Honor Redeemed

by Christine Johnson

  “Aileen?”

  No answer.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust. Gradually, shapes came into focus, and he could navigate to the staircase leading to the upstairs bedroom. Again, guilt rippled through him. A true husband should join his wife, but he slept on the parlor sofa. Each night he dropped to his knees and prayed, but he could not love her as a husband ought to love his wife. He could not bear to touch her. Not yet. Perhaps after the baby was born.

  Enough moonlight streamed through the open front door to delineate the staircase. He crept upstairs, his weight making each step creak. The door to her bedchamber was slightly ajar. No light shone from within.

  “Aileen?” He rapped lightly.

  No answer.

  Inside this door should be another lamp and matches. He felt around in the dark. Thankfully she hadn’t crowded the washstand the way she’d filled her veranda table. He grasped the lamp and fumbled with the matches but managed to take both from the room. After pulling the door mostly shut to guard against the sudden glare, he struck the match and lit the lamp. Light flared until he adjusted the wick. The oil was low, but the lamp cast enough light to illuminate the dusty hall crowded with piles of unwashed laundry.

  He gently nudged the door open a little more. Her bed was untouched.

  What? He pushed into the room, his heart pounding. Where was she? Had the birth pangs arrived? Had she gone to one of the officers’ wives?

  He stormed downstairs, through the house, across the veranda, and onto the grounds. None of the other parlors was lit. A lone bedroom lamp shone two doors down, but it blinked out before he reached their steps.

  Where was she? He hurried back to his quarters. Perhaps she had fallen and was lying injured inside.

  He plowed through the parlor, lamp swinging wildly from corner to corner until he could be certain she hadn’t fallen—or fallen asleep. The downstairs and upstairs got a thorough search, but his wife was not in the house. Where had she gone?

  His breath caught. What if she’d returned to the grogshop?

  He collapsed onto her unmade bed. How could she throw away a good home and a respectable husband? He had given her everything, even his name. He’d pulled her from the dregs of society and turned her into an officer’s wife. How could she return to such a despicable life, especially while carrying their child?

  No one would do that. He’d jumped to conclusions. There must be another explanation. Perhaps she had sought the midwife over an unusual pang. Perhaps one of the wives had taken her in—but then a light would have shone from the woman’s quarters. Unless Aileen had sought her old friends at the grogshop.

  He raked a hand through his hair. Why would she return to the clutches of sin?

  The next second he knew the answer. He had chastised her. He did not trust her. He had never been a husband to her.

  The lamp sputtered out.

  The missing lamp! She must have taken it with her. Then she truly had gone. As her husband, he must find her and bring her home—willing or unwilling.

  His gut tightened. This would not be pleasant. If he did find her at the grogshop and she had been drinking, she would hurl threats and vulgarities at him. A drunkard or two might even come to her defense. He rubbed his jaw, anticipating the blows sure to come. Maybe his uniform would mean something. Then again, a man deep in his liquor did not respect a constable, least of all an army officer.

  What if she was with a man? That idea made him nauseous. Surely not when she was so heavy with child. Father would say he had married a strumpet and must accept the consequences. Before this debacle, David had spouted on about saving sinners and granting second chances, but talk was hollow. Doing it was much more difficult.

  Structures could be analyzed for weaknesses, but relationships defied analysis. So many flaws riddled this marriage that he could not begin to shore them up.

  Nevertheless, he must rescue his wife from the throat of sin. He inched through the doorway and toward the head of the stairs, feeling his way in the dark.

  Footsteps sounded on the veranda below. The front door opened to laughter. Aileen’s artificial laugh was echoed by one much deeper and definitely masculine. Only moonlight spilled through the doorway. The lamp had either gone out or been left behind.

  “I told ye no one’s here, love,” Aileen purred.

  The man’s slurred and unintelligible murmur sent David’s blood raging. He shot down the staircase. Two forms stood silhouetted in the front doorway. He clenched his hands.

  “Welcome home, wife.” Each word spat out like a musket ball.

  Footsteps followed by a curse told him the drunkard was trying to make his escape.

  David tore across the room, past Aileen, and across the veranda. The man had slipped into the shadows, surprisingly quick considering his inebriated state.

  That left Aileen.

  David spun to face her. The crescent moon revealed her standing with hands braced on her hips, her heavy state masked beneath a cloak.

  “Never again,” he said tersely.

  “Who d’ye think ye be tellin’ me what to do?” Aileen stood tall and unrepentant.

  “I’m your husband.”

  “And I be your wife, fer what it’s worth.”

  “A wife honors her husband.”

  She snorted derisively. “A husband loves his wife. Ye didn’t come home.”

  “That’s no excuse. Captain Dutton sent word.”

  “Aye, sent word, as if that’s any excuse.”

  “It’s no reason to resort to whoring.”

  Her sharp gasp sent guilt knifing through him. He shouldn’t have said that.

  She started to sob. “I’m no good. No good.” Over and over she said it, punctuated by hiccups. “I try and try, but I’m rotten like me da always said.”

  Shame galloped in on the heels of anger. He’d asked too much of a woman berated her entire life and had given her too little. How could he expect her to change in a few short weeks?

