married her parents’ choice only to discover her husband loved someone else. Such pain. How her mother must have hurt during what should have been a joyous time.

Who was this illegitimate child? The offspring of a newcomer, certainly. Mother had lamented the woman’s arrival in town. She must also have become a friend of the family, someone
who brought her baby to the house often enough that Mother couldn’t imagine raising Elizabeth with the other child so near. The association had been close enough that Mother could not even write her name in her private diary. In such a small town, everyone knew each other.

Maybe the baby had died. Mother had never hinted at another child. Elizabeth knew it was wrong to wish for anyone’s death, but she couldn’t suppress the hope.

She read on, seeking the answer.

The diary bounced between notes of commonplace occurrences to prayers for strength to deal with “the situation.” Then came a conspicuous break in the dates. From March until May of 1830, Mother wrote nothing. Elizabeth had been born on the first day of spring.

Mother had always called Elizabeth her “little light of hope” because of her birth date. The dark days of winter were gone. Spring had arrived. In Mother’s native South Carolina, that meant the planting of crops and the hope for a good growing season. Here in Key West, it meant the return of abundant fishing as the waters warmed.

Elizabeth’s birth also seemed to usher in new confidence for Helen Benjamin. In the first entry after the gap, she wrote:

What a treasure this perfect baby girl is. Charles wanted a son, of course, but God has blessed me with a daughter, as if an answer to my pain. A son would have pleased Charles, but beautiful Lizzie’s smile wipes away every fear and jealousy of the past months. No other girl can compare.

Father had wanted a son.

Most men did, but seeing it written in ink turned conjec
ture to cruel knowledge. No wonder he had doted on Charlie growing up. The accident must have destroyed his plans. If he knew Elizabeth had dragged Charlie into that disaster, he would never forgive her.

Father had wanted a son. But he got a daughter. Two daughters, if she read her mother’s entry correctly. What had happened to that other baby girl?

Mother’s joy overflowed onto the page as she recorded every little thing that Elizabeth did. That joy even washed away the anger and grief over Father’s mistress.

How can I harbor anger with her, when she must feel the same as I? A perfect girl, beautiful in every way, is a blessing from God, regardless of the sin that led to her existence. I must forgive. Indeed forgiveness has already soothed my heart. I cannot explain such a change except as God’s grace. If He has forgiven me, shall I not also forgive others? So I have, and with that I see now that grace has granted me an advantage. As I have been forgiven and blessed with this child, so shall she. These precious children will be raised alike, neither one better than the other. I will ensure it.

Elizabeth turned the page, eager to read what Mother had done, but she was met with just one line:

It is done.

Then the diary ended. Not a single word after that. No explanation. No names. Nothing.

Elizabeth slammed the book shut. “How could you?” she cried out.

A night breeze whispered through the tamarind leaves. Somewhere a shutter banged. Father paced the hallway beneath her room. Aunt Virginia snored and then coughed. The familiar sounds could not soothe. This diary had turned everything upside down. Instead of fighting for her daughter, Mother had given the illegitimate girl the same benefits as Elizabeth. How could she?

Approaching Poppinclerk was a last resort. As the days passed, Rourke puzzled out another way to get Anabelle out of the Benjamin house the night of the ball. John wanted to sneak her out, but Rourke preferred to act. Drive an ax through the fence and pull her out, except that would only put a bullet in his back or clap his legs in irons. No, he needed another idea.

So he gathered the men. It was time his crew knew the whole plan—and the risks. Someone might see a solution that he couldn’t.

It took precious few minutes to detail their mission and the obstacles they faced.

“I don’t want a one of you to accept blame if we’re caught,” Rourke said, even though his men all appeared eager to whisk away John’s wife. “As far as you know, we’re heading to Briland to fish. Nothing more. Understand?”

John caught the flaw in his attempt to shield the crew. “Der be no women fishin’ on de
Windsprite
.”

Anabelle. Rourke scrubbed his whiskers. “We might have to disguise her as a man.” At the rumble of protest, he added, “Only as a last resort. Once we reach Briland, you can sign on to another ship or fish with me. I won’t hold it against a man for wanting to return to Key West. Any questions?”

“How long we settin’ here?” asked Rander, a cantankerous deckhand with a soft heart.

“Five more days.”

Five short days before the pendulum swung to either freedom or death. Somehow he had to devise a way to spring Anabelle from Benjamin’s trap. A rat would gnaw off its leg to get free. Barracuda and sharks could bite their way off a hook and line. The crafty lobster hid deep in the jagged reef. None of those offered a solution, but something tickled at Rourke’s memory. As a girl, Elizabeth had sneaked out of the house. He’d seen her once, crawling through that large wild tamarind like a monkey. Anabelle was no girl, but she was strong. That tree extended over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Perhaps she could climb out that way. Then they’d rendezvous at the appointed location.

