Chapter 9
Christmas Eve
Caroline stood on the shore, one hand holding Abilene’s, the other Philippe’s, while their trunks were stacked on sand beside them. All they had left in the world was stuffed in those portmanteaus. All except her heart, which was out on the sea being devoured by a man she’d never see again. Fog as thick as the heaviness in her soul crowded around them, muffling the sounds of crashing waves and embedding a chill in her bones. A chill she hadn’t been able to get rid of the past two days. She’d spent them in a benumbed haze of conflicting emotions that threatened to bury her in the dirt beside François.
Where she no doubt belonged for her stupidity.
Still, she had done her best to remain strong for the children, to put on a happy face and spout hopeful words of their future. But every time either of them began to cry about Dante, she unavoidably joined them. Now they stood forlornly gazing at the steamer ship that would take them to the port of Los Angeles, where they’d catch a larger ship that would escort them around Cape Horn and up to New Orleans. Though she still hadn’t heard from her family, Caroline held on to the hope that they would forgive her and take her and the children in.
If not, she didn’t know what she’d do. The money she’d procured from the sale of the vineyard wouldn’t last forever. And she couldn’t very well marry another man when she was still legally joined to Dante.
Soon the small boat returned, her trunks were loaded, and a sailor carried the children through the crashing surf into the wobbly craft. Caroline turned to glance at Santa Barbara, her home for the past three years, but the gray shroud hid it from view. Just as well. She had very few pleasant memories of the place. A squab, round man who reeked of fish assisted her into the boat, and once she was seated, he shoved off from shore, leapt in, and along with two other men, plunged oars into the foamy wavelets.
Tears burned in her eyes as the sight of the steamer brought thoughts of another ship to mind. A two-masted pirate ship that had once sat majestically in these waters.
All of Dante’s kindness, his hard work in the vineyard, his protection, his risking his life for them, his goodness to her kids, his compliments and charm, even his supposed encounter with God, all had been a ploy to get in her bed. She could come up with no other explanation. Yet why go to such trouble when he could have any of the many women who haunted the saloons downtown? Perhaps he’d grown bored with wayward women. Perhaps Caroline had presented a challenge for a man who possessed no scruples and needed to pass the time while he earned back his ship. Why else would he leave town the day after they’d consummated their marriage? The tears flowed freely now, and she pounded her fist on her knee. How could she have been so stupid? So utterly and completely gullible. When she knew better! He was a pirate!
And worst of all, she’d allowed her children to become attached to him, had stood by and watched as he broke their hearts and shoved another wedge of bitterness and mistrust into their innocent souls. Some mother she was.
As the ship loomed larger, Caroline quickly dried her eyes. It would do no good to have her children see her agony. Perhaps the excitement of the voyage would help them forget the man who said he’d be their papa. Perhaps it would help her forget the man who’d said he’d never leave her.
She doubted it.
Once their trunks had been hauled below to a cabin, Caroline gathered the children and stood at the railing, watching the other passengers come aboard, along with crates and barrels of goods to be sold down the coast. The fog bank had already begun to roll out to sea, allowing sunlight to christen certain sections of town. Like the mission that now gleamed white on the hill in the distance—a beacon of goodness in a city gone mad with debauchery.
Soon, all was brought aboard, and as passengers and crew milled about the deck, the captain shouted orders to weigh anchor.
Philippe tugged on her skirts. “Mama.”
“Yes, Philippe.” Her gaze remained on town, memorizing the streets and homes, the red tile and adobe of some, the wooden walls of others, the pastureland and cattle, the churches with steeples, and the many vineyards lining the hills.
“Mama!” His voice heightened in excitement.
No doubt a sea lion had surfaced to play among the waves.
Abilene plucked out her thumb—having returned to the bad habit after Dante left—and pointed. “It’s Papa’s ship!”
Caroline snapped her gaze to the sea where the Bounty sped toward them, all sails to the wind. She rubbed her eyes, expecting it to be gone when she opened them again. But the crew had seen it, too.
“Captain, a brig heading our way off the starboard side,” one of them said.
“Blast it all! What could they want?” the captain replied, scope in hand. “I have a schedule to keep.”
Within minutes, the Bounty lowered sails and halted expertly alongside the steamer, some twenty yards away. Dante Vega, looking more like a pirate than he ever had, hailed the ship through a speaking cone and requested an audience. Without awaiting a reply, he ordered a boat lowered, climbed down into it, along with a few of his men, and with white flag raised, began rowing toward them.
“Papa is coming for us!” Abilene squealed with glee.
“Told you he didn’t leave us.” Philippe crossed arms over his chest.
The captain, a young, barrel-chested man approached. “Do you know this man?”
Caroline could hardly find her voice. “He’s my husband,” she mumbled out.
“Your husband? Well, he’s delaying me! What does he want?”
A very good question. As she watched him and two of his crew row toward them, a battalion of emotions raged within her: anger, hope, love.
“This is ludicrous,” the captain said as he marched away. “I must be under way. Raise topsails, Mr. Blaney.”
“Captain.” Caroline swung about. “Please, just a moment more, I beg you.”
