Beloved Captive (5 page)

“You’ve stolen nothing,” he said, “except for that place in my heart that has always been reserved for you.”

Her smile was quick, as was the fading of it. “Yet a man of seven and twenty should have a woman of a much younger age in his heart.” She slid a glance in his direction. “Dare I hope there is someone of whom you have yet to speak?”

“Aye, there is.” He winked. “And her name is Justice. I’ve been studying her now for nigh on a decade and I’m certain my love will come to fruition.”

Mother gave him a playful nudge. “Your jest falls on deaf ears, son. A mother worries when her son finds nothing to please him save the reading of books and the pursuit of career.”

Caleb managed a smile. “Then worry no more, Mother. For I’ve turned the matter over to the Lord and left Him in charge of my heart.”

“As have I,” she said, “and perhaps more frequently have I also petitioned Him to move swiftly before my son’s intended passes him by while his nose is impossibly wedged into a law book.”

Caleb’s grin was quick and broad. He reached for his mother’s hand and held it to his lips. “Then, perhaps we shall strike a bargain.”

Another glance. “And that would be?”

“I shall look up from my law book occasionally to see if she has arrived, and you shall continue to pray that this woman the Lord has fashioned for me will know where to find me.” Caleb’s chuckle was lost in the sound of the surf. “Oh, and be sure to pray that I will recognize her. I fear the Lord has made me quite blind in that area.”

He thought the jest quite clever until his mother stepped away to point her finger in his direction. “You can toy with me, Caleb Spencer, but not with your heavenly Father. This is not a chess game with the ending decided by the cleverest participant.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

She held up a hand to stop him, then grasped her shawl as the wind whipped it away. “The prayers have long been whispered to God, my son,” she said. “And I know when you meet her, there will be no doubt she is someone special. Indeed, I have asked God to sear her mark onto your soul so that, every time you look into the mirror, you see not yourself but the man she has caused you to become.”

Whether it was the wind or the waves or the odd statement, Caleb found himself completely unable to respond. He pleaded exhaustion and wished his mother a hurried good night.

Back in his room, he threw off his shirt and trousers and slipped behind the nets that did a decent service of keeping the bloodthirsty insects at bay. Long into the night, Caleb lay still, listening not to the sounds outside his door but to the memory of his mother’s warning.

Finally, he fell into a restless sleep broken in bits and snatches by the cloaked image of a woman who seared her mark on him with a dueling pistol to his heart. By morning, he’d found humor in the dream.

Any woman who wanted to leave such a mark on him would have to shoot him to do so. She certainly wouldn’t find any other way to manage it.

Chapter 5

Emilie spent her time in the duty for which she’d been well trained: as the lady of the house. A woman raised to understand duty to home and family, she nonetheless struggled with her warring emotions.
 

For the most part, Emilie had chosen to set that information aside, to proceed as if she’d never been told she was the daughter of a concubine rather than a wife. To acknowledge the facts would be to admit them, and she’d yet to decide how best to do that
.

She no longer concerned herself with whether aiding Isabelle’s escape would be addressed. The topic of her transgressions, it seemed, was buried deep and intended to be left undisturbed. For this she felt a measure of relief, though the irony of the situation gave her pause.

The slave helped the free woman escape.
 

On days not dampened by the New Orleans spring rains, Emilie escaped her own gilded prison to take the long walks she’d become accustomed to in Fairweather Key. Some days, it was her only link to the place where she’d finally felt at home, thus she had become reluctant to share her time with anyone other than Nate, the coachman Cook insisted on sending to follow a close distance behind Emilie.

Today, however, she had no answer when Reverend Carter stated his intention to join her. To her great surprise, the older man proved an able companion, keeping up both the pace and the conversation without fail. Any temptation to grill him on the facts of her birth was tempered by the public forum in which the conversation was being held.

Thus, when they lapsed into companionable silence, Emilie felt no need to speak. Rather, she walked on and waited for the old pastor to speak again.

