Angels, Sinners and Madmen

by Cate Masters

  Sam squinted against the morning sun. The only traces of the previous day’s storm were the still-turbid seas and the remains of the Elizabeth Rose. The bilged wreck hung on the reef, its battered shell beyond hope of salvage. The sun rose behind the ship’s silhouette, breaking through fading patches of clouds to reveal the brilliant blue sky beneath.

  Captain Pierce had been rescued by another schooner. He consented to allow Captain Howe to salvage the cargo of pewter dishes and mugs, lumber, and whiskey. As he announced the last, a cheer went up on The Florida.

  The three men designated as The Florida’s deep divers dove one by one into the shattered hold of the sunken ship. One of the designated skin divers, Sam followed Isum into the water, Jasper close on their heels. All recognized Jasper as the wrecker’s best diver.

  Liam stood at the rail. “When you’re ready.”

  Gulping in air, Jasper nodded at Sam and Isum. They stepped off the side of the schooner and plunged beneath the surface.

  Divers from ten other wrecker schooners helped salvage the goods. The lumber they left for last because it would require a more unified effort.

  Several personal trunks had smashed open, so they hauled up miscellaneous jewelry, clothing, and personal effects in sacks. They dove again and again into the waters beneath the ship. After six hours, Sam’s body felt as wrecked as the Elizabeth Rose. The captain called for a halt, recognizing they’d strained their muscles to the breaking point.

  Sam dropped to the floor, exhausted. The motion of Lewis Pinder’s hand slipping a brooch into his pocket caught his eye. Pinder looked about with narrowed eyes. Sam glanced away before Pinder could notice. The man’s slow work habits always irritated Sam. Deliberately slow, so as not to do his own fair share of the work. Today wasn’t the first time Pinder had taken more than his allotted share of the salvage. Pinder the pilferer, Liam called him, though without malice. Sam couldn’t make the same claim to good-natured tolerance. He’d like nothing better than to see the man pay for his crimes. Not all, he suspected, would prove petty. Earlier, Pinder had admired the fine makers’ marks on the pewter ware, raising Sam’s suspicions.

  At the end of the day, the schooner off-loaded its haul to a horse-drawn wagon on the beach.

  Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing a crate toward Liam. “Any word of the girl?”

  Grunting, Liam shoved the crate off the rail. “What girl? We hauled in quite a few.”

  Sam jumped down and lifted the other end. “The first one. Looking for the older woman.”

  Puffing his breaths, Liam set the crate on the wagon. “The captain may know where she’s staying. Why?”

  Sam dragged his sleeve across his brow. “Just curious, is all. Wondered whether the other survived or not.”

  Arching his brow, Liam smiled. “Ye don’t usually take such an interest in the well-being of the passengers.”

  Sam drew himself taller. “My first concern is always for the passengers.”

  “Especially the young, pretty ones.” Liam winked.

  He grinned. “She is, at that.”

  “Ah, another conquest for the great Samuel Langhorne.” He clasped Sam’s shoulder.

  A rush of anger made Sam shrug his friend’s hand away. “No.”

  Liam’s surprise matched Sam’s own. He couldn’t explain the nature of his curiosity. The previous night had passed awash in dreams of her: Sam plunging into the water, finding her there; instead of pushing him away, she enfolded him in her arms. When their lips met, they floated in the churning seas. Sam was smothering in her kiss, yet still, he held tight. He’d awakened with a drowning man’s gasp.

  Lying in the darkness on the rocking schooner only brought vivid images of her, holding to the sides, her body swaying with the sea’s rhythm, echoing Sam’s fervent desire to press his body against hers in that same ebb and flow, hypnotic and intense.

  Sam adjusted the crate on the wagon. “I’m simply curious, I said.”

  Liam stacked another box on the wagon. “All right. Don’t get so testy.”

  “I wouldn’t be if you didn’t make me so.” Hell. Sam hadn’t intended to be so curt.

  Liam’s eyes twinkled as he wiped sweat from his brow. “Are you certain it’s not something else agitating you?”

  “Yes, I’m certain.” Something unfamiliar twisted inside him, something besides shame at exhibiting his bad mood to Liam, who’d always been a steady buoy for Sam in troubled times. Why should he take offense at his teasing? Any other time, it would have rung true.

