Beloved Captive (35 page)

Chapter 37

Even as he condemned himself for the unforgivable blunder, Caleb was rendered speechless at the sight of Emilie Gayarre rushing toward him. When she threw herself into his arms, he didn’t know whether to participate in the embrace or flee.

The foolish man in him elected to do the former, while his good sense chose the latter.
 

Miss Gayarre spoke, for he heard the words, but the feel of her in his arms brought back the scent of salt water, the scratch of sand, and time spent in the shade of an upended rowboat. For a brief moment he was Crusoe, and she his companion.

She stepped back, and the last of the sand crashed through the hourglass of their past. “Miss Gayarre, you’re staring. Again,” he added.

Biting her lip, she held her silence; an uncharacteristic gesture for one usually so forthright. Slowly she seemed to animate, first with a sparkle in her eyes and then, with deliberate slowness, the upturn of her soft lips.

That he remembered their fullness, their softness, plagued Caleb even now.

Why is she still in my life, Lord? Send her to someone who can appreciate her. No,
he amended,
to someone who is free to love her.

“I did not misunderstand. Your intention is to build our school.”

“It is,” he said, forcing sternness into a voice that only wanted to be tender. “Given, of course, that a proper site is found and the materials and—”

“Come with me.” Strong fingers encircled his wrist and dragged him upright.

“Miss Gayarre, I assure you—”

She had the audacity to reach up and close his lips with her forefinger. “I propose we form an alliance, Caleb. May I call you Caleb?”

He nodded, her finger still firmly resting against his mouth.

“Wonderful, and I am, of course, Emilie.” She paused. “An alliance will suit us both, I believe, for I have the answers to the questions you seek.”

Caleb stared. He dared not move.
 

She lifted her finger but held it mere inches from his lips. “Unless you’ve pressing business to attend to, I would like very much to show you what I believe is the perfect spot for construction of the Fairweather Key school.”

He nodded, unsure of his voice. As she stepped out of his reach, he swallowed hard.
 

Someday she would know that she owed her school not to any benevolence on his part but to the letter now on his desk from the secretary of the navy. The mystery of the full mail boat was quickly explained in the words of the secretary’s letter:
 

Popular demand compels me to come and inspect the Fairweather Key school personally. As luck would have it, I will be traveling south in November and would relish an appointment with you to discuss said schoolhouse personally. In addition, I’ve had an interesting conversation with the attorney general regarding your services, though I am loath to recommend your transfer back to him with such an issue hanging in the balance.

“Lead on, Emilie,” he said as he retrieved his hat.

Lead him she did, all the way to the lane that ran beside her cottage. He knew of the location, even as he knew never to venture near it—or her—lest he fall into a trap such as the one he’d just tumbled into back in his office.

He cursed himself as a fool, even as he fell into step beside Emilie on the broad lane that wound behind the downtown district and turned toward a low bluff jutting over the bay. As her cottage appeared on the horizon, Caleb felt her tug on his wrist.

“Hurry,” she said, though he hadn’t realized he’d slowed his pace.

Loosening her grip, Emilie fairly ran ahead of him, the ribbons of her bonnet forming blue streamers that followed in her wake. He, too, followed, a foolish man who could never forget her nor ever pursue her.

She rushed past her home and the tidy fence that surrounded it to stop in an expanse of flat land bordered on two sides by nance and mango groves. The remaining edges were hemmed in by the ocean to the west and Emilie’s cottage to the east.

Caleb stepped carefully off the path and past the woman who’d stopped to allow him to admire her choice on his own. He did so silently, taking his time to state what he knew from the moment he saw the property.

“It is a fine location,” he said without turning to face her. “All that remains is to find the owner and secure a purchase.” Now he turned, finding to his relief that she’d stayed put. “I warn you, Emilie, though I am giving in to your town’s demand for a proper school, I will not raid our coffers for an extravagant purchase.”

She pursed her lips then formed a slow smile. “And what,” she said slowly, “would you consider a fair price for such a lovely location?”

