Honor Redeemed

by Christine Johnson

  They couldn’t go back. She must move forward. Though she did not love the doctor, they shared much in common, and he treated her with great kindness. He would make a fine husband if only he believed in God.

  While Dr. Goodenow escorted her to work, she tried to force David from her mind by recalling the other unexpected event in this new day. “Mrs. Evanston’s arrival this morning was quite a surprise.”

  He appeared pleased she’d brought up the subject. “I hope you will forgive this old man for indulging my whims by commissioning the gown. Our dear friend Elizabeth tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted on thanking you in a tangible way.”

  “Thanking me for what?”

  “For assisting with Mrs. Latham, of course.”

  The mention of David’s late wife only brought back painful memories. “I did very little.”

  “You did as requested and likely saved that child’s life with your quick thinking.”

  “Oliver.” At last David was calling his son by name, but now Dr. Goodenow was not.

  “What about him?”

  “The baby’s name is Oliver.”

  “Yes, of course. As I said, your assistance was vital.”

  The compliment did not sit well. “The midwife or one of the officers’ wives would have done the same.”

  “But they did not.” He patted her hand. “You were there through the most trying circumstances.”

  She couldn’t accept that the small amount of assistance she’d offered was worthy of anything but a word of thanks. “Nevertheless, your gift is too dear.”

  “That’s what Elizabeth told me you would say.” He sighed. “Please indulge me. I have not had the pleasure of bringing joy to a woman since my wife’s passing. Twelve years. It’s been a long time.”

  Though he’d meant to ease her misgivings, he’d only increased them. She didn’t care to be the object of a man’s attention. Nor could she reciprocate his joy. She felt nothing but the comfort of friendship. He was a good man. She could not let him think her feelings matched his.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor.” The beginning was simple enough, but the next words stuck in her throat.

  “No apologies, please. You are dear to me, Prosperity, dearer than anyone I have met in many years.”

  He was making this even more difficult.

  She struggled against rising panic. “I cannot love you.” She looked away. They had arrived at the hospital gate. It would be so easy to slip through the fence and escape, but that would not be fair. “I’m sorry.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled.

  She stared, perplexed. “You aren’t upset?”

  “I know you are not ready to love, but I cannot hide my affection. You have suffered much loss in the past months. I simply want you to know that you may lean upon me. You can trust me.” He tipped up her chin so she looked into his eyes. “I will not hurt you. I promise.”

  She wanted to believe him. “But I cannot return your love.”

  “Not now, but I am a patient man. I will wait in the hope that our friendship will one day grow into something stronger.”

  She still could not get rid of the feeling that she was somehow betraying David, which was utter nonsense considering he had abandoned her. “The gown. The soiree.”

  He touched a finger to her lips to still the protest. “For your enlightenment and comfort, my dear. Nothing more.”

  His gaze was sincere. She should believe him. After all, his words echoed what she’d hoped deep inside.

  “Thank you.” Her gratitude was whispered, but she echoed it with a quick embrace, that of two friends parting. “I must hurry to work or I shall be late.”

  He smiled, and the lines of his face highlighted his joy. “Until this evening then.” He clasped her hands in a final farewell.

  “Until then.” She pulled away.

  “Miss Jones!” a man scolded.

  The severe tone sent a shiver down her spine. Worse by far than Dr. MacNees. She knew and feared that voice from Nantucket, but he could not be here. It was impossible. David’s father never traveled farther than Boston. Yet it was his voice, and he knew her name. Slowly she turned around.

  “Miss Jones.” Reverend Myles Latham, dressed as always in black, scowled at her. “What are you doing with this man?”

  Since David could not do anything to change Prosperity’s mind until evening, he turned his attention to the problem of the missing supplies. Spotting the mark on the spikes this morning had given him an opportunity to discover who was behind the thefts.