  He handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. “Why can’t ye love me? Why can’t anyone love me?”

  He felt as helpless as a boy caught dragging his mother’s clean wash through the mud.

  “It’s ’cause I was born bad,” she choked out. “Me da said red hair’s a sign of the devil, that there weren’t a bit o’ good to be found in a girl baby with red hair.”

  In four and a half weeks of marriage, David had never asked about her past, and she had volunteered little. They lived physically together but emotionally apart. He hadn’t wanted to know her, hadn’t wanted to fall in love with her. He might learn to love her after she repented, but what if she didn’t? Every instinct screamed to wash his hands of her.

  She hiccupped out another sob. “Jes’ throw me out like he did, like the rubbish, that’s what he called me.”

  “Your father was wrong.”

  She drew in a shaky breath and rushed into his arms, still sobbing. He instinctively held her.

  Earlier tonight he thought he’d seen Prosperity, but she was only a dream—a lost dream. Aileen was his reality.

  4

  Never go to bed angry, Mother used to counsel Prosperity, yet she had done just that.

  Removed from the distraction of conversation, her thoughts bounced repeatedly against the news of David’s betrayal. Could it be true? How could it not? The night with its waxing crescent moon gave her no answers.

  Her small room only reinforced what she’d lost, for it opened into a nursery filled with toy ships, wooden blocks, and a rocking horse—none of which the O’Malleys’ little boy could use yet. She fingered the worn baby blanket lying folded on the back of a rocker. She and David had dreamed of children. When David gave her the locket, she had joked that it didn’t have enough places for the many children they would have together.

  His gaze had danced with delight. “As long as they’re girls.”

  She had laughed then, but she could not laugh now. He had married another. Just a few months a
go he had sworn undying devotion. What had happened? What could possibly have changed his mind so quickly?

  Unable to bear the nursery a moment longer, she returned to her simple bedchamber. She had set her Bible on the chair beside the bed, but she could not waste her generous host’s oil simply to seek comfort in its pages. Instead she turned to prayer, but in the noiseless, interminable hours of darkness, nothing could stop the relentless waves of thought pounding against the same shoreline.

  David was married. Life had come undone.

  When first light grayed the horizon and cast the jagged leaves of the palms into silhouette, she rose, stiff from the many sleepless hours of kneeling and pleading with God to make everything right. Surely there was an explanation. David would not act in haste. He had never done so in his life. She would seek him. She would uncover the truth.

  She dressed while the sky blossomed into crimson.

  Red sky in morning: sailor take warning.

  How often she had repeated that saying growing up. So often it had come true. There had been a red dawn the day Pa died.

  With trembling fingers, she buttoned the bodice of her simple mourning gown, fit for a common woman in the lower classes. It did not require a maid to tighten stays or fasten the back. It marked her position in society as clearly as her simple bonnet. No one could mistake her for a woman of fortune. Here in Key West, where many of the tongues flowed with the languid ease of a Southerner, her speech marked her as an outsider. How she longed for something familiar.

  How she longed to hear David.

  She closed her eyes and envisioned him poring over his drawings, the spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. That scholarly concentration and pensive look always stole her breath. He could get so deeply engrossed in his work that the rest of the world melted away. That was the David she cherished. That was the David she’d held in her heart the last two years.

  She placed her Bible into her bag, hefted it from the bed, and slipped quietly from the room.

  David would start for the fort early. She aimed to intercept him when he left the garrison, which Elizabeth told her was located within walking distance of the O’Malley house.

  After leaving her last few coins on the hall table, she moved noiselessly toward the front door.

  “Please keep your money. You are our guest.”

  Prosperity jumped. She whipped around to see Elizabeth in the nursery rocking her son. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “You are a blessing.”

  The gentle words, coupled with Prosperity’s fatigue, melted her resolve into building tears. She retraced her steps and gathered her coins. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome to stay.” Elizabeth did not add “if it doesn’t go well.”

  Prosperity knew what she meant. If David was married, he could not help her. She would need food, lodging, and more than her tired mind could grasp at this moment. Still, she could not leave her bag here. That admitted defeat. She must trust that today’s interview would end well. “Thank you, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  “Would you like company?”

  Prosperity shook her head. Perhaps she would find this had all been a dream. Perhaps God had taken care of everything in a way she could not imagine. Perhaps David was not actually wed. If so, she would forgive him as long as he regretted his actions. That’s what love meant, suffering the bad with the good.

  After a last look at the baby, Prosperity slipped out into the somewhat more tolerable morning air and hurried down the street. Soon houses were replaced by storefronts. The harbor appeared before her. She had ended up where she’d begun yesterday. Somehow she’d made a wrong turn and now had no idea how to get to the army post.

  Nary a breeze ruffled the flag hanging in front of the customhouse. Even at this hour men hurried to work, sails were raised, and shutters flew open. The crunch of wagon wheels bit into the tangy salt air. Prosperity breathed deeply. It wasn’t her Nantucket, but Key West smelled of the sea. She would find her way.

  A distinguished gentleman with graying temples, top hat, and black frock coat walked past with a decisive stride. He nodded at her and continued on.

