Beloved Castaway (16 page)

He inched closer. “Well then, there’s the trouble. It’s impossible for me, Isabelle. Absolutely impossible.”

The ache in his voice hurt her heart. “But, Captain, please under-stand. God—”

“No.”

He was near now, too near, yet he kept sufficient distance for propriety. Isabelle forced herself to breathe.
 

Forced herself to remain still.
 

Forced herself not to reach for the Bible he held.

“Miss Gayarre, I cannot give my heart to God, you see. I have no heart left to give.”

She thought a moment, then dared a response. “I warrant that’s not entirely true.”

“Have you been speaking to my mother?”

Isabelle smiled. “See, you’re capable of making jest. A man without a heart cannot find humor, nor can he express it.”

“You’ve convinced me,” he said. “Perhaps I have a heart, after all; it is merely underused.”

Braving a move away from the wall, Isabelle shifted positions to bring herself nearer to the weak light in the corridor. “I have the cure for its underuse,” she said casually.

“I would hear this cure.”

“ ’Tis simple, actually.” The vessel shuddered, and Isabelle reached for the wall to steady herself. “Our mutual friend Mr. Banks is quite ill. Worse, I would wager, than any other man in the hold.”

A grunt told Isabelle the captain was still listening.

“He needs care that Cookie and I cannot provide.”

Another grunt, his face impassive.

“Mr. Harrigan says there is an island a day’s sail from here.”

The captain shifted positions. “Aye, that would be Key West.”

“Then we should take him to Key West.” Before Josiah could pro-test, Isabelle continued. “To keep him from the care he needs would mean certain death.”

“Impossible.” He gathered the Bible to his chest. “To sail in the direction of the key in this vessel would be a fool’s journey.”

“How so?”

“Perhaps you’ve failed to notice, but this vessel is older than Neptune’s teeth. A decent breeze could blow her off course.”

“Not with an able captain at the helm.” She offered the captain a genuine smile. “And prayer.”

“Am I to understand you expect me to do both?”

Isabelle reached out to touch his sleeve. “Perhaps I could relieve you of one of the duties.”

Josiah placed his hand over hers. “Dare I hope your talents include a background in sailing a vessel of this size?”

She looked up into eyes that were shadowed by the dimness of the corridor. “It does not.”

“Then I shall take on that duty.” He lifted her hand to his lips, and Isabelle closed her eyes. “Providing you take on the other.”

“Yet I have every confidence of your ability to pray, as well.” Isabelle opened her eyes when her fingers brushed the captain’s lips. “Won’t you consider it?”

A strange look came over him, and he took a step back, releasing her hand.
 

“Captain?”

---

Josiah let Isabelle go without comment, as much from embarrassment as from irritation. What was it about the Frenchwoman that set his tongue wagging at the most inopportune moments? And what was it about that Bible of hers that made him want to keep it, savor its con-tents, rather than return it? He had one on the shelf in his cabin that never saw use. Why this one?

The knowledge of his curiosity set him aback, for he’d only thought to hold the ancient leather-bound tome as a threat. Funny how the fact that she owned it made all the difference.

Harrigan took the news of their change of course without comment, a blessing considering that Josiah would be hard-pressed to admit why he allowed the woman to convince him to take the risk. As he strode toward his cabin, however, Josiah felt something akin to the moment he met Isabelle. Neither that incident nor this was particularly pleasant, yet he knew from some spot within his being that both were parts of something that had been set in motion and could not be stopped.

Josiah threw open the door, startling the cabin boy as he turned back the bedcovers just out of the circle of lamplight. Setting the Bible atop the table, Josiah shrugged out of his coat and sighed. The rustling continued behind him, surely a sign the fellow was attempting to earn his pay.

“Cease, boy.” He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, exhaustion falling like rain over his head and shoulders. “Leave me be.”

“Can’t I stay here tonight?”

Josiah whirled about to see his brother tucked happily into the captain’s bunk. To his amusement, the lad had stolen all the blankets as well as Josiah’s best nightshirt and pillows.
 

