“He’s my grandson. You have no right to keep him from me.”
He did not know the truth about Oliver. He must not, for his volume rose with each syllable. Under such forcefulness, Prosperity would have withered, but Elizabeth held firm.
“I am simply following his father’s wishes. You may visit little Oliver with your son.”
Under other circumstances, that might be a reasonable request, but the reverend had told Prosperity that he and David had a falling out. Reverend Latham said he’d tried to reconcile, but David had refused to listen. That was why he’d sought her. The reverend’s gaze had skewered her like bait on a hook. She had been glad when Dr. Goodenow interrupted. Unfortunately, the doctor’s continued attentions probably contributed to her dismissal.
Oliver began to fuss.
“Hush, hush.” Prosperity moved away from the nursery door. If Reverend Latham heard Oliver cry, he might push past Elizabeth. She rubbed the little boy’s back and settled in the rocker. He might be hungry, but she didn’t have a feeding bottle ready. “Soon, little one.” She prayed Elizabeth would send the minister away before Oliver progressed from fussing to bawling.
The poor babe needed a mother who would be with him day after day for the rest of his life, like Ma had been for her. Tears burned in her eyes, this time less for what she’d lost than for what this poor babe would never have.
She stroked his soft cheek. “You deserve a real mama.”
Oliver responded by scrunching up his face and wailing.
She pressed him to her chest, though she hadn’t a drop of milk to feed him.
Florie looked up and shook her head. Both knew the baby’s cry would tempt David’s father to barge into the room. Would a lock hold him back? She tensed. Florie eyed the door, the whites of her eyes stark against her beautiful mahogany skin.
A knock sounded on the door.
Florie jumped. Prosperity curled over Oliver and held him tightly. No one would take him from her.
“It’s me,” Elizabeth said. “He’s gone.”
Florie released the privacy latch. Prosperity held her breath, fearing the reverend had forced Elizabeth to say that. Thankfully, when the door opened, only Elizabeth entered.
“He was not pleased,” Elizabeth said after Florie left and she had settled into feeding Oliver. “He threatened to seek legal recourse.”
“Would he succeed?” Prosperity breathed out.
“I don’t know, but my father might.”
Prosperity puzzled out the situation. “Does Reverend Latham know that Oliver is not related by blood?”
“Do you believe it would matter?”
Prosperity wasn’t certain. “He is not an easy man to know.” She had trembled the first time she was invited to the Latham table. His steel-blue eyes searched her for faults. She counted it a blessing that he remarked only on the threadbare state of her dress. “He is accustomed to getting his way.”
“Then the moment Rourke gets home, I will send him to ask Father’s opinion.”
The remainder of the afternoon Prosperity paced the parlor and tried to pray. Every noise out of doors made her jump. Elizabeth glanced at her but made no remark. When Captain O’Malley arrived home from work, Elizabeth sent him off to ask her father if Reverend Latham could force them to grant him access to Oliver.
“It will ease our minds.” Elizabeth gave her husband a kiss before he left.
Their intimate affection always left a hollow place in Prosperity’s heart—one that she hoped would soon be filled by Dr. Goodenow. Clayton. She had intended to give him her acceptance this afternoon at their usual meeting place near the hospital, but she could not leave Elizabeth alone in case David’s father returned. Accepting the doctor’s proposal would have to wait another day.
A knock sounded on the front door.
Prosperity jumped. Had David’s father waited for Captain O’Malley to leave before approaching the house? She hugged little Oliver close. “I should take the baby to the nursery.”
“I think I recognize that knock.” Elizabeth rose, but Florie whisked down the hall to answer the door.
Moments later, the housekeeper returned. “De doctor, ma’am.”
Dr. Goodenow entered the parlor on her heels. Unlike his usual impeccable self, he looked frazzled. His jacket was wrinkled and his tie askew. Even his hat sat unevenly, as if he had plopped it on his head in haste.
“What is it, Doctor?” Elizabeth asked. “You look as if calamity has struck.”
Prosperity noted the doctor’s pallor and the tiny jerk he’d given at Elizabeth’s words.
His gaze drifted to her. “No one is ill?”
“No.” Prosperity hugged little Oliver even closer. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s Lieutenant Latham.”
Her mouth went dry. “David.”
“He visited last Friday morning,” Elizabeth said, “and seemed well then.”
Prosperity recalled the wildness of his expression and the perspiration on his brow. “What is it?”
The doctor’s expression grew grimmer. “Yellow fever.”
Prosperity was supposed to be getting ready for the botanical society soiree. Elizabeth had laid out several sets of gloves for her to try on. The dress would arrive tomorrow. Instead she stood at the army post’s guardhouse explaining her request yet again with the same result.
The guard shook his head. “Only family can enter the hospital.”
“But he has no family here,” she explained for the third day in a row, “except his father, and they are estranged. He needs to know that someone cares.”
“I have my orders, miss.”
She heaved a sigh, searching for some reason that might sway the guard. “We were engaged to marry.” She had already tried that, but maybe this time it would make a difference.