Whether it was her pleading tone or the look in her eyes, the gruff man finally relented and belayed his last order. “You have one minute, lady.”
The boat thudded against the hull, and Caroline leaned over the railing to see Dante gazing up at her, his hair flailing around him, and a look of shock on his face. “What are you doing, Caroline?”
“I’m taking the children home to New Orleans. What else would I be doing?”
“Why? What about the vineyard?”
“Where did you go?”
“Hi, Papa!” Abilene waved down at him.
“Hi, pumpkin. Hi, Philippe.” He waved and smiled.
“Where did you go?” Caroline demanded.
“I went to Los Angeles. Did you get my note?”
“What note?”
“I left it on the table with a candlestick on top.”
Caroline shook her head, only then remembering the storm that had come up suddenly the morning Dante had left. Was it possible the paper had blown out the window before she’d closed up the house? “I never saw it.”
Crewman and passengers lined the railing with interest.
Dante raked a hand through his hair. “You must have thought”—his voice trailed off as he shook his head—“and then my ship was gone.”
“What was I to think when the day after”—she hesitated, heat flooding her cheeks—“the day after you promised to stay, you redeem your ship and sail away?”
“I didn’t redeem my ship,” he shouted up. “I sold it.”
“Do you take me for a fool? It is right there!” She pointed behind him.
“I sold it to my first mate on the condition he let me borrow it for a short trip to Los Angeles.”
“You expect me to believe you sold the most precious thing in the world to you?”
“You are the most precious thing in the world to me.”
One lady at the railing sighed with delight.
And though Caroline longed to join her, she couldn’t. Not yet. “Why did you go to Los Angeles?”
His lips flattened. “A surprise.
Please, Caroline, I love you. Come with me. Berilo will take us wherever we want.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I meant what I said that night. I won’t ever leave you. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Ah, go with the poor fellow,” one man beside her said.
A lady passenger brought a handkerchief to her eye.
“Mama.” Abilene jerked on her skirts again. “I want to go with Papa.”
“Lady,” the captain said. “Your minute is up. I must be under way.”
“At least come down here and talk about it,” Dante pleaded.
But if she went down, she’d never get back up. Her heart said to go, but her heart had been wrong more often than not.
“Lady, I beg you, please relieve the man of his suffering,” a man dressed in a posh suit said, looking at his watch.
Before she could stop him, Philippe swung both legs over the railing, grabbed ahold of a dangling rope, and made his way down to Dante’s waiting arms.
“Philippe!” Oh, that boy! “Captain, do you have a rope ladder?”
“Aye.” He snapped his fingers and a crewman grabbed one that was already tied to the bulwarks and tossed it over the railing.
“Abilene, hold on to my neck and don’t let go.” She hoisted the girl in her arms and slowly made her way down. The scratchy rope bit into her palms. The ship rocked. The ladder swayed. Abilene’s harried breathing filled Caroline’s ears as the girl’s grip tightened on her neck. “It’s all right, ma chère.” But it wasn’t all right. Caroline glanced down at the boat bouncing in choppy waters at least ten yards below them. And froze.
“Hold on,” Dante shouted. “I’m coming to get you.”
Hungry water lapped against the hull, reaching for Caroline. She could do this. She didn’t need to be carried like some child. A wavelet struck. The ship careened, groaning, and the ladder slapped the hull. Pain throbbed through her fingers. Her sweaty palms slid on the rope. Her foot slipped, and she knew it was all over. She and Abilene would plunge into the icy water and drown before anyone could save them.
But instead of water, she fell against Dante’s thick chest. He wrapped one arm around her and Abilene and inched down the ladder, his warm breath wafting over her neck. “I’ve got you. Now and forever.”
Later that night as the Bounty rose and plunged through the ebony sea, Dante brought Caroline, Philippe, and Abilene on the foredeck where they could sit and watch the stars.
“There’s so many of them!” Caroline exclaimed with delight as she tossed blankets over the children.
“And they all twinkle!” Abilene added, plopping to the deck.
“Look at that one.” Caroline took a seat beside Dante on a crate and pointed to a particularly bright one in the eastern sky.
Philippe tightened the blanket around his neck. “Is that the star that led the wise man to baby Jesus?”
Dante threw a coat over Caroline’s shoulders. “It must be. It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it?”
“Will it lead us to Him, Mama?” Abilene asked.
“No need,” Dante answered. “He already lives in our hearts, pumpkin. And He will never leave.”
The ship careened over a wave, spraying them with a chilled mist. The children gripped the deck and laughed then settled to gaze back up at the stars.
Caroline’s eyes met his, so full of love and admiration, he gulped down emotion before he made a fool of himself. “You sold your vineyard to redeem my ship.” Dante still could not believe it. “That was all you had.”
“It was to be your Christmas gift.” She gave a lopsided smile and reached for his hand. “But you sold your ship. I can’t believe you sold it. It was so important to you.”
“How else could I provide for my family, save the vineyard, and”—he raised his voice so the children could hear—“buy Christmas gifts?”
“Christmas gifts!” Both squealed and turned around.