  He spoke to the dock workers, who sent him to the foreman, who pointed him toward the warehouse owner, who insisted the spikes had been purchased from a legitimate source. A ship that left port yesterday, the Joseph M, had salvaged the spikes from a schooner that sank a year back. Though David insisted that was impossible, the owner stood by his story. David could learn nothing more until the Joseph M returned to port. Since she was a wrecking vessel, that could take some time.

  Lacking evidence, he must formulate another plan, one that would trap the thief in the act. He’d thought his previous plan foolproof, but this man was more clever than he’d estimated. The thief had avoided suspicion by stealing such a small number that no one noticed. The spikes could have been strapped to a leg or hidden beneath a coat. He eyed the work crews, both hired and military, laboring on the fort. Who had done this? Whoever it was, the man was arrogant enough to think he could pilfer right under David’s nose. That arrogance would be the thief’s undoing.

  By the time Captain Dutton stopped for the daily progress report, David had a plan in place. The next shipment of iron was due to arrive within a week, weather permitting. It was a large amount, for they were ready to cast the shutters for the embrasures. A little carelessness coupled with a hidden lookout should bring the thief right into their hands.

  “Good work, Lieutenant,” the captain said when David had finished outlining the details. “With any luck we’ll nab them in the act and send them to the stockade. If we were in wartime . . .”

  Captain Dutton didn’t finish the thought, but David understood. The man took the theft personally, for he had poured all his energies and countless hours into the building of this fort.

  “We will get the man or men,” David assured him.

  “Who do you suggest for the watch?”

  David wasn’t completely certain who to trust. Ever since the problem began, he’d been watching his men and those of Lieutenant Ambleton. Every one of them had wandered off on his own at some time, all except the Negroes on David’s team. But suggesting a colored man for the watch would not sit well with some. It must be a soldier.

  “I will be there, of course,” he volunteered, “along with men-at-arms, preferably those not working on the fort.”

  “Ah.” Dutton drew out the syllable. “That makes sense. Except for you. If you eliminate everyone who works here, then you cannot participate either. I will speak with the colonel. I’m sure he can recommend a reliable watch.”

  David understood the captain’s reasoning, but control was slipping away. If he didn’t join the watch, how would he know if the men were trustworthy or not? “Who will command them, sir?”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  David did not point out the obvious, that the captain was also present at the construction site. He opted for another route. “In that case, may I join you? Your presence would assure everyone that I am not involved.”

  The captain nodded. “So be it. I trust you recall how to fire a musket?”

  “Yes, sir.” At least someone trusted him. “And thank you.”

  But after the captain left, a chill settled in his bones. He hadn’t considered the possibility of gunfire. This could go very wrong and leave his son an orphan. He must make provisions beforehand in case of the worst.

  He pulled open his desk drawer and removed the daguerreotype of Prosperity from his Bible. He could think of no one better to raise Oliver. She had spurned his attempts at re
conciliation, but she had agreed to care for his son. This morning she had not immediately pulled away. Compassion shone in her eyes and her touch. Perhaps she could set aside her misgivings for the sake of an innocent baby.

  Tonight he would ask.

  The door to his office burst open. David looked up, expecting to see the oft insubordinate Private Jameson. Instead his father filled the door frame. His tall, black form blotted out all light.

  “You lied,” Reverend Myles Latham boomed with righteous indignation, his finger pointed at David’s chest.

  David stumbled to his feet. “About what?”

  “Even now you deny your sin. Repent and be saved.”

  David bristled at the rebuke. “I haven’t lied to you or anyone else.”

  “More lies.” Father’s steely gaze hardened even further. “The wicked are blinded by their unbelief.”

  “I have answered your every question, even those that pry into private matters. I place honor and integrity above everything. I told you no lies.”

  “Omission is also deceit.”

  David shivered despite the heat of the room and the perspiration on his brow. He had not told Father everything. “You did not ask.”

  “I asked about your wife. You only told me she had perished. You did not tell me she was a whore.”

