Love's Rescue (28 page)

“My dear.” Aunt chuckled. “I suspect at the time he was reeling from the loss of the
Victory
and under duress from Mr. Finch’s blackmail threats. The auction of the ship’s cargo paid off all debts, and now that proof of ownership has been confirmed, the insurers will reimburse the balance. Your father is certainly not destitute.”

It was all too much to take in. Her head was aching.

Florie arrived with the broth, which Aunt Virginia would doubtless ladle down her throat. Elizabeth closed her eyes, exhausted. The family might be returning to normal, but she had never felt more lost.

Recovery came slowly. Though Elizabeth was out of bed and moving around the house within a few days, she could not summon the strength to look ahead. Father’s absence gave her time to heal. It also gave her time to think. Would he return alone? With Mr. Finch out of the picture, she could think of only one reason Father would leave before she’d awoken. He intended to catch Rourke and bring him back to face prosecution.

“How long did Father say he would be gone?” she asked at breakfast on a windy late October morning.

Aunt set down her teacup and looked to Charlie. “He told me it could take weeks. Did he say differently to you?”

Charlie shook his head. “Just not to worry.”

Elizabeth gnawed on her lip. That sounded like Father would not rest until he convinced the Bahamian government to release Rourke and Anabelle into his custody. “Did he say where he went?”

Charlie shook his head.

Aunt must have seen her expression. “Something is worrying you.”

Elizabeth couldn’t express her fears, for Aunt Virginia didn’t approve of Rourke either.

“It’s only natural that you have the jitters,” Aunt continued, “considering what happened, but he is your father. You forgive and move on.”

Elizabeth could not forgive him. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

“Aunt is right,” Charlie said between mouthfuls.

She rose, unable to listen to this anymore. “Excuse me. I am no longer hungry.”

Upstairs, she paced her room. She needed to find out where Father had gone. With Mr. Finch gone, no one remained in Father’s office. He must have sailed or taken a steamer. Perhaps one of the shipping agents would know which ship he had taken and its route. She grabbed a straw hat and hurried back downstairs.

“Where are you going?” Aunt called out from the dining room.

“To the harbor. I need the fresh air.”

Charlie pulled himself to his feet and hobbled from the table into the foyer. “I’d like to show you something first. It’s in my room.”

Though Elizabeth would rather leave, her brother might know more than he was willing to acknowledge in front of Aunt Virginia. She followed him down the hall and into his room.

“Please close the door,” he said as he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. Books still covered the desktop. Many were open, and his notes covered the pages. He set his crutches to the side.

“You take your studies seriously.”

“The law is a serious pursuit.”

“Is there something in those books that you wanted to show me?”

“No.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a chart. It looked vaguely familiar.

“Our pirate treasure map?” As children they had taken a nautical chart of the area and plotted the most likely hiding places of buried pirate treasure.

“Yes and no.” He motioned to the other chair in the room. “Join me.”

She pulled the chair beside him and sat down.

He spread out the chart. “We are here.” He pointed to Key West. “This is Briland, or Harbour Island.” He pointed far to the right. “I’ve been thinking that they might not have gone there.” He pointed to a much closer island. “Andros would be quicker to reach.”

“Maybe they did at first, but Rourke would go on to Harbour Island. That’s where his mother and brothers and sisters live.” A lump formed in her throat. She traced the route with her fingertip. “It’s a long distance. Do you think Father went after Rourke? If the winds calmed, a steamer might catch the
Windsprite
before they reached safety.”

“I considered that,” Charlie admitted. “That’s why I suspect Rourke headed for Andros Island. He would have had a short run with the brisk southeast winds.”

“Did any steamers leave port?”

Charlie ducked his head. “Father took a steamer, but he didn’t leave until the night before you awoke. Three days had passed. Rourke could have gotten all the way to Briland in that time.”

Elizabeth breathed out with relief.

“Besides, he’s not back,” he added. “If he had caught up to Rourke, they would be back by now. Rourke and Anabelle must be safe.”

That made sense, but she still had a feeling that they were
missing something. One unaccounted thread could unravel everything. She ran through the people involved. Mr. Finch had left for New Orleans. Father could not have reached Rourke in time. That left just one. “Captain Poppinclerk! Where is he?”

Charlie looked surprised. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Aunt Virginia believes he is the one who took the papers from her trunk. If he left port . . .”

His eyes widened. “You think he would chase Rourke all the way to Harbour Island? Why? What could he hope to gain?”

“I don’t know, but I have a terrible feeling about this.”

“There’s only one thing to do, then.”

She looked up, startled by his certainty. “What could we possibly do?”

“Find Rourke.”

She drew in her breath at the bold proposition. “How?”

He grinned. “Mother’s inheritance ought to go to something worthwhile, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “It’s for your future. Your security.”

“I have enough security. Aunt Virginia might be a little overbearing, but even before you decided to give me Mother’s inheritance, she promised to pay for law school. Mother meant her inheritance for you. Use it. Find him.”