  This time, Sam wasn’t so sure. Something about the girl tugged at him. Her willfulness in not wanting to be rescued; her stubborn insistence that they find her companion. A beauty that, combined with her youthful innocence, would attract any man. He sensed a depth beneath her surface. Like the sea, she held untold surprises. He had an undeniable urge to throw caution to the winds. Dive deep to unearth her treasures.

  Like his dream, those treasures might prove his undoing.

  “Let’s just get these things to the warehouse, all right?”

  Liam set a hand on his hip. “Why the hurry?”

  “I have a terrible need.” Sam set another crate on the wagon.

  Liam’s eyes widened.

  Sam grinned. “For an ale. And something to eat. I’m starving.”

  Jasper pulled the last crate from the schooner. “I could eat a shark.”

  “A whale,” called Jahner, jumping from the schooner to the beach. The wagon jerked forward, its wheels stuck in the sand. Jasper and Isum set their shoulders to the rear of the wagon, heaving it forth.

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “Aye, an ale it is.” He walked alongside the wagon.

  As Sam fell in step, their talk turned to the value of the goods salvaged and what their shares might total.

  “The tonnage of the lumber will bring up the shares,” Isum said, enthusiasm shining in his face.

  Like the other deep divers, Sam would receive a larger share because of the greater risk he endured. He usually enjoyed speculating on what he would earn. Part of the reason he became a wrecker was to earn as much wealth as he could, only to squander most of it. The practice was almost a ritual, a kind of bleak homage to the life he’d left behind in Philadelphia, to burn away bad memories.

  Walking up the short stretch of sand toward town, the discussion faded to Sam’s ears as the vivid image of the girl returned.

  Yes, an ale would wash away his foolish notions–beneath the water, her long hair making a golden crown, fanning around her head. That sharp gaze and even sharper tongue. Her wet dress clinging to her curves, the most tantalizing sight he’d ever beheld. More surprising was her strong will, her loyalty to her traveling companion. So strong, she willingly had put herself in harm’s way to ensure her friend’s safety–a rare quality. He’d known few other women who would have done the same. None in Philadelphia.

  Laughter broke through his thoughts. They were outside the warehouse. Following the other men, Sam lifted a crate to carry it inside. The wagon soon stood empty, and the crew dispersed. Liam sang an Irish song, the words growing unrecognizable as his brogue thickened, as it always did in songs of home. Sam walked a pace behind, lost in his own head. No girl had so bewitched him, not since Helen had entranced him in her silken web–so soft, yet treacherous. He could not–no, would not–sacrifice his soul for any other woman.

  Sam had arrived at Key West infected by a bitterness against women. He was glad for their small numbers on the island. Here, females were already wives or betrothed to be wives. The transients he rescued sometimes tempted him. He had needs, after all.

  Only twice before had he been moved enough to attempt to get to know them. The first, Maryellen, was a widow en route to Texas. Her nerves proved too frail. Every gust of wind filled her eyes with fear for another storm. Her clinging nature quickly turned his feelings sour. When she sailed away in tears, he prayed the ship would not wreck again to cause an extension of her stay.

  Next, Vi
ctoria crashed into his life. An Englishwoman of indefinite nobility, her fine manners and pale beauty at first made her seem unlikely. The fire in her eyes when she looked at Sam revealed another nature which easily lured him into her arms. Liam had warned him against her, but Sam didn’t listen. He came home to find her in his cabin, tearing the place apart. She denied her treachery, pleading she only wanted him. What she really wanted was his money. The bitterness of the realization soured him for a long time. He had no desire to be in the company of any woman. For whatever reason, he always attracted the kind who wanted not him, but only what he could give them.

  The few Key West women–such as Millie and Annie–who were still single, he found easy to ignore. If the choice existed between Annie and a goat, Sam would choose the goat. Its bleat sounded less annoying than Annie’s cackling laughter or braying voice. While attractive enough, Millie tempted him little because of Liam’s affections for her. Moreso because Millie constantly tested her powers of persuasion over men. She had the same wandering eye Helen had.