  David recoiled at the bald word. Despite what Aileen had been, in spite of her treachery, he must defend her honor. “Did not Hosea marry a fallen woman?”

  “At God’s direction. Do not compound your sin by insisting God told you to wed a strumpet. An alehouse wench.” Father’s lip curled with distaste. “My son would never do such a thing.”

  Ice flowed through David’s veins. Nothing would calm his father. Nothing could make him understand why David had married her. Nothing would ever wipe away the stain that Father believed had tarnished him and his reputation.

  “It is done,” he whispered, “and cannot be undone.”

  His father stared at him. “I should never have listened to your mother. Your defiance will break her heart.”

  David tried to respond. He opened his mouth, but what could he say?

  Father spun around to leave and then looked back one final time. “The fruit of your iniquity must never know. I will ensure it.” He stormed from the building, coattails flying.

  David stumbled after him, but his legs gave way. Father knew about Oliver. Somehow he knew.

  Prosperity. Father must have found and questioned her. David had failed to warn her this morning. Even if he had, she would have answered Father’s every question, for she could never withhold the truth.

  What did Father mean that he would ensure Oliver never knew about his parents? Would he try to take the boy away? For all his exhortations against slavery, Father would never raise a mixed-blood child. Neither would he send the baby into slavery, but he might give Oliver to someone. He might send the boy so far away that David could never find him.

  Could he? Was it even possible? David was not the boy’s birth father. Anything was possible.

  With a groan he crushed his head between his hands. The fragile life he’d constructed here had just shattered.

  “Miss Stern be askin’ for you,” Gracie said while Prosperity donned her apron. “My oh my. She look madder’n a hornet done lost its nest.”

  Prosperity panicked. Though she’d left Reverend Latham as soon as she could, she was late for her shift. That must be why the matron was upset. She did not tolerate tardiness. Given earlier warnings, Prosperity was already on shaky ground. This interview would not end well unless she begged forgiveness. After the unsettling meeting with David’s father, she did not relish facing an angry Miss Stern.

  “Where is she?”

  “Her office,” Gracie said, “but I wouldn’t be hurryin’ her way iffen I was you. Let her settle. Send up Lillian with a pot o’ her favorite tea.” Lillian worked in the kitchen. “See if they got one of them butter biscuits she likes so much.”

  All good advice. Yet Prosperity stood frozen to the spot, twisting her apron ties. “Did she say what upset her?”

  “Lawd, you think she done tell someone like me what she got on her mind?” Gracie’s laugh did nothing to ease Prosperity’s trepidation.

  “Best get it over.”

  “You jes’ wait here. I’ll go send Lillian on up with the tea. Wait a bit and then you go.”

  Prosperity could not allow anyone else to face Miss Stern’s wrath. “Thank you, Gracie. I appreciate that you want to protect me, truly I do, but I must do this myself.”

  Gracie shook her head and clucked her tongue. “There ain’t no fool like . . .” Her sentence trailed off as she headed into the laundry.

  Prosperity closed her eyes and prayed that the Lord would give her the proper words to calm the matron. She felt a little better, but the momentary peace disappeared with every step toward Miss Stern’s office. Her pulse raced as she crossed the yard already hot with the fires and boiling laundry. Her heart pounded against her rib cage with each step into the main hospital.

  Miss Stern’s office was located at the near end. The waxed wooden floors echoed with each step. Closed doors lined the hall, leading to storerooms and offices, the pharmacy, and the surgical room. Miss Stern’s door stood open.

  Prosperity stopped to gather her courage. She closed her eyes and tried to sense the Lord’s presence. What would He have her do? Extend grace and compassion. Speak the truth. She had done so when David’s father questioned her. Between the doctor’s reassurances and Reverend Latham’s questions, she’d arrived late. She would explain the circumstances and ask forgiveness. Hopefully Miss Stern would understand.

