Love's Rescue (3 page)

“As pretty as they come.” Aunt Virginia patted her back. “You remind me of her. I seem to recall that she had a handsome portrait painted upon her wedding day. Surely that still hangs in your father’s house.”

Elizabeth wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “It suffered damage in the storm, but I believe Father sent it for repair.” Her attention was drawn to a light blinking outside the open window. Not only blinking, but in a very specific pattern, like a lighthouse. Had they reached the Key West light? Caroline had written that it was the only light that had been rebuilt thus far.

She rushed to the window. “Look! Lights. We’re safe!”

At that moment the ship shuddered, pitched, and shuddered again before rolling severely to starboard. Aunt Virginia screamed. Wood splintered. Elizabeth went flying. Her hands smacked against solid wood, and the impact shivered all the way to her shoulders. Everything, including Elizabeth, slid toward
the interior bulkhead. The teapot rolled over her hand and crashed against the wall. Something large scraped past her leg, landing with a thud.

Then all movement stopped.

The wind still howled. Rain and sea spray pelted the ship, but the creaking and scraping of the vessel took on an ominous tone.

“What happened?” Aunt cried.

Even as Elizabeth struggled to right herself, she had no doubt.

They’d struck the reef.

H
ow many times did you signal?” Rourke yelled at the new deckhand.

Tom stiffened. “At least ten times, Captain.”

“Well, keep at it,” Rourke growled, pacing the deck.

What was wrong with that master? Even an incompetent pilot or master should recognize trouble at first impact, yet the ship maintained the same course. His gut clenched. Most pilots were wreckers or former wreckers and wouldn’t risk losing their license, but a few didn’t know the waters on a sunny day, least of all in a storm.

If Rourke knew the pilot—and odds were he did—he’d flay him in court. A man who claimed knowledge he didn’t possess was a liar and a cheat. One day such a man would cost someone his life, but not today—not if Rourke O’Malley had anything to do with it.

“Set the mainsail,” he shouted. No jib in this wind. Too much sail and the northeast gale would drive his sloop into the shallows before he reached Hawk Channel.

Within minutes, the crew had set sail for the tough run into the
wind. A gust heeled the
Windsprite
the moment they pulled away from the lee of their anchorage, pushing them back toward land.

Rourke stormed the deck, shouting orders to bring the ship onto a tack that angled toward the reef. Spray pelted his face and ran into his eyes. It soaked his clothes and reinforced his decision to shun shoes aboard ship. Many captains dressed like gentlemen, but Rourke stuck to his humble roots. He liked the throb of the waves beneath his feet. The ship was a living, breathing creature, like a whale or tortoise. He wanted to feel its every move.

Rourke surveyed his crew with pride. Despite the tempest, they hauled in the main sheet until the sail caught just enough of the wind, and soon the sloop flew across the water. The first run took them into Hawk Channel far short of the doomed schooner. Rourke followed the ship’s lights with his spyglass. The hull appeared to list to starboard. Either it had taken on even more water or was heeled over in the gale.

On the next tack they headed back toward the string of islands with equal haste, but the maneuver had gained them little ground. At this rate, it would take hours to reach the foundered ship.

He barked out the order to come about again. “And keep that signal going. Maybe the fool will finally see it.”

John shook his head. “She on da reef.”

Despite the fact that the schooner’s lights hadn’t moved since before they set sail, Rourke wasn’t willing to concede it had run aground. Perhaps the master had heeded his warning and put out anchor. Maybe the darkness played tricks with his eyes, and the vessel sailed in safe waters. If so, his arrival cost nothing. If not, the poor souls aboard that ship would need assistance.

He stormed from deckhand to deckhand, adding his strength
to the difficult tacks. In such a stiff wind, the swing of the boom on each jibe had to be controlled, or the wind and sea would send the sloop over on her side. Rourke knew the
Windsprite
’s temper, her tendency to hesitate before coming about. He knew she’d make the turn and skip across the waves like a flying fish. He’d worked this old sloop all his sailing life, as his father had before him. No more than a dozen planks in the hull were original, but he’d patched her up year after year, and she rewarded him by flying faster than any other wrecking vessel.

