Beloved Captive (17 page)

When one of the toughs stepped in front of her, Emilie stopped short. “A lady shouldn’t be alone in such a place.” He leered at her with his good eye. “Or maybe ye ain’t a lady after all.”

Something inside Emilie snapped. Two weeks of trying to convince herself and seemingly every judge and attorney in Havana that she was a lady and Thomas Hawkins was no gentleman had taken its toll. So had the nightmares of the fallen Benning and his blood-soaked letter.
 

“Maybe I’m not,” she echoed. “I wonder if we’ve both killed a man recently or if I alone have that distinction. Oh, then there’s the fortune in gold I allowed to slip to the bottom of the ocean while fending off pirates.” Emilie paused to take a breath, her blood boiling. “Two of them,” she added.

It was enough to send the fellow back to his comrades without further comment while Emilie pressed on undisturbed.

Once aboard the richly appointed
Felicity
, Emilie was swept down an elegant passageway to a cabin that the white-suited porter deemed “fit for kings, queens, and royalty of all sorts.” When he closed the door, she stood for what seemed an eternity on its threshold, knowing in her heart she did not belong among such splendor.

By degrees, she moved into the center of the room, then turned around completely so as to take it all in. Ironically, the cabin was not unlike her bedchamber back in New Orleans, yet that room, that place, seemed a world away.

As did the woman who resided there. So much had happened since leaving her father’s bedside. Would he even recognize her now?
 

She should write him, but what would she say?
Arrived safely in Havana after shipwreck and abduction by two pirates, one of whom I sent to the gallows and the other I dispatched myself with his own pistol. At least neither discovered I was the daughter of a slave.

Emilie slipped past an ornate mirror without glancing at the stranger reflected there. Since leaving New Orleans, she’d not seen one familiar face, not even her own.

Lifting her palm to her cheek, she remembered the bruise that had, thankfully, faded and was now all but gone. At least that would be one less thing to explain.

She turned her attention to the task at hand. The voyage to Fairweather Key would be brief, measured in hours rather than days, and she must compose herself before she arrived.

Through events not of her choosing—and one horrible choice—she’d lost the gold that was to have paid for a school as well as compromised her reputation and her ability to provide a good example for the children she desperately wished to continue teaching. She’d also learned she held neither the background nor the qualifications to stand before a roomful of students as a free woman.

Yet she must step off the ship, presenting a good face and giving no hint of any of this trouble. In order to return to her old life, she would have to bury the events of the present one.
 

Just as someone had buried the Benning.

The reminder stung, as they all had since she pulled back the trigger and changed at least two lives. More, likely.

Forcing her thoughts back on teaching, she contemplated the claim she had filed with the court in Havana. While it was likely the gold in her skirt pockets had gone down with
Hawk’s Remedy
, it was also possible the ruffian still possessed it when he met his fate.

There was small hope of this, but Cook always said where small hope existed, there did the Lord abide. If only she could have the faith that Cook possessed.

Rather, if she could only get it back.

Emilie fell onto the bunk and cradled her head in its enveloping softness while she fought the ever-present tears. Sleep beckoned, but she resisted. No need to add to the nightmares plaguing the dark by allowing dreams while there was still daylight.

The sense that she’d left something undone tugged at her until she rose and hung her legs over the side of the bunk.
 

Outside, the sounds of the docks combined with the screech of gulls and the slap of waves against the ship. Emilie’s slow, even breaths seemed loudest of all. Finally, she fell to her knees and looked up, praying the God of all would see and hear her despite her sins.

“How can I live when I’ve lost the money for the school and taken the life of another? How can You forgive me, God? I know what Your Word says, but dare I even ask?”
 

She ducked her head and poured out her heart, emptying her soul of the stains she alone had blackened it with. When she was done, Emilie waited.

Surely the clouds would part and God would offer some grand gesture of forgiveness. Instead, slow wave upon wave of peace buffeted her with a love that she could neither completely fathom nor understand. While she might labor the rest of her days to forgive herself, she began to believe her heavenly Father had already done the work of cleansing.