“If you aren’t his wife, you can’t enter.”
Frustration drove her to the brink of tears. “I don’t understand. I was allowed to enter the garrison when his late wife was in childbirth and again when she was feverish and dying. Why can’t I visit him now?”
“Orders, miss.”
“What orders?”
The guard hesitated, giving her the first hint of an opening.
She seized it. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
The guard looked around. No one was near. “He’s under guard, miss.”
She didn’t understand. “Do they think he will wander off and spread contagion?”
He shook his head. “Court-martial.”
Her head spun. David? Under military arrest? It made no sense. Even Reverend Latham could not provoke that much trouble. Something must have happened under David’s command. “What is the charge?”
“Theft.”
“Impossible.”
The guard’s expression told her it was not only possible but fact.
“It must be a mistake. David—Lieutenant Latham—is the most honest man I know. He would never take so much as an extra biscuit.”
The guard shrugged. “That’s not for me to decide.”
No, his superiors would make that decision. She didn’t know how a military court-martial worked, only that its consequences could be severe. “He would never harm anyone.”
That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He’d broken his vow to her, but he’d had reason. The night she received the news of David’s illness, she had reread his letter to her. I fear that I must break our engagement. Must. Not wished. He’d written the day of Ma’s burial, which meant Aileen had been far along before David decided he must marry her. David always acted swiftly to right any wrongs. He could not have known of this unborn child until shortly before he wrote. That meant he did not love Aileen. Regardless of the circumstances of their marriage, he could not have loved her. Heartbreak dripped off his pen onto the page. He’d thought the baby was his son. That was why he’d married her. That was why he’d recoiled when he first saw Oliver.
That night Prosperity had retriev
ed the locket from the washstand drawer and clasped it around her neck. Perhaps one day it could contain an image of his son.
“His son,” she gasped now, realizing she did indeed have a reason that might sway the guard to allow her to enter the hospital. “Lieutenant Latham entrusted me with the care of his son.”
As she’d expected, the guard wavered. “Is there a problem?”
She wanted to say there was, though neither Oliver nor anyone else in the household had shown any sign of fever. Now that a week had passed since they’d last seen David, Dr. Goodenow assured them they had not contracted the disease. The biggest threat to Oliver’s well-being came from David’s father.
That was her answer.
She stood tall. “The baby is in danger. I must speak to his father.”
“Why didn’t you say that?” The guard had her sign her name on a register and then called for a soldier to escort her to the hospital.
Her fingertips tingled. Soon she would see David. What would she say? And how could she save him from court-martial?
David’s condition shocked Prosperity, though the orderly would not allow her beyond the guarded entrance to the isolation room. He was bathed in perspiration, shaking and delirious. He did not recognize her or even that she stood at the door.
“I wish to talk to him,” she begged yet again.
The orderly shook his head. “He wouldn’t hear you anyway.”
“He would know.”
The orderly glanced at the guard. “It’s not allowed.”
“Then who do I see to get permission?”
“You could try the surgeon, Dr. Rangler, or the commander, but I doubt either will allow you in the room. I’m surprised you got this far.”
The commander had intimidated her the last time they’d met. The surgeon in charge might prove more sympathetic. “Where may I find Dr. Rangler?”
“He is sleeping.”
“Then I will see him in the morning.”
Since nothing further could be done that night, she returned to the O’Malley home. Her mind tossed over all she had learned but could come to no conclusion. When she entered, she found the family gathered in the parlor with Elizabeth’s father, Charles Benjamin, esquire.
Prosperity trembled. “What happened?”
Instead of answering, Elizabeth asked how David was faring.
“Too ill to see visitors.”
“Very unfortunate,” the attorney said, his brow furrowed. “As I told Elizabeth, Reverend Latham approached me this morning. I refused to assist him, but there are many attorneys who would help. Have you told him of his son’s illness? Great distress can change relationships.” His gaze softened as he gazed at Elizabeth. “It did ours.”
She squeezed his hand but spoke to Prosperity. “My father is right. We should find Reverend Latham and tell him how ill David is. It might change his heart and lead to reconciliation.”
“David is not in his right mind.”
Prosperity’s statement sobered those in the room.
She explained further, “They allowed me to look in upon him from the entrance of his room. He could recognize no one.”
Elizabeth remained ever hopeful. “When I drifted in unconsciousness, I could still hear my father plead for forgiveness.”
Prosperity wished for reconciliation, but she had never seen Reverend Latham admit he’d erred, least of all plead for forgiveness. But once he knew of David’s illness, he would see his son. Her hands shook at the thought of the bile David’s father would spew on him.
Elizabeth touched her sleeve. “Are you all right, Prosperity? You look pale. Perhaps you should lie down.”
“I am well.” Prosperity shook off the fears of the moment. She must help David. That meant taking Elizabeth and her family into confidence. “David is under guard. Apparently he has been charged with theft and faces court-martial.”
Mr. Benjamin frowned. “That is a serious charge.”
“They’re wrong. David would never take anything that wasn’t his, even if he was starving.”
“Circumstances might change a man,” Mr. Benjamin said.
