Nobody's Angel (34 page)

Officially he was listed as an absconded bound servant. Handbills were printed up with his description and distributed as far away as Richmond. He was subject to arrest on sight. But not a single sighting of him was made.

A body was found by searchers in a nearby swamp, and for a little while Susannah's sense of dread heightened to sheer terror. The corpse had been partially dismembered by hungry alligators, making identification difficult. At the thought of Ian, her beautiful Ian, suffering such a fate, Susannah threw up. But eventually the dead man was discovered to be the missing Craddock. It was widely supposed that, while in a drunken state, Craddock had stumbled into the swamp and either drowned or been killed by the alligators that mauled him. Though she knew she should have felt proper sorrow at their farmhand's tragic end, Susannah was conscious only of a profound relief. Through the funeral service and burial she could summon scarcely a single prayer for the repose of Crad- dock's soul. What kept running through her mind, over and over again, was, Thank God. Thank God. Thank God it isn't Ian.

A week or so later another corpse was found. This man had been buried in a shallow grave scooped out beneath the carpet of fallen needles that blanketed the piney woods. Searchers were drawn to the site by the strong odor of his body as it returned to the dust from which it was made. From the first it was clear that the dead man was a stranger, so Susannah felt only the mildest curiosity about the mystery that had the rest of Beaufort abuzz. Who was he, where had he come from, and how had he come to be buried there in the woods? The questions went back and forth, though Susannah was unconcerned with the answers. All she could think was, at least it isn't Ian.

Hiram Greer still called at the house, under the pretext of bringing news about the search for their missing bound man. Mandy refused to accept his renewed apologies and stayed clear of him. But as no one else knew of his transgression and Susannah was too frightened of missing the smallest bit of information to forbid him the house, he stopped by every few days. Indeed, she couldn't even summon the energy to hold a grudge against him for his behavior that night in the rose garden. She simply preferred to forget about it, because remembering also brought with it sharp, searing memories of Ian.

At least she was not with child. Her monthly courses came and went just as before. She knew that its arrival was a blessing from God, but still she mourned the dream children she would never have just as she mourned Ian.

She was so upset that she couldn't even cook. Never before had she been unable to take solace in her kitchen, and the circumstance would have alarmed her had she been able to summon an emotion other than grief. But she could not. Despair filled her to the exclusion of all else. Besides that, she felt nothing.

Sarah Jane's wedding approached, and Susannah had to rouse herself to make preparations for that. At least, if she wept as she stitched her sister's wedding gown, it was assumed that her tears were at the prospect of the parting that grew ever nearer. Only Susannah knew the truth: the tears were for herself, for the wedding to Ian that she would never have. For their dream children, who would never be born. For the bright, shining future that had been dangled before her, then snatched so hideously away.

Susannah acknowledged her own selfishness, but such was her malaise that she could not even summon a feeling of shame.

Her family watched as she grew pale and listless, and worried. It was Sarah Jane who suggested that they travel to Charles Town, which was a distance of some forty miles away, to escape the August heat for a fortnight. Such seasonal migrations were common on the part of the planters and their families—indeed, the Haskinses and Mrs. Greer and several other local aristocrats had already removed themselves for the remainder of the summer to the town homes they maintained there—but the Redmons, being of plain farm stock, had never even considered doing such before. The festivities and social activities that marked the summer months in Charles Town were anathema to the Reverend Redmon. Though he approved of Sarah Jane's idea—a change of scene might be just the thing to restore Susannah's spirits—he declined to make the trip with the perfectly legitimate excuse that, if he went, there would be no one to preach of a Sunday. Ordinarily Susannah, too, would have scoffed at the idea of such a journey— after all, who would do her work while she was gone?— but such was her pain that she let her father and Sarah Jane make the arrangements without protest. Only when it occurred to her that in Charles Town she would not be able to instantly hear any information that might turn up about Ian did she think to object, and by then it was too late, because they were already aboard the ship that spent the summer months plying the coast.

Even at sea, it was suffocatingly hot. Susannah and her sisters spent most of the voyage on deck, seated under a canopy rigged for the ladies' comfort. The constant motion rendered both Susannah and Sarah Jane vaguely nauseated, and for a while they contented themselves with closing their eyes and enjoying the warm breeze on their faces. Mandy and Em were so excited they could scarcely sit still, and they kept jumping up to exclaim over the silver flash of a jumping fish or the sighting of a distant sail. The company was congenial, and the atmosphere on the deck was rather like that of a church social. As the hours slid by and her nausea receded, Sarah Jane even managed to partake of some lemonade and cakes and enter into her younger sisters' banter. Susannah, on the other hand, only grew sicker and wished the journey might soon end.

It occurred to her that, without Ian, nothing gave her pleasure anymore.

It was almost dark when the
Bluebell,
for that was the ship's name, sailed briskly into Charles Town Harbor. They had missed the tide, the captain explained, and there was a strong west wind blowing. Thus he meant to anchor the
Bluebell
in the bay overnight and dock in the morning. Meanwhile, the passengers could go ashore by longboat.

There were eleven passengers all together, and so the longboat was crowded. Susannah, who made it down the swaying rope ladder more by sheer force of will than anything else, was afraid that she was going to be actively sick as the small boat pitched up and down over the bobbing waves. Some combination of heat and motion had rendered her stomach most unreliable. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and prayed to reach shore without disgracing herself.

When at last the boat tied up at the landing, the sun had sunk clear beneath the horizon, leaving behind streamers of bright pink and orange and gold to unfurl across the deepening purple of the sky. A grinning sailor practically lifted Susannah onto the dock. Sarah Jane, Mandy, and Em, who'd disembarked just ahead of her, hovered over their sister with solicitous murmurs.

"Happen she's just got a touch of the mal de mer," the sailor said as he moved away to help unload the baggage. "Give her a bit to get her land legs beneath her, and she'll be right as a trivet."

Susannah gritted her teeth and opened her eyes. "He's right," she said faintly to her sisters. "Just let me stand here for a minute. I know the dock isn't moving, but it feels like it is. I'm a poor sailor, I fear."

"Let me go see about a carriage," Sarah Jane said, looking around. "I understand they can be hired right in front of the dock."

"You can't go alone." Susannah spied her own trunk being lifted from the longboat and tottered over to sit down on it with a sigh of relief. If only she could lie down. Her head was swimming, her stomach churned, and, when she glanced toward town, the horizon with its jagged row of buildings and two tall steeples seemed to tilt on its side. If she turned her head out to sea, her case was even worse: beyond the tall bare poles and furled sails of ships at dock and anchored in the bay was the rolling ocean. With a shudder she turned her gaze to her immediate surroundings.

All about her was a bustle of activity. Arriving and departing passengers hugged and wept over their loved ones. Sailors exchanged ribald quips and an occasional curse. The chatter was punctuated by loud booms and clattering rattles as barrels were unloaded from a nearby ship. Coarse rope nets loaded down with bales of cotton were hoisted into the air by creaky winches.

"I'll take Em with me, then, and Mandy can stay here with you," Sarah Jane said, looking worriedly at Susannah's pale face.

Mandy looked disappointed, but she didn't argue. Of course she was as eager to get a glimpse of Charles Town as Em, and Susannah felt she herself would be better for a few moments in which she could simply rest. With Mandy, or even Em, to keep an eye on, closing her eyes would be sheer folly.

"All three of you go. I'll be fine right where I am. If I just sit still a minute, maybe my stomach will discover we're back on land."

Sarah Jane looked from Susannah to Em to Mandy, then nodded with reluctant agreement. "We'll be right back."

Susannah waved them off. Then she slumped and closed her eyes. If only she could lie down. . . .

Just what made her open them again she didn't know— a tingle, a prickle of awareness, a magnetic current that shivered down her spine? But open her eyes she did, to focus rather hazily on the motley stream of humanity that passed some few feet beyond her perch at the edge of the dock.