  Helen—beautiful Helen. Named for the pious saint, so proclaimed her parents. Sam thought her akin to Helen of Troy—enchanting, enticing. Her magnificent beauty stunned men and women alike. The face that launched a thousand ships. He could not have known, upon proposing, how she would launch his own ship to a new world.

  After he’d won her, the victory tasted sweet. The sweetness ended there. She grew into a yawning cavern of need–always more, more, more. At first, the challenge entranced him. Her methods of convincing him to get what she wanted brought him to thrilling heights. Once she obtained what she wanted, she cooled, until the next sparkling thing caught her eye. Eventually, he saw her methods as too practiced. She’d spent a lifetime honing her womanly wiles to get her own way. No one, he’d later learned, could ever adore her as much as she adored herself.

  The satisfaction he felt in her arms, too, proved short-lived. He could never seem to hold her attention for long. When she cast him an inviting look, he would be drawn to her as though under a spell. While in her embrace, a certain detachment struck him about her. Her movements seemed smooth, timed to perfection, yet left him sensing she’d choreographed them, that he’d been merely a player in her scheme. She might hold him close, but her gaze drifted away, always to another. She would never be satisfied by any man. He almost pitied the poor fool who took her from him. Like the infamous Helen of Troy, she invited destruction to all who surrounded her.

  Yes, squandering his earnings felt like sweet revenge. When he couldn’t spend it fast enough, he shared his money with Liam, who squirreled it away.

  Inside the grogery, Sam stood next to the bar. Winking, Liam set a glass of whiskey in front of him. “This will clear your head.”

  Sam lifted the glass to Liam’s. “Here’s to my mates from The Florida.”

  A cheer went up, followed by the clinking of glasses all around. The men tilted their drinks to their mouths. Sam did the same. He laughed when the others laughed, though he had no idea about what. Try as he might to concentrate on the conversation, Sam grew more lost than ever. He lost count of the ales he downed. The harder he tried to steer his thoughts away from her, the stronger the sensation of being pulled below, to the silence and peace and beauty of the deep, where a girl waited offering open arms and soft lips, whose soothing murmurs were a salve to his aching heart.

  Chapter Four

  In a haze that may have been twilight or dawn, Livvie stood beside Peter at the ship’s rail. All around them, flying fish leaped. The air grew thick with them, and she reached for Peter’s hand. Suddenly, he disappeared behind a curtain of fish. Panic filled her. A cold fin slapped against her head, and the horizon tilted. For a long time, she fell and fell, until strong arms encircled her, guiding her gently upward. Into safety and sunlight. Its warmth penetrated her skin and burned where his chest pressed into her back, his fingers splayed against her ribs. Turning her head, she meant to thank Peter, but instead met the heated gaze of another. “You,” she said, not surprised at all.

  A rooster’s crow startled her. “That’s not the cry of Mother Carey’s chickens.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re not at sea now. You’re home.”

  At another rooster’s crow, Livvie’s eyes flew open. Sunlight flooded through a tall window. For a moment, she lay in the unfamiliar bed, in a room she didn’t know. Not home at all. Somehow, the idea disappointed her. She had no home, after all. Yet his arms made her feel at home. Something she hadn’t thought possible.

  Pushing the bed linens aside, she hastened to the desk, pulled sheets of paper from the drawer and a silver-nibbed pen. Closing her eyes, she summoned the dream, all its glorious moments and unexpected rapture. In this pseudo dream state, she dipped nib into ink and wrote in a feverish rush, though time was of no consequence here.

  * * * *

  Pain pounded through Sam’s head as each thud landed on his door. Outside his cabin, Liam called, “Arise, young Samuel. Let’s be off. We’ve lumber yet to haul. Samuel?” The door shook with the force of Liam’s fist against it.

  Sam’s pillow bit into his cheek, hard as encrusted sand pebbles. His skull threatened to split wide open. “Stop that infernal racket. I’m coming.”

  Releasing a moan, he rolled out of bed. He’d managed to get his shoes off last night, nothing else. A change of shirt was all he needed; today’s sweaty work would be rinsed from his clothes with each dive. His crew mates would smell worse, he bargained.

