Ask a Shadow to Dance (31 page)

“Are they alive? Surely you can tell me—” She saw two trunks standing in the way. They stepped around them. The lids were open, revealing rough boards lining the interiors. They were hardly large enough for a child to curl up inside. Lisette wanted to scream in rage and pain.

The man stopped at the next to last door, turned around, and waited for the Captain to enter first. After a moment, the Captain gestured Lisette inside.

There were two beds, practically touching in the center of the stuffy room. Aunt Portia lay on one, Jacob on the other. At first glance, Lisette thought they were dead.

“Aunt Portia! Papa! Dear God, please—” She knelt between the beds, clasped their hands and wept bitter tears of anger and helplessness.

The deck hand finally spoke. “We found them in those trunks, Captain.
The ones outside. Clancy says there’s a doctor on board.”

“Where?”

Lisette didn’t hear his reply. The Captain left immediately. If only David could be that doctor. With his miracle medicines from the future, her father and Aunt Portia might have a chance to recover from this travesty. In only a few minutes, Lisette heard the Captain’s deep, booming voice, getting louder as he came closer.

“This way, Doctor.
They were found in those trunks. Look lively there! Let the doctor through.”

At first, Lisette thought she must be dreaming. “David.” She fell into his arms. He held her a brief moment, his breath warm on her cheek, then eased past to the bedsides. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope everything might be all right.

He peered into their eyes, pressed his fingers to their pulses, then turned back to her.

“There isn’t enough air in this room for a baby to breathe.
Captain!”

He came into the room. Lisette stepped back outside onto the walkway.

“Is there somewhere they can be moved where there’s ventilation? It’s stifling in here.”

The Captain gave brisk instructions to his men to move Aunt Portia and Jacob to his own quarters.

“Thank you, Captain,” Lisette whispered. In only minutes, they were on a lower deck where Jacob and Portia had been carried gently and laid side by side on the Captain’s wide bed. The porthole was open. A cool, moist breeze swept into the room. David resumed his examination while the rest waited outside in a sitting room. The Captain coaxed Lisette to take a glass of sherry, but she asked for water instead. She had to keep her head clear. How long had they been under way?

“Captain, do you have the time?”

He frowned, puzzled by the question, pulled his watch from his pocket and peered at it. “Quarter past seven, Ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Less than five hours.

David emerged from the room. She prayed for him to smile, to indicate everything was all right. He didn’t.

“Lisette, go to your father. I’m afraid—”

“No!” She ran into the room, knelt between the bed and reached for her father’s hand. It felt cool, the fingers stiff and unresponsive. “Papa, can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes with difficulty. She touched his cheek. He turned toward her and smiled.

“Lisette. Home at last. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Tears poured from her eyes, streamed down her face. “Don’t talk, Papa.
Just rest. You’re going to be well again. David is here. David will take care of you.”

“Hush, child, and listen. I never got to tell you … how sorry … about Westmoreland …” His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“Papa!”

When he opened his eyes again, she could see a cloud had obscured his vision. The brightness in his eyes had dimmed.

“Forgive me, child. Forgive … me …”

“Of course I forgive you. I love you, Papa.”

His eyelids drooped, his chest fell and did not rise again for a very long time.

“David, help him!”

“There’s nothing I can do. His heart is too weak.”

“You’re saying he’s going to die?” It was too much to bear.
Too much.

David hesitated before speaking, his expression full of frustration and anxiety. “Time will tell. If I had modern equipment and medicines, it would be a different story.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve done everything I can do here.”

She understood. In David’s clinic, her father would have a chance to live. She could see it was tearing David apart not to be able to do more.

Aunt Portia called her name softly. Lisette nodded to David she was all right and knelt beside the bed. She was so weak, hardly able to hold her eyes open.

“Lisette. Thank God you came. Is Jacob all right? He was having trouble breathing.”

She fell silent. Lisette’s tears refused to dry and she had no power to be stronger. “He’s here.” She touched Jacob’s shoulder. His breathing had become so shallow; it was difficult to detect.

“Oh, Jacob, Jacob.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

David left Lisette and Portia and joined the Captain, standing just outside the door. “I think it might be wise if Westmoreland were locked up, with a guard posted. Jacob Morgan will probably not live through the night, and Westmoreland will be responsible for his death. Perhaps, if they’d been found earlier, or if I’d had adequate facilities, I could make sure he’s alive in the morning.” David’s inability to help without drugs or machinery not yet invented made him want to smash something.
Preferably Andrew Westmoreland. Maybe Joe was right. Being a doctor in this century would drive him crazy with worry and regret. David took a deep breath. “Miss Morgan is stable. She’ll be fine with rest and care.”

The captain nodded once, tersely. “I’ll take care of Westmoreland.
Clancy, stay close by. Assist the doctor in any way he or Mrs. Westmoreland requests.”

The name grated on David. “She’ll soon be Mrs. Stewart. We’re to be married. Until then, please call her Miss Morgan. I don’t think she’ll object.”

The creases in the Captain’s forehead eased. He managed a smile. “Well, now, that’s good news, indeed. Doctor Stewart, is it?”

“David Stewart. I wish we could have met under happier circumstances.”

“If there’s anything at all I can do for Mr. Morgan or the ladies, just send word by Clancy. I wish we could take her back to Memphis, but there's a town closer that has a decent hospital that we'll reach by six in the morning. We'll drop all of you there. Excuse me, now. I have a prisoner to deal with.” He strode off, his heels heavy on the wooden floor.

