The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  "In one reality, I suppose."

  "Stop saying that!" Morgan ground her teeth together, frustrated, confused, unsure.

  "However"--he raised a finger in the air--"That's in God's hands, isn't it?"

  She drew a deep breath and gazed toward the sea. "Yes. I've learned that everything is in God's hands."

  "So why not trust Him?"

  The words sounded so simple. But the reality of what God was asking her to do shook every foundation she'd ever laid, everything she'd ever known and relied on. In this time, she had family, a home, employment, friends, and--though it wasn't the same world she left--familiar things around her. If she crossed time again, she would be completely and utterly alone. Everything would be stripped from her, everything she could cling to for help and support.

  Everything but Me.

  The voice inside her was strong and sure. But ... how could she do it? It was like leaping over a cliff and expecting someone to catch her.

  She raised her gaze to the old man again. "Can you tell me one thing, Mr. Niles? What happened to America? Do you know?"

  He tapped his cane in the dirt as a salty breeze spun his gray hair. "I do. Though only by the Almighty telling me. He said you'd ask and that I should tell you that your great-granddaughter saved a man named George Washington from being killed. I'm not sure who he is, or was, but I'm guessing someone important."

  Morgan gasped for air.

  He chuckled. "From the look on your face, I'd say you have another reason to go back. Not sure what this nation America was like, but I'm guessing it was a good place."

  "It was," she mumbled, still trying to absorb the fact that her great-granddaughter played such a huge role in the country's beginning. Now, she had to go back. Or at least try.

  But how could she? Oh God, help. It was one thing to be swept back in time without her permission, but quite another to do it on purpose, to jump into that black hole with no idea where she would land or if she'd even make it in one piece. And if the timing was off, Rowan would still be dead and America would still not be born.

  "I don't get why God sent me back to this time in the first place. Maybe He doesn't want Rowan to live. Maybe He doesn't want America to be a nation." But that couldn't be. Could it? She closed her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts.

  Caleb touched her elbow, steadying her. "Maybe God just wants you to trust Him."

  Opening her eyes, Morgan nodded and drew back her shoulders. She had no idea why all this was happening, all this back and forth through time. But she had learned one important truth--God was real, He loved her, and He was intimately involved in her life. Like an adoring Father to an only child, He wanted the best for her, He wanted to teach her and help her grow to maturity, but He also had a plan for her life. And it wasn't always going to be easy.

  But more than anything, He wanted her to trust Him.

  Easy to say. Hard to do.

  Yet, what else could she do?

  "You're right." She smiled at Caleb and moved to give him a hug.

  He embraced her tightly as one would a long-lost relative. "I've waited a long time for that hug." He wiped moisture from his eyes.

  "Pleased to meet you, my dear great-great-great-great ... grandson." She laughed. "Feels weird saying that. Thank you for believing. For doing what Rowan asked. Thank you for bringing this to me." She held out the amulet.

  "My pleasure." He smiled. "You might say my life depended on it."

  Morgan took a step back. She had no need to conjure up tears, they were already streaming down her face.

  "How will I know what day it is when I get there?"

  "You'll end up right here on this spot. Just look for Rowan's grave. If it's here, you're too late."

  I believe this is what You want me to do, Father. I'm trusting You. Heart thumping like a wildcat, Morgan held the amulet beneath her chin and allowed one of her tears to spill onto it.

  An unknown force shoved her to her knees. Bright light forced her eyes closed. Heat swamped her. The crash of waves grew louder. Birds chirped. A gentle breeze brought the scent of salt and earth to her nose. She breathed deeply of it and tried to gather her nerves.

  Now, the moment of truth.

  Trembling shook every bone in her body. She opened her eyes, squinted in the sunlight, squeezed them again, then swung her gaze to the grave.

  It was still there.

  ♥♥♥

  No! No! No! Morgan blinked, rubbed her eyes, and stared at the grave again. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, crumbling into dust, crumbling alongside all her dreams and hopes.

