Love's Rescue (7 page)

What would she tell Father when she showed up with her great-aunt and luggage in tow? She hoped he would be pleased, but the displeasure over her continued refusal of suitors portended a difficult meeting.

She pressed a hand to her abdomen in a vain attempt to quell the nerves. Mother could no longer mediate their disputes. Now Elizabeth fell solely under her father’s direction. All fanciful dreams must be forgotten. She squared her shoulders, prepared to face whatever storm arose.

As the ship came about to ease alongside one of the wharves, a solitary figure emerged from the crowd of sailors, stevedores, chandlers, and curious onlookers. His dark suit and top hat befit a man of serious pursuits. Though he was somewhat thinner than she remembered, Elizabeth would recognize that figure anywhere.

Father.

Slaves, munitions, or stolen gold. Rourke’s mind hopped from one potential cargo to another and dismissed them all. No owner would load volatile or illicit goods into a ship carrying his female relations. No, there must be some other explanation.

One look into the holds would tell him what Captain Cross was hiding. Unfortunately, Rourke couldn’t do a thing with his boat tied off to the
Victory
ten yards distant.

He paced back and forth, waiting for some sign of activity on the wreck. The last of Cross’s men had disappeared almost an hour ago. Littlejohn’s remaining two ships waited at a distance, but they’d soon tire of this charade. Rourke had seen no attempt to patch the hull and no water flowing from the pumps, futile though it would be. Whatever the crew was doing, it did not appear to involve raising the hulk.

“I can’t stand this,” he complained to John, who stood midway between the fore and aft extent of his pacing. “Tom had better keep Elizabeth—Miss Benjamin—safe.”

John lifted an eyebrow. “Anabelle strong.”

True. Years ago, Rourke had seen her shinny up a rope to rendezvous with John. “She’s been living in the city for four years.”

“Make no difference. She fast as gazelle, strong as lion.”

“Elizabeth used to run barefoot.” Rourke smiled at the memory. “And swim. She shocked me one day by popping up to the surface with a conch shell. We were moored on the south shore. I had no idea anyone else was there, and then out of the water she came like a mermaid. Apparently she’d sailed that skiff of hers around the island and moored it out of sight in the mangroves.” He laughed. “I started to scold her for taking such a dangerous chance, but she turned those wide blue eyes on me, and I couldn’t.”

“I remember. You take her back to boat.”

“And made her promise not to sail or swim by herself again.” Rourke chuckled. “I don’t think she paid me the slightest attention.”

“Dat’s de way dey be.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Just as there was nothing he could do to shake the feeling that this salvage was going sour. Everything had gone wrong, starting with the pilot’s poor judgment. If Rourke didn’t know Poppinclerk was incompetent, he’d think the man had intentionally driven the ship onto the reef.

Or had he?

Rourke shook his head. What did the man stand to gain? Even if he conspired with the master to abscond with the salvage proceeds, he could never work in Key West again. Considering the unprofitable cargo, that risk made no sense. Unless the master had lied about the cargo.

Rourke’s palms itched. He needed to know what was on that wreck.

He peeled off his coat and handed it to John. “I’m swimming across.”

“No sir.” John pressed the coat back into Rourke’s hands. “You canna go dere. Dey see you, den dere be trouble.”

Rourke growled against John’s common sense. His mate was right. If the
Victory
was carrying something illicit, Rourke’s unexpected appearance could trigger violence. He would face half a ship’s complement alone. In his younger days, he’d bested three men but never ten. They’d ambush him, claim a misstep, and send his weighted body to the bottom to feed the crabs. He stood no chance. Moreover, Poppinclerk watched his every move from the quarterdeck of the
Windsprite
.

He slipped the coat back on and eyed the wreck. In the late afternoon sun, heat shimmered off the dark wood. Choppy seas slapped the hull. The
Windsprite
tugged on her anchors, eager to move.

“Soon,” he muttered, casting another glance west.

