He had reached for her.
How often she had longed for his touch. For months and years, but especially since arriving in Key West. Part of her wanted to believe that every obstacle could be washed away if only he returned to her. Foolishness! He had married the woman who bore his child. Soon he would become a father. He would hold his son or daughter in his arms and kiss his wife. No one could tear them apart.
Except death.
Her wicked heart had leapt at the thought. It had urged her to accept one tiny moment of tenderness with the man she loved. No one would see a simple clasping of hands and think the worst of it. How tempting, but even if no person alive saw that embrace, God would. And not only the action but the tarnished heart from which it sprang.
So she stepped out of reach and climbed the staircase while David’s wife cried out for him. Over and over the woman screamed his name. Each scream pummeled Prosperity. She wanted to run, yet onward she climbed.
The steps creaked beneath her weight. The polished railing slid under her fingers. As she drew closer, the voices of doctor and midwife grew clearer while David’s receded. Their urgency drew her even as fear pulled her back.
Two rooms led off the dark and narrow hallway. The closest door was ajar, and light streamed through the opening. She hesitated.
What if her appearance did not comfort? The woman’s triumphant air in announcing her bond with David suggested deep pride and possessiveness. Prosperity’s hand trembled on the doorknob.
“Daaaaavid,” the woman shrieked, followed by a string of obscenities that made Prosperity recoil.
Childbirth was hard and painful, and she had heard a woman could lose her mind.
The vulgarities ended with sobs and murmured voices.
“You be all right,” the midwife consoled.
The patient—it was easier to use that term than to think of her as David’s wife—answered with more vulgarities. Such a woman would definitely see Prosperity as a rival.
Prosperity could walk away now. Dr. Goodenow did not know her history here. He did not realize what effect her presence might have on a struggling patient. He had able assistance in the midwife. Moreover, he would expect her to remain downstairs until her head cleared. She could claim continued dizziness, but it would be a lie.
Moreover, David waited at the base of the stairs. He would pace the room, anxious for word. If she descended, he would plead for news, for hope. He would reach for her again. His desperate need for consolation must come from anguish. At each scream, he’d flinched.
He loved his wife.
If Prosperity had doubts before, they were answered in that moment.
“Fetch Miss Jones,” Dr. Goodenow barked from inside the room. “I need her help.”
The doctor needed her.
Prosperity pushed open the door. The dim light of a single lantern could not hide the horror of the scene. Bloody linens were heaped on the floor. The midwife looked up, her exhaustion evident. Dr. Goodenow appeared worried. The patient clung to the iron bedstead, pale as snow, with yet more bloodied linens affording a small amount of modesty. Her red hair was matted and snarled. Her swollen abdomen arched with agony as a birth pang ripped through her.
Then she noticed Prosperity. Her lips curved into hatred. “Get. Out.”
Prosperity fled.
David jerked out of his muddled thoughts at the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs. He pivoted away from the windows in time to see his beloved rush out the front door.
“Prosperity!”
He ran after her, his boots clattering on the veranda, but she did not stop. Her black skirts billowed in the breeze, and her bonnet bounced against her back. Then darkness closed around her.
“Prosperity! Stop!”
She could not leave at this hour, alone and unguarded.
He hastened his steps, but she had always been fleet of foot. He could not catch her, not in the dark. No matter how many times he called her name, she did not stop.
Colonel Stormant stepped in front of him and caught his arm. “Let her go, Lieutenant.”
“But she is alone. It’s dark.” His words came out in gasps. “Need to escort her.”
“Your wife needs you.”
Wife. David’s thoughts careened back to the agony inside his quarters. Neither the doctor nor the midwife had followed Prosperity down the stairs. That meant Aileen’s trials were not over. He did not have a child yet.
“But Prosperity—Miss Jones—cannot walk alone at this hour.” David could not stand by and watch her walk into danger. “Ruffians will be out, and there’s no moon to guide her steps. Anything could happen.”
“I will find her. Return to your wife, Lieutenant.”
His wife had doctor and midwife watching over her. Prosperity had no one, and David doubted the commander could catch up to her. “She has a head start.”
“My carriage is at the ready. Do not fear. I will find her. Now return to your wife. That is an order.”
“Yes, sir.” David fought disappointment.
“My wife brought tea and some cakes.” The commander clapped him on the shoulder. “Everything will turn out for the best.”
David managed a weak smile. “Yes, sir.”
He reluctantly returned, pausing in the doorway to confirm that Colonel Stormant had indeed fetched his carriage. Across the parade ground, Prosperity stood in the light of the guardhouse lantern for but a moment before vanishing into the darkness.
A piercing cry from upstairs drew his attention to the struggle inside.
David entered the parlor. Mrs. Stormant paused while pouring a cup of tea. Upstairs, the squalling continued with barely a gasp for air.
The commander’s wife smiled. “At last, praise the Lord.”
“At last?” Realization dawned. “The baby.”
“Yes, you have a son or daughter.”
He dropped to his knees.
Thank You, Lord.
His child had survived the ordeal. Exhausted, he buried his face in his hands, overcome by emotion. A child. Elation soon gave way to the huge sense of responsibility. A new life depended on him. He must feed and clothe and train this child. He must instill honor and integrity in him or her, even though the baby’s mother displayed neither virtue.
Such a difficult road to travel. Nothing like what he had envisioned back on Nantucket Island. Now he must set the sternest example so the babe did not fall into the mother’s ways.
“Lieutenant?”
The midwife’s voice pulled David to his feet. She stood at the top of the stairs holding an impossibly small bundle that must be his child. The physician, dressed again in his black frock coat, descended the stairs, his expression grim. David’s hopes sank.
“Will the baby . . . will Aileen . . . that is, are they all right?” David stammered out.
The doctor did not smile. “It’s too soon to tell. Your wife is resting now, but she has lost a great deal of blood. The baby appears normal, but the labor struggle might have adversely affected him.”
“Him?” Despite the grim news, David caught onto that promise.
“Yes, you have a son.”
His somber expression sent a shiver up David’s spine.
“Good night, Lieutenant. Send for me if problems arise.”
“What problems? Where do I find you?” David must have been introduced to the man, but he didn’t recall the physician’s name, least of all where to find him.
“Forgive me. The night has been long. I am Dr. Clayton Goodenow. My office can be found on Fleming Street. Good night, Lieutenant.”
The physician departed, and David closed the door behind him. A son. He had a son.
“Congratulations.” Mrs. Stormant eased past him. “Send for Evie if you need anything. I will let myself out.”
“Would you like to see him?” The midwife must have descended the staircase while he was bidding the doctor good night, for she stood by his side.
Mrs. Stormant glanced at the b
aby and hurried out the door.
Odd reaction.
He looked down at the little bundle and staggered backward. “Is it . . . is it normal for a baby to be darker than his parents?” He hoped the coffee-colored skin and dark hair were a result of the traumatic birth.
The midwife hesitated.
David pleaded with his eyes. Tell me this isn’t a mistake.
“Sometimes they lose the hair, and it grows in again in its proper color.” She pulled the baby close.
“Then there’s hope. And the skin color? Will it get lighter?”
She looked down at the child. “Sometimes they’re a bit . . . darker at first.”
“But?”
She didn’t answer.
That’s when David knew. He and Aileen were extremely fair-skinned. This baby was not. It couldn’t be his. It had never been his.
He turned away, sick.
Aileen had deceived him.
10
Prosperity stumbled into the darkness, turning this way and that until she was utterly lost.
This night shook the foundations of the life she’d managed to build here. Hard work to help the sick and learning about local medicines had given her purpose. But a few minutes with David exposed just how shaky that new life was.
She could not forget him. Her wicked heart still longed for him, even to the point of wishing his wife dead. Cruel emotions! She must not let them master her.
She clung to a fence. The rough slats dug into her palms.
Get. Out.
His wife was right. Prosperity shouldn’t have been there. She should have left the moment she realized who the patient was. A former fiancée should never appear at the birth of the couple’s child.
Their baby.
Not hers. She choked back the pain.
Why hadn’t she asked Dr. Goodenow for the patient’s name? Why, when she realized it was David’s wife, hadn’t she told the doctor that she could not assist? Instead she let him believe she would help. When he needed her, she ran away. He wouldn’t trust her any longer. He shouldn’t. The faint glimmer of a future died.
Hot tears bunched in her eyes.
“Mama,” she whispered. “Papa. Why did you have to leave me?”
They had been her source of counsel over the years. Even while ill, Ma had passed on her wisdom. Tonight, the rustle of palms, sounding so much like rain, was her only answer. That and the huff of a horse and the crunch of carriage wheels. Its lantern drew near, and she pressed into the shadows of this dark night.
Her heart quickened as the carriage slowed and the door swung open. A man stepped to the ground. What could he want but mischief? Fear pulsed life into her limbs. She picked up her skirts and ran.
“Stop, Miss Jones.”
Dr. Goodenow. Why was he here and not at David’s house? Had David’s wife died? Had the desires of her wicked heart come true? She halted, her limbs trembling.
He drew near. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. The commander and I have been looking for you.”
“Why?”
“My dear, you cannot walk alone in the darkness. This is not Nantucket.”
“That is not what I meant. The patient . . . ?”
“She delivered a son.”
Prosperity drew a shuddering breath. “Then she lives.”
“She survived the birth but is not out of danger.”
Oh, how cursed the heart that wishes ill of another. Prosperity squeezed her eyes shut against that hope. “I will pray for her.” Each word hurt.
“You know her.”
How to answer? “I saw her once.” She could imagine the doctor’s raised eyebrow and the questions that danced in his mind. The woman had demanded she leave, after all. To all appearances, they were well acquainted.
“We ought to go.” The kindly man did not press for an answer.
She would give it anyway, in the hope that saying it aloud would snap the thread that connected her to David.
“She married my fiancé.” Her throat constricted. “My former fiancé.”