  She hurried after him. “Pardon me, sir. Might you tell me how to get to the army post?”

  The gentleman paused, and she realized he wasn’t quite as old as she’d first thought. He looked careworn, to be certain, but his pale blue eyes twinkled, and his smile melted the fatigue away. “Staying there, are you?”

  At her puzzled look, he nodded toward her bag.

  “Oh. Meeting someone.” She could not reveal more.

  He accepted that. “You must walk in the opposite direction. Take Whitehead to Fleming and then head east. It will take you to the garrison.”

  Whitehead? Fleming? Prosperity was even more lost. “What street are we on now?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve forgotten a very important step. You appear to be new to the island. If you would not be averse to joining me, I can take you to Fleming Street.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “I would not. Be averse, that is.” The man’s proper speech and manners flustered her.

  Again he chuckled, putting her at ease. “Very well then. I am Dr. Goodenow, but you may call me Clayton.”

  “Clayton.” Somehow that did not feel right on her tongue. “Thank you, Doctor. I am Prosperity Jones. Miss Jones. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important.”

  His smile so reminded her of her father’s that her heart nearly broke. “Miss Jones, you would only be postponing an exceedingly dull meeting with the surgeon at the marine hospital. Since I am heading toward Fleming anyway, your company would be a welcome addition to an otherwise dreary morning.”

  Reassured, she accepted his offer. “But once we reach Fleming, I must go on alone.”

  “Very well, Miss Jones. May I take your bag until then?”

  “You are already carrying your doctor’s bag.”

  He brushed off her concerns. “Never let it be said that Clayton Goodenow allowed a lady to carry her own bag.” He doffed his hat and bowed as if she were someone important.

  “I am not a lady of means. My father was a whaler.”

  “The sea is a noble profession.” He took her bag and began walking. “Is it your father whom you mourn?”

  “No. My mother. She passed in April.”

  “My condolences.”

  Even though he was a physician, she did not care to bring up Ma’s illness. It was over now, but something he’d said earlier had piqued her curiosity. “Do you work at the marine hospital?”

  “I am not on staff, but the physicians on the island do work in concert.” He explained that marine hospitals were instituted to aid ailing seamen far from home. “But then with your father in whaling, you probably knew that.”

  “I have heard of them but never knew that they worked with other doctors in the community.”

  “I can’t speak for everywhere, but on Key West, isolation necessitates cooperation.”

  “Cooperation.” The word warmed her. “A noble idea. Working together, like in church.”

  He peered at her. “A peculiar observation, Miss Jones, but not one I’m willing to dispute at present.” He halted on the street corner and returned her bag. “We have reached Fleming.”

  She looked both directions down the cross street, wondering which way to walk.

  “To your left, Miss Jones.”

  “Thank you.” She swallowed in a vain attempt to settle the tumbling in her abdomen.

  “Good day, Miss Jones.” With a nod, Dr. Goodenow departed in the opposite direction.

  Prosperity drew a deep breath and headed toward the garrison. The street she’d walked with the doctor had looked somewhat familiar. Perhaps she had walked it on the way to the fort yesterday. If so, then she might meet David on his way to work despite the delay caused by going the wrong direction. If not, she would retrace her steps and head toward the fort.

  One way or another, s
he would get her answer.

  “Please don’t leave.” Aileen clung to David as he donned his coat and hat.

  He carefully extracted his arm so he could slip it into the coat. “You know I must.”

  “But we need to be t’gether.”

  “Later.” He had issued that response so many times that it rolled off his tongue automatically.

  “That’s all ye ever say.” She crossed her arms.

  David sighed. Though he could summon nothing nobler than pity for his wife, he had risen early to fetch breakfast for her. She had shoved the hotcakes away without tasting them.

  “I can’t eat,” she’d complained. “Ain’t nobody up this early.”

  Except those who must labor. David didn’t point out that she was the cause of their late night. The shaky truce had taken hours to negotiate. David still wasn’t clear on the terms, but she apparently thought it meant shirking duty.

  Aileen stretched her arms and yawned. “Stay with me, love. One day won’t make no difference.”

  In his exhausted state, David actually entertained the idea before shoving temptation away. “I must fulfill my duty to the United States Army.”

  Her lower lip poked out in the usual pout. “I hate the army.”

  “It pays for your gowns and gives us a place to live.”

  “This?” She waved her arms at their quarters. “Too small an’ too far from town. It’s like a prison the way they make ye say where ye’re goin’ and what yer business be.”

  “Best get used to it. I have six more years to serve here, and there’s no certainty my next post will be any closer to a town.” Before his wife could issue her counterpoint, he stepped onto the veranda and jogged down the steps.

  Aileen trailed behind him but didn’t take her usual position on the veranda’s chaise longue. Instead she followed him across the grounds all the way to the guardhouse. “Ye’ll come back early, then?”

  He turned back long enough to issue a reply. “If my commanding officer allows it.”

  Ordinarily she would pout or complain, but today her expression lifted into a surprisingly pretty smile. “Until then, dear husband.” She waved. “The baby and I anxiously await your return.”