“So,” he finally said, “I would have your opinion on the state of my old friend. I will be blunt. Is he long for this world?”

Finally, the reason for tagging along. She hesitated but a moment. “I shall be honest.”

His cane clicked on the hard surface of the sidewalk. “I would have nothing else.”

Emilie nodded. “There are days when I fear he shall draw his last breath any moment. Other days, I fear he shall live so long that I shall surely arrive at the heavenly gates before him.”

“I see.”

“And his state of mind,” she continued, “it never varies. He is but the same man I have always known, only there are moments when I fear he gives voice to thoughts he might have left in silence in years past.”

The reverend nodded. “Indeed I have seen this.” He stopped abruptly and reached for Emilie’s arm, a look of alarm on his wrinkled face. “Has he perhaps said something that was harmful to you?”

“Harmful?” She thought a moment. “Nothing beyond his disdain for my calling to teach.”

“And nothing further?” When she shook her head, his expression relaxed. “
 
’Tis a relief indeed. That you’ve been spared the brunt of his ill temper.”

Odd his sudden concern for her feelings. Surely Hezekiah Carter, oldest and dearest friend to her father, knew that sparing feelings had never been something with which Jean Gayarre concerned himself. This he owed to his temperament, although often Papa was just too far into his cups to care.

“I fear I cannot remain indefinitely, Emilie,” he said without breaking his stride. “I’ve word my congregation is suffering from my absence, as, I hope, is my wife. I fear I must make arrangements to leave within the week.”
 

“I understand.” Truly she did. Would that she, too, could pack her bags and step aboard a Florida-bound ship. “You are a good friend for accompanying me on this voyage. I shall not hold you here any longer.”

“Then ’tis settled.” He sighed. “I would beg you to join me, but my old friend tells me he requires your attendance at his bedside.”

She walked on in silence for there was no need to respond.
 

Together they turned the corner at Royal Street. Up ahead, the Gayarre home loomed. “You do not have to remain here,” Reverend Carter said. “You’re a good daughter to him, Emilie, but he will not suffer in your absence. I warrant Delilah will see that he is well taken care of.”

“He needs me.”

“Does he now?” The pastor shrugged. “Or perhaps it is you who needs him. Perhaps,” he said before pausing to allow a well-dressed couple to pass, “you are afraid if he dies you will not have answers to the questions you surely seek.”

“Questions?” Anger flared white hot, and then on its heels came the guilt. He must have discerned her quest for funding for the school. “Do you assume I have come back to New Orleans only for my own purposes?”

“No,” he said quickly, “although I do know there is some issue about funding our Fairweather Key school that might be resolved should your father contribute.”
 

“Yes,” she said slowly, guilt now dogging each step toward home, “this is true. I wish desperately not to separate children from parents in order for the students to receive an education, but the situation seems to be one that cannot be changed without a proper school for the children. If only the judge would. . .”
 

Emilie clamped her lips shut. Nothing good would come of further complaints. Judge Campbell was a man who would never waver once he made up his mind.
 

“Indeed, Judge Campbell seems to have a particular bent toward keeping the Fairweather Key coffers full to the brim,” Reverend Carter agreed. “We’ve petitioned the Lord to deal with him, Emilie. What else can be done?”

She straightened her spine and bit back on the comment begging to be spoken. “Reverend, while I’m sure the families are doing their part in praying, I can’t help but think that without action there may be nothing done.”

“Dear girl, don’t you understand prayer is action?” He shook his head. “Ah, the impetuousness of youth. There are situations where waiting is but the only solution.”

“Waiting is not an option. If I cannot produce a school in three months’ time, families will be praying over the decision of whether to send their children away or allow them to remain uneducated.”

“And if you continue as you have teaching the children in the boardinghouse? What can he do, Emilie?”

“He can throw me in jail,” she said, recalling the last conversation she had had with the unreasonable old judge.
 

“He wouldn’t jail a woman, especially one of your quality and reputation.”
 

Emilie gave him a sideways look.
 

