Beloved Castaway (29 page)

On the morning of the second day of May, the now-familiar voice
of Mrs. O’Mara sounded in the hallway.
“Dependent on Thy
bounteous breath, we seek Thy grace alone.”
The key turned in the lock but did not open. “Captain Carter, might I ask you to help?”

Josiah jumped off the bunk and padded to the door. “Help you how, Mrs. O’Mara?”

“By opening the door, of course.”

“Of course.”
 

He turned the latch, and the door swung open. Before him stood the jailer, her arms full with what looked like a set of folded clothes. Atop the clothing was a shiny pair of boots. Upon closer inspection, he recognized them as his own.

“What is this?” he asked as she pressed past him to set the items on the bunk.
 

“ ’Tis an interesting thing, this bond of friendship,” she said. “You seem to have already found many here on the key.”

Many friends? He, the man who ran the
Jude
aground and failed to save so many lives?
 

“I fail to understand.”
 

He reached for one of the boots and lifted it up. The leather was polished with great care, and the soles newly shod. Upon inspection, he found the other had received similar treatment.
 

“What is there to understand, Captain Carter? Much as my husband’s shirt pulls and strains at the shoulders, I warrant you’d be judged indecent should you try to work in it.” She looked down at the trousers he wore and shook her head. “And my Clarence, he’s not near as tall as you, though that might be to your advantage should you be forced to go wading.”

“But what sort of thing is this?” he said as he laid them back on the bunk. “It appears someone has restored my footwear to its former glory.”

Josiah sat back on the bunk and picked up the shirt. Someone had taken fine linen and fashioned it into a garment that would have stood him in good stead at the president’s table. In fact, he had once worn a shirt much like this when President Monroe and his wife had shared the dinner table with the Reverend Hezekiah Carter and family.
 

“I’m sorry, but your other clothes were beyond repair,” Mrs. O’Mara said. “Except for the boots, that is. I reckon you already figured that out.”

He touched the mother-of-pearl buttons someone had sewn at the neck. An expensive touch for a garment given in charity to one who could not at present repay.

“Who would do this?”

“Your friends, Captain Carter.” She turned to make a
tsk-tsk
sound at the sight of the still-full tray. “I’ll not take this just yet, as it’s obvious you’ve forgotten to eat.” She strolled to the door, then paused to glance over her shoulder. “I have it on good authority you’ll not be dining here tonight.”

“Is that so?” He smiled. “Then I suppose I should return Clarence’s clothing. Please convey my sincere thanks.”

The door closed, and Mrs. O’Mara walked away singing some hymn he did not recognize. He threw off the old clothes and donned the new, then sat on the bunk to pull on his boots.
 

It was the first time he’d worn shoes in almost a month.

Josiah stood and walked the perimeter of the room. Gathering his things would take no time at all. All he had was Isabelle’s Bible, and even that was not truly his.

Not at all the state in which he had expected to greet his father when this adventure began.

Exactly how he would respond to Hezekiah’s gift of bail would depend on the manner in which the gift was given.
No.
Josiah sighed.
It would not.

Some time later, the door latch opened, and the judge stepped inside. “Your bail’s been posted, Mr. Carter,” he said. “A decision will be made in a week or two as to whether or not we’ll be prosecuting you for slaving.”

Josiah squared his shoulders and tamped down on his temper. “I am not a slaver, and I challenge any man to prove I am.”

“I reckon if we can’t, then you’ll be free to go,” the judge said without looking Josiah in the eye.

“Then I’ll look forward to discussing this with you further as soon as possible.” Josiah nodded toward the door. “Am I free to go?”

“For now,” Judge Campbell said, “but don’t leave the island unless it’s for work purposes.”

Work. He would need something to employ him and fill his time until Isabelle’s health was restored.

Indeed, once the pleasantries were exchanged with his father and the words that needed to be spoken were said, Josiah would make haste to see Isabelle. Perhaps he would do that first and speak to Hezekiah later.

