Beloved Counterfeit (3 page)

“Really, Miss O’Shea. I don’t recall meeting another woman with less natural curiosity.”

Ruby sighed. Truly the man was too much. “I fear it’s a natural state for me. It was beat out of me as a child.”

Realizing she had said the words out loud, Ruby froze. By degrees, blinding anger replaced abject humiliation.

Anger for speaking aloud what should have been kept private.

Anger at the Lord for blinking when He promised not to.

Her feet began to move, and Ruby could only follow. A slow walk became a trot and then an all-out race to find her way back to the boardinghouse and safety.

Chapter 3

Micah stopped to fully appreciate the beauty of the woman who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Blue skirts the color of a noonday sky fought the sea breeze but did not slow Miss O’Shea’s progress as she vaulted over the sand with the agility of one seemingly used to such activities.

She did not falter once, even when an oversized wave jumped the shoreline to pelt her with a saltwater shower. What sort of citified lady was so sure of foot on shifting sand? He shrugged. For all he knew, the best cook in all of Fairweather Key spent her spare moments perfecting the ability to run barefoot on all sorts of turf for just this kind of situation.

She’d certainly perfected the ability to dodge the slightest attention he’d tossed her way over the past few months. How a woman could put lunch in front of him every day since the first week of August and never once look directly at him was beyond understanding.

He continued to observe her, unwilling to look away as her braid swayed from side to side. Something small and pale flew from her hand, but she barely gave it notice.

When she reached the cut where the sea grass gave way to the path toward town, Micah watched her pause, and for a second, he thought she might look back to see if he’d followed. When she did not, he set off in her direction.

A wave danced over his feet and chased a sand crab up into the remains of someone’s campfire. As had become his habit when coming across these kinds of things, Micah checked for signs of a Seminole raiding party—not that he was entirely sure he’d know such clues if he saw them.

Still, it seemed that bad news traveled twice as fast as good and lasted three times as long. For the better part of two years, stories arrived through travelers and transients that the Seminole were intent on adding to the land they were fighting to keep. Forays into Indian Key and other places up north near the mainland looking for who-knew-what had folks in those parts running scared.

What the Seminoles wanted, Key West got, with refugees bypassing Fairweather Key to go as far south as possible without moving to Havana. The last time he’d traveled to Key West, the city had seemed to have quadrupled in size with enough militia and guns to outfit its own war if need be.

And to think he’d given serious thought to pulling up stakes and heading down to the city. With his wrecking boat gone and the woman he thought he loved now promised to another, Micah could surely throw what little he owned into a bag and disappear with the next tide.

Trouble was, the Lord wouldn’t let him. Every time he tried, something waylaid him. Now he wondered if maybe Ruby O’Shea was the reason.

He couldn’t blame the woman for being skittish, what with her having arrived on the island courtesy of the local wrecking fleet after being plucked off a sinking ship. What she was doing aboard that particular vessel, Micah refused to contemplate.

“Hawkins was holding her and those girls captive,” he said to the wind and the lone gull that slid past just overhead. For good measure, Micah repeated the statement. If he did that enough, he’d start believing it.

Not that he’d ever seen a woman and three little girls leave a ship of that sort looking fit and fine as these four had. It was almost as if. . .

“No, they were
captives
, and that’s all there is to it.”

Yet in his heart, he knew any man with a pulse would take notice of a woman like Ruby O’Shea, even if she were the mama of three. Micah liked to think his interest in her was different, his purpose in getting to know her based on proximity and good cooking.

Then there was the issue of his future plans. With Rev. Carter mentioning retirement and Micah as his replacement at nearly every opportunity, there was little doubt he’d soon turn to preaching.

Any woman he took an interest in would have to agree to serve alongside him. Micah chuckled. “My thoughts are running away faster than Ruby O’Shea.”

Still, many questions needed to be answered before he could consider a courtship with the winsome Miss O’Shea. “Winsome?” Another chuckle. “I’m sounding more like the reverend every day.”

He fitted his stride to the footprints she left and found even with his height, he had to stretch to do it. It appeared the tiny woman was almost flying over the rocky beach.

