Forever Waiting (51 page)

He hailed another cab and asked to be taken to a fashionable shopping district. For Rebecca, he picked out a lovely dress in pale green—it would match her captivating eyes—as well as undergarments, a nightgown, and plush robe. For himself, he bought a heavy redingote, a hat, and gloves. He’d been freezing all day in the bone-chilling cold. At least he’d be warm when he began his hunt tomorrow.

Darkness had already fallen by the time he boarded the
Tempest
. Though his day had proven unsuccessful, his evening did not. He found Captain Conklin talking to one Roger Dewint, John’s New York shipping agent. Roger hadn’t recognized the
Tempest
, but he had noticed the Duvoisin standard flying high on her mast and stopped by to introduce himself. Dewint had no news about John or Frederic; he did have a list of men who worked for John when his ships laid anchor in New York. Most were freed slaves. He agreed to meet Paul on the merchantman early the next morning, and together, they would make the rounds, locating as many of these men as possible. Finally, Paul was getting somewhere.

It was quiet when he unlocked the cabin door. For a moment, he held his breath, wondering if Rebecca had figured another way to escape. But she was there, sitting in the dark on the bunk, wrapped in a blanket. He closed the door, pocketing the key. He deposited his bundle on the stool and lit the lantern.

There was a knock on the door, and he stepped in front of Rebecca as the porter dragged in a large tub. “I’ll be back with the water, sir,” he said.

After he’d left, Paul turned the lamp down low, obscuring Rebecca in the shadows. She eyed him suspiciously, but held silent.

The porter returned numerous times, and slowly, the tub was filled with steaming water. He left soap, a cloth, and a towel before retreating altogether.

Paul faced her with arms crossed over his chest. “You’re taking a bath. Now, you can either bathe yourself, or I will do it for you. You have a half hour to decide.” She didn’t move. “Very well,” he said as he grabbed hold of the door, “but remember, when I return, the water will be cold. The clothes I promised you are in that package—” he indicated the bundle “—if you change your mind.”

Certain he’d carry out his threat, Rebecca undressed and settled into the tub as soon as he left. The cubicle had been mercilessly cold all day, and she relished the piping-hot water, closing her eyes and resting her neck against the tub’s rim. After a while, she washed clean all the reminders of the days gone by. When tears welled in her eyes, she dunked her head under and washed her hair.

In less than a half hour, she left the tub, shivering, wrapping the towel quickly around her. She fingered the package on the stool, and against her own will, opened it. Inside, she found a gorgeous dress, accompanied by various undergarments and stockings. There was also a nightgown and robe, which she chose to wear now.

When Paul returned, he found her garbed in the thick robe. She looked lovely, her damp hair framing her beautiful, yet drawn, face.

He carried a tray of food. “Will you eat something now?” he asked, surprised when she meekly nodded.

There was a knock on the door, and she melted into the shadows. Paul told the porter he wasn’t finished with the tub yet and would keep it until the morning. “I’d like to bathe, too,” he explained when the door closed.

They sat at the table and ate quietly. Although she consumed only a small portion of the fare, at least it was something. Setting his knife and fork down, Paul studied her. “Why did you intend to run away today?”

She stopped chewing and stared down at her plate.

“Don’t you realize how cruel a big city such as New York can be? Am I so horrible you won’t let me take you back to Charmantes?”

She could scarcely swallow for the burning lump in her throat. When she looked at him, her green eyes sparkled. “I don’t want to shame my brother,” she whispered. “He will know what has happened when I return. Better he doesn’t know. Better if I just disappear.”

She blinked back tears, and Paul experienced her pain. Embarrassed, she left the table and turned her back to him. “I’ve grown up these past few days,” she rasped, “and I don’t think I like being a woman.”

Paul fought the consuming desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, to carry her to the bunk and make tender love to her, to prove her wrong. But his mind screamed:
Charmaine— remember your pledge to Charmaine
.

He drew a deep breath to calm himself. “Rebecca, no one need ever know what happened between us,” he said evenly. “If all goes well tomorrow, I may have my father and brother with me when I return. If so, this cabin will be yours alone. I will tell everyone I found you in the hold, that you wanted to see the New York City sights, but now I’m bringing you home to your brother. I’ll spend the remainder of the trip in the common quarters with the crew, and no one will question me.”