“There can only be one captain on this ship, Sir William,” he said. “And it is not thee but me.”

William rose and stood atop the bunk, the nightshirt pooling at his feet and a pillow in hand. “Then we shall joust, Sir Josiah,” he replied, pillow in hand.

The pillow flew, and Josiah returned it forthwith, purposefully missing the boy. Soon the war was on, culminating in two damaged pillows and a settling of feathers around the cabin.

“Like as not, young William, you will best me one day.” Josiah lifted his brother into the bunk and climbed in beside him. “But today is not the day. Now off to sleep with you, and no complaints. I am still the captain and can banish you to the brig if I wish.”

“There’s no brig on the
Jude
,” William said as he tunneled under the pile of bed coverings.

“Then we shall have to build one together.”
 

“Tonight?” He made a dive for Josiah’s sea trunk. “Aye, mate. I’ll fetch the treasure.”

“Treasure? I hardly think so.” Josiah ruffled the boy’s hair. “Tonight, I suggest you close your eyes and make your plans.”
 

“But I really have—”
 

The boy bounded off the bunk, but Josiah was too fast for him. “Enough, lad,” he said as he returned him to the nest of bed coverings, “else I decide to toss you and your treasure overboard.”
 

William’s giggles soon became soft breaths of slumber as he fell asleep with Josiah’s best cloak for a pillow. With nothing soft upon which to lay his head, Josiah climbed to his feet and began to pace the outer ring of the lantern’s yellow glow.

In the center of the light, Isabelle Gayarre’s Bible taunted him from its place on the table. It beckoned to him, as did the insistent voices that told him to leave it alone. Ultimately, his inability to take direction led him to sit at the table and pull the Bible near.

“What say you to an infidel such as me, God?”

And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire.
 

Josiah shook his head.
Fear? Men such as he, with a fast ship and strong sailors at his bidding, merely laughed at the emotion. Yet almost in spite of his command for them to lie still in his lap, Josiah’s hands reached for the Bible and opened it to the book of Genesis, at the beginning. “Aye, the part where the world is built. Doesn’t apply to me, now does it?”

He closed the Bible and rose, catching his heel on the rug. The room tilted, and his forehead hit the floor. Something heavy, most likely the table, landed on the backs of his thighs.

“Josiah?”

“I’m fine, William,” he said as he lifted his head to push his hair from his face.

He struggled to turn over and push the table away. Thankfully, no candle had been burning atop it tonight, or he’d have been incinerated.
 

Then he saw it. The Bible.

It lay on the floor a small distance away, open to an ornate print of some ancient soul and a colorfully decorated page with an inscription across the top that stated he had found John, chapter 16. Leaving the book where it lay, he rose to right the table and chair. William had drifted off to sleep once more, leaving the room silent save for the seaman’s lullaby of waves lapping against the hull and wood creaking with the wind.

Josiah stepped over the Bible and went to his sea chest. Perhaps a soft something or other from the depths of the trunk could be fashioned into a decent pillow. He found a pair of trousers and a summer weskit and wadded them into a ball. At least his face would be protected from the lumps in the moss-filled mattress.

Closing the trunk quietly so as not to disturb William, Josiah crossed the room with a plan to secure his own spot on the bed. He knew from past experience that the nine-year-old was as active in slumber as in his waking hours, and he’d soon have to fight for the real estate that was his own bunk.

Better to make a pallet than to meet the floor unexpectedly, he decided. He managed to wrest a single blanket from the cache his younger brother had wadded about him, and he laid it on the floor beside the bed. As he rested his head on the makeshift pillow, he rolled to his side and realized he had a view of two items: the chamber pot and the Bible.

“No mercy for a sailor tonight, eh, Lord?”

Josiah sat up and pushed the chamber pot away, then stared at the Bible. Perhaps a peek inside would break the spell and grant him sleep.
 

He approached with care and slid the leather volume toward him. The book of John, chapter 16, beckoned.

“Jesus answered them, Do ye now believe? Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his own.”
 