At the cut, he paused to see if he might find the object she’d either thrown or dropped. It only took a minute to spy the round sand dollar among the spikes of sea grass.

Micah snatched up the shell and dusted off the grit before slipping it into his pocket. Miss O’Shea might ignore him again at the lunch table, but surely she’d pay attention to what he’d be bringing her today.

He’d walked halfway back to town before remembering what had brought him to the beach. Rev. Carter’s offer, made in the form of a less-than-convincing offhand comment, bore hard on him. Warring with the strong temptation to take the pulpit from the soon-to-be-retired pastor was the reminder of a past he’d literally swum away from.

He hadn’t thought of that day in years—not until this morning when the words from 1 Samuel 12 flew off the page of his Bible and struck him in the heart.

Micah walked three more steps then settled onto the fallen tree trunk that had acted as a bench since its arrival after the last storm. He scrubbed at his forehead, and sand raked his face.
“Only fear the Lord, and serve him in truth with all your heart: for consider how great things he hath done for you.”

As much trouble as he had memorizing scripture, how ironic that this verse had returned to his mind several times since daybreak. While the Lord had certainly kept His end of the bargain and done many great things for him, Micah squirmed at the thought of how he himself had been elusive with the truth. Even his closest friends knew him only as a good man who worked hard and loved the Lord. Josiah Carter, the reverend’s son, was privy to the fact that Micah had come to Fairweather Key as a widower who’d lost not only a wife but also a child. Others no doubt wondered why he named his wrecking boat the
Caroline
, but none had inquired. And he’d not offered an explanation.

Now that the
Caroline
lay in pieces on the reef, he’d been thinking long and hard—and praying in equal measure—about what he’d do next. Hezekiah Carter wanted him for a preacher, but Micah still felt the pull of the sea and wrecking. For that, Josiah Carter would gladly take him on as partner. It seemed as though Josiah never tired of pestering him about the subject, and Micah had begun to give the proposition more than a passing thought.

Doing both seemed possible, but was dividing his time between the two what God had deposited him on the key to do?

Somehow Micah had figured to return to the place where thinking came best to him and sort it out. Instead, along came Ruby O’Shea to complicate things further.

If he was going to court her—which just might happen if he could catch her attention—or if he was going to go back to owning his own wrecking boat or even think of acting as pastor to the citizens of Fairweather Key, there was only one thing to do.

Micah rose and walked toward the parsonage. With each step his purpose got stronger—until the minute he reached the gate to the churchyard. There the questions he’d ignored caught up with him, as did the doubts.

Before he could put his hand on the gate, Josiah Carter called to him from across the street. Micah turned to acknowledge his friend even as he gave quick thanks for a postponement of his decision.

Josiah dodged across the busy street to give Micah a hearty slap on the back. “Just the fellow I’ve been looking for.” He pointed east toward the docks. “Come with me. I’ve got something to show you.”

Micah knew where this was heading, yet he chose to take the path of least resistance and play dumb. Let his overanxious friend try his best; he’d certainly done that more than a dozen times since the sinking of the
Caroline
.

Given the direction of his thoughts, investing in another wrecking boat was the last thing Micah planned to consider today. Then he saw the craft.

She was a beauty. Long and sleek with a mainmast that jutted toward the sky in a fine straight line. Micah picked up his pace, only realizing when he arrived at the dock that Josiah had been speaking to him.

“And the best thing about her,” Josiah continued, “is that she can be had for a song.”

Micah stopped short, his purpose renewed. “I don’t sing.”

Josiah laughed. “You will when you hear how much the judge wants for her.”

He tore his attention from a hull that sliced upward from the choppy water with what would surely be an almost flawless curve. “The judge?”

“Come on,” Josiah said. “Caleb’s expecting us.”

Micah stalled right there on the dock. “Hold on a second. What do you mean Caleb’s expecting us?”

The wrecker pulled a watch from his pocket and checked the time. “We’re a little late, but I’m sure he’ll understand when I tell him how difficult it was to find you this morning.” Josiah set off again and yanked Micah into step beside him. “Where were you, anyway?”

“Went for a walk,” was all Micah would admit. “So you just up and decided that boat was for me?”