Caleb shrugged, then named an amount he knew to be vastly under what was surely the cost of this place where he now stood. He watched her nod, purse her lips once more, then nod again.

“And what of the budget for the building? Have you a figure in mind?”

He did not, though he’d prefer she not realize how early in the plan to placate the secretary it was. Again, he named an amount he felt was not up to her expectations. Again, she considered it then nodded.

“Anything else you would like to know, Emilie?” he asked, though as soon as the words had fallen from his mouth, he wished to snatch them back.

“Of course,” she said, eyes sparking, “but with your permission, I would ask that I reserve that right for a later date.”

“Permission granted,” he said, not knowing whether he’d just found his reprieve or signed his death warrant.

“Then shall we talk business?” She gestured to her cottage. “Might I offer a cup of coffee or a glass of something cool to drink while we converse?”

Caleb followed her to her porch, then settled onto a bench while she went inside. The view was spectacular from here, almost as breathtaking as that of the current schoolhouse. While most of Fairweather Key’s downtown area lay in a low point between two hills, Emilie’s cottage sat above the city within sight of the harbor and the ocean beyond.
 

He leaned back and listened to the orangequit’s song until a memory of Santa Lucida beckoned.
“I delivered you because I delighted in you.”

Caleb stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, remembering the strong presence of God that day. Had the time only been measured in months? It felt like years, decades, since he had heard the Lord’s voice so clearly.

Sounds inside the cottage mixed with the sound of birds and the rush of tree limbs on the salt-tinged breeze to form a symphony he knew he would never tire of hearing. A symphony he would never hear once he returned to Washington.

What had once been the lofty goal of keeping a promise to his earthly father suddenly began to feel like betraying one to his heavenly Father. He thought back to a moment long sealed in the farthest reaches of his memory. Of his father lying near death in Santa Lucida, and the words he whispered. “Take up the cause of justice, Caleb. Promise me you will achieve it.”

It.

That was, he had decided, the position of ultimate justice. The attorney general’s post. More than once, he’d heard his father and the men who kept company with him talk of John Spencer’s nomination to the post. Had an accident not felled him, likely the position would have been his.

Though he had been a lad of barely ten, Caleb had both taken up the cause of justice as he’d promised and ignored the call of the sea that he’d so loved.
 

With Fletcher to guide him and his skills as a jurist to recommend him, every goal had been reached save one: He was not yet the attorney general his father had desired him to be.

Time, however, was his friend, as he had many years of service to his country ahead. And with the construction of this school and the restored good graces of the secretary of the navy, the position would one day be his.

The secretary had hinted as much in his letter. With all his dreams coming true, why did he feel as if the life had been drained from him? As if he’d somehow left the real Caleb Spencer back on Langham Island, never to be found again?

I miss You, Lord.
This admission led him to another.
Somehow I’ve left Your path. Help me find it again.

A cloud drifted lazily on the horizon, propelled across a sapphire sky by the trade winds. Beneath it, a three-masted schooner, its sails as white as the cotton above it, made for what looked like the edge of the earth. Then as he watched, it slipped from view, leaving sparkling diamonds of cresting waves in its wake.

All was still. Quiet. Serene. Caleb closed his eyes against the sunshine shining on his face as he weaved his fingers together behind his head.

“I delivered you because I delighted in you.”

Caleb sat bolt upright, nearly toppling the bench in the process. Much as he wanted to call out to the Lord, he hesitated to bring Emilie running.

Instead, he opened his heart and waited in hopes that God would remember him as one of His own.
Help me, Lord. I feel like I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. What do I do to find You again?

A rustling of tree branches and the tang of ocean air, then silence.
“The truth shall make you free.”

The truth. Anything but that, please.

Silence.

All right, Lord. Where do I start?

“Did you think I’d fallen off the face of the earth?” Emilie called from somewhere inside the cottage. Her footsteps neared, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “We can start with this,” she said when she emerged, balancing a tray in her hands.

