Beloved Castaway (39 page)

“I see,” Josiah shook his head. “There’s the matter of a vessel. I’ve got much to ponder.”

“Don’t ponder too long,” Viola said, “or she’ll find a ship to England and be gone.”

Chapter 33

As it turned out, he had little to ponder. Five minutes of conversation with Micah Tate led to the offer of the
Caroline
for transportation and Tate as crew. At daybreak, they set out for Cuba, and the next morning Josiah began his search for Isabelle.

At the customhouse, he located the sailing log for vessels headed to England since Isabelle’s arrival on the island. Only three were listed, and none had left port yet, so he went to each of them and searched their passenger lists.

Nowhere did Isabelle’s name appear.

It made no sense.

Heading back to the customhouse, he gave the log another thorough look and found the same results. Only those three vessels were to depart, and none had left since the
Amberjack
’s
arrival in port.

Only two possibilities remained: Either Isabelle was sailing under an assumed name or she remained somewhere on the island. He made his way back to the docks, pondering the situation.

“Did you find her?” Micah asked when Josiah stepped aboard the
Caroline
.

“No,” he said, “and frankly I’m stumped. I don’t know what to do or where to turn.” He leaned against the rail and looked over the sea to where the spires of a church showed above the trees. “I think I might know who does, though.”

Making his way off the vessel was easy. Finding the way to the little church he’d spied from the water was not. The avenues in Havana were not broad like those back in Fairweather Key, and they twisted and turned, too often ending abruptly. As he was about to give up, Josiah spotted a sign that read simply
Capilla de Jesús
.

“Chapel of Jesus.”
 

He smiled and headed up the narrow alley to the front steps of the stone church with the double spires. Once inside, he had to stop and wait for his eyes to adjust to the light. As he waited, he heard a soft sound not unlike crying.

The air was hot and muggy, and the candles were poorly made and stingy with their light. As his eyes adjusted, Josiah spied a woman at the altar, her head bowed. Unwilling to intrude on the woman, Josiah slipped into the back pew and sat waiting for the proper words to come.

To petition the Lord for Isabelle’s swift return seemed a bit pre-sumptuous considering he’d been sparse in his prayers thus far
. I know I only seem to come to You when I am in need, but this time it’s for Isabelle. She must know she’s free. That she’s been redeemed.

The thought occurred that he, too, had been redeemed.
Josiah closed his eyes.
And others
save with fear, pulling them out of the fire.

“Josiah?”
 

His eyes flew open. Before him stood Isabelle Gayarre. “I have surely died and gone to my reward,” he said as he reached out to touch her sleeve. “No, you’re real, aren’t you?”

“I am as are you.” Isabelle smiled. “I prayed, and here you are.”

“As did I.” He rose to gather Isabelle into his arms, and to his great joy, she allowed it. “I feared you were lost,” he said, “and there’s so much you need to know.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, the tears coming afresh. “I was so afraid. The ships were full, and the
Amberjack
was already on her return trip. I’ve been sleeping in this church and praying someone would find me.” She shook her had. “No, I was praying you would find me.”

“I have much to tell you,” he said as he rested his head atop hers. “So much is not as we thought.”

“Not now,” she said.
 

Josiah lifted her chin with his index finger so that she looked into his eyes. “Isabelle, my father came to Fairweather Key with papers regarding you.”

“Papers?” She shook her head. “What sort of papers?”

“Sit with me.” He settled on the pew and waited until she did the same. Then he told her the story his father had shared with him aboard the
Caroline
.

“How can that be? Emilie told me he was to purchase me for his personal use.” She covered her mouth with her hands.
 

“What?” He gave her a sideways look. “You knew my father was your protector?”

Isabelle sighed. “Emilie knew. I’m sure she overheard her father discussing it. Once I knew the name of my protector, it was a simple matter to find you and get passage out of New Orleans.”

“Wait—you chose me because of who my father was?”

“No.” She entwined her fingers with his. “Emilie instructed me to listen for anything that might be said about the Carters. I overheard things about your father but also about you. Things I know now are wrong.”