  "Rowan!" she screamed and leaned her head onto the mound of dirt. Freshly turned dirt, not the packed, weed infested dirt that had been there before. She peered up through eyes flooded with tears to see the stone, not aged and worn, but newly carved.

  Yet it said the same thing ... portended the same doom for Morgan.

  God, why, why? She convulsed with sobs as she dropped her face into the dirt again. Now, what am I to do? How would she live? Where would she go? I trusted You.

  But worst of all, she would forever be without Rowan.

  And America would never be.

  "I don't understand, Father." She gasped beneath a sob. "Why send me back if it won't change things?"

  Trust. The word whispered on the ocean breeze, stirring her hair like a lover's caress.

  Still, she sobbed and sobbed, gripping handfuls of dirt, tempted to claw her way to Rowan lying beneath. But that was insane.

  Maybe she was insane, after all.

  Hours passed as she lay on top of Rowan's grave. Her tears finally spent, her body stopped convulsing, her mind drifting into a numbed state in which everything around her seemed but a dream. If only that were true and she could drift away, up into the clouds, up to where God resided and all was happy and safe.

  You still have work to do.

  The voice came from inside her, but it wasn't her. If she had any energy left, she'd laugh. What could she possibly do in this time, in this place, on this tiny island?

  A deserted island. The realization blasted over her. She had no food, no way to get off the island except for the occasional pirate who came to bury treasure or scrape that gunk off his boat--ship, she corrected herself and nearly laughed again.

  Father, if I have work to do, You're going to have to get me off this island. It was more of a statement than a prayer, for she really had no desire to do so. She would be perfectly content to lie here on Rowan's grave until her body shriveled away and set her spirit free.

  A pelican landed in the grass a couple yards away. He flapped his wings and lifted his long pointy beak toward the sky, gulping down a fish.

  She watched him with an odd--almost detached--fascination as he turned to face her, staring at her curiously with tiny marble-like eyes on either side of his small head.

  She didn't want to be stared at. She wanted to be left alone. "Shoo! Get Lost!" she managed to shout at the bird.

  Whistling met her ears. Not a bird's whistle, but a person's. "Penelope!" A man's voice sent Morgan's heart crashing into her ribs. Pushing off the ground, she struggled to rise, squinting into the sun now hanging low in the sky. The fort was no longer there, of course. What was there was a man in sailor's clothing walking her way. Pirate.

  She turned to run. The stupid pelican flew after her, flapping its wings like some deranged bat before landing in her path.

  "Get out of my way!" Morgan wove around the annoying bird.

  "Miss! Miss! Are ye all right? Don't be sceered. I won't be hurtin' ye none."

  The pelican leapt in her path again just as the man touched her arm. "Are ye all right?" he asked again, his eyes widening when he saw her jeans and t-shirt.

  Small ribbons of gray etched through the man's long dark hair that was tied behind him. Short, but built like a sailor, his eyes crinkled in kindness.

  "Yes. I'm fine."

  "Are ye lost, Miss? Scads what are ye doin' out here all alone?
" Dragging off his hat, he turned to the bird. "Penelope, back to the ship, ye flap-eared dolt!"

  Only then did Morgan see the tips of two masts over the bluff. She glanced back at the bird, who waddled off like a chastised child. "You have a pet pelican?"

  He scratched his bristly chin and chuckled. "Odd ain't it? She sort o' took to me an' me wife when we anchored at Bridgetown. Can't get rid o' her. The bird, not me wife, I mean." He laughed at his own joke. "She stays wit' the ship and helps catch fish fer the crew. Proof positive God has a sense of humor, says I."

  His mention of God helped settle Morgan's nerves. "Then you're not a pirate?"

  At this, he slapped his floppy hat over his pants and leaned over chuckling. "Nay, nay, Miss. Jist merchants. Me and me wife, an' our meager crew, o' course. Naw, nothin' to fear from us."

  He shook his head and gazed back toward his ship. "Oddest thing, though. We had plenty o' water on board fer our trip, but when I sent ole Baker down to git a barrel, it had all leaked out. Ne'er saw the likes o' it. So, we were forced to stop here to get more." He scratched his head again and looked at her with suspicion. "Odds fish, an' here ye be."