A woman in a bright scarlet dress and fantastic feathered hat stood chatting with a soldier whose uniform was as vivid a red as her gown. Two boys chased one another, apparently battling over the ball that the first one held. A family of seven, the woman obviously expecting again, walked slowly toward the lowered gangplank of a ship. A tall man in a swirling blue cloak with a three-cornered black hat pulled low over his eyes overtook the family and seemed headed toward the same gangplank.

Susannah's eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and she rose from her makeshift seat as if a string run from her feet through her body and out her head had jerked her upright.

"Ian," she said hoarsely. Then, louder, "Ian!"

It couldn't be, of course. But the walk, the way the man carried himself, struck a terrible chord of familiarity. It couldn't be, and yet . . .

"Ian!" It was a cry now, and several passersby turned to look. Nearing the end of the gangplank, the man glanced back over his shoulder. The hat shaded his eyes, and the upstanding collar of the cloak made it impossible to see the lower third of his face. But still, the very way he moved his head caused her stomach to clench.

"Ian!" She started after him, moving as if she were in a daze. How could it be—but her heart screamed that it was. The lady in scarlet and her soldier companion stared openly as she passed them. Susannah barely even knew they were there.

The man seemed to hesitate, then continued on his way. If anything, he quickened his pace. Susannah began to run.

"Ian!" More people turned to look. The mother of the family Susannah had just observed clutched her youngest closer to her skirts as Susannah rushed past. Susannah never even saw them. She ran as if she were chasing the ghost he must be, ran as if he would vanish in a puff of smoke if she didn't reach him within seconds. She ran until her heart threatened to burst in her chest and her blood pounded in her temples, and she could scarcely draw breath. And yet she was aware of no physical discomfort at all.

"Ian!" She reached him, caught at his cloak. Her fingers closed over the smooth cool wool and tugged. If it was not he, if she had chased and pulled at the cloak of a stranger, she would be thought insane. Maybe she was insane. Maybe the grief had cost her her reason. But she knew—she knew . . .

With her hand clutching his cloak, there was nothing he could do but turn. He did, and for a moment, a wonderful, terrible moment, Susannah found herself staring up into eyes as gray as a storm rolling in from the sea. A muscle twitched at the corner of his beautiful mouth. The straight elegant nose, the high cheekbones, the square, almost cleft chin—all were unchanged. His cheeks and chin were shadowed with a faint black stubble. One of her hands rose of its own volition to touch that sandpaper cheek.

"Ian," she whispered, sure of him now. Her grip tightened on the fold of his cloak that she held as if she feared to release it in case he should disappear. For an instant, no more than an instant, she simply stared up into his face. Then a returning wave of weakness caught her unaware. She swayed, surprised to find his face blurring into fuzzy twin images.

For the first and only time in her life, she fainted dead away.

34

When Susannah opened her eyes, it was dark. Not the dark of midnight, but the gray, gloomy dark of enclosed spaces. And she was in an enclosed space, she discovered with a frown. She was lying flat on her back on a thin mattress raised some few feet off the floor, staring up at a three-foot-wide wooden shelf not too far above her head. On her left was a smooth, wood- paneled wall. On her right—and she turned on her side to get a better view—was a tiny, box-like room. A black iron stove and a small table and chairs were the only furnishings. An oddly situated round window was the sole source of light. Curiously, the entire chamber seemed to sway.

She was looking away from the wall into which the door was set and thus heard rather than saw the striking of flint on steel. By the time she turned her head around, he was cupping his hand around the wick of an oil lamp.

Ian.

The wick slowly caught and flared. He put the globe back on the base and turned to face her.

Ian.

He sat in a chair propped against the door, clad in black breeches, a white shirt with an elegantly tied neckcloth, a pair of shiny black boots, and a waistcoat of dull silver satin that she had never seen before.

"Ian." This time she said his name aloud, disbeliev- ingly, as she struggled into a sitting position. Her head ached, her stomach churned, but she could not take her eyes from his face. Was she asleep and dreaming, perhaps? Was he a phantom who would vanish when she awoke?

"Hello, Susannah."