Elizabeth couldn’t hold back the tears. “How did you manage to grow up so wise and honorable and generous in such a short number of years?”

“I had great examples.”

“Mother.” Her compassion and grace far surpassed what Elizabeth could muster.

“And Rourke.”

I
t didn’t take long for Elizabeth to spot the holes in Charlie’s idea. She could not travel by ship unescorted, and there was no one to travel with her. Caroline would not do. Not only was she unmarried and Elizabeth’s age, but she could not return unescorted, which is precisely what she would have to do.

Since Rourke was a fugitive from the law, Elizabeth must remain on Harbour Island. Though Father had promised to give Anabelle to her, he had not yet done so. Therefore, Rourke had helped a slave escape to freedom. He would go to jail if he set foot in Key West or any state in the union.

Aunt Virginia certainly wouldn’t go with her. She despised wreckers in general and still thought Rourke more a pirate than a suitor. Elizabeth had no choice but to trust that God would reveal an opportunity.

Until then, she intended to discover where Captain Poppinclerk was located. Though Charlie dismissed her fears, she could not rest until she knew his whereabouts. That very afternoon she walked to the harbor to make inquiries of the shipping agents. The short distance proved taxing, even with the cool breeze.

As she neared the harbor, she heard the growl of machinery and shouts of workmen. A new warehouse was under construction. The coral rock foundation was already in place, and workmen were raising heavy beams with ropes and cranes. Elizabeth tilted back her head to watch.

“Best stay out of the way, Miss Benjamin.”

Elizabeth looked for the source of that warning and spotted a familiar figure. “Mr. Worthington. You are still here?”

He bowed. “At your service.”

“I expected you to rejoin Captain O’Malley at the first opportunity.”

“I shall, but no ships are headed that way.”

She caught her breath. Perhaps this was the opportunity she sought. A young bachelor might not be considered a respectable escort, but she trusted Tom. He would see her safely to Harbour Island. Moreover, he would not need to return.

He peered at her with an odd expression. “Is the sun too hot, miss? You look peaked. Let’s step into the shade.”

Her cheeks must have flushed at the thought of seeing Rourke.

Tom was well-mannered and respectful. He would do, if she could convince him. No doubt he would balk at the impropriety of a young man escorting a young lady on a sea voyage, but he might do it if he thought Rourke would approve.

He started for the shade and then, seeing she did not follow, came back and offered his arm. “Pardon, miss. I should have waited.”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “The fault is mine. I was lost in thought.”

They walked across the street and into the shade of gumbo-limbo and mahogany trees.

“You’re thinking of the captain, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

How could she deny it? Yet her throat constricted at the thought.

“He’s safe,” Tom said. “You can be sure of that.”

Elizabeth let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Do you have information? Have you learned something?”

Like her brother, Tom insisted Rourke would have been brought back by now if he’d been caught.

The thought of capture made her dizzy.

“Are you all right, miss?”

She shook her head to clear it. “I’m simply anxious.”

“Don’t be. The captain had a solid beam reach and clear sailing. I reckon he made the crossing in record time.”

She knew he was trying to ease her fears, but when one died down, another popped to life. “What if Captain Poppinclerk went after him?”

Tom laughed. “He didn’t go anywhere, thanks to a sharp cutlass.”

She gasped. “You killed him?”

“Naw, he got so scared he ran off like a rat in floodwaters and tripped over his own feet. He’s been nursing a broken nose well out of sight of the ladies.”

Under other circumstances, the description would have amused her, but she must be certain that he had not pursued Rourke. “Then he is still indisposed?”

“Very much so.”

That quieted another fear but not all of them. Until she saw Rourke with her own eyes, she could never find peace. That meant making the crossing to Harbour Island.

“I wonder,” she began softly, “if I might ask a favor.”

“Anything, Miss Benjamin.”

She squared her shoulders. Charlie was right. Everything was
settled here. She was ready to step into the future she had long wanted. “I’m looking for passage to Harbour Island.”

He stared at her. “You what?”

“Passage.” This time her voice squeaked. “To Harbour Island in the Bahamas. Within the week if possible.” Surely Father wouldn’t return by then.

“Why are you asking me?”

This was the moment of truth. “Because I need someone I trust to escort me there.”

“Me?” He looked flabbergasted. “Now, miss, that’s kind of you, but there’s one big problem with that idea.”

She couldn’t let him dismiss the request. “Please understand that I don’t intend to return. No one here will know you are my escort. I promise.”

“That’s not the problem.” He looked toward the harbor. “You see, there’s not a single ship heading that way. Not this week and not the next.”

Just like that, her plan deflated.

Days turned into weeks without word of a ship heading to Harbour Island. Neither did her father write or return. To Elizabeth, it felt as if the two men in her life had vanished. Yet only one would return, and not the one she wanted to see. When Father returned, all hope of reaching Rourke would disappear. Each day brought that inevitability closer.