  And here she was, just having prayed--well, sort of prayed--for God to get her off the island.

  "God works in mysterious ways, don't He?" the man added.

  She would agree if she weren't so angry with Him at the moment.

  "I don't suppose you could give me a ride to Kingston?"

  Chapter 32

  As it turned out, the merchant, whose name was Eli Wane, was on his way to Kingston. Coincidence or God? Eli said it was all God. Morgan had to agree. Who else could orchestrate events with such precision? What she didn't understand was why God hadn't used that precision to bring her back to the same time she'd left, for from the looks of the grave, she'd only missed Rowan by a month at most.

  Just a month! What was that to God?

  Still, she felt His presence and knew He was watching out for her. Knew He must have a plan. Even though her heart felt as though it had sunk to the bottom of the sea.

  Though Morgan was tentative at first about boarding the merchant ship, Eli's wife Alice made her feel right at home. She placed her in a cozy cabin away from the crew, gave her a gown and underthings to wear, and spent hours talking to her, constantly exclaiming how lovely it was to have another woman on board.

  Good grief, the woman could talk! But Morgan didn't mind. It kept her thoughts from both her grief over Rowan and her dire predicament. And it enabled her to avoid any prying questions to which she had no answer, or ones which her answers would label her crazy.

  They fed her well, and other than conversing with Alice and spending restless nights teetering in a hammock, Morgan most enjoyed her strolls above deck where the stiff breeze galloped through her skirts and the sky spread an azure bowl over a sea glittering like sapphires. The sounds of water sloshing and planks creaking and sailors shouting brought her a sense of comfort, made her feel closer to Rowan, even though she knew she'd never hear his voice again or see him marching across the deck in that confident strut of his.

  At times--well, many times--tears would fill her eyes, but the wind dried them quickly, keeping her agony a secret. Yet, even in the midst of an unknown future, Morgan found solace in recounting the many miracles God had performed in her life. It gave her hope that He still had more to come. She came to realize why He'd sent her back to her own time. It was a test. A test of her faith. Did she really trust Him? Was she really willing to give up all control and fling herself into His arms? She had. And now the rest was up to Him. He had a plan for her back in this time. And if it wasn't to marry Rowan, then it was something equally important. Maybe she was supposed to become the famous pirate painter LM, after all. The thought brought a smile to her lips and courage to her heart.

  However, when they arrived at Kingston a week later, that courage seemed to drop to the depths along with the merchant ship's anchor. After saying goodbye and thanking the Wanes profusely for their kindness, she clutched her skirts, took a deep breath, and started down the sandy street of a town that appeared to be made up of nothing but tent-like structures, horses, wild pigs and chickens, and several disreputable-looking men wearing knifes, swords, and pistols.

  She swallowed hard as some of those men's eyes honed in on her like sharks to a minnow. Only a few women strolled the streets, mostly blacks, some who looked like Indians, and just one or two white women on the arms of gentlemen.

  Which is what she needed--one gentleman's arm in particular, or a particular pirate's strong arm would do. But that would never happen again. Women traveling alone were considered loose in this time, so she did her best to keep her head down and not appear wanton in any way.

  Bells rang, horses neighed, and somewhere a fiddle played a sad tune. Across the bay a dozen or so tall ships floated at rest, their masts bare, their crews on shore for drink and women, while boats scurried back and forth from the closer ones, carrying goods. She searched for the Redemption or the Ransom or, even better, the Reckoning, but couldn't tell one from another.

  Stepping over a pile of horse droppings, she headed toward one of few buildings in town, hoping to find a kind face, someone to ask about Charlisse and Merrick. The kind face belonged to Mable, the madam at a brothel, whose face lit up at the mention of Merrick.

  "They set sail months ago. Ain't seen 'em since."

  "What about Captain Dutton's ship, The Reckoning?"

  The lady's painted face scrunched. "His anchorage weren't ever here, so I never met him. Heard he got killed, though."