“You can do it, girl,” he urged as they made the next turn.

Once again they faced the schooner, which was still in the same spot. As they raced along on this tack, the rains slowed to a drizzle, the storm clouds broke, and the waning three-quarter moon peeked out. Its silvery light sprinkled the inky water, revealing that John had been right. The schooner was fast aground and rolled onto its starboard side on the outer edge of the reef. Its tattered sails flapped wildly. With this sea, the ship would soon break up and sink beneath the waves.

Deep sadness swept over him, as it always did when he saw a ship founder. Nothing was more tragic than a wounded ship, its masts and booms holding out shreds of sail like a gull with broken wings. Too often lives were lost.

“Should I keep signaling, Cap’n?” Tom asked, his drawn face ghostly pale beneath his wind-whipped dark hair.

“No. No use now. Help trim the sail.”

Tom sped off with an “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“God save her crew,” John said, as he always did before a sinking.

“Aye.” That was what those poor souls would need.

“And may He bring good cargo.” John’s grin reflected the other part of this business.

A valuable cargo would make them rich men. That was something worth praying for, wasn’t it?

Elizabeth fought to her feet on the wildly slanting floor. Or was it the wall? She felt around but could make no sense of her surroundings. Her aunt was screaming hysterically, and Anabelle was trying to calm her, without much success.

“We’re going to die,” Aunt Virginia shrieked.

“You be fine, Miz Virginia.”

Yet the calmer Anabelle’s voice, the louder grew Elizabeth’s aunt.

“I knew we would drown.” The woman barely stopped for breath. “Didn’t I say so from the start? If not for my love and respect for your dear mother, Elizabeth, I would never have consented to come along on this foolish voyage. Business can be conducted by post. Why didn’t your father fetch you if he wanted you home so badly?”

Because Father did not ask for
me.
Elizabeth had stretched the truth just a bit. Father
did
need her. He simply didn’t realize it yet. A busy attorney couldn’t hope to care for an invalid son. Servants could not possibly give Charlie the love and attention he required. That was the reason she’d formulated back in Charleston, but as they drew nearer to Key West, her resolve had faltered. Charlie had not once written her. He had signed Mother’s notes at Christmastime and Easter, but never a word of his own. No doubt he blamed her.

It would have been easier for everyone else if she’d stayed in Charleston and settled into a proper marriage. But she could not get Key West from her mind. The smell of a lime or coconut could set her to remembering the desserts Cook concocted out
of Cuban sugar, cream, and fruit from the trees planted beside the house. The ocean air, ripe with salt and fish, had fueled a hunger that could not be quenched at Charleston’s wharves. She longed for the brilliant sun against her cheeks and the trade winds ruffling her hair. She longed to shed these shoes and sink her bare feet into the white coral sand.

To return home to the last of her family, she must survive this night. She sucked in a breath and ventured a step to the side. Her foot landed in a pool of water.

“What was that?” Naturally Aunt Virginia heard that tiny splash over the roar of the wind and the grinding of the ship against the reef.

“Just a little water.”

“I know your tendency to paint a rosy hue on disaster, Elizabeth Marie. You can tell me the truth. We’re sinking, aren’t we?”

Elizabeth had lost patience with her aunt’s hysterics. Perhaps a dash of truth would shock her into some semblance of calm. “Yes, we are.”

Aunt gasped.

“Now is the time to act,” Elizabeth stressed. “We are strong women. We will find our way out of here.”

“Where is the door?” Aunt said.

“I’m looking for it. Is anyone hurt?”

“I struck my forehead,” Aunt said, “and it aches terribly.”

“I git you a compress, Miz Virginia,” Anabelle offered.

“Where are you?” Aunt cried. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Right here by yor side, Miz Virginia. Try ta keep yor feet under ya. Da bunk is right der.”

Elizabeth’s eyes gradually adapted to the darkness, but she couldn’t make out much in the room. “Hold on to the bunk, Aunt Virginia. The floor is slanted.”

