All of Mrs. Durning’s admonitions came back in a rush. In her haste, Catherine had not taken into account the propriety of traveling without proper escort. “Perhaps there is another lady requiring passage to New Orleans.” Elizabeth had considered ladies of her acquaintance. Yet no ship to date had offered more than one berth.
He stood tall. “I would be honored to see you safely there.”
His offer sent a flood of warmth through her, followed at once by all sorts of objections. He was a bachelor of marriageable age. She found him more than a little attractive. Though she trusted his ability to protect her, he could not serve this function.
“I thank you, but you must realize how improper it would look to travel with an unmarried man.” She couldn’t bring herself to state the obvious limitations when each ship offered just one berth.
The red blotches grew more pronounced. “I intend to purchase separate passage.”
It was her turn to flush. “Of course, but there is only one berth on the Baltimore.”
“True, but I spoke to the mate about hiring on as deckhand.”
“Deckhand? But you’re a captain.” Her embarrassment turned to awe. “You would do that for me?” To step away from his job and take on that of a menial deckhand was unthinkable. He must be giving up a fortune, not only in the difference of wages but also in the spoils from salvaging the wreck. “Forgive me, but I can’t accept. Go with Captain O’Malley.”
He took her hand, and a pleasurable warmth radiated up her arm. “I will hurry back.”
His eyes begged for confirmation that she would wait, but she could not promise.
Once Tom left, and with him the flush of excitement, Catherine wondered why he was so determined to escort her. They barely knew each other. Propriety mattered to friends and acquaintances who might be impacted by another’s rash actions, but not to comparative strangers. Tom Worthington had been willing to abandon Captain O’Malley and a fortune in salvage just to escort her to New Orleans. It made no sense.
She could never allow him to leave behind his livelihood for her sake, just as she could not have let the tenants go without assistance. As near as she could tell, he had no relations on the island.
Elizabeth confirmed it Sunday evening, after her husband and Tom set sail for the wreck. “He is from the Boston area. Nantucket Island, though he seldom talks about it. His father passed some time ago.”
“Then we share that in common.”
Elizabeth looked up from her needlework. “I am sorry for your loss. Though my mother passed on six years ago, her memory still weighs on me.”
“Maman still lingers in my thoughts,” Catherine admitted, “though she has been gone eleven years now.”
“You have no sisters or brothers?”
Catherine shook her head. “Maman died after a stillbirth. The baby would have been my brother.”
“Your father must have been devastated.”
Catherine thought back to those times. “He kept to himself much of the time, at least at first, but he was always close to me.”
“You loved him dearly.”
“I loved them both. I hope to recapture that with Maman’s family.”
Elizabeth’s eyes glistened. “It will never be quite the same. No one can match the love of a mother and father.”
“But at least they are family. I had hoped to reach the plantation by the middle of this month.”
“You must find passage, regardless of Tom’s wishes. I will make further inquiries to see if anyone in my acquaintance is traveling to New Orleans soon.”
“Thank you.”
Though Catherine knew in her mind that she must go, her heart ached at the thought of leaving Tom. She’d fought the attraction, but imminent parting only intensified it. From the first time they met, he had stood by her, always ready to assist in whatever way she needed. She relied on him. She trusted him. She had not trusted another man since Papa.
She sighed. “Tom is a good man.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, he is. Loyal and trustworthy.”
“Good virtues.”
“Splendid ones in a prospective suitor.”
“Suitor?” Catherine felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I cannot contemplate marriage.” Yet hadn’t she already judged him superior to Mr. Lightwater and Mr. Kirby in every respect? “I must first rejoin family. Then perhaps my thoughts can turn in that direction.” The thought of family had once been dear but now crushed her spirits like a black storm cloud, for Tom would not be there.
“I understand.” Elizabeth pulled scarlet thread through the fabric. “You must realize that even if Tom escorts you to your family, he wouldn’t stay. He’s not a planter. He has the sea in his blood. I’m married to such a man. Nothing can keep them from the water.”
