Love Unexpected (19 page)

“I was planning to tell you more about my past,” Patrick said. “Eventually.”

“You should have told me everything right away.”

Josiah banged a stick he was playing with against the floor. The sound of it pierced Emma. Poor Josiah. Did he know his daddy was once a pirate?

Patrick moved closer and stood behind her. “Can you accept me anyway, now that you know?”

She hesitated.

His fingers grazed her arm, but she jerked away from his touch.

He stepped back, taking the warmth of his presence with him.

“Please give me some time,” she whispered through a tight throat. She had to think, had to make sense of everything first.

He stood silently for a moment. “Remember your promise,” he whispered. “You promised you'd take Josiah when you go. He deserves a better life than I can give him.”

He walked away then, his heavy steps sounding in the hallway.

She closed her eyes against the flood of tears that threatened to spill over. Now she understood his insistence earlier when he'd forced her to promise to take Josiah.

His life was tarnished with a multitude of sins, and he didn't want Josiah to be influenced or hurt by any of it. If Mitch could show up once and badger Patrick, what would happen the next time? The man was obviously dangerous. There was no telling what he'd do.

And what if Patrick decided to aid him? What if Patrick still had a dangerous side to him? She hugged her arms across her chest to ward off the chills.

The rumbling of wagon wheels outside in the yard drew Emma's attention to the open window, to the sight of Bertie Burnham perched stiffly atop the bench of her wagon as she slowed the team of horses to a halt.

Emma wiped her eyes and fanned her face with her apron, hoping to clear away any evidence of her distress. “Come, Josiah,” Emma called, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “We have company.”

She couldn't let Bertie inside the house and discover Mitch there. She had to keep the woman out somehow. Even if the news of Patrick's past life and crimes was shocking, she couldn't expose him to Bertie's prying.

No matter what Patrick had done in his past, no matter the
crimes he might still be committing, she wouldn't betray him to Bertie. Not now. Not under these circumstances.

Emma slipped through the door with Josiah in tow.

At the sight of the thin woman with her tight braids and severe features, Josiah's footsteps slowed.

“Patrick's inside and doesn't wish to be disturbed,” Emma said once Bertie had descended from the wagon. “But perhaps you'd care to sit with me in the shade and have coffee and biscuits.”

Bertie grumbled about the arrangement, but eventually Emma persuaded her to join her on a blanket in the shade of one of the towering pines away from the house. She served Bertie coffee and biscuits and took careful notes on how to prepare a pound cake, along with instructions for stuffed trout.

“If you want me to tell you how to do the strawberry preserves,” said Bertie, “then I'd best come on in and show you.” The woman's attention strayed to the house again, as if she knew something was wrong and was trying to figure it out.

“Maybe next time.” Emma was glad the bedroom curtain was closed.

“Some are saying there was a boat that wrecked up here along the shore a couple nights ago.”

Emma nodded.

Bertie narrowed her eyes on Emma, clearly waiting for her to share any information she had about the wreck.

Emma shifted her interest to Josiah, who was picking up pinecones and throwing them into the woods. Thankfully he was far enough away that he hadn't heard Bertie. What would happen if Josiah heard Bertie's prying and blurted out the news that they were harboring a pirate in their house?

Emma squirmed and took a sip of her coffee. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to invite Bertie to stay.

“Something ain't right,” Bertie said, setting down her half-eaten biscuit. “You been acting jumpy since I got here. Spill it out, young lady.”

Emma stared down at her coffee. What could she say?

“You know that's what friends are for.” Bertie's tone softened. “To listen.”

How could Patrick ever have been close to Mitch? It was unthinkable. And yet at one time they'd been as close as brothers. Emma's stomach crushed with the weight of all she'd learned, like a heavy stone was pressing upon it. The burden felt too heavy to bear on her own. Maybe she didn't have to tell Bertie
everything
, but it wouldn't hurt to share a little, would it?

“It's just that I've learned some things about Patrick I didn't know.”

“What things?”

Emma swallowed her reservation. “Things about his past. And they just came as a shock to me, that's all. Did you know he was a boxer or fighter or something like that? And that he once hurt another woman?”

Bertie's lips pursed. “Not surprised in the least. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find out he was once a pirate.”

Emma froze and stared at Bertie.

Bertie watched Emma's face as if gauging her reaction. “Ah, I can see that I've hit on something close to the truth.”

Emma looked away as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Don't worry, young lady. I already had my suspicions. Delia hinted at his unsavory past. But she was always too embarrassed to say much.”

Emma shook her head and wanted to deny Bertie, but the woman harrumphed and continued before Emma could speak. “If you ask me, that's what caused their problems. Then of
course if he was a fighter and already had a history of abusing women, that would explain Delia's fall. Maybe he hit her and pushed her down the stairs.”

“Nay!” Emma scrambled to her knees. “Please don't say such things. I could never believe that about Patrick. He's much too kind.”

But even as she said the words, doubts clouded her mind. If he could hurt a woman once, what was to prevent him from doing it again? As she struggled to her feet, her coffee spilled and trailed across the blanket toward Bertie, who clambered up too.

“How about his secret lover?” Bertie asked. “Do you have any more reasons to suspect he's seeing another woman?”

Emma hesitated, but again it was enough for Bertie to see the truth.

“Young lady,” she said, lowering her voice and glancing toward the house, “as your closest friend, I suggest you get out of here before you get hurt.”

“I won't get hurt.” She'd never believed Patrick capable of hurting anyone, no matter his past. But now . . .