It was not what she longed to hear. He seemed certain he was going to find his brother alive. Charmaine would have her husband back, and he would no longer be bound by his promise. Still, he made no pledge to her, not a single word of encouragement. She meant nothing more to him than a tawdry encounter that had claimed her virginity. She was like Felicia: out of sight, out of mind. In fact, she meant less to him than Felicia, for Felicia had shared his bed many times, and she, only once. He showed no desire to make love to her again. He
did
think she was a little girl. She’d best accept that or her heart would break, and she would not allow him that final triumph.

He waited for her to face him again, surprised and relieved to see she was smiling. She appeared pleased with his plan, and he breathed a bit easier. Perhaps everything would work out for the best.

Later, while he bathed, Rebecca studied him surreptitiously from the shadows. Even though he’d rejected her, she yearned for him still and battled the urge to offer herself to him. She remembered his rough hands, his impassioned kisses, and her eyes stung with tears. She had all she could do to hold tight to her spot on the bunk. When he rose from the tub, she turned away. He was lost to her. She
was
a little girl—a foolish little girl, with big, foolish dreams.

New Year’s Day, 1839

Early the next morning, Paul left the ship, telling Philip Conklin he’d been down in the hold and discovered a stowaway, a young girl charmed by the notion of living in the big city. “Her brother will be distressed,” he explained, “so I’ve locked her in my cabin until we leave port.”

The captain raised a dubious brow, but said not a word. The hold had been unloaded the day before, and none of his crew had spotted her.

Paul found Roger Dewint waiting for him on the quay. Together, they walked along the many piers in the harbor, stopping from time to time to engage somebody in conversation.

By noon, Paul got lucky. Samuel Waters worked for John, had in fact, arrived in New York aboard a Duvoisin vessel. He was a runaway slave. It took quite a bit of coaxing, but Samuel capitulated, telling Paul he knew a Rose Forrester, whose sister was a good friend of John’s. He gave Paul their address.

Chapter 9

Sunday, January 13, 1839
Charmantes

C
HARMAINE
woke with a start. Had Marie cried out? The infant’s tiniest squeak could bring her out of the deepest slumber. She rolled over and peered into the cradle. Marie was still sleeping.

Paul had been gone for nearly three weeks, and Charmaine had counted the days, his journey ever on her mind. She had traveled to town every morning for the past week. Today would be no different. As before, the girls and the Harringtons insisted on accompanying her.

She visited the chapel before departing. Without a priest, she hadn’t attended Holy Mass for over four months, but she found solace in the serene sanctuary and petitioned the Almighty to bring her husband home to her. She had not missed a day in her novena, nor would she until her prayers were answered.

Just before ten, they were on their way. Because it was Sunday, nearly everyone was strolling along the main thoroughfare, greeting neighbors and enjoying the cool breezes that would not last much longer. They did a bit of shopping and went to Dulcie’s for lunch, but Charmaine ate very little.

Loretta looked at the food on her plate. “Charmaine,” she chided lightly, “you haven’t touched your meal.”

“I’ve no appetite,” Charmaine replied.

“But you must eat,” Loretta proceeded, “for your daughter’s sake. Starving yourself with worry will never do.”

Charmaine had heard the lecture before and was grateful when Yvette interrupted. “Can we go down to the wharf after this?”

Charmaine nodded. “I’d like that.”

Marie, who’d been content for hours, began to fuss. “Please, finish eating,” she said as she stood with her baby. “I’ll be back once I’ve fed Marie.”

Loretta nodded, and Charmaine left them in pursuit of the carriage that was parked in the livery. Once there, she rearranged the cushions within the brougham, drew the curtains, and began nursing her daughter.

Marie’s mouth opened wide, and Charmaine smiled down at the infant, watching her pursed lips working the nipple, stopping only to swallow. The tiny eyes rolled heavenward, satiated, her delicate eyelids, already fringed with dark lashes, closing slowly. Charmaine basked in the moment, as she did each time the child suckled at her breast. “My little Marie Elizabeth,” she breathed. “What will this month bring for us?”

