Forever Waiting (35 page)

“Who?” Frederic asked, equally befuddled.

“The governess to your daughters—Charmaine Ryan.”

Though Frederic was surprised, John’s confusion ran rampant. “Charmaine?” he queried.
How does Michael know her?

The priest was smiling again. “I took your advice, John, and contacted Loretta and Joshua Harrington shortly after you left for Charmantes. Charmaine was working for them when Marie passed away.”

Michael had never seen John speechless, let alone dumbstruck. “John, are you all right?”

“He’s in a bit of shock,” Frederic interjected. “You are the second person today who has inquired about his wife.”

“His wife?” Michael uttered. Impossible! The incredible coincidence had instantly grown fantastic. “But you never told me you knew her!”

“You never mentioned her name!” John rejoined.

“But surely you knew she was Marie’s daughter?” the priest pressed.

“I never knew,” John murmured, his memory jarred. That first morning he had come home, Charmaine had looked familiar. Marie—Charmaine was Marie’s daughter! His mind raced—John Ryan had killed Marie! His eyes darkened once more. “My God,” he breathed as all the pieces fit together.
John Ryan isn’t Charmaine’s father!
The insanity of it all hit him full force, and quite abruptly, he threw back his head and laughed. “Wait until Charmaine hears this!”

“No, John,” the priest warned, eyeing Frederic, intent upon keeping the story confidential. “You mustn’t tell anyone! I want to see her first.”

“Not tell her?” John queried in waxing glee. “Of course you’ve got to tell her! She hates the man she thinks is her father.”

“John, please,” Michael cut in, searching Frederic’s face.

John’s eyes traveled to his father as well. “Your little secret won’t shock him, Michael. He’s done plenty of things of which he’s not proud. Believe me, he keeps secrets better than you keep confessions.”

Later, as John and his father traveled to his town house, Frederic asked him about Charmaine’s mother.

“I met her a few years ago. She was working at St. Jude’s and came to my aid when I no longer wanted to live. Like Charmaine, she was my savior of sorts, and through her, I befriended Michael. Together, they turned my life in a new and, I think, better direction. If I had known about Marie’s hardship, I would have helped her. But I’m ashamed to say we only spoke of me.”

He looked out the window, introspective with the wrenching revelation. He thought of Charmaine and realized how much he missed her.

They spent a quiet evening together. After dinner, John withdrew to his desk and wrote to her, carefully choosing the words he put to paper, telling her he loved her and longed to put this ordeal behind him. He then penned a quick letter to Paul. When he was finished, he said goodnight to his father.

Frederic stayed awake long into the night, contemplating all that had gone before, all that had been revealed today, and all they had yet to face. He walked to the hearth and studied a small sketch tacked there. It was a picture of a black horse rearing high in the air with the words:
Fantom misses you, Johnny! So do we! Love, Yvette
. With a sad sigh, he traced a finger over the drawing. It was faded and curled at the edges
. What was I thinking when I tore this family apart?
He retired, praying to God that, for once in his life, he was doing the right thing.

Michael prayed fervently that night as well, kneeling before the crucifix that hung above his bed. By dawn, he had come to a decision, inspired by his prayers. He found Sister Elizabeth, told her about his plans and, throwing some clothing into a threadbare satchel, left St. Jude’s.

Silence stalked the halls, cloaked the rooms, and seeped into the cracks and crevices, joining the darkness in an eerie, unholy communion. It was near midnight. Agatha crept up the staircase, her head cocked to one side, listening, groping, grasping the balustrade. “Frederic?” she whispered. “Is that you? Robert! Where are you? Is it accomplished?”

She found a lamp on a table and blindly lit it, chasing the dark away to lurk with the shadows. “Who is it?” she cried. Sensing a movement far off to her left, she whirled around. “Elizabeth—is that you?” Undaunted, she stepped closer. “I told you never to come back here! Frederic is mine now!”