“Like?”

She studied the pew in front of her. “Like how you were an infidel.”

“Ah, that would have come from my father.” He paused. “Did he also characterize me as stupid, lazy, and dangerous?”

Her look answered the question. “I’m sorry. He was wrong, and thus, so was I.”

Josiah sighed. “It is in the past. I prefer to look to the future.” He swiveled in the pew to face her. “Without you, there is no future, Isabelle. Tell me you love me, for you know I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Yes,” she said softly, “I know, and I do.”

He moved closer, bringing his lips near her ear. “Say it, Isabelle.”

When she turned, their lips almost brushed. Almost but not quite. “I love you,” she said.

Josiah leaned back a notch to better see her. “Anything else you’d like to say?”

A broad smile dawned. “Yes, I would have you kiss me.”

So he did.

“What is this?” a man called out in heavily accented Spanish. “Get out of here, you two. The chapel is no place for this kind of behavior. I warrant you are not even married.”

Josiah rose and pulled Isabelle out of the pew behind him. “Josiah Carter,” he said. “And you’re correct. We are not married—yet. Might you be a padre?”

“I am,” the old man said.

He turned to Isabelle. “Before God, I would have you as my wife. Will you marry me, Isabelle Gayarre, and heed not what anyone save the Lord says about it?”

“But, Josiah,” she said, “what if—”

He ceased her concern with a kiss, then offered a quick apology to the cleric. “In the eyes of God, you and I are free to marry. I ask you one last time and never again thereafter: Will you marry me, Isabelle Gayarre?”

“Yes,” she said as she fell into his embrace. “I will.”

The wedding was held by candlelight in the Capilla de Jesús that evening with Micah Tate and the padre’s sister as witnesses. While Micah kindly brought a hammock onshore and stood guard, the newlyweds spent their honeymoon night together aboard the
Caroline
.

Josiah opened his eyes before dawn and knew the day was going to be fine. Rather than awakening to William’s foot in his ear, he held Isabelle Gayarre in his arms. “No,” he whispered against the jasmine scent of his wife’s hair. “Isabelle Carter is in my arms this morning.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said, then yawned.

By the time the sun shone through the windows of the
Caroline
, Josiah had been fed his breakfast and had weighed anchor. “You were right, Tate, when you recommended married life. I must say it does agree with me.”

To his credit, the wrecker merely laughed as they set sail across the sea to reach Fairweather Key before dusk. The lookout must have announced their arrival, for the
Caroline
docked to quite a reception.

The docks and adjoining town square were ringed with torches, chasing away the shadows of the evening. Mrs. Campbell had thrown open the doors of the boardinghouse, and people milled about. When Josiah emerged onto the deck with Isabelle in tow, a cheer went up.

Micah brushed past them and chuckled. “I’m fairly certain this is not for me,” he said as he made sure the vessel was properly moored before stepping onto the dock. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as he made a grand bow, “may I present Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Carter.”

---

Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Carter. Isabelle had been a bride for a full twenty-four hours, and still she could not believe it. The thought of the ceremony made her smile.

The memory of their night aboard the
Caroline
made her blush and smile.

To think, it was only the first day among many.

The reception had been a surprise, all of it coordinated by Viola and Emilie along with help from Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. O’Mara.

“How did you do all of this so quickly?” she asked Emilie and Viola when they managed a moment away from the crowd. “I wanted to have you as attendants in the wedding,” she added, “but Josiah deemed it improper to wait.”

Viola giggled. “Improper? Like as not he was afraid you would change your mind.”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Isabelle looked up to see the object of their discussion along with his brother and father. “William has a wedding
gift he would like to present to us.” He glanced over at Hezekiah.
“
 
’Tis my understanding that he and our father conspired to present the gift to us together.”

“Well, someone had to bid on it at auction.” William pointed to Emilie. “She was too busy making all these plans, so I had to have Papa help me.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t easy, either, what with the medicine Papa took—well, he did say the silliest things.”

Josiah’s glance collided with hers, and Isabelle felt herself blush. “Aye,” he said, “it will do that.”