Scattered. That surely described his life. He’d been scattered to the winds nearly since his earliest memories. Nursemaids, schoolmasters, and an apprenticeship before his beard hairs had begun to grow. Aye, scattered; every man to his own.

Josiah looked up at the ceiling and the swaying lantern. Had God heard him? Did the heavenly Father know of his feelings? Surely not. He skimmed down a few lines and began reading again.
 

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

Despite his intentions to the contrary, Josiah continued to read, completing the book of John all the way to the end, then beginning again at the first verse. By the time he reached chapter sixteen once more, the words were swimming through his tears.

Chapter 14

Wild waves of emerald green licked the edges of the craft and sent sprays of salty foam across the deck. Lightning snaked across the sky and teased the clouds, turning them from orange to purple. In a few hours, the sun would rise. A few more than that and the southernmost tip of Florida would be in sight, leaving nothing but the Atlantic Ocean and Great Britain ahead once Banks was deposited on dry land.

But first came the matter of navigating the reef. Much less daunting a task than the one he’d just taken to navigate the salvation of his soul.

Josiah sighed. There would be time to contemplate the ongoing wrestling match over his eternal destiny. For now he must concentrate on the challenge ahead.

For so many reasons, it was right to seek help for Banks in Key West. Yet for so many more, it was very wrong.

Florida seas were much like a woman. Surface beauty often sheltered hidden snares, and a man could be none too careful with either.

Josiah knew all too well the danger both held, but at the moment, he set his concentration on only one: the Florida Straits. If the wind held, they’d sail beyond the graveyard for vessels by sundown. If it changed, as the fickle trades were known to do, they’d be hard-pressed to see the sun rise tomorrow aboard the
Jude
.

“It’s a fair clip, this breeze, aye, Captain? What are the odds we’ll navigate the maze today?”

Casting a glance behind him, Josiah watched Harrigan approach. The first mate eyed him with anticipation of an answer that Josiah knew would not come. He’d keep his concerns to himself and give none cause for concern.

“You know as well as I that a sail through the straits is never safe. You’re a praying man, Harrigan, so perhaps you should ask Him.”
 

His first mate chuckled. “Already did, sir. Aye, it’s a dandy squall we’ll be meeting up ahead,” Harrigan said. “Biggest I’ve seen in many a year this late in the season. We’re in for a battle getting this tub through the straits without meeting the wreckers.”
 

Josiah pulled the spyglass to his eye to study the wall of wind and water ahead. No change, though he knew that. Yet he’d hoped.

“Just now in the hold, I saw Miss Gayarre,” Harrigan said. “She mentioned a missing Bible. Something about wanting to read stories to the men.”
 

Josiah kept the spyglass resolutely fastened to his eye. In the distance, the black clouds rolled about and the sea boiled and foamed. The scene mirrored the turmoil in his heart last night.

“Perhaps you’ve seen this missing Bible?”

Slowly, Josiah lowered the spyglass to his side. A nice trap Harrigan had laid, yet a trap could only work if the prey took the bait.
 

While the
Jude
’s bow plowed on through waves that warned of the upcoming storm, Josiah turned his attention to Harrigan. “How fare the injured, Harrigan?”

Harrigan ducked his head and studied the backs of his hands. “Tended with care by Miss Gayarre.”
 

A bit obvious mentioning the woman again.
Josiah frowned. “That job belongs to Cookie.”

“She’s assisting him still, I believe, sir,” he said as he adjusted to meet Josiah’s glare, “and doing a fine job of it, I understand. Has the men listening to the Good Book.”

Josiah clutched the spyglass. So, Miss Gayarre had continued to go about the business of turning his infirmary into a hospital for lost souls, even without her Bible.
 

“You know, Harrigan, when the crew took up their manners and left off their cursing, I was pleased. What passes for acceptable amongst men isn’t always appropriate for the delicate ears of women and children. But now. . .” He paused to steady himself against the roll of the deck. “Now that she’s beginning to turn my men into a passel of preachers, I’m, well, I’m displeased.”