Grabbing the sack he’d brought on board, Dante untied the rope, feeling a bit like Santa Claus himself. “What have we here?” He pulled out a porcelain doll dressed in a lustrous silk gown and gave it to Abilene.
For a moment, she merely stared at it, her eyes wide and sparkling like the stars above. Then she took it in her arms and embraced it like it was her own child. “I love it, Papa!”
His heart near bursting, he peered into the sack again. “Now, what is this?” He pulled out a leather whip and handed it to Philippe.
“Wow,” was all Philippe said as he grabbed the whip and began to unravel it. “Thanks! Mama, look at this!”
“But you must keep it coiled on the ship,” Dante said. “I’ll teach you how to use it when we reach land.” Philippe nodded, and Dante gave Caroline a reassuring glance. “It will be okay.”
“Merry Christmas, Papa!” Both children said as they began playing with their gifts.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied.
“There’s something else in your bag.” Caroline’s voice was teasing as she pointed to the sack.
“Is there?” He scratched his head and peeked inside. “I do believe you’re right.” Reaching in, he pulled out a box containing a bonnet, the latest fashion from Paris and quite popular among high society ladies—or so he’d been told by the woman at the millinery.
And apparently—if the look on Caroline’s face was any indication—she’d been right.
“Oh, Dante.” She opened the box and caressed the silk ribbon, seeming about to cry. “I can’t believe you bought this for me. And here I thought you’d abandoned us.” She dabbed the corner of her eye.
Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her eyes to his and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Never.”
Their gazes held for several seconds, several magical seconds, during which Dante thanked God for such a precious woman and vowed to make her happy the rest of his days.
“Where are we going, Papa?” Philippe looked up from fingering his whip.
Dante shrugged. “I thought perhaps Veracruz to see my father. He has a merchant business he’s been begging me to join. That is, Señora Vega, if you’ll come with me?” He brought Caroline’s hand to his lips for a kiss.
“Señor Pirate, I will follow you anywhere.”
About the Authors
Award-winning, New York Times bestselling author, Wanda E. Brunstetter, enjoys writing historical as well as Amish-themed novels. Wanda and her husband, Richard, live in Washington State but take every opportunity to visit Amish settlements throughout the States, where they have many Amish friends. To learn more about Wanda’s books, visit her website at www.wandabrunstetter.com and find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/WandaBrunstetterFans.
Susan Page Davis is the author of more than forty novels in the romance, mystery, suspense, and historical romance genres. A Maine native, she now lives in western Kentucky with her husband, Jim, a retired news editor. They are the parents of six and the grandparents of nine fantastic kids. She is a past winner of the Carol Award, the Will Rogers Medallion for Western Fiction, and the Inspirational Readers’ Choice Award. Susan was named Favorite Author of the Year in the 18th Annual Heartsong Awards. Visit her website at: www.susanpagedavis.com.
Two-time Carol Award winner and bestselling author, Melanie Dobson is the former corporate publicity manager at Focus on the Family and owner of Dobson Media Group. Because of her husband’s work in the film industry, their family has lived in multiple states as well as Germany. Jon and Melanie have adopted two girls and help lead the orphan care ministry at their church in Portland, Oregon.
A former advertising copywriter, Cathy Liggett is a Carol Award winner for Women’s Fiction and also received a nomination for Best Inspirational Novel of the Year from RT’s Reviewer’s Choice Awards. But as much as Cathy enjoys writing women’s fiction, she can’t resist writing romance, too. However, she didn’t have to do any romantic plotting whatsoever at her ten-year high school reunion when she re-met and quickly wed a childhood sweetheart. Married o
ver thirty years now, their two grown children are spread across the country, thankfully in cities that are wonderful to visit. Luckily, too, several years ago, she and her husband rescued a boxer-mix named Chaz. Now they have another creature to spoil and keep their house hopping.
Bestselling author Vickie McDonough grew up wanting to marry a rancher, but instead she married a computer geek who is scared of horses. She now lives out her dreams in her fictional stories about ranchers, cowboys, and lawmen in the West during the 1800s. Vickie is the award-winning author of more than thirty published books and novellas. Vickie is a wife of thirty-eight years, mother of four grown sons and one daughter-in-law, and grandma to a feisty eight-year-old girl. When she’s not writing, Vickie enjoys reading, antiquing, watching movies, and traveling. To learn more about Vickie’s books or to sign up for her newsletter, visit her website: www.vickiemcdonough.com
Olivia Newport’s novels twist through time to find where faith and passions meet. Her husband and two twentysomething children provide welcome distraction from the people stomping through her head on their way into her books. She chases joy in stunning Colorado at the foot of the Rockies, where daylilies grow as tall as she is.
In first grade, Janet Spaeth was asked to write a summary of a story about a family making maple syrup. She wrote all during class, through morning recess, lunch, and afternoon recess, and asked to stay after school. When the teacher pointed out that a summary was supposed to be shorter than the original story, Janet explained that she didn’t feel the readers knew the characters well enough, so she was expanding on what was in the first-grade reader. Thus a writer was born. She lives in the Midwest and loves to travel, but to her, the happiest word in the English language is home.
The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West Page 61