Deep inside, Catherine knew that. She must regain her life at Chêne Noir, though Tom could never bear to live there. Best to cut the ties between them now, before they got too strong. She must leave while he was busy salvaging the wreck, thus avoiding the heartache of parting.
How she had wept as the carriage carried her away from Deerford. She’d looked back as long as she could, trying to imprint every feature of the house and grounds in her memory. Though this parting wouldn’t be that severe, her heart had borne too much sorrow already. She must leave now.
“I will speak with the shipping agents in the morning.” She caught Elizabeth’s gaze. “Do ask if anyone you know will be going in that direction.”
“Send down the hook,” yelled an exasperated Jules from the water below.
Tom yanked his attention back to the task at hand and lowered the line with the hook secured to the end.
Upon arrival, he’d transferred to the James Patrick. There he’d seen firsthand how battered the wrecked Isaac Allerton was from its encounter with the reef. The crew had cut away the broken masts and managed to get it off the reef, only to have it sink in five fathoms of water. Only the strongest divers could manage that depth for any length of time. Jules was one of them. The scrawny lad swam like a porpoise.
“Pull!” yelled another diver who’d just surfaced.
The crew on Alderslade’s vessel, anchored on the other side of the Isaac Allerton, heaved on the line the diver had just secured to the wreck. Minutes later, a plank popped to the surface, and a cheer went up among the gathered fleet, as it had each time the maneuver succeeded in the past eight days. The moment the plank emerged, divers plummeted downward, eager to secure one of the now-freed crates for their vessels.
Jules was the first to reappear. “Heave!”
Tom joined the rest of the men on the James Patrick’s deck. The weight on this one meant Jules had secured the hook to cargo, not another plank. Soon they’d have spoils to fill their holds. Since the James Patrick had the smallest holds in the O’Malley fleet, it would head back to port first.
Tom would see Catherine soon. If she hadn’t left. That thought knotted his innards every time. Even if she survived the passage unscathed, what would happen to her once she arrived? Could she get to the family plantation? Who would meet her? No one would know she’d been delayed in Key West.
“Harder!” Rander yelled.
Tom snapped back to the present.
The line wasn’t budging.
“It’s hung up,” Jules yelled from just inside the bulwark, where he was dripping seawater all over the deck. “Hold fast and I’ll get it.”
“No!” Tom let go of the line and raced to stop Jules from attempting the dangerous dive. If the cable snapped and the heavy crate fell or shifted, Jules could be crushed or pinned. “Stop!”
But the lad dived into the sea.
Tom looked back at Rander, who understood the danger. The man had gone pale. Tom gnawed on his lip. Times like these made him question the risks they took. He’d once been as brash as Jules. Then he’d seen a diver trapped inside a hulk. Dead before anyone could get him out. Wrecking could pay handsomely, but it came at a high cost. No wonder men like Rour
ke now commanded ships and ran mercantiles rather than risk the dangerous dives. Wives could end up widows. Like Ma.
Tom’s insides knotted even tighter. Pa hadn’t taken unnecessary risks. He’d accepted a well-paying passenger on board. Mornez. Pa hadn’t questioned the man’s story. If he had, he might have discovered everything Mornez said was a lie. Instead of profit, the thief had taken Pa’s ship and livelihood.
Tom eyed the line, still holding taut, and then peered at the ocean. The murky green water had gotten stirred up again by strong winds from the southwest. He scanned the entire area. Jules should have surfaced by now.
“See anything?” Rander called out.
Tom shook his head. “I’m going in after him.”
He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his coat and shirt, but before he could climb onto the gunwale, a sharp thwang sounded. The men cried out. Tom turned to look back, and the severed line struck his temple.
The blow took him off his feet. He toppled over the rail and plummeted into the sea below.