“I won’t believe it. I can’t.”
The attorney seemed to accept her plea on David’s behalf. “That will be for the military court to decide. Our immediate problem is that Reverend Latham could very well use this accusation to his advantage. The slightest inference of criminal activity, even if unfounded, could sway a judge to grant custody to someone of impeccable credentials.”
Prosperity could hardly breathe. “But surely he would not seek custody if he knew Oliver was not of Latham blood.”
“I hope you’re right,” Mr. Benjamin said, “but the fact that his son has taken responsibility for Oliver might in fact spur him even more to remove the boy.”
“But why?” Prosperity gasped.
“To remove foreign blood from the family line,” Rourke O’Malley stated bluntly.
Prosperity felt ill, for Rourke had struck upon a terrible truth. Despite his abolitionist preaching, Reverend Latham would not want even the appearance of colored blood in his own family tree.
26
Prosperity met Dr. Goodenow in the morning, not as she had planned but as she must. At her suggestion they walked the shore like they once did. He brightened, no doubt expecting a positive response to his earlier proposal. Instead she presented her plea.
“Will you help me get into David’s sickroom?”
The doctor’s hopefulness disintegrated, but she could not pretend any longer.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did not wish to hurt you.”
He sighed, looking off to sea as if expecting an answer to appear on the horizon. “It puts you at risk, but I suppose you realize that.”
“I do.”
“Very well, then. I will speak to Dr. Rangler.”
The doctor kept his word and by later that morning had somehow secured permission for Prosperity to visit David’s bedside.
“I told him of your nursing skills.” A sad smile caressed his lips as he assisted her up the army hospital’s steps. “But I must caution you against visiting the lieutenant.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I must give him hope.”
The doctor’s lips twitched, but he gave up trying to dissuade her. Instead he guided her to the isolation room and then told her he needed to speak again with the army surgeon. Prosperity gave him a grateful smile. He left, and then she stood alone in the tiny room.
Sunlight filtered through closed shutters, outlining the sparse furnishings of the sickroom. Inside the shutters, the windows were open, and a steady breeze stirred the air. Prosperity settled into the straight-backed chair at David’s bedside. The iron bedstead and scent of illness reminded her of those last days with Ma. She laid her hand on his.
“Please don’t leave me,” Prosperity whispered.
Ma had not heard her. Could David? Elizabeth said she’d heard her father even in the depths of unnatural slumber.
David felt hot, and his curls stuck together from perspiration. He did not respond to her touch, other than the faint and soundless movement of his lips. A basin of cool water and a compress sat on the small table beside the bed. She plunged the soft cotton cloth into the water, squeezed out the excess, and placed it on his forehead.
When would the fever pass?
Dr. Goodenow had told her and Elizabeth what symptoms would indicate they had been infected. Sudden chills would begin the downward spiral. Then terrible pains and vomiting would accompany the fever.
Elizabeth and Rourke had suffered a mild bout of fever years ago. So too Florie. Those who had endured yellow fever and survived need not fear it again. Only Prosperity and the babies had been at risk. She’d turned Oliver’s care over to Elizabeth and rejoiced when he did not fall ill. Now that she had been admitted to David’s bedside, she would not set foot inside the house but would sleep on the back porch and take any meals in the yard.
Reverend Latham had
not visited again, but Elizabeth promised to keep Oliver from him, regardless of any legal judgment he might win. She did intend to tell the man of his son’s illness, still believing it would lead to reconciliation.
First David must get well.
He did not hear her through the delirium of fever and the haze of laudanum used to check the vomit, which thankfully had not yet turned black. According to Dr. Goodenow, black vomit and yellowing of the skin signaled the final, irreversible stage. Before that would come a lull in the symptoms. At that point, the patient would either recover or take a turn for the worse.
David cried out, and his feverish eyelids popped open.
“Hold on,” she begged, grasping hands that could not feel her.
He shook from the tremors and stared into space with great, empty eyes.
“You must hold on for your son’s sake.” Over and over she repeated it, believing that would give him the will to fight. “He needs you.”
Though she had not held Oliver since learning of David’s illness, she heard the baby’s cries. This morning she had automatically risen to fetch Oliver before recalling that she should not go near him. She missed the feel of him in her arms and the way he reached for any stray lock as if afraid she would leave. Now David’s father threatened to rip the boy from her hands. The thought of never seeing him again tore a hole in her heart.
“He will be all right,” she whispered. “He must be.”
David had closed his eyes again, sunk into a world she could not share. Was it too late? If she had forgiven him, they might have become a family by now. Precious weeks had been wasted. Her selfish need to cling to the hurt might have cost them their last chance at a life together.
“Forgive me.” She leaned over David and turned the compress. “I should have forgiven you. I should have told you that I still love you, that I never stopped loving you, that I’ve dreamed every day of a life together. If you can hear me now, my answer is yes. Yes, I would marry you. A thousand times yes.” Tears flooded down her cheeks.
He did not make even the slightest movement. Her confession had come too late.
Honor Redeemed Page 26
