Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (40 page)

One

September 13
^th
, 1867

Charleston, SC (One week prior)

The afternoon sun cast a pale glow through the rippling panes of glass and lent a rosy hue to the fabric being gently plied beneath expert fingers. The needle worked with expert swiftness through the exquisite muslin until at last the seamstress tied a secure knot and plucked the thread from the hem. Holding the red gown out by the shoulders Cadence narrowed pale eyes, shrewdly assessing the garment for any flaws that may have been overlooked during creation of the exquisite piece.

“Perfect,” she murmured almost wistfully as she stood to hang the ball gown in the back of the room. “Absolutely perfect.”

There was a time not so long ago when she’d been privileged to wear such beautiful clothing. With casual disregard she’d picked the most tasteful fabrics and worn the most fashionable styles, her every whim had become a reality. After the war her father’s business had fallen to ruin and he was now destitute. The family’s lack of funds gave Cadence a new sense of the responsibility, and she had learned to do without the expensive luxuries she’d known as a child. At the age of
nineteen
, she worked as a seamstress, doing much to support her family. Of late her father had become far more interested in securing funds to feed his desire for strong liquor and gambling tables than seeing to the needs of his family.

Cadence sighed as the grandfather clock against the wall chimed the hour, six o’clock. She took a few minutes to tidy the sewing supplies and bid farewell to Mrs. Bridger before donning her coat and stepping into the October evening. The South Carolina air held a bite promising winter weather soon to come, and a multicolored array of leaves adorned the massive trees along the roadside. A gust of wind swept the street sending a montage of leaves swirling high above the streets and her spirits dared to soar with them. How nice it would be to dance upon the wind, holding out her arms she longed to be blown far, far away. Turning her face to the harbor Cadence brushed windblown curls from her face and on impulse strode toward the masts towering above the lower regions of the city. The desire to put off going home for just a while longer was overwhelming, and she’d always enjoyed the activity surrounding the ships in port.

The air of the harbor was vibrantly alive with cargo being loaded and unloaded from the hulking wooden vessels and sailors swinging high in the rigging or scampering around the docks. The smell of the ocean was intoxicating and she delighted in the sights and sounds of the seaside port. She’d been enamored with the sea for as long as she could remember and had long craved a sailor’s adventure. Had she been born a boy she would have undoubtedly made her way as a daring sea captain. Cadence had even entertained fantasies about disguising her identity and stowing aboard a vessel so that she might see faraway, exotic lands.

Sadly, she looked down at the sore on her finger where a wayward needle had pricked open the flesh earlier that day. She was getting too old for such romantic fantasies. As it presently stood her only hope for escaping the never ending trap of her life would be to find a husband. But she didn’t want a husband. She wanted a life of adventure and consequence. She longed to climb aboard one of the wooden vessels and to sail away without a backward glance.

Lost in her own brooding emotions Cadence was unaware of passing time and the rapid darkening of the sky. As the purple hues of dusk seeped into the heavens, the riffraff that frequented the port came oozing from the shadows. Cadence glanced around in sudden apprehension as the harlots who worked the docks strutted up and down the harbor streets brazenly flaunting the wares of their trade. Drunken, slovenly men catcalled the women, and in innocence, Cadence shuddered in wide-eyed disbelief at the offensive displays. Quickening her pace, she took long, unladylike strides in an attempt to hasten away from the despicable scene playing out before her.

From the corner of her eye she noted an unkempt drunkard take a long pull of ale from his tankard before tossing it aside. Inwardly she groaned; she should have known better than to stroll unaccompanied through the shipping district this time of day, and turned abruptly away from the sailor’s suggestive leer. Kicking up the pace she trotted hastily across the docks.

“Whoa!” The cry of alarm was squelched as the drunk clasped a heavy hand over her mouth and wrapped the other securely about her upper body.

Cadence thrashed against the man who held her trapped in an unrelenting vice.

Fighting the panic welling in her breast she desperately tried to wrench free of the fiend, but the man easily overpowered her and tossed her into a secluded crevice upon a pile of nets and canvas. Her eyes flew in desperate search of escape, but could find none. The brute had chosen well the location for his evil, and no one would venture behind the tall crates without cause. His flat calloused palm remained heavy upon her mouth making it difficult to breathe. His large body nearly suffocated her as he fumbled over her, groping roughly at her womanly curves. Tears coursed unchecked down her face as she futilely fought the man’s unwanted attempts on her innocence. Hot bile welled in her throat as his nauseating hands ventured where none had ever touched.

A small avenue of hope came as the man eased the unrelenting flat of his palm away from her mouth in his lustful quest and she clamped her teeth mercilessly into the side of his hand. Shocked, the man pulled the wounded extremity away as her bloodcurdling shriek rent the night air. In moments the brigand’s hand curved cruelly around her throat, trying to choke the very life from her. A rough hand tore the front of her plum colored gown, reaching lower to grasp the poorly concealed flesh of her breasts, but even as silent screams welled in her throat the strength to fight was sapped.

Blackness roiled around the edges of her vision, closing slowly in as her lungs struggled to expand. Limp and utterly without the strength to fight she welcomed the blackness, thankful she would not have to be conscious, or perhaps even alive for the bitter ravishment. Just as the darkness plunged her senses into the blissful respite of obscurity, protecting her from this hell the dreamlike visage of a man came into view…

Was this heaven?

*       *       *

Enraged, Curtis
Langston
stepped around the crate to see a filthy excuse for a drunkard attacking a young woman. A very pretty young woman he couldn’t help but note as he forcibly dragged the brigand from the pile of netting and threw him against the wooden planks of the dock.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Kneeling, Curtis straddled the man and shook him forcibly by the collar of his grungy sweater.

In a haze of confusion the man stared up into his eyes and stammered, “I—uh—just samplin’ the lady’s goods, Cap’n. She’s nut’in’ but a whore anyways! I was goin’ ta pay fer it.”

Curtis’s eyes bore dangerously into the brigand’s darker gaze. “I’ve never heard a whore scream like that before, and she certainly doesn’t look like a harlot to me.” Giving the man one last shake for good measure, he snarled, “Now I suggest you disappear before I’m finished tending to the lady or I will see to it you’ll never enjoy the pleasure of a woman’s company again.” 

The man’s brown eyes widened at the imminent threat and he quickly stammered in accord. The moment Curtis released him from the steely grasp the drunkard scampered off, presumably to find a tavern, and mayhap a willing wench.

Turning to the young woman still lying in the nest of canvas, Curtis knelt beside her trembling form and laid a gentle hand upon her arm. The girl gasped for air and flinched away from his touch as an onslaught of hysterical sobs racked her body.

“Easy, easy,” Curtis soothed, reaching once again for the quacking young woman. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Swiftly he pulled the shredded flap of her bodice across the exposed, notably thin chemise, and she slowly turned her pale tear stained face to his.

“Come here.” He gathered her gently within his arms, cradled her slight figure against his chest and carried her to the near deserted deck of his ship. The girl, limp and trembling in his arms, felt very small and fragile nestled against him and it brought about a surge of protectiveness he would just as soon keep buried within the depths of his soul.

Setting her upon a barrel, he knelt to look into her face. “I am Captain Curtis Langston and this is my ship the
Heavenly Mistress
.” Expectantly he gazed into her downturned face. Just as he’d begun to give up hope that his young charge would respond she sniffed and raised glistening pale eyes to his.