“No.” Josiah turned to take the courthouse steps two at a time.

“No?” Micah beat his friend to the door and stood between him and the knob. “Look, Josiah, I told you the last time you mentioned it that I’d let you know when I was ready to go back to wrecking.”

“That’s what I said, Micah, but your friend doesn’t seem to listen.” Micah turned toward the new voice and found naval lieutenant Caleb Spencer, presiding judge of Fairweather Key, standing in the open doorway. Caleb grinned and shook Micah’s outstretched hand. “You do speak the truth, but there appears to be no cure for it. You see, Josiah doesn’t heed my words, either.”

“Yet he jumps to do his wife’s bidding.”

Caleb grinned. “Perhaps there’s the secret. Neither of us can fill out a bonnet quite like Isabelle Carter.”

“Nor shall I try,” Micah said with a chuckle.

Josiah ignored the good-natured ribbing to lead the group inside. “So, Caleb,” he said when they reached the judge’s chambers, “tell Micah what you told me this morning.”

The judge settled behind his desk. “This information cannot go any farther than this room.” He steepled his fingers. “Considering he and I are family, I’ve come to rely on Josiah in certain matters of great importance.”

Indeed, with Caleb’s recent marriage to Emilie Gayarre, Caleb Spencer and Josiah Carter were now brothers-in-law. Caleb gestured to the two chairs opposite him. While Josiah made himself comfortable, Micah opted to stand.

“Suit yourself, Tate,” Caleb said, “but I think you’ll want to hear this.” He paused. “It’s not often a man’s offered one of the finest examples of a wrecking craft at so little cost.”

Micah shook his head. “I don’t mean to be rude, Caleb, but I don’t need to hear the story. The last thing on my mind today is buying a new wrecking boat. I’d hoped to have a conversation with you about something else altogether.” He nodded toward Josiah. “You, too.”

Caleb held up his hand. “Then I propose a deal. First you listen, and then you speak.” He looked from Josiah back to Micah.

“Fair enough.” Micah sank into the empty chair. “Go ahead.”

“Again, I must remind you this is highly classified information.”

“You know I’m not a man who carries tales, Caleb,” Micah said.

“That’s why you’re here.” He leaned back, and the fancy chair, one Micah recalled hauling off a vessel some months ago, protested with a groan. “It’s no secret our government won’t back down from its position in regard to the Seminole. It appears there are few men in Washington who care that innocents are dying as well.”

Understanding dawned. “No, thank you,” he said as he rose. “I’ll not be buying a boat belonging to a dead man, no matter what the price.”

“Sit down, Micah,” Josiah said. “That’s not it at all. The Seminole are too busy up north to come hunting for blood down here.”

“Josiah’s right.” Caleb turned his attention to the window that looked out on the docks and the ocean beyond. “And so far they’ve been more inclined to strike where there are fewer who can fight them.” He glanced back at Micah. “At least for now.”

Micah shook his head, impatient for his turn to speak. Already the idea of confessing didn’t settle well in his gut.

“You’ll like this, Micah,” Josiah said. “So keep quiet until you’ve heard it all.”

“It’s simple, really.” Caleb reached for the handle of the topmost desk drawer and slid it open. “I’ve got a commission here that I’m prepared to offer you. Captain of the Fairweather Key Militia. Doesn’t pay much, but a boat and plenty of free time to preach or farm or do whatever you please comes with the salary.” He shrugged. “Unless the Seminole decide to pay us a visit. Then you’d be plenty busy.”

“Fairweather Key Militia?” Micah took the paper from Caleb but did not bother to read it before letting the correspondence fall to the desktop. Whether this opportunity was from God or the devil, he couldn’t be sure.

“You’ve got the wrong man.”

Caleb rose. “I’m rarely one hundred percent certain of anything, Micah, but this time I’ve got no doubt I have exactly the right man. You’re a natural leader. I’ve seen it for myself out on the reef and in my warehouses. You’ve had chance after chance to do the wrong thing and profit from it, yet I’ve never seen you do anything but make honorable choices.”

Honorable choices.
Any other man would’ve busted his buttons at such a compliment. For Micah, it only deepened his shame.