  Morgan swallowed a burst of sorrow. "I don't suppose you know the Pirate Earl and his wife?"

  "Aye, thems I know. They're buildin' a home jist down the street a ways, through the jungle a bit, on a hill overlookin' the sea."

  Morgan blinked and stared at the woman, too shocked at the good news to believe what she heard. But the words finally settled in what was left of her rational mind. Grabbing her skirts, she sped off in the direction the woman pointed, yelling "Thank you, thank you!" over her shoulder.

  "If ye ever need a job, Miss, you come back and talk to ol' Mable."

  Leaving the town behind, Morgan slowed as the street narrowed and ascended up a hill. A wagon passed, loaded with what looked like sugar cane, and the driver tipped his hat at her and continued onward. Just when she thought she'd gotten lost and was about to turn around, a wooden gate carved out a section of the jungle to her right. Over the top stretched an iron rod bearing a sign that said Paradise Gained.

  Yup. That sounded like them. Unlatching the gate, Morgan slipped inside and started down a wide dirt path that soon opened to a field of grass dancing in the ocean breeze.

  In the distance, a small brick house with a wide wooden front porch stood before the foundation of a much larger house set on a cliff overlooking the sea. Palms and flowering cassia trees offered shade to the structures and beauty to the scene, along with clusters of wild orchids, hibiscus, and begonias.

  The mighty Caribbean stretched to the horizon in ribbons of glittering jewels in the noonday sun. Morgan stopped for a minute to take in the beauty, excitement spinning through her at her upcoming reunion with Juliana and Alex.

  Movement tugged her gaze to the right where a man stood near the edge of the cliff, gazing out to sea.

  Must be Alex. She started toward him, but the closer she came, the less the man looked like the infamous Pirate Earl. And the more he looked like ...

  Heart leaping into her throat, she stopped and stared ... blinked, rubbed her eyes, and stared some more. The man's light brown hair, streaked in gold, blew unfettered behind him. Tight black pants were tucked inside knee-high boots. His white shirt fluttered in the wind beneath a very familiar vest fringed in silver, while a gold earring gleamed from his right ear. But it was the way he was standing ... the particular stiff line of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his hips, the way he crossed arms over his chest and stared off into the distance as if he b
ore the weight of a thousand agonizing hearts.

  Morgan inched closer ... and closer ... and closer ... her mind not believing what her eyes confirmed with each step.

  He heard her then. Glanced over his shoulder ... eyes locked on hers ... brows bent together. He stared, turned around. Stared some more. A black cat nestled in his arms. He took a step. The misery shadowing his features slowly lifted.

  Rowan!

  Morgan didn't know how. Didn't know why.

  And didn't care.

  She ran to him.

  Setting down the cat, he engulfed her in his arms, picked her up and swung her around, laughing, crying, and laughing again, his voice breaking in sobbing ecstasy.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and showered his cheek with kisses. "Rowan, Rowan, I love you so much, Rowan!"

  Setting her down, he stared at her, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with disbelief. "Morgan. You're here!"

  She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  He cupped her face and studied every inch of her. "Oh, God. Thank you!" He drew her close. "I thought I'd lost you forever."

  Morgan leaned her head on his chest and drew in a deep breath of him, savoring his strength that surrounded her like a shield, protecting her from every bad thing, every tragedy, every heartache.

  She was home.

  "Hey, you're supposed to be dead! I just came from your grave." She pushed from him and playfully slapped his arm. "You went for Brasiliano's treasure! Even after you promised me!"

  He gave her that delicious, mischievous grin of his. "Nay, Lady Minx. That was Abbot." He took her hands and glanced down as if trying to contain his emotions. "After you disappeared ..." He hesitated. "After I lost you, I couldn't do anything, couldn't breathe, couldn't move. 'Twas Nick who brought me back to the ship. Abbot defied my orders and went after the treasure himself, he and three of my crew. Bloodmoon killed him in a sword fight, and Nick thought--"

  "It would be a good idea to say it was you buried on the island." Morgan finished as the realization struck her.

  "Since my pirating days were over, 'twas best my enemies thought me dead."