He drew in a long breath, made more poignant by the pause. “I am sorry.”
Nothing more could be said.
“Don’t you want to hold the baby?” the midwife asked.
David stared at her. This wasn’t his baby. This wasn’t his son. The memory of Aileen’s lover raced through his mind. Was that man the father, or were there others? His wife knew no boundaries. Did she demand payment or did she give herself away to any man who showed the slightest interest?
His stomach seized violently, and he had to turn away to compose himself. He could not hold this child. Nor could he climb the stairs and face the woman who had stolen his life.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
He yanked open the door. “I must leave.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes.” How could he explain? He didn’t even understand himself. He only knew he couldn’t stay.
“Where are you goin’? When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.” His tone came out too harsh, but he could find no compassion within. Aileen had cost him the love of his life. Aileen had stolen his future to cover up her indiscretions. This baby spelled out that fact for all to see. No one could mistake what she had done, and he could not hide that he’d been deceived.
“But the baby and your wife. They need care.”
David pulled every dollar from his wallet and thrust them at her. “Care for them. Hire a nurse if necessary.”
The woman’s eyes rounded. “Aye, sir.” She snatched the money from his hand. “I’ll take good care o’ your wife and babe.”
Not his baby. That much was certain. But he could not deny that Aileen was his wife. The marriage certificate proved it.
The midwife would not let it go. “But in the morn—”
“Hire someone.”
He stepped across the threshold and into the breezy night. The door slammed shut, whether from his anger or the wind he did not know or care. He flew down the steps, eager to escape these quarters that had become a prison.
Overhead the stars twinkled. The tiny hint of a crescent moon, newly risen, cast little light. He stumbled across the parade ground, numb to all but the pain. Where would he go? What would he do? By morning everyone would know the truth.
“Where are you going, Lieutenant?” the guard asked.
David jerked out of his thoughts. “Where?” He had no idea.
“If you’re going after the lady, the commander and the doctor said they were going to escort her home.”
The lady. David laughed bitterly. What a contrast between the woman who ought to have been his wife and the woman who was. One brought gentleness and honesty. Every virtue detailed by the apostle Paul. The other? The blackest vices known to man. How grievously he’d wounded Prosperity. She would never forgive him. He wouldn’t in her place. Small wonder she had fled. He was the last person she would want to see tonight.
“No, I’m not looking for the lady. I’m going to town.”
He would let a room. Then he remembered that he’d given all his money to the midwife. The taverns and grogshops might give him credit, but that was where he’d run astray in the first place. That left his office. It would not be comfortable, but it was his last retreat.
“You’ll be back later tonight?” the guard asked.
“No.”
David wasn’t sure he would ever return.
The events of the night shook Prosperity so badly that she could not eat the supper Elizabeth had asked Florie to set aside for her. She excused herself due to a headache and slipped into bed. In the darkness she could hide, but it gave her no comfort. Though she was exhausted, sleep stayed away. Hour after hour she tossed this way and that, battling the echoes of this terrible night.
A couple times her eyelids drifted shut, but even those brief respites were pierced by the shouts of David’s wife.
Get. Out.
The words reverberated until
Prosperity pressed the pillow to her ears. Nothing could blot them from her mind. The hatred had spewed at her like a rushing wave, knocking her from solid ground. She flailed and searched for stability, but none could be found.
What had she ever done to this woman? She didn’t even know her name. Prosperity ought to hate her, for this woman had stolen her future. This woman would join David wherever the army sent him. This woman would welcome him home at night. This woman would watch their children play in the yard.
It should have been me.
Over and over. A thousand times the scenes repeated, but no peace would come. Tears dampened her pillow, leaving salt traces on her cheeks. She did not brush them away, too worn to even lift her hand.
She must never see David again.
As the sun sprinkled the trees with the promise of a new day, that resolution gave her strength. She must walk away from her beloved forever. If he sought her, she would turn away. If he spoke, she would ignore him. If he wrote, she would return the letters unopened.
It was the right thing to do. He had a family now. Their lives no longer intertwined.
That resolve gave her the strength to walk unescorted to her job at the hospital. It stiffened her spine when Miss Stern glared at her with lips pressed together. She repeated it with every stroke of the wash paddle in the boiling laundry tub.
“Miss Jones.” At the midday dinner break, Miss Stern approached her. “I wish to speak to you in my office.”
The woman’s grim expression jostled her fragile confidence. Had she done something wrong? Every worker feared a call to the matron’s office. Usually it ended in dismissal, but if that was the case Miss Stern would have asked her there when she’d first arrived. Unless some new accusation had formed during the morning hours.
The walk to the matron’s cramped office was painfully short. After a sleepless night, Prosperity wasn’t sure she could bear up under a verbal thrashing.
Miss Stern did not close the office door behind them, but she did proceed to her small desk surrounded by shelves of supplies and books. Prosperity glanced at the titles. The Nurse’s Guide. The Family Nurse. Perhaps Miss Stern aspired to greater duties than presently possible. Perhaps they shared that small dream.
Honor Redeemed Page 10