He tested his freedom by stepping over the threshold into a small hallway. To the right, the smell of food being prepared enticed him, and he realized he hadn’t touched a bite on his breakfast tray. To the left, however, was daylight and with it, freedom.

He would go hungry before he stepped back into that jail cell again.

---

“She spoke to me, Doctor,” Viola Dumont said. “She sat right up and asked me what I was sewing.”
 

“Calm down, Miss Dumont. It’s likely you imagined this, given the length and seriousness of her illness.”
 

Isabelle lay very still and listened while the debate over her health raged on just outside the barrier of the velvet curtains. She thought of calling out to them, but the idea of ending the conversation so soon did not appeal. Rather, she liked the idea that Viola Dumont might stand up to a man, even if it was over an issue as trivial as this.

“I know what I saw, Dr. Hill, and what I saw was Isabelle Gayarre
with her eyes open and speaking just as if she’d awakened from
a nap.”

The temptation to aid the mademoiselle in her endeavor was too strong. “I’m afraid she’s right, Dr. Hill. I did speak to the mademoiselle, although I must say I don’t feel rested at all.” The pair barged through the curtains and nearly tumbled atop her. “So, as for the claim of my speaking as if I’d just awakened from a nap, that part is false. The rest, however, is true.”

The doctor, a rather bookish-looking man with a pleasant face and a shock of dark hair, raced to the desk and opened a drawer. A moment later, he pointed some sort of odd instrument at her eyes, temporarily blinding her. When she opened her mouth to complain, he stuck something inside. Through the ordeal, Viola Dumont stood at the man’s side.

Seemingly satisfied, Dr. Hill leaned away and nodded. “She seems fit and well.”

“Indeed she does, Doctor,” Viola said. “Why, honestly after all this time for Isabelle to merely awaken with no obvious trauma cannot be explained in any other way than to call it a miracle.”

Dr. Hill gave Viola a sideways glance. “Be that as it may, I would like to do further tests to see the nature of the illness and possibly prevent any complications.”

Viola looked skeptical. “Do you think that she might have complications?”

Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “Would both of you please stop talking as if I am not in the room?”

“Yes, dear,” Viola said. “Do tell us how you’re feeling, other than tired, of course.”

“Well, I’m a bit hungry.”

The doctor smiled. “A good sign, indeed. I wonder if you might wish to try and sit, Miss Gayarre.”

Isabelle attempted to lean forward and rest her weight on her elbows, but the effort did her in. “Perhaps not just yet,” she said.

“Indeed, rest is what I prescribe,” the doctor said. “And I’ll have Viola fetch something for you to eat from the boardinghouse.” He peered down his nose at her. “Do you feel up to a bit of lunch?”

“I do.”
 

“That’s a good sign.” He reached for a pen and began making notes in a notebook. When he looked up, he seemed concerned. “Tell me, Miss Gayarre, what do you remember about the accident?”

“Accident?” Isabelle thought hard. Bits of memories jolted her. Water. A piece of driftwood. Then Josiah scooping her up and bringing her to safety. All this she relayed to the doctor, who seemed to be trying to write down each word.

Sleep threatened, but Isabelle was not yet ready to give in. “Josiah,” she said as she stifled a yawn. “I would like very much to see him.”
 

Viola and the doctor exchanged a look. “Of course,” Viola said. “You rest, and I shall see if I can find the captain when I fetch your lunch.”

---

Josiah had not felt sunlight on his face in what seemed like years. The moment he stepped away from the squat building that obviously served as a jail, a courthouse, and a home to the O’Mara family, he paused to close his eyes and let the sun warm his face.

It was May, and with the month came the brisk wind that made for fine sailing. The thought pained him. What good was a sailor with no vessel?

The thought disappeared as he considered what awaited him in port. What sailor would want to set sail with Isabelle Gayarre waiting on shore?

“Isabelle.” Where would she be? In a town the size of Fairweather Key, there should be no problem finding the infirmary.

For that matter, where was Hezekiah?

Josiah glanced behind him, thinking perhaps his father had chosen to wait to present himself. Only the lonely facade of the jailhouse greeted him.