“Did you find my trunk? I won’t leave without my pearls.”

Elizabeth bit back a retort that she would have already gathered them if Aunt hadn’t put up such a fuss. “We may need to leave them behind.”

“Leave them? I can’t lose my pearls.” Aunt Virginia wore them to every social occasion. “You have to find them. The little trunk is unlocked. With all this tumbling about, it might have come open. Maybe they fell out. I can’t lose them.” Her volume rose with every statement.

“The wreckers will find them,” Elizabeth assured her.

“They’ll steal them. You read that article in
Godey’s
about the pirates in Key West.”

“It was a story, Aunt. Fiction. There aren’t any pirates there anymore. In fact, some wreckers are fine, Christian men.” Like Rourke.

The memory of his strong jaw and sea-green eyes warmed Elizabeth’s damp toes. Four years ago he’d picked her up like she weighed no more than a feather bed. He’d held her close as he carried her through the howling storm to safety. She’d leaned her head against his shoulder and took comfort in the strong, steady beat of his heart. She’d breathed in that scent of the sea washed with courage and honor. Rourke O’Malley was no pirate. He put his faith in God and treated every man with respect.

But her aunt scoffed at the idea of a gentleman wrecker. “I’m not leaving a thing to chance. If you won’t get my pearls, I’ll get them myself.”

“Now watch yer step, Miz Virginia,” Anabelle said.

In the murky light, Elizabeth saw the bulky shape of her aunt rise beside the steadying Anabelle. They stood directly ahead of her and somewhat above, due to the sloping floor. She couldn’t see any of the trunks. They must have slid down near her.

“Stay where you are, Aunt,” Elizabeth said. With her aunt’s unsteady legs, she could easily fall. “I’ll look for the pearls.”

She felt around. Nothing near. She recalled the room’s layout. The door must be behind her. If she could open it, the light from the hallway lamp would help her find the trunks. She felt around for the latch. Wood. Everywhere wood and not a bit of metal.

Waves continued to smash against the hull. The scraping and splintering sounds worsened. At last she found the latch and pulled. The door didn’t budge. She tried again, using her full weight. It would not open. Now what?

Water gurgled all around. Elizabeth stepped to her left and ran into something solid. She felt around in the darkness. The object came to just above her knees. Made of wood. Brass strapping.

“I found one of our trunks.”

“Whose is it?” Aunt Virginia asked.

“I think it’s your small one. It doesn’t feel like mine.”

“Open it.” The woman sounded out of breath already. “That’s the one with my pearls.”

Elizabeth searched for the latches. “It’s wedged against the wall, and, oh—” Her head struck something hard. She ran her hands around the object. “The chair is here too.” She pushed the chair off and tried to open the trunk. The lid didn’t budge. “Was your trunk latched?”

“Of course it’s latched. I made sure to latch it when I put the cards back. As if any fool would leave her trunk open in such a place. Let the roaches and rats into my clothing? Never!”

“Rats?” Elizabeth scampered out of the pooling water. The mere thought of vermin made her skin crawl. “I couldn’t get it open.”

“But my pearls!”

“We’ll ask the mate to help us open the trunk when he comes for us.” Absently she looked up, where the cabin’s window now blinked with stars. The sky must be clearing. In time the wind and waves would abate, but if the groaning of the hull was any indication, they wouldn’t be here to witness it.

“Then we will have to abandon ship.” Her great-aunt sounded resigned. “My James died like this.”

“James?” Elizabeth had never heard her mention anyone named James.

“My first and only love.”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. Her aunt had once loved a man? She’d always been the spinster, happily ensconced in the family home. A lost love, especially in a shipwreck, made Aunt’s hysterics more understandable. “What happened?”

“The ship went down. All hands lost.” She sniffled. “That’s all the shipping agent could tell me. For a long time I dreamed that he’d survived as a maroon, alone on some unknown island. Even after I accepted his death, I wondered how he’d perished. Did he suffer? Was anyone with him or did he die alone? I-I-I don’t want to die alone.”

Elizabeth embraced her trembling aunt. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”