The
Dinah Hale
had long since vanished over the horizon. Even the elongated mirage of her masts was gone. Soon Elizabeth would alight in Key West. Her father would greet her, taking her in his arms. Charles Benjamin would want the best for his only daughter. Rourke could not give her less than that.

The
Victory
promised the reward he’d wanted for so long.
Cross’s peculiar behavior led Rourke to believe the cargo was of considerable value. Win a wrecker’s fair portion in admiralty court, and he could set up as a merchant. Maybe then he would be good enough for Charles Benjamin’s daughter.

A head appeared at the rail of the
Victory
, followed by another and another. One by one they crawled into the ship’s boat, Captain Cross last.

What was going on? Rourke collapsed the spyglass and tucked it in his coat pocket before positioning himself at the head of the ladder. Whatever they’d found, he’d be the first to know.

Poppinclerk came alongside him. “Apparently your darkie was right.”

Rourke didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

The
Victory
’s crew pulled hard on the oars, sending the ship’s boat skimming across the narrow distance between the vessels. With a bump, the boat pulled alongside the
Windsprite
and tied off. The master ascended first.

He glanced at Poppinclerk before addressing Rourke. “The salvage is yours.”

“Stop!” the first mate cried as he scrambled onto the deck. “There’s a thief on this ship.” He pointed a finger first at Rourke and then at John. “One of you. If you don’t return my property at once, I’ll have you arrested the moment we reach port.”

F
ather looked from Elizabeth to her great-aunt and back again, his expression a mixture of shock and dismay. She should have known he would come to the wharf at the first report of a wrecker’s arrival.

“I realize this is a surprise,” Elizabeth began.

“That is an understatement.” His jaw worked. “I did not expect you.”

Elizabeth hoped in vain that her aunt would not speak.

“What do you mean? Of course you expected us.” Aunt Virginia mustered all the indignation of a woman who had suffered the worst of voyages. “You requested Elizabeth’s return.”

“I did no such thing.”

“But Elizabeth said—” Aunt stopped mid-sentence.

“What
did
Elizabeth say?” Father turned his cross-examination on her.

“I—I—” Elizabeth tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry as coral dust.

“I’m waiting.” He tapped his walking stick on the dock to punctuate each word.

Elizabeth lowered her gaze, once more the child summoned to his study. Father always demanded the truth. Anything less than full disclosure warranted far worse punishment.

“I said—” It came out as a squeak. She tried again. “I told Aunt that you needed me.” That much was true. Aunt had simply inferred that Father had asked for her return in his last letter.

“I do not recall saying that.”

She hazarded a glance and was relieved to see bemusement had won out over anger.

“Perhaps not in words, but now that Mother—” She twisted the ribbon with the trunk key around her finger. “That is, now that you’re alone, you must need someone to manage the house.”

“Cook and Florie do admirably, as they have for years.”

“And look after Charlie,” she added with a bit less confidence.

“Your brother receives the best care.”

“I didn’t mean to imply . . .” Elizabeth could barely breathe. Fatigue had turned her limbs to stone and dulled her mind. All she wanted was to return to her room, bury her head in a pillow, and let the autumn breezes blow in the scent of the ocean and Mama’s oleander. “I—” Unbidden tears stung her eyes. “I miss home.” Her throat constricted. “I miss you, Papa.”

His expression softened, but Father never displayed affection in public. “If you had written, I would have had Nathan ready with the carriage. Instead we must wait for the boy I hired to fetch him.”

Elizabeth could scarce believe he accepted her unexpected arrival so easily. “I’m sorry, but the ship wrecked.” It was a poor excuse but the best she could muster.

“Your appearance betrays that fact.”

Elizabeth looked down at her salt-stained skirts. The tiny black bows had been torn off both sleeves and the bodice. The hem was soiled. Her hair felt like straw. Only Aunt Virginia wore
a cap. None of them had a bonnet or parasol. They must look a sight. Indeed, several people had stopped to stare.

“Miss Dobbins.” Father extended his arm to Aunt Virginia. “Shall we find a shaded spot?”

She readily accepted, and he ushered them off the dock and away from gawking bystanders.