“So he’s going to make me wait before confronting me. How very much like my father.” Josiah strode toward the main street when, to his astonishment, a thought occurred.
’Tis you who are very much like your father. What say you to this charge?

For a man only just tasting freedom after weeks behind bars, any indictment was poorly timed. This one, with such a powerful truth at its core, was particularly painful.
 

Unlike the accusation of slaving and theft, which were patently false, he could name any number of ways that he very much resembled Hezekiah Carter. Thankfully, there were just as many ways in which they differed.

Still, the accounting left Josiah with a sobering thought: Forgiveness worked both ways.

He shrugged off the thought and concentrated on his search for Isabelle. He could peer into the doorways of every home in the key, or he could go down to the docks and find Micah Tate or one of the other wreckers. They would know where to find her.

A tap on his shoulder stopped Josiah in his tracks. He whirled around to find a well-dressed man. Though the day was temperate, the man wore a heavy coat and gloves.

“Monsieur Carter, we meet at last,” he said. “Perhaps you know of me?”

Josiah shook his head. “Should I?”

The man looked disappointed and then, by degrees, dangerous.

Were it not for the sinking of the
Jude
, he’d be properly armed and ready to do business with the fellow should the need arise. Without his knife, Josiah knew the issue might require settlement with his bare hands.

He clenched his fists and waited. If need be, Josiah was ready.

Never had he backed down from a fight.

The fellow’s smile seemed genuine enough, so Josiah relaxed a notch.
 

“New Orleans,” he said. “Our fathers are acquainted. Perhaps you did not know this.”

Again, Josiah felt his senses send out a warning. “Did my father send you?”

The man seemed to consider the question before nodding. “I’m sure you understand he cannot be associated with such an endeavor as seeing to the release of his son from prison.”

“It was a jail, not prison,” Josiah corrected. “Nonetheless, I’m certain my father would not know the difference. His humiliation would be the same in either case.”

“I’ve been sent to fetch you aboard that vessel.” He pointed to a fine, three-masted schooner. “Have you any bags or possessions that need delivery to it?”

Josiah stopped short. In his haste to leave, he’d forgotten his sole possession of value. “Only one, but I’m afraid I’ve left it back at the jail. Wait here.”

He turned to retrace the path back to the jail only to find his father’s man had fallen in step beside him. “Allow me to accompany you,” he said.

Something in the way the fellow spoke the words shouted a warning. Josiah curled his fists and picked up his pace. He’d not start any fights that might land him back in jail, but he certainly would not be set upon by whatever manner of con man or thief Hezekiah’s man was without defending himself.

If the incident happened within sight of judge and jailer, all the better. He’d not be falsely accused and sent to a cell again.
 

The jail loomed ahead, and only the desire to fetch Isabelle’s Bible could override the strong need to avoid the place altogether. “Perhaps you will want to wait here,” he said as he reached the door.
 

“I wouldn’t think of it,” the man said.

Josiah stopped and drew himself up to his full height. “So my father has paid you to shadow me.”

An accusation, not a question.
 

He waited for an answer, only to see the man staring at some-thing behind him. Josiah turned slowly and saw nothing out of the ordinary.
 

“Whatever my father has paid you, go back and tell him it wasn’t worth it. And you can tell him this is a small island. I will be easy to find should he desire to do so.”

The man studied him a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Perhaps you are right,” he said slowly. “I’ve other errands to run.”
 

“Then you’ll want to be off.” Josiah watched the man stride toward the docks and disappear into the crowd. With a sigh, he stepped inside the long hallway leading to the cell. Without looking back, he strode into the dark room and found the Bible on his bunk.

No, this was no longer his bunk.
 

Josiah lifted his gaze to the heavens.
Thank You for getting me out of here. Please, would You work a similar miracle with my father?

A knock on the door behind him alerted Josiah to the fact he was not alone. “I told you not to—”

When he turned around, Viola Dumont stood in the doorway. “She’s awake,” the woman said. “Isabelle is awake.”

“Tell me how to find her.” Josiah shook his head. “No, better yet, take me to her.”