Honor Redeemed

by Christine Johnson

  As David checked in with the guard, he decided to pull that Bible out of the bottom drawer and see what it actually said. That was the only way he could know how Jesus would have handled this problem with Father.

  The workers swarmed the casemates. Wagons carted brick onto the site. Another shipment must have arrived. Lieutenant Ambleton eyed him with irritation. Since the man approached at a rapid rate, he must have news of great import. David changed course to meet him.

  “Your man has gone missing again,” Ambleton stated.

  “My man?” David tensed, fearing another confrontation over the Negroes. He mopped his forehead, now so hot he wanted to strip off his coat at once. “I have several men under my command.”

  Ambleton’s mouth curled in disgust. “Jameson. I’ve never met a lazier soldier.”

  David recalled Jameson’s participation in the group harassing Prosperity and set his jaw. “He will be disciplined the moment he is found. Forty lashes.”

  Ambleton jerked and gave him a strange look. “You don’t think that too severe?”

  “The man’s insubordination has gone on long enough.” All his frustration and anger over the confrontations with Father and Prosperity boiled over. “We must set an example.”

  “He’s your man.” Ambleton headed back to direct where to unload the next wagonload of brick.

  David slogged across the dusty parade ground to his office, his legs like lead. The office’s window was open, letting in dust and insects. It should be closed. He always closed it when he left. He must have been in too much of a rush.

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness but much less time to realize the room was a shambles. The drawers had been pulled out of his desk, and their contents were strewn across the desktop and floor. Standing behind the desk stood a single defiant man.

  “What are you doing?” David demanded.

  Jameson smirked. In one hand he held the daguerreotype of Prosperity and in the other a knife.

  24

  Give me that.” David lunged for the daguerreotype. The idea of even an image of Prosperity in that worthless man’s hands infuriated him.

  Jameson stepped out of the way. David flew past him and crashed into the makeshift bookshelf. The books tumbled to the floor, but he managed to stay on his feet.

  He swiveled to meet the private. “That belongs to me.”

  Jameson laughed and scratched the plate with the knife.

  “My fiancée.” He could not believe his eyes, for Jameson dug the knife into the plate over and over again. He grabbed for the knife and missed. “Why?”

  “I loved her.”

  “Prosperity?” David didn’t think they even knew each other. “Then why would you ruin her image?”

  “Seems to me that you’re the one who ruined it,” Jameson sneered.

  The blood pounded in David’s head. He had not ruined Prosperity’s reputation. Never. He flexed his hands. He had the advantage of height and reach. A punch to the jaw might knock Jameson senseless, but David had never boxed. And Jameson had a knife. “Leave Prosperity alone.”

  “The way you left my love alone?” Jameson taunted.

  “Your love? What are you talking about?”

  “You think she married you from love? She wouldn’t have even considered you if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “You?” In spite of his sluggish mind, David figured out who Jameson must mean. “You and Aileen?”

  “Of course Aileen. Who else did you wed?”

  Something Jameson had said stuck in David’s mind. “What do you mean she wouldn’t have considered me? She said I’d fathered her child.” Which was clearly false.

  “What would you expect her to say?”

  David’s head spun. “Was I ever even with her?”

  Jameson sneered. “A little too much liquor, a pretty woman, it’s easy enough to believe.”

  “Because she was a—” He stopped before he spoke the word.

  Jameson wasn’t so kind. “A whore? Is that what you thought of her? No wonder she hated you. Yes, hated.” He threw the daguerreotype to the floor and ground it against the accumulated sand with his heel. “If I was an officer like you, she would have married me.”

  David tried to piece it all together, but his mind slogged forward at a painfully slow pace. He shook his head and ended up dizzy. Only the desk kept him from falling.

  “What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Too much liquor in the middle of the day?”