A cold gust of air swirled about her lithe form, carrying upon it a whisper. “He’s gone now … never to return … ” Her eyes darted about the corridor, tracking the breeze back down the cavernous flight. It was true; Frederic had left days ago, hadn’t returned since she’d explained everything to him. She thought he would understand, but now, she was apprehensive.

Paul hadn’t awakened. He should be hungry by now, should have wanted to nurse. Panic seized her. Had Frederic taken her babe away? Or had Robert taken him again? She’d told him to take Pierre! The air whispered from below, as if reading her thoughts. “Pierre,
mon caillou
 … ”

Agatha flew down the stairs, tripping on her robe and nearly dropping the lamp. She followed the wraith into the drawing room, her eyes distended in recognition. There stood Colette, grasping the hand of her small son.

“You!” Agatha hissed. “Where is Robert?” she demanded, searching the room. “He was supposed to take your boy away!” She laughed truculently. “Frederic will now know how it feels to have a child ripped from his arms!”

“My boy is safe,” Colette whispered, “with me.”

Again Agatha’s eyes darted about. “Where’s Robert? Where is he?”

Colette smiled. “He’s gone … with the other babe … ”

“Elizabeth’s bastard?”

“No, John is with Frederic … is safe with his father.”

Fear seized Agatha. “Paul?” she cried, flying to all corners of the room and out to the foyer. “No! Robert promised me! He promised to make me happy—promised he’d never take Paul from me again!”

“But you didn’t make
him
happy,” Colette breathed. “He’s angry with you.”

It was true; Robert hated her now. Agatha had used him, and he knew it.

The front door flew open and the night air beckoned to her. “Where did he go?” she pleaded. “Where did he take my baby?”

Colette led the way. “You told him to drown the boy … ”

Instantly, Agatha knew. Desperate, she ran after the apparition that remained out of reach. “Oh God!” she sobbed.

“Agatha … you deserted Him long ago … ”

“Please!” she shrieked. “Not my son! Please, not my son!”

The dock was just ahead, and Agatha flew across it, possessed. She could see a dinghy bobbing in the waves. “Robert! No! Please! You have the wrong boy!”

There were cabins near the wharf. The men inside thought they heard a cry, but they stepped out too late, rubbing sleepy eyes. They heard a splash. Or was it the clapping waves? They shrugged and returned to their quarters.

Thursday, August 30, 1838

The Richmond harbor was already buzzing when John and Frederic arrived at the
Raven
. Jonah was on the quay with Stuart Simons, and John was pleased. He thought it would be months before he saw Stuart again.

“John,” he greeted, “I was expecting the
Destiny
to land today, but certainly not the
Raven
and you.” He noticed Frederic and politely extended a hand. “You must be Frederic,” he said jovially. “I’m Stuart Simons.”

John let Frederic reply, then took Stuart aside, walking the length of the boardwalk with him.

“Jonah told me what happened,” Stuart said. “I’m sorry, John.”

“I’m dealing with it,” John replied, abruptly brushing the matter aside. “Remember when you made inquiries about John Ryan?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“Have any of the longshoremen seen him?”

“I don’t know.” When John frowned, Stuart added, “I never really pursued it, so he may have been around.”

“Spread the word I’m offering a reward to anyone who can identify him. When you know who he is, pay him so well he can’t
wait
to come to work each day.”

“Why?” Stuart asked in bewilderment.

“Once he’s consistent about showing up, promote him to a better paying job on board a Charmantes-bound packet. When he’s on that ship, notify me.”

“But how am I to know where you are?”

“Send the information with the cargo invoices. If I’m not on the island, Paul will be there and know what to do. I’ve written to him.” John pulled two letters from his shirtfront. “Make sure these are on the
Destiny
.”

“But she’s headed for Liverpool. We’re packing her hold with tobacco.”