He spelled out the idea to his men. All but John seconded it.

“How she get to Miz Lizbeth’s room dat late? Massa lock dem in de back.”

John had found a flaw in his plan, but Rourke didn’t want to admit it. “Do you have a better idea?”

John’s head drooped.

“I do,” Tom Worthington said.

All heads turned toward him.

“It’s the night of the ball, correct?” Tom looked around the assembled group. “She could go there with Miss Benjamin and slip away while everyone else is busy.”

Few ladies brought their maids to such a function—at least in Key West—but maybe Anabelle could convince Elizabeth. It would also be difficult to disappear from a ball, but Anabelle had managed to reach his ship a half dozen times without being seen.

Rourke had to admit it was the best option they had. “It’s worth trying. Tom, you’re going to have to play messenger again. I’m going to write a note describing both ways to get out of the house. Can you get it to her?”

Tom nodded. “If I can get near.”

“Stay in town until you do.”

“What if they don’t let her out of the house?” Tom asked. “Mr. Benjamin must suspect something if he’s locking the gate.”

“Don’t she go to market?” Rander asked.

Rourke could have blessed the pock-faced sailor with a kiss on each cheek. “That’s the answer. Try to catch her at market.”

“In the daytime?” Tom sounded skeptical. “Someone will see me.”

“True.” Rourke rubbed his chin. This could go badly wrong, and Tom was smart to consider options. “If you think anyone is following you, don’t come back to the ship. We will have to trust you finished the job.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Good.” Rourke clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you won’t fail us.”

The following days brought no relief from the twin torments of Mother’s diary and the pending engagement announcement. Elizabeth could resolve the latter by talking to Father, but he seemed to be avoiding her. He took supper in his office. The door was always closed. When she knocked, he either did not answer or asked her to come back later.

That left the diary. What had happened to the other daughter? Twenty years of silence shrouded the answer. She might have died or left Key West. She might still live here. Who would know? Who could Elizabeth ask? Certainly not Father. Aunt Virginia wouldn’t know. Despite her proclaimed closeness to Mother, this was not something that Elizabeth’s mother would have shared with anyone. None of the current servants
had been here at that time. Nathan and Cook arrived shortly before Charlie was born. Florie came along soon after. Only Mother’s maid and Mammy had served the household, but both were gone now. Mother’s maid died of fever when Elizabeth was little, and Mammy left the summer before the hurricane. Anabelle was born two months after Elizabeth. There was no one to ask.

By evening, her head ached so fiercely that she begged Aunt Virginia to excuse her early from their reading in the parlor.

“You do look rather out of sorts.” Aunt Virginia lifted a handkerchief to her nose. “I hope there isn’t another of those dreadful yellow fever plagues coming around.”

For an instant, Elizabeth was tempted to claim the onset of fever. It would keep even Mr. Finch away, but it wasn’t true. She felt none of the aches associated with tropical fevers. A little hint wouldn’t hurt, though. “I hope not, but it’s prudent to take precautions.”

“Especially with the Harvest Ball nearly here.” Aunt Virginia shooed her away, handkerchief still covering her nose. “You must be in the best of health by then.”

Only after Elizabeth shut her bedroom door did her headache begin to ease. The layers upon layers of petticoats along with the crinoline felt like lead. She stripped off the dress and as much of the underpinnings as possible and then lay on the bed staring at the plastered ceiling.

A knock on the door signaled Anabelle’s arrival. “Miss?” One eyebrow lifted at the sight of her partially undressed mistress.

“It’s too hot.” Elizabeth rolled onto her stomach. “Get this dreadful corset off me.”

Anabelle closed the door. “I thank God every day that I don’t have to wear that contraption.”

As she loosened the stays, the air came back into Elizabeth’s lungs. “When Aunt Virginia leaves, I’m forgoing it also.”

“Do you think Mr. Finch will look favorably on his future wife shunning proper attire?”

Elizabeth winced at the words
future
wife
. “Aside from the fact that I have no intention of marrying Mr. Finch, I don’t think I shall ever be a proper wife.”

“Oh?”

“I despise shoes and hats and corsets and all of this frippery.” Elizabeth tossed the pile of petticoats off the bed. “Teas and visits bore me to tears. The thought of spending the rest of my days managing a household is insufferable. I want to do things. Go places. See strange and marvelous sights.”

“And how would you pay for this gallivanting about? Your father wouldn’t support such goings-on.”