  David swung for Jameson and missed. Perspiration drenched his shirt and ran down his forehead. This room was too hot, even with the window open. “That is insubordination, soldier.” But his words sounded far away, as if spoken underwater. He swiped his forehead with his coat sleeve.

  “What are you going to do? Charge at me again? Try it and you’ll bleed your last drop on the floor of this office.”

  David’s vision blurred. He shook his head again. “You wouldn’t dare touch an officer.”

  “Wouldn’t I? I’d be off this island before anyone found you.”

  David sensed the truth of the statement. A daguerreotype was nothing compared to the real woman. Jameson wanted to harm Prosperity. Somehow David must stop him. How, when he had no weapon and Jameson held a knife? He tried to think, but he couldn’t concentrate.

  Love your enemies, bless them that curse you. The fragment of Scripture floated into his mind, but what did it mean? How could he love a man threatening to destroy those he loved? Love him? Bless him? He didn’t know if he had it in him, but he could do nothing else.

  David raised his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  That only made Jameson snort in derision. “How weak and blind you are.”

  David blinked and squinted. Why wouldn’t his eyes focus?

  “You never knew,” Jameson continued. “Never saw what was right under your nose.”

  In a brief moment of lucidity, David realized the man wasn’t talking about Aileen or even Prosperity any longer. The scattered papers. The supply lists on the desktop. Jameson was looking for something or to remove something. “You’re the thief.”

  “A man using his wits to advantage.”

  “Thief.” His mouth felt like cotton and his ears rang. He clung to the desk to hide the fact that his knees were giving way. “You will face court-martial.”

  “I don’t think so.” Jameson sheathed his knife. “Once the colonel finds the missing spikes and chisels in your quarters, you will be the one in the stockade. Forty lashes, was it?”

  David stared, speechless. Jameson had not only heard every word he’d said, but he had rigged everything to cast suspicion on him. While David’s attention was focused on Oliver and Prosperity, Jameson was destroying David’s career.

  “Why?” he croaked.

  “For Aileen. She deserved better.”

  “You?” Somehow David made the connection. “You’re the one she brought to our quarters that night.”

  Jameson didn’t answer, but the truth was clear. Aileen had turned to him for comfort.

  “What else did you two share? The money meant for Prosperity?”

  “You threw money at another woman while denying your wife. I made sure Aileen got what she deserved.”

  David’s head spun. No wonder Prosperity had thought he was lying. Every incident of the past months made sense now. When Aileen rejected Jameson in favor of David’s rank and wages, the man had wrought revenge first by making her his mistress and now by destroying David’s reputation. Jameson didn’t need to physically harm Prosperity. David’s dishonor would sever any possible reconciliation.

  His knees gave way, and he fell to the floor, knocking his head against the corner of the desk. Blood trickled down his temple as terrors licked at his tinder-dry mind.

  Jameson cast a pitying look at David and strode across the room to open the door. “Farewell, Lieutenant, and a speedy trial.” He stepped out and closed the door.

  D
avid tried to follow, but he could not even crawl. He fell face-first on the floor, the destroyed daguerreotype beneath him.

  “Prosperity.” Her name came out a bare whisper.

  All was lost. Crushed like sandstone beneath a sledgehammer. Prosperity, Oliver, family, and career. Jameson would reach Colonel Stormant first. David hadn’t the strength to pursue him. He couldn’t even get to the office door. All vigor had unaccountably drained from his limbs.

  Once Father learned of this disgrace, he would seize Oliver. No judge would deny him. David had already lost Prosperity. Now he would lose his son and his honor.

  He dug his fingernails into the wooden floor. If only he could drag himself far enough to send someone to warn Prosperity. Sand bit beneath his nails, pressed against his cheek, stuck to his damp skin, but he hadn’t the strength to move a single inch. He do could nothing.

  Help me, for I am lost. The words gathered on his lips, but he lacked the strength to utter them. All was lost. No one would help him.

  You have Me.

  The words rang clearly in his muddled mind.