Is John still alive? Or would she be forced to face Paul’s marriage proposal? Charmaine struggled to suppress the thought. But today, it was so vivid she could not ignore it. Would she wed Paul? Probably. Not so much for herself, but for her daughter and for him. She knew he was suffering, realized now how poignantly he loved her. Yes, if she were forced to recover from another loss, she would consider marrying him.

She was still staring into the distance when the carriage door was yanked open. “What goes on in here?” A toothless man peered in, tobacco-tainted saliva drooling from the side of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his grimy hand.

Horrified, Charmaine quickly drew her bodice together. “Sir! This is my carriage!”

He squinted at her. “Are you the new Mrs. Duvoisin?”

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“Martin St. George,” he replied, dark spittle spraying in all directions.

The name triggered an ancient memory. “Martin, the farrier?”

“That’s me. And what are you doin’ in this coach all the way back here?” Oblivious to the baby she held, his eyes darted about, as if he’d find her lover hidden in the corner.

Suddenly she was laughing, laughing as she hadn’t laughed in a very long time, laughing so hard she shook.
I mistook John for this man the night we met. Impossible!

Marie squeaked in her sleep, and Charmaine subdued her mirth.

“What’s so funny?” the noisome hostler demanded.

Charmaine sighed, wiping away happy tears. “Nothing, nothing at all!”

He shook his head, spat into the hay, and walked away.

She giggled again and then, making herself presentable, climbed out of the carriage, the slumbering Marie clasped firmly to her breast.

Loretta and Joshua had just stepped out of Dulcie’s with the girls when she returned. Together, they strolled toward the harbor.

A shout went up, and Charmaine’s heart leapt into her throat, missing a beat when beyond the peninsula, on the open sea, she caught sight of a ship’s sails, bellied out. Pray God it was a Duvoisin vessel! Pray God it was from New York! Pray God it was Paul bringing John home!

Pedestrians migrated to the wharf, and soon there was a throng of onlookers. They stepped aside when they saw Charmaine and the twins, sensing the importance of the merchantman wearing into the mouth of the cove. Joshua led them to an unobstructed spot, where they waited for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, the vessel entered the inlet, and someone shouted, “It’s the
Tempest
!” as it closed the distance to the quay. Charmaine’s trembling hand flew to her mouth. She’d have her answer today.

“Look, Mademoiselle,” Jeannette exclaimed, “it’s Wade!” The man had drawn up alongside them, but Charmaine’s eyes never wavered from the ship.

“May I hold Marie?” Jeannette asked, wanting to show off the babe.

Charmaine surrendered her daughter without a thought, and Jeannette giggled when Marie objected with a squeak and a squirm.

The
Tempest
grew in size and majesty, sailors now visible fore and aft, making ready to moor the one-hundred-fifty-foot vessel, some high on the forecastle deck, others on the quarterdeck, many climbing the ratlines to reef the sails, all immensely busy. When Yvette made a move to run ahead, Joshua grasped her shoulder, urging her to stay put. Charmaine didn’t recognize anyone on board, and she brought folded hands to her lips, uttering a swift Hail Mary.

Loretta patted her arm. “God’s will be done, Charmaine.”

Charmaine inhaled, praying she could accept her cross and go on.

A scrape of wood on wood, a great groan, and the ship settled into place. Ropes were thrown overboard, and the longshoremen scrambled to loop and tie them to the pilings. Finally, the gangplank was lowered, and in consternation, Charmaine recognized Father Michael Andrews, lending an arm to Frederic as they stepped forward to disembark.

“Papa!” Jeannette cried exuberantly and hurried to him with Marie in her arms, welcoming his embrace as he stepped onto the stable quay.

Charmaine’s eyes flew back to the deck above, but there was no sign of John or Paul. She looked at Frederic again and read sorrow in his eyes, even though he smiled her way. Her heart froze.
He hasn’t come back with John! He’s come back with a priest—my family’s priest!
She had her answer.
He’s brought Father Michael here to comfort me
.

Gulping back a violent sob, she turned away and buried her face in Joshua’s shirtfront. As his arm encircled her, she caved in to her grief.