David went back into the room. “Lisette, I need to talk to Aunt Portia, now that she’s awake.”

Lisette’s expression displayed sudden fear. He hurried to allay those fears.

“She’s going to be all right. I just need to monitor her vital signs.”

“Monitor. Of course.” She hugged Portia and eased past David out of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“How do you feel?” He took her pulse again. It pounded beneath his fingers, strong and healthy.

“Angry. And grieved. How could Andrew have done such a cruel thing to us? And get away with it!”

“I promise
, he isn’t going to get away with anything.”

“But he left us on this boat to die.”

“I detained him. He’s one deck below us, locked up and guarded. He isn’t going anywhere.”

Portia squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Thank the Lord.” A tear ran down her cheek. “And thank you, David.”

He kissed her forehead and found it cool beneath his lips. No fever he could detect. It would take more than a trunk and a bastard to defeat this lady.

“Rest now.
Lisette will be nearby and so will I if you need anything. I suspect you’ll be stiff and sore for a while, but there’s nothing seriously wrong with you. You’re a tough old bird.”

Her eyes widened,
then she smiled. “That I am.” After a moment, her seriousness returned. “Jacob isn’t going to survive this ordeal, is he?”

“I can’t say for sure what will happen, but I don’t think so. The trauma was too much.”

“No need to explain.” She reached for her brother’s hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lisette started back inside, but David waved her away. “Aunt Portia needs to sleep. Your father is resting quietly.”

Lisette followed him to a divan and nestled against him. He felt complete, holding her, feeling her breath against his throat.

Just then, a boy of about ten or eleven, with a wild shock of carrot-orange hair, came running through the sitting room swinging a skinning knife, yelling at the top of his lungs about pirates and scoundrels. A deck hand followed, close on his heels, puffing, falling behind. Clancy tried to grab the boy as he came by but missed getting a firm grip on him. He shook his head, disapproving of either the boy, the man chasing him, or both.

“Master Crump! You can’t come in here. These are the Captain’s quarters,” the deck hand pleaded.

The boy seemed not to hear, or if he did, to ignore what he’d heard. He disappeared through an aft door at the far end of the room. The deck hand stopped, shaking his head as Clancy had done.
“Sorry, Sir, Ma’am. He’s a feisty one, for sure.”

“Excuse me, but did I hear you call him Crump?”

“Yes, Sir. Eddie Crump. He isn’t a bad boy, just full of mischief and always playing pirate games. Into everything. He wasn’t supposed to be aboard until next week, but his aunt—he’s been visiting her—brought him to the dock and begged us to take him home early. The poor woman looked terrible. Said she had to have rest.”

A commotion interrupted. Eddie bolted back through the door where he’d exited, saw them staring at him, changed his mind and dashed back out the door, slamming into a passenger who happened to be coming in at the time, bringing curses and shouts.

“Excuse me, Sir. I’d better see where he’s gone now. The captain assigned me to the boy, I’m afraid. He’s only going a short way downriver. We’ll be letting him off at first light in the morning.”

First light.
Where would the
Cajun Star
be at first light?

“At least he isn’t going all the way to New Orleans.” The deck hand took a deep breath and let it out noisily.
“Something to be grateful for.” He hurried through the aft door, calling Eddie’s name in a pleading tone.

“David, is that the boy—the man—you told me about?”

“I told you about Edward Hull Crump. Whether or not Eddie’s the same Crump from Memphis history, there’s no way to tell. The deck hand did say he wasn’t supposed to ride the boat until next week.” The possibility this boy could be “Boss” Crump weighed heavily on him. Memphis without “Boss” Crump. An entirely different Memphis.

“We’ll have to save him, won’t we?” she said quietly.

He nodded. They couldn’t assume this Eddie Crump was
not
Edward Hull Crump. For better or worse, Eddie would have to leave the boat before midnight.

Chapter Twenty-Four

David was right. They had to save this rude boy.

“How soon before we’ll be able to move Aunt Portia?”

“She needs to rest.
A couple of hours at least.” He looked at his watch. “It’s going on eight o’clock. We still have four hours, but I don’t want to cut it too close. I think we should leave the boat by eleven at the latest.”

“Can we be sure the newspaper article was right about the time?”

He frowned. She guessed he’d not thought about it before now. “We have no choice but to believe it. Aunt Portia has to have rest or she’ll never make it off the boat. She could have a stroke or a heart attack if she’s stressed too much after the ordeal she’s been through. By eleven I’ll have found a way to get us all off the boat safely.” He smiled. “Trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.” A wave of dizziness passed through her. She leaned against him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“You need rest too. Do you have assigned quarters?”

“Not that I’ve been told.
There hasn’t been time to ask.”

David left her on the divan and went to find the Captain. Her thoughts instantly returned to her father, memories swarming through her troubled mind. She gave in to them gladly, needing to reconnect with a time when he was sound of mind and body, when he still recognized and cared about her.

Growing up, she had depended on her father devotedly. Annoying him most was her stubborn refusal to select a husband. The five years after she’d turned sixteen were especially difficult for him. He feared she would be a spinster—exactly what happened. She never could explain to him that being a wife and mother would be wonderful. But not for her. Not yet. She wanted more. All she could think of then was seeing more of the world. She remembered the night she confided in him.

“Papa, come out on the terrace. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” She took his hands in hers. The gesture always worked magic on him as nothing else could. She suspected it was a gesture her mother might have used, but he never confirmed her suspicions and she hadn’t dared ask for fear it would lose its effectiveness.