The Moon and the Stars (3 page)

She prayed as she ran toward the Savannah River that there would be a passenger ship she could board. She hoped that her pursuer would expect her to go to the train station or even to the stage office and direct his search in that direction.

Caroline fled down the ballast stone street, stopping only once to catch her breath and to rest for a moment beneath an aged oak. When she finally reached the river, there were several ships in port. She quickly disregarded the three cargo ships and made her way toward a sleek but small schooner,
The Spanish Lady
. She had no notion what port the ship was sailing to, but when the crew hoisted anchor, she intended to be on board.

She was exhausted by the time she reached the
slanting gangplank and hoped she would have enough strength to make her way up it. The deck was swaying with the rough waves, and she managed to remain upright only by holding on to the railing. She felt her stomach heave and clamped her hand over her mouth—now would not be a good time to become ill.

She swallowed several times before glancing frantically about, not knowing what to do next. Her gaze finally fell on a man who was giving orders; the others seemed to be deferring to him. He was a fearsome sight with black eyes, a shaggy black beard, and a thundering voice that sent his men scrambling to do his bidding.

He frowned when he saw her approach. “What are you doing on my ship, ma'am? You'd best go ashore. We're just now getting under way.”

The wind had kicked up again and tore the hood from her head, blowing a blond strand of hair across her face. She swallowed a lump in her throat and said in a trembling voice, “Sir, I would like to book passage on your ship.”

He nodded and jerked his head toward the companionway. “If you got the fare, I got an empty cabin.” He must have sensed her urgency because he smiled cunningly. “Your fare will be two hundred dollars since you came on board at the last minute.”

She swallowed past her tight throat, hoping the ship wasn't headed for China or Africa or some other distant country. “What is your destination, sir?”

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind, and she was sure she must be behaving like a crazed woman. “Why, home port, ma'am. We sail for Galveston, Texas.” He took her money and then turned his
attention to the upper rigging, which was whipping and snapping in the wind.

The amount the captain was asking was unfair, but she had no choice but to pay it. Later she would worry about the rest of her life; right now, all she cared about was getting out of Savannah, Georgia. Even now, her enemy could be hot on her heels. It would not take Brace long to discover that she had sailed away, and on which ship she had sailed.

A knot formed in her stomach, and she glanced out into the darkness, wondering if she was being watched at that very minute. Her glance fell on the gangplank, which was being drawn in, and she was overcome with relief. She had won this time. But there would be another encounter—of that she was certain.

She was immediately shown to her cabin by a balding first mate who gruffly told her what time they would be serving food and that if she was late, she would get nothing. When he left and shut the door behind him, she waited until she heard his footsteps fade in the distance before she dropped down on the narrow bunk. Lowering her face in her hands, she felt utter despair.

Brace's hired man had almost caught her tonight.

Why hadn't she changed her name when she'd applied for the position of governess?

Feeling utterly alone, she closed her eyes. Tears clung to her lashes and then seeped from her eyes. Where could she go that Brace would not follow? Where could she hide that he could not find her? One thing was certain: Her enemy had a long reach, and he would never give up searching for her.

 

It was a week later when
The Spanish Lady
finally sailed past the Florida Keys. The storm that had dogged them most of the way churned the restless sea, and huge waves slammed against the ship, making it bob and sway like a cork in water.

Caroline lay on her bunk, seasick and moaning. The ship had put into several ports, but she had not gone ashore at any of them. The ship's cook had taken a liking to her and gave her fresh fruit to keep in her cabin; that was all she had eaten. But at the moment, the thought of any kind of food only made her feel worse.

It was full dark and raining when
The Spanish Lady
finally reached Galveston Bay. She stared at the lights in the distance, feeling so weak and ill she didn't know if she could make the trek into town. A cold, wet wind drove her forward and soaked her to the skin.

Stumbling down the gangplank, she was jostled by other passengers who were in a hurry to reach their destination; she envied them because they were probably going home to be welcomed by someone who loved them. There would be no welcome for her, no one she could turn to for help. She had only twenty-two dollars to her name, and that wouldn't take her very far.

Weak and weary, she trudged through the mud, always keeping her eyes on the lights of Galveston in the distance. It was dark and cold, and fear dogged her steps as she kept glancing behind her. Once she heard footsteps, and she shrank into the shadow of a warehouse, only to recognize members of the ship's crew with duffel bags thrown over their shoulders, making their way home.

Caroline knew that she could not remain in this town for very long. If she knew Brace Duncan, he had already sent someone to look into every kind of transportation that had left Savannah the night she had disappeared. His man would search every town where
The Spanish Lady
had docked, and it wouldn't take him long to discover that she had come ashore at Galveston.

The rain intensified, making it difficult for her to see more than a few feet ahead of her. For the last few weeks it had done nothing but rain; she was beginning to wish she lived in a desert. Her cloak was damp and slapped painfully at her ankles as she toiled along.

Her mood lightened a bit when she saw the Overland Stage sign swinging in the wind. She climbed the wooden steps and turned the doorknob, and her heart sank. It was locked; the office was closed for the night.

She slumped down on the wooden bench where a slight overhang offered her some protection against the rain. She was determined to be on the first stage that headed west in the morning, and she would go as far as her money would take her.

Darkness closed in around her, and she dropped her head into her hands, too weary to hold it upright. After a time, she realized it would be foolhardy to sit in the rain calling attention to herself.

Exhausted, she took in her surroundings—there was a small hotel across the street and another down the way. She decided to spend some of her money for a room, a hot cup of tea, and a bath.

A few hours later, when night took a turn toward morning, she awoke and dressed, wading in ankle-deep
water to cross the street to the stage office.