Once they were situated in the shade of a gumbo-limbo tree, he turned to Aunt Virginia and asked, “Which ship did you take from Charleston?”

“Why, the
Victory
, of course.”

He flinched ever so slightly. “Jonathan’s schooner?”

“Naturally. Do you think he would send us on someone else’s ship?”

“Of course not.” His brow pinched under the brim of his top hat. “He will be grieved to hear of this misfortune.” But his gaze and his voice had drifted far away.

“Indeed he will,” Aunt said. “He has never had a ship wreck before.”

The bystanders had followed them to the street, crowding close on their heels.

“Did you say a ship wrecked?” a man asked.

“How impertinent,” Aunt scolded. “You should be ashamed of yourself, listening to a private conversation.”

Instead of apologizing, the man gleefully called out, “Wreck ashore!”

The crowd hurried back to the docks, eager to see what salvaged cargo the
Dinah
Hale
had brought in. They would be disappointed.

A wreck meant prized goods at an inexpensive price. Once the salvaged cargo was tallied and warehoused, the federal marshal would set an auction date and time. Then the goods would be
sold piece by piece to the highest bidder until the salvage fee could be paid. Many a Key West home had been furnished with salvage. Many a lady wore jewelry sold at auction. From shoes to pianos to rum, wrecked ships brought excitement to the port.

“My word,” Aunt exclaimed, “I’ve never seen such a to-do over misfortune.”

Elizabeth smiled at her aunt’s dismay. The carnival-like atmosphere of a shipwreck must appear curious to the uninitiated.

Father, his expression still grave, drew Aunt’s attention toward town. “Welcome to Key West. You will find it quite unlike Charleston.”

Aunt looked up and down the street with evident distaste. “I knew it could never compare, but I didn’t imagine the island would be so . . . provincial.”

Elizabeth stiffened at the affront. “I’m amazed at how the town has grown. I barely recognize any of the buildings.”

Father swept his walking stick toward a trim building on two-foot-high piers. The scent of fresh-sawed lumber tickled her nose. “That’s the new custom house. We have more warehouses now. Over there you may recognize Mrs. Mallory’s boardinghouse.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Even it looks different.”

Nathan drove up with the carriage. That cut off any further sightseeing until Father had helped both Aunt and Elizabeth inside. Anabelle, who had followed at a respectful distance, looked away when Father glanced at her and then took her place on the driver’s seat with Nathan.

“You repaired the carriage.” Elizabeth ran her hand over the leather seat, marveling at how even the familiar was different.

With a flick of the reins, Nathan urged the chestnut mare forward.

“What happened to Patches?” Elizabeth asked. “He survived the storm.”

“Died last year of old age.” Father sat across from the ladies, facing the rear. “We were fortunate to get another. If not for your brother, I might have given up the carriage entirely.”

Elizabeth’s throat tightened at the reference to Charlie’s inability to walk.

“Stop the carriage,” Aunt Virginia cried out. “We can’t leave without our trunks.”

“Nathan will fetch them after bringing us to the house,” Father said. “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to them. The marshal will have them brought into a secure area.”

Aunt Virginia grumbled a little but was appeased by his assurances.

Elizabeth gawked at every corner and building they passed. The carriage turned onto Simonton Street.

“We’re going this way?” Elizabeth frowned. “Did they rebuild the bridge over the tidal pond?”

“Unnecessary,” Father replied. “The storm closed in the entrance. Property owners are filling the old pond, and the streets go across without bridges now.”

On the day of the hurricane, the overflowing pond had slowed her progress to the harbor. No longer would it divide the town in two. Her Key West had changed. Gone was the debris from the storm. Roofs had been replaced and reshingled. New metal drainpipes gleamed in the late-day sun. Geiger trees blossomed bright orange against silvered verandas. Storefronts displayed china and parasols and every imaginable convenience. Key West might be small, but it was not provincial.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she murmured. “So much has changed.”