“Indeed, he might, eh?”
 

She nodded.
 

Reverend Carter stopped once more, this time leaning heavily on the silver top of his cane. While his face bore no sign of distress, he seemed disconcerted.

“Are you ill, sir?”
 

Emilie reached for his sleeve, and the reverend stepped back. “I am fit and well, dear girl, but my heart is burdened. That much is true.”
 

“You are concerned about me.” She shook her head. “Do not be. I’m a grown woman and well aware of what I am doing.”

“I fear we may no longer be talking about the education of children.”

“No, but I will grant Papa his last wish even if it means I must choose him over my other responsibilities.” She paused. “It has meant a great deal to me that your wife has undertaken the duty of teacher in my absence. I am beholden to her, though I know she cannot continue this indefinitely.”

“My dear wife has loved every minute of this assignment,” he said. “You’re a young woman and perhaps would not understand, but when one reaches a certain age, it is comforting to know there is still value to be had and work to be done.” He looked past her to the home where she’d lived all but the last two years of her life. “Come with me, Emilie,” he said. “We’ve a talk to have that is long overdue.”

To her surprise, Emilie found it difficult to keep up with the older man. In short order, she’d followed him up the stairs and into the front parlor, where he insisted she sit while he continue his pacing.

Finally, he halted. “I am an old man and a friend of this family,” he said as he leveled a direct look at Emilie. “For this much, I have earned the right to ask of you a difficult question. Have you spoken to your father about the events that took you away from New Orleans?”

“The escape,” she said softly. “No,” came out in a more bold tone. “He has not mentioned that I helped Isabelle escape her servitude, and I have not offered up the subject for conversation.”

Reverend Carter gave a curt nod. “And shall you yet offer this up, or are you determined to ignore it?”

Emilie chose the words with care, her attention focused on the old pastor. “Truthfully?” When he nodded, Emilie managed a shaky grin. “I much prefer to let the subject lie dormant. I could face prison for having the daughter of my father’s mistress freed.” She shrugged. “Amend that. I did not have her freed. I planned it, then climbed aboard the boat with her. Oh, Reverend Carter, I only did as God instructed.”

“Of course you did,” he said. “And for that, He rewarded you both with the freedom He desired for you.” He paused. “What of the letters from your father?”

Emilie thought back to the pair of letters brought to Fairweather Key by her brother and thrown into the fire. So he was ready to discuss the topic. Her heart quickened, as did her resolve to let Reverend Carter be the first to acknowledge the travesty Mama Dell insisted had occurred.

“Isabelle deemed the information they contained unfit for a lady and destroyed them in the chamber fireplace.”

The reverend raised a gray brow. “And you did not question her?”

“I did not.” She shrugged. “What could possibly be in a letter?”

He appeared deep in thought. “Then I suppose there is nothing further to say.”

So he intended to let the subject go?
 

Unwilling to allow that, Emilie pressed on. “Indeed, there is one last question before we lay the topic to rest, Reverend Carter.” She studied her hands for a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “My mother.”

“Your mother,” the old man echoed.
 

Emboldened, she straightened her shoulders and rose, all the better to show the strength of purpose with which she intended to pursue the discussion. “You knew her.”

It was a statement, not a question, for the reverend had been friend to her father longer even than he had been married to Elizabeth. At whatever point the mysterious Sylvie entered Jean Gayarre’s life, Reverend Carter likely knew this as well.

 
She waited and tried to decipher the old man’s expression, her heart pounding.

After what seemed an eternity, Reverend Carter looked away. “She was very beautiful.”

“I was once scolded gently by a dear man for not giving a direct answer when asked.” Emilie moved to the fireplace and rested her hand on the cold marble. “I will now return that gentle scolding, sir.”

“Caught in my own net,” the reverend said. “Indeed, I met your mother on several occasions, though I regret I did not know her well.”

“My mother Elizabeth?” She paused to pray for the strength to ask the question and then to withstand the answer. “Or my mother Sylvie?”