  “Who?” he gasped out.

  But he knew. Deep down he knew. Years of neglect and rebellion had separated him from those he’d once honored: his father, his mother, Prosperity, and soon his son. Now it would even separate him from the army and his last shred of honor.

  He had nothing.

  Yet One remained.

  I will never leave you nor forsake you.

  Had he heard that, or was his mind playing tricks on him?

  His Bible lay within reach, where Jameson had tossed it. With his last ounce of strength, he pulled it close. Too exhausted to open the cover, he clung to it, the last solid rock in a sea of quicksand.

  She had no choice, Prosperity told herself the following Monday. David had not visited Oliver all weekend. She’d thought he loved his son, but this sudden stoppage meant she was wrong. He had only visited in the hope of seeing her. Once she squashed the possibility of reconciliation, he stopped coming to the house. She could not respect a man who did not love the innocent child entrusted to his care.

  She stood on a low stool in the center of the nursery, the partially finished silk gown swirling around her. Circumstances had forced her hand. It was the best choice for all involved. Still, her nerves tumbled and rolled. A weekend of prayer had not made her feel any better about her decision. She must simply jump, and the sooner she did so, the better.

  “Are you certain?” Elizabeth asked while she assisted Mrs. Evanston with the fitting of Prosperity’s new gown.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Evanston spoke before she had to answer. “Arms out to your side so we can adjust the bodice.”

  Prosperity lifted her arms, hoping the dressmaker wouldn’t poke her with one of the many pins bristling from her pincushion. The woman must have worked all weekend to get so much done so quickly. With the soiree just five days away, it would take every minute of those days to finish the dress. Her future could be cemented in much less time.

  “I am.” She would tell Dr. Goodenow tonight.

  Elizabeth did not look pleased. “I’m not sure you thought through this decision.”

  “I did nothing but think and pray,” Prosperity said with what she hoped sounded like conviction. At least agreeing to marry the doctor—Clayton, she must begin to call him—would assuage her guilt for accepting the new dress.

  “You will need a crinoline and more petticoats,” Mrs. Evanston noted.

  Prosperity did not own a crinoline.

  Elizabeth must have noticed Prosperity’s alarm, for she said, “You may borrow mine. I have extra petticoats and a spare crinoline.”

  “But they would never fit. You are so much taller.”

  “We will pin them up.” Elizabeth shrugged off any difficulty with her usual assurance. “If that troubles you, I will ask my friend Caroline if you could borrow hers. She is about your height.”

  Leave it to Elizabeth to find a solution. At least discussing the dress had put an end to the uncomfortable conversation about Prosperity’s decision. It was the right thing to do.

  “You may put your arms down now,” Mrs. Evanston said. “I’m finished except for the length of the skirt. Are you accepting the gown, Miss Jones?”

  Prosperity nodded. Instead of a flush of excitement, dread made her stomach heave and her head spin.

  The dressmaker’s eyes widened. “Please step down. You look faint.”

  Indeed she felt unsteady on her feet. “Perhaps I should sit a moment.”

  “We will have you out of the dress in no time.” Good to her word, Mrs. Evanston removed a few pins and slipped the gown, such as it was, over Prosperity’s head.

  Prosperity sank into the rocking chair.

  Oliver kicked his feet and arms in the cradle, gurgling to be picked up, but she didn’t dare trust herself. Jamie tugged at his mother’s skirts while she helped Mrs. Evanston.

  “Don’t you need to measure the length?” Elizabeth asked.

  “We can take that from the gown Miss Jones is wearing.” Mrs. Evanston began to measure the length of Prosperity’s skirt.

  “Can it be completed that quickly?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Do not fear, the dress will be ready in time for the soiree.”