A knock brought her scrambling to her feet. “Come in,” she called as she collected herself and swiped at her damp cheeks with her handkerchief.

The same jovial porter who had carried her lone carpetbag had returned, this time bearing a single letter on a silver tray.

“But I don’t know anyone here,” she said. “Are you certain this is for me?”

“You’re Miss Gayarre, are you not?” He handed her a thick letter folded in quarters and fixed at the center with crimson sealing wax. “Perhaps you have an admirer.”

“I doubt that,” she said as she watched him leave and close the door. “Women like me don’t have admirers.”

She broke the seal to open the letter. As she did, something fell, and she reached for it.

Her mother’s miniature. A catch in her throat became a sob as Emilie saw the nearly ruined but still recognizable face of Sylvie smiling back from the water-damaged frame.
 

When she could manage it, she set the portrait aside, then turned her attention to the letter.
“All treasures from the criminal Hawkins have been confiscated by the court. This, however, was unmistakably yours.”

Emilie’s gaze fell to the bottom of the page. In lieu of a signature was a single letter:
F
.

* * *

Fairweather Key

When Emilie stepped off the
Felicity
onto the Fairweather Key docks, it seemed as though the whole town had come out to meet her.
 

“How did you know?” she asked as she embraced her half-sister Isabelle, then relieved her of the gloriously adorable infant she carried. Bestowing a kiss on the nephew who seemed to have doubled in size since her departure, Emilie looked over his dark head to focus on Isabelle. “I told no one of my travel plans.”

The striking woman with the golden hair smiled, and Emilie recognized her father in the grin. For a moment, Emilie wondered what part Isabelle’s mother—the woman she had thought was her own mother—played in the elegant features she now saw.

The thought occurred to her that not only did she and Isabelle share the bond of a common father, but they also shared the common loss of their mothers. Emilie felt the pocket of her skirt where the waterlogged miniature lay hidden.
At least I have a picture of mine.

Isabelle squeezed her arm. “When Reverend Carter received the letter from our father stating your desire to return, we all assumed it would be soon. I’ve had Josiah inquiring of all the incoming vessels for weeks.”

“Then please express my gratitude to him.”

Isabelle smiled. “I shall. Now, greet your students properly; then I’ll fetch you home for a warm meal and a soft bed. You look exhausted.”

Emilie’s smile came quickly if not easily. “I am,” she said, “but I’ll not miss a moment of this homecoming.”

The babe tucked into the curve of her arm, Emilie knelt to receive greetings from the boys and girls who studied in her makeshift school. The last in line was William, brother to Isabelle’s husband and a strapping lad of nearly twelve.

“Mother and I have been holding class in your absence, Miss Emilie,” he said. “Though I’m not the teacher you are.”

“Is that so?” She handed her nephew back to Isabelle and rose to embrace the boy who was equal to her in height. “Thank you, William. I’m ever so grateful that you’ve kept the young ones up on their lessons.”

He shrugged out of her embrace, his ears reddening at the tips. “Mother helped with the little ones. They’re a bit frustrating.”

Isabelle grinned, and Emilie joined in. “Indeed,” she said, “they can be difficult. I must thank your mother for the assistance.”

“It was a pleasure,” Mary Carter, wife of Reverend Carter, said as she joined her son and daughter-in-law in the family circle. “Never have I been so happy as when my husband saw fit to move us near our son.” She winked at William. “Our sons, rather, since I cannot imagine our younger one leaving his new home here.” She looked over her shoulder to the water. “Where’s my Josiah? He should be here to welcome Emilie home.”

“He’s helping with a repair,” Isabelle said. “With the weather closing in, you know the wreckers don’t like to have even one boat out of service. Understandable, of course, for what if a vessel were to wreck on the reefs and there weren’t enough boats to do the work of saving life and property?”

Emilie glanced over her shoulder and noticed for the first time the dark clouds gathering at the horizon. They mirrored her mood, even as she forced a smile. “Spoken like a true wrecker’s wife,” she said.