  He dragged his boots on and opened the door. The sun blinded him. Such brilliance occurred only following a storm, the gales having swept the sky clear of clouds.

  Shielding his eyes, Sam groaned. “Oh hell, why did I drink so much?”

  “Shake it off. Let’s go.” Liam’s gruff voice broke his catatonic stance, his friend already trudging down the street toward the dock.

  To fortify himself, Sam filled his lungs, following in Liam’s wake to the schooner.

  The Florida sailed to the wreck, its crew readying the pulleys. Sam’s muscles ached, though he’d long ago grown used to the strain of working nonstop for days. Unlike the previous day, the topside crew would do the heavy lifting today–literally. Sam, Jasper, and Isum dove carrying grapple hooks and clamps to fasten to the stacks of lumber. As soon as they’d secured the line, one gave a tug so the others could haul it up. The divers swam to the top to catch their breath. By the time the crew retrieved the lumber, they were ready to go down again.

  Sam went through the day by rote, performing his tasks by habit or instinct. Not until late in the day, after the crew had finished hauling up the last of the lumber did his mind fully clear.

  The Florida pointed toward shore, the last of the wreckers to leave the site. Captain Howe went below to his cabin. The day’s heavy labor took its toll on the crew. All looked toward shore wearing bag-lined eyes, bodies slumped as though already in repose.

  Sam stood at the rail not far from the entrance to the lower deck, staring at the horizon. Making sure no one watched, he slipped down the stairs. The captain’s door stood open. Out of respect, Sam knocked on its frame.

  Captain Howe turned from his desk. “Come.”

  Sam stepped into his cabin. The space was modest, for a captain’s dwelling: a bunk attached to the wall, a small table beside the bunk. A desk on the opposite wall, nearly as large as the bunk, held ledgers, maps, and papers.

  Gathering the papers scattered across his desk, the captain placed them inside the lidded bin for safekeeping. “Good work today, Samuel. As always.”

  Sam gave a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to inquire about the passengers, Captain. Might you know which boardinghouses put them up?”

  Captain Howe’s gaze pierced Sam in inquiry. “Oh, the usual. The Dixons took in the couple and their young girl. A few are staying at Mrs. Armbrister’s. The Crowells have two families, an older woman, plus a young girl–pretty, she is. I bel
ieve you brought her up first.” His eyes narrowed at her mention, perhaps divining Sam’s intention.

  Yes. Exactly the information he sought. Sam struggled to maintain his casual demeanor. “The young woman looking for her matronly companion? So they found her.”

  The captain stood. “I believe the crew of the Brilliant found her. Half-dead, she was, but they got her breathing.”

  Some of the day’s tension left Sam’s muscles. If the woman had died, or not been found at all, the girl would never have forgiven him. He shouldn’t assign so much importance to it, except she would.

  Where women were concerned, Sam spoke to no one of his personal business. A girl might talk of him, how he brought her to the beach at night; he never revealed such things to anyone. Except perhaps Liam. Even so, he gave only sparse details. His private life was not for discussion by his mates.

  Sam read the captain’s stance as a sign the meeting had ended. The schooner would land ashore any minute. “Excellent. I’d wondered. The girl insisted so fervently on finding her. So they’re at the Crowells? They’re on Duvall Street, aren’t they?” His tongue moved too fast, faster than his mind could work. He never spoke so much. He certainly avoided nonsense of the ilk that just flowed from his mouth.

  The captain fixed him with a speculative stare. “Yes, I believe so.”

  Sam gave a nod. “Very good.” He stepped to the door to make a hasty exit. No one so much as glanced his way when he eased against the rail as though he’d been there all along. The schooner approached the docks, and the crew lowered the sails. Jahner manipulated the rudder so The Florida glided sideways. Sam jumped onto the dock beside another man to halt the boat, knotting it to its slip for the night.

  The captain’s guarded reaction to his questioning, followed by Liam’s teasing remarks, kept Sam from wandering past the Crowell boarding house after they went ashore.

  Instead, he walked to the grogery alongside Liam. Soon after they arrived, Millie linked her arms around Liam’s neck. Like a noose–tightening around his mate’s purse string. Liam was more than willing to share.