William thrust the gift toward Josiah. “You’d better open it, ’cause it’s too heavy for Isabelle.”

He accepted the gift. “Aye, ’tis heavy. Have you brought me pirate’s treasure, William?”

The boy looked stricken, so Josiah quickly opened the gift. Inside the wrapping was the Chinese lacquer sewing box he presumed had been lost with the
Jude
. As he moved the box, he could feel the coins inside slide.

“The drawer is stuck,” his father said, “but I’m sure with a bit of work you can get the thing open.”

“Aye.” Josiah lifted his brother into an embrace. “A fine gift, Sir William,” he said. “I’m much pleased.”

“As am I,” Isabelle added.

“Isabelle,” Viola said, “could you spare a moment? I’ve something I’d like to share with you.” She glanced over at Emilie. “You, too,” she said.

“Of course,” Isabelle said. “Will you excuse us, Josiah?”
 

Josiah captured her fingers and held them to his lips. His eyes held a promise that sent her heart galloping. Had Viola not wrenched her away, Isabelle might have remained happily at her husband’s side.

“What was so important that you had to bring me up here now?” Isabelle sat at the end of the bed and stared into the hearth, where a small fire burned.
 

Viola produced two folded papers. The one on top had Isabelle’s name on it, and Viola handed it to her.
 

“What is this?”

“One of two letters,” Viola said, “from Jean Gayarre. Both were entrusted to me when they were found inside Andre’s coat after his untimely demise.” She paused. “I thought to give them to you that day, but circumstances intervened. I felt this was the appropriate night for reading them.”

Isabelle lifted the seal, and it came up easily. “This has been opened,” she said.

Viola hung her head. “The seals were broken when I received the letters. I confess I read yours, Isabelle. I thought to destroy it. After seeing what it said, I decided against it.”

Isabelle unfolded the paper, dotted with what most surely was Andre Gayarre’s blood, and began to read.

These are the words of Jean Gayarre, father of Isabelle Gayarre, and the testament of the events of December 27, 1814. Upon leaving my home that night, I thought to visit Sylvie, my dearest love and the mother of my daughter born three days prior.
I found Sylvie in a most distressing state, and while I was there,
she did expire.

Isabelle looked up from the letter. “None of this is new to me.”

“Read all the way to the end,” Viola said softly. “I wager there will be something you do not know.”

It was a time of war, and the enemy was near to storming the gates, so I did what I now know was an act of desperation. I took that baby girl from Sylvie and brought her home with me. That very night, my wife gave birth, and as fate would cruelly have it, that infant, too, was a girl child. Faced with two daughters born a mere three days apart, I knew not what to do. Married to a woman who despised me and mourning for a woman who loved me, I made a choice, Isabelle, that I find hard to justify, lo, these many years later. The newborn daughter born of my wife and the three-day-old daughter of my concubine lay in the same cradle side by side with only Delilah as witness. There was no honorable debate among choices that night, though I wish it were so. Rather, I snatched up Sylvie’s three-day-old daughter and returned to my wife’s chambers claiming her as our newborn. You, the daughter of my marriage, were sent away to be raised by Delilah, always protected and always intended to one day be free.

Isabelle crumpled the paper and held it to her chest while she willed her heart to stop racing. The truth unfolded gently in soft cascading pools.

Daughter of the wife who despised me.

Two girls in one cradle.

There was no honorable debate among choices made that night.

She, Isabelle Gayarre, had never been born into slavery but was the legitimate daughter of Jean Gayarre and his wife. This meant Andre was her brother. It also meant Emilie was—

Oh, no.

She read the name on the letter Viola still held: Emilie Gayarre. Isabelle snatched it away and tossed it into the flames, along with her own.

Emilie squealed as she rose and darted to the fire. Too late to save the documents, she could only watch them burn. “Isabelle, whatever did you do that for?” she asked.

Isabelle exchanged smiles with Viola. “Some things are not fit for a lady to read,” she said. “Will you forgive me for sparing you?”