Isabelle sighed. “I never thought I could love this life so much,” she said. “We’re a long way from New Orleans, aren’t we?”

The baby in Isabelle’s arms began to squirm. “Might I fetch Joey home for a bath?” Mary Carter asked.

Isabelle offered the smile of an appreciative new mother. “I would be grateful,” she said.

“Come, William,” Mary called. “Let’s leave the sisters to their welcome party.”

As the pair strolled away, little Joey smiling from his grandmother’s shoulder, Emilie felt a pang akin to jealousy.
 

“God has blessed Josiah and me so greatly these past two years,” Isabelle said as if she’d guessed Emilie’s thoughts. “And none of it would have happened without you.”
 

Before Emilie could protest, Isabelle linked arms with her and propelled her down the sidewalk away from the docks. They walked in silence until Emilie could stand it no more.

“What God has done, Isabelle, He would have accomplished without me.”

Isabelle slowly smiled. “Indeed,” she said, “but He chose this way.”

“You haven’t asked me about my visit with Father.”

Isabelle shook her head. “There will be plenty of time for that.” She paused. “Unless something happened that you’d like to discuss.”

“What? No,” she said quickly. “Nothing exceptional.”

“I don’t believe you.” Isabelle stopped short and pulled Emilie to a halt with her. For an uncomfortable moment, she studied Emilie. By degrees, her face took on a solemn expression. “Surely you did not spend all these weeks with our father and not return changed in some way. I never said so when you determined to go, but my greatest fear was that somehow you would be called to pay for my escape.” She paused. “Or worse, that you would return knowing things that were not your business to discover.” Another pause. “And you have. I can tell it.”

Emilie glanced around and frowned. The normally busy town center seemed overflowing with people, likely due to the ship’s arrival. Attempting a private conversation would be impossible. Yet she longed to unload the black mark on her soul, to seek absolution or at least find some measure of relief in sharing her secret.

“There is something, isn’t there?” Isabelle’s solemn expression turned stricken. “Oh, Em, I never wanted this to happen.” She shook her head. “You must understand that it doesn’t matter to me at all. Not a bit of it. That’s why I burned the letters.”

Her head spun with the combined effort of keeping up with the conversation and her racing thoughts. “I must either sit or walk else I fall down,” she said.
 

“Are you unwell? Shall I take you home?”

The thought of spending a moment in the cozy place where she’d lived happy and protected these past two years filled her with panic. “Not yet,” she said.
 

“I’ll take you home with me, then.”

“No!” Emilie clamped her hand over her mouth. Shouting was not in her character, nor were public displays. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she dropped her hand to her side. “I want to walk,” she finally said, though she did not make a move to do so.

Her sister waited. She said nothing, though Emilie knew Isabelle well enough to know she desperately wanted to help.

Isabelle was always one to help.

She sighed. Words that had been as yet unspoken begged for release. Finally, she leaned over to whisper in Isabelle’s ear. “Yes, I know about our mothers, but there’s more. I killed a man, Izzy.”

Chapter 18

Around them, the activity of Fairweather Key continued as if nothing had changed. Across the way, Judge Campbell carried on what looked like a heated debate with the Ivan brothers, who managed the mercantile, while Mrs. Campbell was deep in conversation with their wives.

When the women looked up and waved, Emilie felt the panic take hold. While Mrs. Campbell was a dear woman and close to a substitute mother for her on occasion, she could not carry on a decent conversation so soon after the admission of her crime. For her part, Isabelle looked too stunned to speak as well.

“I want to walk,” Emilie said as she returned the ladies’ waves, then pointed in the opposite direction. “That way.”

“Fine.” Isabelle linked arms with her and followed her lead, neither speaking nor seeming to concern herself with their destination.

With each step, Emilie felt the burden of her crime jostling her conscience. Indeed, she’d gone to God for forgiveness, but translating that into a life that included such an awful sin was not something she could decide how to do. Even during the awful days of testifying against Captain Hawkins and detailing his sins, hers seemed ever present. She had killed a man. How did one redeem that?