7
Catherine’s days had settled into a routine. In the mornings, she inquired of the shipping agents about passage to New Orleans, thus far without success. In the afternoons, she watched the children so Elizabeth could make calls or host her teas attended by a smattering of ladies and gentlemen, none of whom would be considered high society in England but all of whom held some regard in Key West. Catherine found the older women dull, Mrs. Cunningham insufferably arrogant, and Dr. Goodenow pleasantly interesting, but her favorite by far was Mrs. Prosperity Latham, who radiated generosity, peace, and goodwill.
On the second Monday after Tom’s departure, Mrs. Latham wandered into the nursery. “I can watch the children if you would like to take tea.”
Catherine rose from the little table where she was attempting to interest the children in drawing so they wouldn’t wake the baby. “Thank you, but I would rather stay here.”
“Me too.” After checking on her sleeping daughter, Mrs. Latham bent to kiss her two toddlers. She whispered encouragement over their artistic efforts, then addressed Elizabeth’s son. “Good afternoon, Jamie. What are you drawing?”
“Papa’s ship.”
“So it is. And you’ve drawn a lovely flower, Miss Sarah.”
Elizabeth’s daughter beamed up at her.
Catherine could not imagine how Mrs. Latham spotted a ship and a flower from the scribblings. “A flower?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Latham outlined the figure with her finger, drawing a squeal of delight from Sarah. She then smiled softly at Catherine. “I am highly skilled in deciphering sketches.”
Catherine sighed. “I suppose it comes with practice.”
“That it does.”
The baby fussed from the cradle.
Mrs. Latham wandered to the rocking chair. “Do you mind if I sit with my little one?”
“Not at all.”
The woman gathered her baby from the cradle and then sat down to rock her. After a little fussing, Constance drifted off to sleep. “It has been a long day, but you don’t want to hear about me. I understand you’re from England.”
“Staffordshire.”
“This must be a tremendous change of climate. It was for me. I came from Nantucket, far north of here, near Boston.”
“Nantucket?” Catherine had heard that before. “The same place as Tom Worthington?”
“Indeed, though we did not know each other. I only know of him through Elizabeth. She holds him in high regard.”
That was good to hear. Catherine hadn’t been certain after her last discussion with Elizabeth. “He is quite solicitous.”
Mrs. Latham chuckled. “Elizabeth believes he is taken with you.”
That explained his insistence that he escort her to Louisiana. Pleasure curved her lips before she recalled that a relationship between them could never be as long as he was wedded to the sea. Her future was at Maman’s family plantation. There she would have family. But the thought wasn’t as comforting as it used to be.
A commotion from the front of the house put an end to her thoughts. Catherine hurried to the hallway to see what was happening.
Captain O’Malley stood at the door while the doctor donned his frock coat and top hat.
“What is it?” Catherine asked when Elizabeth came down the hall toward her.
“It’s Tom. He’s been injured.”
“How? When?”
But Elizabeth had hurried back to join her husband.
Everyone shouted over each other, asking questions. The doctor and the O’Malleys were too intent on what must be done to answer.
“Bring Tom here,” Elizabeth insisted. “He can’t recover in a boardinghouse. Who would look after him?”
Her husband added, “I’ve sent Jules to fetch the wagon from the mercantile. We can use that to bring him here.”
Catherine’s heart pounded. If a wagon was required, then Tom was gravely injured.
“I’m going with you to the ship,” the doctor added as he and Captain O’Malley hurried out the door. “Maybe there’s something I can do to treat the wound before we move him.”
Catherine started out the door after them, but Elizabeth held her back.
“We have much work to do.” Elizabeth turned to her guests, who crowded, wide-eyed, in the parlor entrance. “I’m afraid we must end our tea early.”
“Of course,” murmured one of the older ladies. She and her friend fetched their bags and parasols and quickly bid farewell.
Mrs. Cunningham sniffed. “Such things are to be expected in dangerous occupations. Stewart insists the days of wrecking will come to an end once all the lights are installed on the reef. Then we won’t lose so many men.”