By late November, she went through the motions each day, content to let Aunt Virginia run the household. Sometimes she played chess with Charlie, always losing, until he claimed she wasn’t even trying. Every day she walked to the harbor and checked the name of each ship. Then she spoke to the shipping
agents. When the sun dipped low, she returned home disappointed.

Nothing could salve the ache in her heart.

“You must occupy yourself,” Aunt Virginia insisted. “Embroider, sew, do charity work, help your friend with the temperance league.”

Aunt meant well, but Elizabeth could muster no enthusiasm for any of the ordinary pursuits. She attended a temperance meeting with Caroline, but her mind drifted far away to Bahamian shores and she heard none of the speech. Sewing met a similar fate with just four uneven stitches by the afternoon’s end.

“Then practice piano,” Aunt insisted. “This lovely instrument hasn’t seen a moment’s use. Practice will perfect your playing.”

Elizabeth could not bear to touch the keyboard, lest her awkward attempts ruin the memory of Rourke’s beautiful playing. That night in the chapel, he had touched her soul. When the organist played “Blest Be the Tie That Binds” at Sunday worship, tears had rolled down her cheeks. The tune still echoed in her mind.

“Well,” her aunt grumbled, “you can’t go on like this. A young woman your age has her entire life ahead of her. You must look to the future.”

“My future is with Rourke O’Malley.”

Aunt’s sharp look told Elizabeth that she had voiced that thought aloud. She bowed her head and waited for the inevitable reproach.

None came.

Instead, Elizabeth heard only the clicking of Aunt’s knitting needles. She dared a peek. The woman was frowning. At Elizabeth’s glance, she stopped knitting.

“Do you think Captain O’Malley would want you to pine after him to such an extent that you waste your days?”

Deep inside she knew her aunt was right. Rourke would not want her to mourn. Love not only meant doing what was right, but it also meant hoping against all odds. She had tried, truly she had, but she could not find the strength.

She stood. “Please excuse me. I wish to lie down.”

Elizabeth did not wait for her aunt’s response. When she reached the hall, she saw Florie heading upstairs to clean. Cook was working in the dining room. Charlie’s tutor was drilling him in mathematics. That left nowhere for her to retreat except Father’s study. She hesitated but a moment. It was better than Aunt Virginia’s constant advice.

The study door was unlocked. She slipped into the cool darkness. The smells of pipe tobacco and musty books hung in the close air. She opened the windows and pushed open the louvered shutters. After drawing a deep breath, she looked around the scene of their last argument. The chairs were in order. No blood marked the spot where her head had struck. The desktop was empty except for blotter, pen, and inkwell—and one small volume. Inching closer, she recognized her mother’s diary lying open in the center of the blotter.

Her hands fisted. How could Charlie give it to him? Mother’s words were sacred, private. She would have accepted her children reading them, but not Father. Never Father. After all he had done to Mother, to know that he’d read her anguish punched the air from Elizabeth’s lungs.

She started to close the diary when she noticed that he had written in it. How could he? She dipped the pen in the inkwell, intending to scratch out the sacrilege he had scrawled beneath Mother’s words of forgiveness.

I am not
worthy.

The words burned like an iron against flesh. Did he truly think
that four little words could erase all the pain he had caused? It was not enough. It would never be enough. She scratched the pen along the paper, but the nib was dry. There was no ink in the well.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

She looked up to see Charlie propped in the doorway. “I thought you were working with your tutor.”

“We’re done. I wondered how long it would take you to come in here.”

“You knew about this?” She shook the diary. “You knew he wrote in Mother’s diary and didn’t blot it out?”

“Words can never really be erased. We will always know.”

He was right. She sank into the desk chair. Above the fireplace, the portrait of her gentle mother looked down upon them. How much she had endured at Father’s hands. How much they all had. “It doesn’t get rid of his guilt. He hurt her. He hurt us. Nothing can change that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Charlie said slowly, “but if there aren’t any second chances, then we’re all doomed. We all make mistakes. We all hurt each other.”

She knew he was right, but she couldn’t admit it, for that meant revisiting her own guilt.

“Mother forgave him,” Charlie whispered.

Elizabeth rose and gave the diary to her brother. “It took time.”

“What if we don’t have time?” he asked as she whisked past him.

As a girl, Elizabeth would run to the south shore of the island whenever something upset her. There she had talked to God and listened for His whispers in her heart.

Today she made her way to that same shore. Like in her dream, the turquoise seas stretched out endlessly before her. The breeze tugged at her skirt. Waves lapped the shore. Unlike that dream, white sails and the black smoke of steamships punctuated the horizon. Gleaming white coral sand rimmed the shore.

Holy ground.

Just like the verse from Exodus.
Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the
place whereon thou standest is holy ground.

Such things happened thousands of years ago, but here? Today? On Key West? To a woman who had turned her back on God, blaming Him when the blame lay squarely on her shoulders? God might have whispered to her as a child, but no more.