She set before him some sort of food and drink, though he barely took notice. Not since his ride with Rialto on Santa Lucida had he felt this way. To waste the moment sipping sweet drinks and making small talk seemed unthinkable.

Yet he did until Emilie finally turned the course of conversation from the mundane to the specific. “You’ve stated a budget for the property and construction. Correct?” When he nodded, she continued. “That’s a fair number. Might I have it in writing?”

He lifted a brow in amusement. “Of course. Would you like me to do this now?”

“If you would.” She rose to step inside, returning a moment later with pen and ink as well as a sheaf of papers. “Just a simple note as to what we’ve discussed here will suffice.”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, even as he accepted the items from her.

It was her turn to raise a dark brow.

“Fair enough,” he said. Caleb did as she asked, generously adding a small percentage to the number she’d stated.
 

She read over the words, then set the document aside to take up her glass. “Shall we toast to your generosity?”

As he raised his glass to touch hers in a smart clink, he could not meet her gaze. For what she termed generous was just one more thing he must do to climb the ladder his father had set before him.

His earthly father.

“A few items of business, then,” Emilie said. “I propose a committee to be formed of men from the community who will see to the building of the school.”

“Micah Tate might be a good man to head it up,” Caleb said as he struggled to regain his composure. “Much as I hate to spare him, I fear he’s ready to work somewhere besides the warehouses.”

“I shall bow to you on the selection, though I admit Micah is an excellent choice.” Emilie paused to touch her lip with a flower-strewn napkin. “Might I have some input as to the arrangement of the interior? We’ve a serviceable collection of tables and benches courtesy of Mr. Tate, though I would hope the new location will be bigger and thus in need of more of these items.”

“I had hoped you would offer to assist us. Assist me, actually,” Caleb corrected.

Her smile was slow in coming but sweet nonetheless. “Now, about the budget.”

His guard went up. “I knew this was all too easy.” Caleb set down his glass and waited for her to begin.

Emilie held up her hands as if to fend him off. “I’ll not contest any of it,” she said. “Rather, I’d hoped to confirm the amount.”

“The paper confirms it,” Caleb said.
 

Her satisfied smile worried him more than the potential of protest. “Excellent,” she said as she reached once more for her glass. “That will build a nice school for the children.”

“It will,” he agreed.

“Especially since all the funds can be spent on the building.” She met his gaze, a twinkle in her brown eyes. “The property belongs to me, Caleb. I am donating it to the cause.”

“You tricked me,” he said with equal parts surprise and admiration.

“Did I?” Her expression remained neutral, though the merriment in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Indeed you did.” He paused. “I thought you a woman of quality, dear schoolteacher. With this discovery, you’ve wounded me.”

Wounded me. Emilie froze. As she lowered her glass to set it on the tray, her hand shook. She seemed to attempt a smile, but it did not quite appear.

Silence fell. Even the breeze ceased, it seemed, and the birds no longer chirped. The cloud had slid from view, leaving the sky a blue that hurt Caleb’s eyes.

Yet that’s all he could do, for he certainly could not look at Emilie Gayarre.

“Forgive me?” she asked, and he wondered whether they were now talking about the school or something else.

Had Micah Tate not opened the garden gate, Caleb might have discovered the answer. As it was, he discovered only his need for it.

And soon, perhaps, the Lord would show him how to proceed.

“Judge,” Micah said after greeting Emilie, “there’s a problem down at the warehouse and you’re needed right away.”

Caleb said his good-byes, then fell into step beside Micah.
 

“I hated to come and get you,” the wrecker said, “but the men are a might riled up.”

They arrived at the warehouse to find a crowd had gathered. Josiah Carter shook his hand. “I speak for the wreckers in asking you to see if we can’t get to the bottom of this situation.” He gestured to the warehouse. “My master’s log for the wreck two nights ago and Micah’s warehouse log for that same wreck don’t match. If he weren’t my best friend, I’d be demanding you throw him in jail.”