Catherine reeled. “How many men die from wrecking?”
“Several a year,” Mrs. Cunningham reported with what sounded like glee. “Stewart says with all the wreckers working this shipwreck, there are bound to be fatalities.”
Catherine could not breathe. Her heart beat wildly, and she had to lean against the wall for support. She felt a comforting hand on her arm. Prosperity Latham squeezed gently.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cunningham,” Mrs. Latham said. “It was a delight to see you again. Don’t forget your parasol.”
She held out the object, and Mrs. Cunningham took it with another sniff.
“I gather that lieutenant of yours is still working on the fort?” the insufferable woman asked.
Prosperity Latham answered in the affirmative as Elizabeth led Mrs. Cunningham onto the veranda and down the steps to the street.
“At last.” Catherine sighed. “I couldn’t bear another moment in that woman’s company.”
Mrs. Latham laughed. “You knew no one like that in England?”
“Yes,” she had to admit, “but not any who insisted on lingering during a crisis.”
“I’m afraid that some people are drawn to tragedy, perhaps thinking they can help.”
Mrs. Latham was being too kind. Mrs. Cunningham would not have lifted a finger to help. She wanted to appease her curiosity so she could tell all her acquaintances what had happened.
Elizabeth climbed the stairs to the veranda. “Prosperity, I’m glad you’re still here. We need to prepare a bed on the sleeping porch.”
On hot, still nights, the family slept on the back porch. Since Catherine’s room was well shaded, she stayed there. She could not imagine sleeping out of doors would be good for someone injured.
“I will sleep on the porch. Tom can have the room I’m occupying.” After all, it had been partly her fault that he’d been injured in the first place. If she had accepted his offer to travel with her on the Baltimore, he would not have gone out wrecking.
“That’s very generous,” Mrs. Latham said.
Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “We must strip the bed and remake it. Florie!”
The maid popped out of the nursery. Catherine expected Elizabeth to instruct her to make the bed, but instead she asked t
he maid to stay with the children.
“Catherine, you will need to pack anything you might need over the coming week or so into a trunk. We will have the men move your trunk to our bedroom. With Rourke at sea most days and off to the mercantile the others, you can dress there.” Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Latham. “We will make up the bed on the sleeping porch while Catherine strips the one in her room.”
The two women hurried off to the back porch while Catherine moved to her room. She must strip the bed? And likely remake it. She had never made a bed in her life. The housekeeper or maid had always taken care of that.
As she stuffed her nightgown and other personal items into her main trunk, she attempted to come to terms with the fact that she was far out of her element. What if Chêne Noir was like the O’Malley household? What if she must take care of the house herself? Maman had led her to believe there were many servants, but that was more than twenty years ago. Much might have changed. This new life might be nothing like Deerford.
Perhaps this whole voyage had been a mistake.
Tom couldn’t see straight, and his head ached worse than anything.
“Lift him carefully,” said Dr. Goodenow, who’d examined him and wrapped a cloth around his head. “No jostling.”
“I can walk.” Tom pushed to his feet, but his legs wobbled and gave way.
Strong hands caught him before he fell back onto the James Patrick’s deckhouse, where he’d sat since the crew had hauled him out of the water back at the wreck site.
“Not so fast,” Rourke said.
It frustrated Tom that the captain had been forced to leave the wreck site due to Tom’s inattention. If he hadn’t been watching the surface of the water instead of the line, it wouldn’t have hit him. If he’d dived sooner, the snapped line would have missed him. Instead, according to Rander, the end with the swivel clunked him in the temple and sent him over the side.
“Rander, you take one side and I’ll take the other,” Rourke instructed. “All right, Tom, we’re going to walk you to the gangway and onto the wharf. Jules has a wagon waiting there.”
“I don’t need all this fuss,” Tom groused. “In a few hours, my head will clear.”
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