Bertie's eyebrow quirked as if she sensed Emma's doubts. “If you need to run, you know the way to the fisheries?”

Emma shook her head and prayed she wouldn't need to know.

“Take the road along the harbor.” Bertie pointed toward the ruts her wagon had made in the grass. “It ain't far. You could walk it. Just make sure the harbor is always in sight.”

Emma now wished she'd stayed silent. “You won't say anything about this to anyone, will you?”

“'Course not,” Bertie said, starting back toward her wagon. “You know me. I'm not one to gossip.”

Even with the woman's words ringing in her ears, Emma
couldn't keep a surge of guilt from crashing over her. She shouldn't have said anything at all about Patrick, about his past or about the troubles in their relationship. Even if Bertie was her friend, this matter with Patrick was private. She needed to work it out with him first before she talked about it with anyone else.

Aye. That was what she'd do. Talk with him and get everything straightened out. She needed to find out what really happened with Delia's death. And she had to ask him if there was another woman.

She needed to know everything, regardless of how painful or embarrassing the truth might be.

Patrick let the curtain fall back into place and resumed his pacing across the bedroom. A breath of relief pushed for release amidst the stuffiness of the room and the sour stench of sweat that surrounded the bed.

That tongue-waggling Bertie Burnham was finally leaving. Somehow Emma had managed to keep her outside. He was grateful to her for making an effort to keep Mitch and his secrets hidden.

Now the woman would be gone, and hopefully his past would remain buried. He didn't want to think about what could have happened if Bertie had come into the house and found Mitch in their bed. Like Emma, she would have easily connected him to the pirate. But unlike Emma, she would have run back to town and shared the news with everyone.

Most recently he'd heard some of the fishermen whispering that Delia's fall hadn't been an accident, that he'd pushed her down the tower stairs. He figured Bertie was the one who'd started the rumor. The woman had always sensed Delia's un
happiness and had blamed him for it. And maybe she was right. Maybe he hadn't made Delia happy.

Nevertheless, the rumors stung. He kept praying people would see the love of God pouring out of him, and that he'd live in such a way that they wouldn't be able to believe anything Bertie said.

“Hey, Saint Pat, take it easy.” Mitch was sitting up against a couple of pillows. His hair stuck to his forehead in the dankness of the room. “You're wearing me out just watching you.”

“Then go back to sleep.”

Mitch chortled. “Sophie told me not to expect any help from you, but I was hoping she was wrong.”

“She shouldn't have told you I was here.”

“Why? You afraid once they know the whole truth, they'll send you packing?”

Patrick shifted his attention to his boots. He didn't want Mitch to see how close he'd come to the truth. He didn't want his neighbors and friends to know about the life he'd once lived. If they found out, they'd be appalled, just like Emma.

His body ached every time he pictured her hunched over in the kitchen, tears streaking her cheeks, dismayed by who he really was. He hated that he'd hurt her, and now he wished he'd had the courage to tell her much earlier, to share the truth with her.

She probably wouldn't have married him, and he would have missed out on the past beautiful month with her as his wife. Even so, he should have been honest with her from the start. That way he could have spared her the pain today.

Holy Bill had assured him that his past didn't matter anymore, not after Patrick had spent two full years working hard to repay the debts he owed to those he'd robbed. After those two years living with Holy Bill, being mentored by him, and doing all he
could to make up for his past mistakes, the reverend told him he was ready to move on.

Holy Bill was the one who told him about the assistant keeper position with Delia's father down at Fort Gratiot. Patrick's seafaring knowledge, his familiarity with shipping, the lake, and the weather had all worked to his advantage in getting the position. And the district superintendent respected Holy Bill.

“If Holy
Bill tells me you're the man for the job
,”
Mr. Yates had said,
“then I know there's
no better person I could hire.”

Holy Bill had insisted they tell Mr. Yates the details about his wayward past. Even so, Mr. Yates had been willing to give him a trial period as assistant keeper. After a year of Patrick working hard to prove himself, Mr. Yates was open to Holy Bill's suggestion that Patrick be given the full keeper position at the Presque Isle Light, and Holy Bill would continue to hold Patrick accountable.

What would Mr. Yates say now if he learned he'd been in contact with Mitch, that he'd saved the man and given him refuge in his home? What would he say if he learned about the moon-cussing incident and resulting shipwreck from a couple of weeks ago?

He'd likely think Patrick had returned to his pirating ways. He'd fire him from his job as keeper and never let him step foot in another lighthouse as long as he lived.

Mitch grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes as if he'd read Patrick's thoughts. “I'm sure people won't be so eager to have you keeping this here light once they learn the truth about your past.”

Patrick's shoulders sagged. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back. He knew he ought to open the window again now that Bertie was gone, but there would be no relief from the heat inside when the heat outside was just as oppressive.

“Maybe we can work out a deal.” Mitch rubbed a hand over his scraggly beard, which Patrick thought only made him look meaner and older than the fun-loving man he'd once been.

They'd been close as young boys, after Mitch's father had run off and completely deserted him, leaving him alone in the world. Even before the days of drinking and thieving, they'd looked out for each other. At the time, Patrick was closer to Mitch than most of his family.

He supposed that was why it had hurt so much when Mitch abandoned him after the last fight. He'd figured Mitch thought he was worthless, that after being beaten nearly to death, he wouldn't be any good in the ring—that he'd gotten too old and wouldn't be able to win and bring in money anymore.