“Poor dear.” Aunt Virginia covered Elizabeth’s thin hand
with her plump one. “You need to rest, and then tomorrow we will visit your mother’s grave.” Aunt leaned closer to Father as if sharing a confidence, though her voice did not lower. “I bear you no ill will. Given the heat and the primitive facilities, there was no time to post correspondence before interment.”

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of her gentle, graceful mother in a coffin beneath the earth. According to her friend Caroline, the cemetery had been relocated to high ground near where she and the other survivors had clung to trees waiting out the storm. Those bodies from the old cemetery that hadn’t washed away were reburied there.

For once, Elizabeth was grateful for her aunt’s chatter. It allowed her to examine the passing neighborhoods. So much had changed, yet traces of the past remained.

She gasped when they approached William Street. “When were those homes built?” She pointed to two unfamiliar houses.

Father grunted. “The Bahamians brought them over.”

“Whole houses?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How did they bring them from such a distance?”

“In pieces.” Father clearly did not respect the ingenuity it took to bring an entire house hundreds of miles over the ocean. “Apparently they couldn’t wait for good Florida pine to arrive from the mainland.” The carriage rolled to a halt. “Here we are.”

Elizabeth recognized her home at once. Though Mama’s oleander was gone, the gumbo-limbo and wild tamarind still shaded the yard. In front, coconut palms rose on slender stems, their thatch giving modest relief from the sun. The same picket fence delineated the yard.

“It’s exactly the same,” Elizabeth said. “No one would ever know how badly it had been damaged.”

“Your mother insisted I rebuild it that way.” For a moment, Father looked lost in memory.

Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. Mother had wanted it to stay the same. Her son had been crippled. Her daughter had gone to Charleston. So much had changed. This would not.

Father assisted Aunt Virginia and then Elizabeth out of the carriage. She drank in every shutter and spindle of her childhood home. Both stories boasted a veranda facing the street. Floor-length shuttered windows lined the ground floor. At this late hour, they’d been opened wide to allow the ocean breezes to whisk away the day’s heat. Breathing deeply, she could almost smell Mama’s oleanders.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“It’s small,” Aunt Virginia noted.

Cook met them at the door, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Is dat Miz Lizbeth?”

“There will be two more for supper,” Father said. “Have Florie fetch my son.”

Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. Charlie. So soon.

“Yes, sir, Missa Benj’min.” Cook hurried into the house as Nathan drove the carriage back to the harbor to fetch their trunks.

Father escorted Aunt Virginia up the five wooden steps to the front porch. The entire house was elevated so as to allow both excessive tides and cooling breezes to sweep underneath. Aunt huffed and complained on every one of those steps.

Elizabeth trailed them. Soon she would know how her brother felt toward her. She reached for Anabelle’s hand, but her maid stepped away, her expression blank as stone.

Father turned back to Elizabeth. “Are you coming?” It was a command.

“Yes, Father.” The pine planks creaked with each footstep.
Her salt-laden skirts forced her to tug them across the boards. Her stays let her draw only shallow breaths.

What would Charlie say?

“Your sister has returned,” Father said, ushering her inside.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior hall. Before her sat a young man she barely recognized. His hair echoed Father’s sturdy brown, with sparse sideburns extending to his jaw. Dressed in a fine linen suit, cravat tied at the neck, he looked every bit the proper young gentleman—except for the wheeled chair and withered legs.

“Charlie.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve come home.”

He turned to Father. “Take me to my room.”

Rourke struggled to rein in his temper at the mate’s false accusation. “Search my ship for what you say you’ve lost. If you find it, it’s not only yours but I’ll pay half its value to compensate for the theft.”

To Rourke’s surprise, Captain Cross took his side. “See, Mr. Buetsch? No one took the brooch. Why would they?”

“A brooch?” Rourke echoed. “I would have noticed jewelry. What does it look like?”

“It bears my sweetheart’s initial, a script
H
.”

“I haven’t seen it, but you can search this ship.” Rourke spread wide his arms. “I know of no man aboard my vessel with a wife or fiancée whose name begins with the letter
H
.”