  Did not the Lord’s Prayer urge all mankind to forgive as they had been forgiven? Her mind slipped to another verse: Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. That was more difficult, for it meant accepting the course God directed, regardless of the outcome. She cowered at the thought of more pain and suffering, yet the little she’d endured was nothing compared with what Jesus had endured for her sake.

  “Thy will be done,” she whispered.

  At last, elusive peace enveloped her.

  She rapped on the door frame.

  Miss Stern looked up from her reading. Spectacles rested on the bridge of her nose, but they could not hide the matron’s displeasure.

  “Miss Jones.” The matron’s rigid posture conveyed no sympathy or compassion. “At last.”

  “I am sorry for arriving late. An acquaintance from Nantucket stopped me outside the hospital.” She saw no reason to identify David’s father. “I could not turn him away.”

  “I did not call you here to discuss your tardiness or an acquaintance from Nantucket.”

  “You didn’t?” Hope leapt inside Prosperity.

  Miss Stern’s frown intensified. “Did I not warn you to restrict any contact with physicians?”

  Prosperity felt her face heat. “He is not employed by the hospital.”

  “Do not think you can rewrite policy by changing a few words. Dr. Goodenow has attended patients here and will likely attend patients in the future.” Miss Stern spread her hands on the desktop and pushed to her feet. “You have ignored my rules and will pay the price.”

  Prosperity fought back. “We were not on hospital grounds.”

  “You stood outside the gate, in full view of anyone who might look your way. Moreover, your behavior was shameful. Such intimacies are not allowed. Period. I made that clear more than once, and you assured me it would not happen again.”

  Prosperity had no response. She had been careless, had believed Dr. Goodenow’s assurances.

  “Hand me your apron, Miss Jones.”

  The air grew heavier than her leaden feet. “My apron?”

  “You are dismissed. Return your apron.”

  As a child, Prosperity had tried to sneak aboard her father’s whaling vessel, intending to join her papa in spite of his refusal to take her with him. The gangway was wet and her foot had slipped. She’d
fallen over the side and into the murky waters between the dock and the ship. Her dress dragged her down. Though she struggled, she could not find the surface. Her lungs ached, and her thoughts muddled until blackness took over. One of the men had heard the splash and dove overboard to haul her to the surface. When she woke, her dear papa held her in his arms, alternately sobbing and scolding her.

  Today Miss Stern was pulling her underwater. Dismissed. Prosperity had lost her position, and with it the chance to live on her own terms.

  “The apron, Miss Jones.” Miss Stern held out her hand.

  Prosperity drew a breath, and life flooded into her limbs. Though still numb, she managed to unknot the ties and hand the apron to the matron.

  The woman sneered, “You may marry now without concern for the hospital and its regulations, since that is clearly your aim.”

  Prosperity opened her mouth to defend her actions, but then she remembered the friendly embrace she’d given Dr. Goodenow. From a distance, it might appear they had kissed. Her face burned from both embarrassment and indignation.

  “You may leave now, Miss Jones. See the paymaster for the wages due you.” Miss Stern shooed her out of the office and closed the door behind her.

  That was it. Once again Prosperity had been set adrift.

  23

  David did not care about the dictates of duty. Let the army court-martial him. He must protect Oliver. That was his only thought when he left command of the men to his sergeant. He ignored Ambleton’s scowl and Jameson’s ticked eyebrow. David’s superiors would hear of this. So be it.

  All that mattered was his son. His son. The child had come to mean more to him than he’d imagined possible that first desperate night when betrayal crashed in on him. It wasn’t simply his guilt-wracked promise as he knelt beside Aileen’s lifeless body. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone—even Father—taking Oliver away.

  He ran through the streets, too frantic to think of anything but protecting his son. He skirted pedestrians, dodged dogs and noisy roosters, and avoided the occasional cart. Perspiration drenched his uniform, but he could not shake the chill that had settled in his bones. He could not lose Oliver. That fact pounded into him with each thudding footstep.