  Prosperity drew in a shallow breath. Perhaps her lightheadedness was due to the unfamiliar tight corset. Fashion dictated a small waistline, and Mrs. Evanston would not budge on that point. Prosperity longed to loosen it, but it laced in back, and she could not undo it herself.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Mrs. Evanston said when she finished packing everything into her bag. “Stop by my shop the morning before the event for the final fitting. There will still be time for small adjustments.”

  Judging by the distance between Mrs. Evanston’s upheld finger and thumb, any adjustments had better be miniscule.

  Elizabeth and Jamie escorted the dressmaker from the house, while Prosperity bent over the cradle to stroke little Oliver. The baby brought such joy, from his little hands and feet to the wisps of dark hair curling on his forehead.

  “You are so handsome, little one,” she cooed, unable to resist his smile.

  He grabbed for her hair and gurgled, as if knowing his tugs reminded her of the future she hoped to have. Dr. Goodenow was nearly double her age but not too old to have children, provided he desired them. She nibbled her lower lip. Perhaps she ought to ask. He had lost his first wife in childbirth. He might fear losing another. She hoped he wanted children. Perhaps witnessing the miracle of a child would draw him closer to God.

  She cherished that thought until Elizabeth returned holding Jamie.

  “That went well,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve asked Florie to set out dinner. We are all famished. Shall I help you change into your dress?”

  Prosperity untangled her hair from Oliver’s grasp. She was grateful for front-buttoning gowns. They might not be fashionable, but for a woman of her class, they were practical. “I would like to remove the corset. It hurts to breathe.”

  Elizabeth chuckled as she unlaced it. “It takes practice.”

  “After this soiree, I will never wear one again.” She took a deep breath now that the uncomfortable stays were gone.

  “A physician’s wife will be expected to present a proper appearance.”

  Prosperity had never considered that. “I suppose a lieutenant’s wife must also.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “I hope you will be very happy with Clayton.”

  Happy. That had never once crossed Prosperity’s mind. “I will be content.”

  “Most women hope for more.”

  “After all the turmoil of this year, contentment would be a blessing.” Indeed she longed for stability. Dr. Goodenow offered that, while David never could. He was attached to the army and would move here and there. In wartime he would take up firearms. He could die. Prosperity could not bear to lose another person she loved.

  She slipped
into her gray gown and buttoned it. Oliver cried out, and as she reached for him, sorrow wormed its way into her heart. This poor boy stood little chance of a contented life. Even in the best of families he would face scorn and ridicule. She pressed her eyelids closed against a sudden rush of emotion.

  Elizabeth touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s all too much,” she whispered.

  “There is no rush.”

  Prosperity knew her friend meant well, but she did need to hurry. The gown obligated her. She could not make her own way without a good-paying position. This would resolve matters with David once and for all. No, there was very much a need to rush.

  “Ma’am?” Florie appeared in the nursery doorway. “Der’s a man ta see you. A minister.”

  A minister? Prosperity’s eyelids flew open. Elizabeth’s pastor or David’s father? Her already roiling stomach clenched even harder.

  “Did he say who it was?” Elizabeth asked.

  Florie shook her head. “But he a fearsome man, all in black.”

  “Reverend Latham.” Prosperity clutched at her throat.

  “Oh dear,” Elizabeth said. “I’d better see to him. Prosperity, stay with Oliver. Florie, make sure Jamie stays in the nursery until I send the man away.”

  “What if he asks to see Oliver?” Prosperity could barely breathe.

  “I will send him away as your David instructed. Under no circumstances are you to bring Oliver out of the nursery.” Elizabeth paused in the doorway. “In fact, lock the door behind me and don’t open it until he is gone.”

  That frightened Prosperity. Reverend Latham could easily push past Elizabeth. All three of them could not stop a man his size. Even if a locked door stopped him, the windows would not. She picked up Oliver, held him close, and began to pray.

  25

  The nursery window had no view of the front veranda, but Prosperity could hear Elizabeth through the locked door. She rejoiced at her friend’s confident refusal and cringed at Reverend Latham’s strident response.