“Load only half,” John directed. “The
Raven
will return to Richmond by next week, ready to take on a full cargo. As for the
Destiny
, Paul can fill her hold with sugar.” He handed Stuart the letters. “It’s important these get to Charmantes.”

John didn’t know Michael Andrews had boarded the
Raven
. Frederic told him to stay below deck until they were far from port. When he did emerge, John was annoyed. “What’s this?” and he looked from his father to Michael. “Now I have two fathers with whom to contend?”

“You’re stuck with me,” Michael said, casting his eyes heavenward. “Rant and rave all you like, but I’ve been sent by a higher authority.”

“I hope you can walk on water, Michael. Any preaching, and I’m throwing you overboard.”

The news of Agatha’s death reached Paul when he arrived in town early that morning. In less than an hour, he stepped onto Espoir. The corpse was left as it had been found on the beach, with a blanket draped over it. With a mixture of disgust and guilt, hatred and sadness, he looked down at Agatha’s bloated body. His heart heavy, he ordered two men to construct a pine box for the burial.

That night, he sat in his grand mansion, alone and lonely. So this was what commercial success meant. In the past four months, three vessels had departed his island; their cargo would fetch tidy purses. Yet today, he didn’t feel the deep satisfaction he’d always experienced when he’d worked hard for his father. He retired, the empty hallways echoing his desolation. He could not sleep.

Michael knocked on John’s cabin door, then entered the cubicle on an indrawn breath and a prayer. John was seated at a small desk, his brow furrowed. “I’m not here to preach,” Michael promised. “I’d like to talk about Charmaine.”

John leaned back and propped his feet atop the desk, inviting him to sit on the small cot. He was smiling now. “I love her,” he said decisively.

Michael returned the smile and asked, “How did this happen?”

“God, Michael, I don’t know. When I returned home to find Colette had died, Charmaine was already there caring for the children. I didn’t like her at first. Actually, I misjudged her.”
I misjudged Colette
 … John frowned with the unbidden thought, rubbed his brow, and addressed Michael again. “We were thrown together day after day. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Pierre, and of course, she was always there. She was a mother to him. When he died, she was as devastated as I was, and yet, she comforted me. Looking back on it now, I know I was in love with her when I left last fall, but with everything that happened, I wasn’t ready to admit it until I went back home last April and saw her again.” He grinned with the heady memory. “It was a taste of heaven to find she felt the same way about me.”

John grew thoughtful. “If your God
is
out there, Michael, he planned this one pretty well, didn’t he? And I promise you this: we couldn’t protect Marie, but you needn’t ever worry about Charmaine.”

“What of Colette?” Michael mused. “You said you couldn’t love another.”

“I didn’t believe I could,” John murmured. “But I do.”

“Enough to forgive your father and yourself?”

John’s face hardened. “I don’t know.”

“He’s forgiven you, hasn’t he?” Michael probed.

John was uncomfortable and rose swiftly from the desk. Michael wisely changed the subject. “When were the vows spoken?”

“On the island, after Paul’s party. It was very private with Father Benito—” John’s words broke off, and Michael followed his thoughts:
What if the priest isn’t a priest at all?
“When we are finished in New York,” John decided, “we will have a ceremony on Charmantes with you presiding this time, Michael.”

“I would be honored.”

“There is something else you should know. You are going to be a grandfather.”

Michael wondered if the surprises would ever end, but this was the sort of announcement he could capitalize on. “A baby on the way,” he pondered softly. “When is he or she due?”

“Around Christmastide.”

“And you think it wise to be away from Charmaine at such a time?”

“You sound like my father,” John pronounced as he began to pace.

“We’re concerned for you, as well as for your new son or daughter.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” John muttered, then he stopped in his tracks. “So—is the sermon coming now or are you still leading up to it?”

“John—”

“You’re wasting your time, Michael.”

“John, you are one of the most honorable men I know. For that reason alone, my time is not being wasted. But you are also married to my daughter now. I can’t keep silent. We each have our missions here.”