A man was just unlocking the door when she rushed up the steps. Following him inside, she waited for him to go behind the counter before she placed her money on the well-worn surface. “Can you tell me how far west this amount of money will take me?”

The agent was a grandfatherly-looking gentleman with long white hair and an equally white mustache. His brown gaze rested speculatively on her for a moment, taking in her pale face and muddy shoes. He saw the widow's broach that fastened her tattered cape, and his gaze softened.

“You are very young to lose your husband and to be traveling alone in this country.”

Caroline had bought the broach when she had applied for the position with the Lowells, hoping that people would respect her right to mourn her husband and not pay too much attention to her. As for the stage agent, she didn't want to engage his interest, so she quickly said, “I need a ticket on the next westbound stage.”

“Just how far do you want to go?” he asked kindly.

“Just as far as the money will take me.”

He was silent for a moment and then nodded, taking only ten dollars of her money and shoving the rest back at her. “This will take you as far as San Sebastian, Texas. The stage will be arriving within the hour, and it'll be pulling out by mid-morning. On this run you will only have to change stages twice. Each time the folks at the way station will give you a full meal.”

Her hands were shaking as she scooped up the remaining money and stuffed it into her reticule. “You didn't take enough out for my fare,” she stated in a
quiet voice, knowing she must swallow her pride and depend on his kindness.

“It's enough.”

After hiding and running for so long, she was deeply touched by his act of compassion. “Thank you. You are a true gentleman,” was all she could manage to say past the tightness in her throat.

The warmth of his smile matched the warmth in his eyes. “Have you no one to go to for help?”

She drew back, frightened, not wanting him to remember her for any reason. “I'll just go outside and wait until the stage arrives.”

“Wait,” he called out to her, scribbling something on a piece of paper and sliding it across the counter toward her. “You seem to be in some kind of trouble.”

She panicked. “No. I'm not in trouble.”

He knew better—he could clearly see that she was terrified. “I have a niece who owns the boardinghouse in San Sebastian; that's why I suggested the town. Go to see Nelly when you get there, and she'll help you.”

Caroline glanced down at her muddy boots. “No one can help me.” She turned her head toward the sound of the arriving stage. “And please,” she said in desperation, “I beg of you, tell no one you saw me.”

He nodded. “I keep my own business and ask others to do the same. Don't be afraid that anyone will find you through me.”

Caroline looked deep into his honest brown eyes and took the folded paper he held out to her. She had a sense that she could trust him. “I will not forget your kindness.”

“Seek out my niece,” he said, glancing at the stage driver who had just entered and deposited a leather
satchel on the counter. “This here is the stage you'll take to San Sebastian.” He glanced at the driver. “It'll be all right with you if she boards now, won't it?”

“Yeah. I don't mind if she does,” the man said, paying little attention to her.

Words failed her. The stranger's generosity was still on her mind when the stage pulled out an hour later.

Two other passengers had boarded in Galveston, so she pulled the hood of her cloak low across her forehead and pretended to be asleep.

She knew nothing about San Sebastian, Texas, but that was where she was headed. Each mile the stage traveled was taking her farther and farther away from her enemy—and that was all she cared about at the moment.

It was Caroline Duncan who began the long journey into the unknown. But by the time she arrived at San Sebastian, she would be Caroline Richmond.

Texas—1871

Caroline Richmond, as she was known to the people of San Sebastian, sat near the window so she could catch the last bit of light from the setting sun. Reaching into her sewing basket, she untangled a strand of green thread and threaded her needle. She still had to hem both sleeves before the gown would be finished.

She paused for a moment and allowed her gaze to linger on the sunset that was so brilliant it made the cloud bank to the east look like it was on fire. She was swamped by feelings of melancholy and homesickness that cut deep into her soul. She had tried not to dwell on the past, but in truth it was always with her, lurking just at the edge of her mind.

She tried to concentrate on the view from the window. This part of Texas was mostly flat, so twilight lingered long past the gentle sunsets that she remembered in Charleston. In South Carolina, twilight fell
softly across the land. In Texas, when the sun finally did set, it struck against the land like a hammer on an anvil.

She shook her head to dispel her memories, because she could never go home again. She thought of how her father had never fully recovered from her mother's death. He had become a shadow of the man he'd once been. She feared he might have become worse after she'd disappeared from his life. How could she know, since she had not seen or contacted him in almost three years?

Without a doubt, Brace would have someone watching her father's mail; he would expect her to write. In that way she had outsmarted him.

She was resigned to the fact that San Sebastian would probably be her home for the rest of her life.

If she was going to be honest with herself, she owed her very existence to the kind people of this town. When she had first arrived as a stranger, the local families had taken her into their hearts and homes. But sometimes, like now, when she was alone in the still of the evening, when families were gathered about their table together, she longed for a family of her own. Her heart and mind were still attached to the past, and she could never have children of her own as long as Brace was looking for her.

The Gray family lived behind her, and they had seven energetic children whose laughter often floated in her direction, touching the loneliness deep inside her. Even now she could hear the constant slamming of the door as Wanda Gray called her offspring to supper.

Last night the old nightmare had returned, and she had awakened in a cold sweat. She had been too afraid
to go back to sleep and had paced the floor until dawn. It had been a long day, and now she was so weary she could hardly hold her head straight.

She did not want to remember holding Michael in her arms, her gown soaked with his blood. She did not want to remember how it felt when he had taken his last breath and there had been nothing she could do to help him. She missed him, she always would.

She reached into the bottom of her sewing basket, pushing thread aside until she found what she was searching for. She carefully unfolded the clipping from
The Union Daily News
of Union, South Carolina. Her hands trembled so badly she could hardly read the faded, three-year-old article: