by Jody Hedlund
How could she make such a promise? She’d never take Josiah away from him, not when he loved the boy so much. Besides, she wasn’t about to leave. She loved being married. She loved her home and her new life here.
“Please, Emma.”
She’d never leave. Therefore it wouldn’t hurt to promise him—not when she’d never have to carry through with it. “Okay,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He nodded, released his grip on her, and retreated down the hall before she could say anything more.
The pirate was unconscious all day. Patrick stayed home from fishing and even slept in the chair beside the bed. When he finally left the bedroom to turn on the lantern, he insisted that Emma sleep on the floor in Josiah’s room and barricade the door.
Throughout the night she’d heard Patrick return to the house to check on them. When morning came, he returned to his place of vigil next to the bed.
It wasn’t until midday when she heard voices in the bedroom. The pirate had obviously awoken, and she had no doubt he would be hungry.
She put together a plate of leftovers from their lunch. After arranging the bowl of fish chowder, biscuits, and strawberries on a plate, she stood back and admired her handiwork. She hadn’t burned anything in the past few days. In fact, she was baking the biscuits so well they were becoming a staple for almost every meal.
With Josiah playing happily in his fort again, she started down the hallway and paused outside the bedroom. The pirate was laughing and joking, almost as if he knew Patrick. She hesitated. Patrick had said he didn’t want her near the man, but surely he hadn’t meant she couldn’t feed him.
“I’ve brought our patient some lunch,” she said, forcing her feet forward before she changed her mind and retreated to the kitchen.
At her appearance, Patrick bolted up from his chair with a scowl on his face. He took her by the arm and steered her back toward the door.
But the pirate had already sat up and was straining to see her. “And you’re married! If that don’t beat all!”
“I told you to stay away,” Patrick hissed under his breath.
“I thought he might be hungry,” she said.
“You got yerself a pretty little thing,” the pirate said. “Then again you always did get the pretty ones.”
A chill swept over Emma, and she looked at Patrick. Did he know this pirate? How?
As if hearing her unspoken question, he whispered, “I’ll explain everything later.”
“You gonna introduce me to yer wife, Hook?” asked the pirate.
“Hook?” She glanced at the weatherworn face of the man lying in their bed. His beard hung over his chest and was as bushy as his thick wiry hair.
The pirate grinned. “He hasn’t told you about his nickname?”
“Not now, Mitch,” Patrick said, shaking his head.
“He had the most powerful hook east of the Mississippi,” the man continued, despite Patrick’s words. “He could take out his opponent with one good punch.”
Emma found herself staring at the men in bewilderment. Patrick had admitted to Ryan that he’d been hurt in a fight, but she’d assumed he fought only on occasion, not that he’d had a career fighting others.
“Don’t say any more, Mitch,” Patrick warned.
“I bet you could still swing a perfect hook,” Mitch said. “Even if you are a few years older, I bet you’re stronger than ever. What do you say? Want to take on one of my crew for practice? I’ve got someone I want you to fight.”
“That’s enough!” Patrick’s voice rose a notch.
“Oh, that’s right.” Mitch’s grin turned derisive. “You got religion now. You’re Saint Patrick.”
Patrick took the plate of food from Emma. “Go on now,” he said.
“Saint Pat,” Mitch said with a barking laugh, his body shaking against the thin mattress. “Who would have guessed you’d turn into a holier-than-thou?”
“I’m far from perfect,” Patrick said. “I’m simply a sinner who’s been rescued.”
“Should have known you got yerself cleaned up when I saw that.” Mitch nodded to the driftwood cross hanging on the wall.
Emma couldn’t move. Her shock seemed to fasten her feet to the floor.
“I suppose this means you won’t be willing to help me out,” Mitch said, his crooked grin slipping back into place. “I was hoping we could form a partnership now that I know you’re here at the lighthouse.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Patrick shot back, his expression tight.
“Aw, come on. We made a great team once. And now that you control the light, we could work together to fool unsuspecting ships. We could split the profits. What do you say?”
“No!” Patrick thundered. “I’m done with that life.”
Had Patrick been a pirate at one time? Emma looked at him and pressed a shaking hand to her chest, not knowing what to say or think.
Mitch shrugged. “I guess you really are Saint Pat—”
“As soon as you can stand,” Patrick said, cutting him off, “I want you to leave. Take your ship and go. And don’t come back.”
“What if I don’t go?” Mitch said, his dark eyes glittering.
“You’re lucky I don’t tie you up and turn you in.”
“Why don’t you?” Mitch held out his hands. “Go ahead. I dare you.”
Patrick paused and wiped a hand across his weary face.
Emma was tempted to find a rope in the shed for him. If Patrick let Mitch go, the man would only continue to steal from others and damage their ships and cause more deaths. They needed to stop him. Now.
“If you threaten me,” Mitch said, “then maybe I’ll threaten to tell your wife more of your dirty secrets. Like the time you woke up with that battered woman in your bed—”
“Stop!” Patrick’s fists clenched, and the veins pulsed in his neck.
Emma gasped. A battered woman in his bed? What did he mean?
“You know you can’t hand me over to the authorities, Hook. We were like brothers, you and I.”
“We weren’t brothers! You left me to die.”
“I thought you were dead.” Mitch’s expression turned serious for the first time. “If I’d known you were alive, I wouldn’t have left you.”
Emma took a silent step backward. Who was this dangerous man she’d married? She obviously didn’t know the first thing about him.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Patrick said. “I’ve forgiven you.”
Mitch started to say something when his eyes brimmed with confusion and he stopped.
“I know I should hand you over to the authorities down in Fremont,” Patrick went on, “but I’ve been given a second chance, and now I’m giving you one.”
Mitch studied Patrick’s face.
“Stop your thieving, Mitch, and get your life right with God.”
A slow grin spread over Mitch’s face. “Sophie was right. You’re full of surprises, Hook.”
Emma didn’t wait for Patrick’s answer. She turned into the hallway and returned to the kitchen. Patrick was full of surprises. Aye, he’d warned her that he didn’t have a clean past. But a fighter? And a pirate? How was it possible that Patrick had ever been either one of those?
And who was Sophie?
She leaned against the sideboard, her legs weak, her heart racing.
“Emma?” Patrick’s soft voice came from behind her.
She didn’t turn around. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. How would she ever be able to look at him again?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out.”
She nodded, her eyes on the wall in front of her.
“I didn’t think it was important to drag all the garbage out of the closet.”
Her fingers shook. None of the revelations made sense. None matched the man she knew—or thought she’d known. She wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard anything Mitch had said. But how could she? Not when they had a pirate in the next room, not when Patrick had once been a pir
ate just like his friend. What other things had Patrick done that Mitch hadn’t revealed? She shuddered just thinking about Patrick’s crimes. Maybe he’d even boarded steamers, stolen from helpless passengers, and left them to die in fires just as the pirates had done to her and Ryan.
“I was planning to tell you more about my past,” Patrick said. “Eventually.”
“You should have told me everything right away.”
Josiah banged a stick he was playing with against the floor. The sound of it pierced Emma. Poor Josiah. Did he know his daddy was once a pirate?
Patrick moved closer and stood behind her. “Can you accept me anyway, now that you know?”
She hesitated.
His fingers grazed her arm, but she jerked away from his touch.
He stepped back, taking the warmth of his presence with him.
“Please give me some time,” she whispered through a tight throat. She had to think, had to make sense of everything first.
He stood silently for a moment. “Remember your promise,” he whispered. “You promised you’d take Josiah when you go. He deserves a better life than I can give him.”
He walked away then, his heavy steps sounding in the hallway.
She closed her eyes against the flood of tears that threatened to spill over. Now she understood his insistence earlier when he’d forced her to promise to take Josiah.
His life was tarnished with a multitude of sins, and he didn’t want Josiah to be influenced or hurt by any of it. If Mitch could show up once and badger Patrick, what would happen the next time? The man was obviously dangerous. There was no telling what he’d do.
And what if Patrick decided to aid him? What if Patrick still had a dangerous side to him? She hugged her arms across her chest to ward off the chills.
The rumbling of wagon wheels outside in the yard drew Emma’s attention to the open window, to the sight of Bertie Burnham perched stiffly atop the bench of her wagon as she slowed the team of horses to a halt.
Emma wiped her eyes and fanned her face with her apron, hoping to clear away any evidence of her distress. “Come, Josiah,” Emma called, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “We have company.”
She couldn’t let Bertie inside the house and discover Mitch there. She had to keep the woman out somehow. Even if the news of Patrick’s past life and crimes was shocking, she couldn’t expose him to Bertie’s prying.
No matter what Patrick had done in his past, no matter the crimes he might still be committing, she wouldn’t betray him to Bertie. Not now. Not under these circumstances.
Emma slipped through the door with Josiah in tow.
At the sight of the thin woman with her tight braids and severe features, Josiah’s footsteps slowed.
“Patrick’s inside and doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” Emma said once Bertie had descended from the wagon. “But perhaps you’d care to sit with me in the shade and have coffee and biscuits.”
Bertie grumbled about the arrangement, but eventually Emma persuaded her to join her on a blanket in the shade of one of the towering pines away from the house. She served Bertie coffee and biscuits and took careful notes on how to prepare a pound cake, along with instructions for stuffed trout.
“If you want me to tell you how to do the strawberry preserves,” said Bertie, “then I’d best come on in and show you.” The woman’s attention strayed to the house again, as if she knew something was wrong and was trying to figure it out.
“Maybe next time.” Emma was glad the bedroom curtain was closed.
“Some are saying there was a boat that wrecked up here along the shore a couple nights ago.”
Emma nodded.
Bertie narrowed her eyes on Emma, clearly waiting for her to share any information she had about the wreck.
Emma shifted her interest to Josiah, who was picking up pinecones and throwing them into the woods. Thankfully he was far enough away that he hadn’t heard Bertie. What would happen if Josiah heard Bertie’s prying and blurted out the news that they were harboring a pirate in their house?
Emma squirmed and took a sip of her coffee. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to invite Bertie to stay.
“Something ain’t right,” Bertie said, setting down her half-eaten biscuit. “You been acting jumpy since I got here. Spill it out, young lady.”
Emma stared down at her coffee. What could she say?
“You know that’s what friends are for.” Bertie’s tone softened. “To listen.”
How could Patrick ever have been close to Mitch? It was unthinkable. And yet at one time they’d been as close as brothers. Emma’s stomach crushed with the weight of all she’d learned, like a heavy stone was pressing upon it. The burden felt too heavy to bear on her own. Maybe she didn’t have to tell Bertie everything, but it wouldn’t hurt to share a little, would it?
“It’s just that I’ve learned some things about Patrick I didn’t know.”
“What things?”
Emma swallowed her reservation. “Things about his past. And they just came as a shock to me, that’s all. Did you know he was a boxer or fighter or something like that? And that he once hurt another woman?”
Bertie’s lips pursed. “Not surprised in the least. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was once a pirate.”
Emma froze and stared at Bertie.
Bertie watched Emma’s face as if gauging her reaction. “Ah, I can see that I’ve hit on something close to the truth.”
Emma looked away as she took another sip of her coffee.
“Don’t worry, young lady. I already had my suspicions. Delia hinted at his unsavory past. But she was always too embarrassed to say much.”
Emma shook her head and wanted to deny Bertie, but the woman harrumphed and continued before Emma could speak. “If you ask me, that’s what caused their problems. Then of course if he was a fighter and already had a history of abusing women, that would explain Delia’s fall. Maybe he hit her and pushed her down the stairs.”
“Nay!” Emma scrambled to her knees. “Please don’t say such things. I could never believe that about Patrick. He’s much too kind.”
But even as she said the words, doubts clouded her mind. If he could hurt a woman once, what was to prevent him from doing it again? As she struggled to her feet, her coffee spilled and trailed across the blanket toward Bertie, who clambered up too.
“How about his secret lover?” Bertie asked. “Do you have any more reasons to suspect he’s seeing another woman?”
Emma hesitated, but again it was enough for Bertie to see the truth.
“Young lady,” she said, lowering her voice and glancing toward the house, “as your closest friend, I suggest you get out of here before you get hurt.”
“I won’t get hurt.” She’d never believed Patrick capable of hurting anyone, no matter his past. But now . . .
Bertie’s eyebrow quirked as if she sensed Emma’s doubts. “If you need to run, you know the way to the fisheries?”
Emma shook her head and prayed she wouldn’t need to know.
“Take the road along the harbor.” Bertie pointed toward the ruts her wagon had made in the grass. “It ain’t far. You could walk it. Just make sure the harbor is always in sight.”
Emma now wished she’d stayed silent. “You won’t say anything about this to anyone, will you?”
“’Course not,” Bertie said, starting back toward her wagon. “You know me. I’m not one to gossip.”
Even with the woman’s words ringing in her ears, Emma couldn’t keep a surge of guilt from crashing over her. She shouldn’t have said anything at all about Patrick, about his past or about the troubles in their relationship. Even if Bertie was her friend, this matter with Patrick was private. She needed to work it out with him first before she talked about it with anyone else.
Aye. That was what she’d do. Talk with him and get everything straightened out. She needed to find out what really happened with Delia’s death. And she had to ask him if there
was another woman.
She needed to know everything, regardless of how painful or embarrassing the truth might be.
Patrick let the curtain fall back into place and resumed his pacing across the bedroom. A breath of relief pushed for release amidst the stuffiness of the room and the sour stench of sweat that surrounded the bed.
That tongue-waggling Bertie Burnham was finally leaving. Somehow Emma had managed to keep her outside. He was grateful to her for making an effort to keep Mitch and his secrets hidden.
Now the woman would be gone, and hopefully his past would remain buried. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened if Bertie had come into the house and found Mitch in their bed. Like Emma, she would have easily connected him to the pirate. But unlike Emma, she would have run back to town and shared the news with everyone.
Most recently he’d heard some of the fishermen whispering that Delia’s fall hadn’t been an accident, that he’d pushed her down the tower stairs. He figured Bertie was the one who’d started the rumor. The woman had always sensed Delia’s unhappiness and had blamed him for it. And maybe she was right. Maybe he hadn’t made Delia happy.
Nevertheless, the rumors stung. He kept praying people would see the love of God pouring out of him, and that he’d live in such a way that they wouldn’t be able to believe anything Bertie said.
“Hey, Saint Pat, take it easy.” Mitch was sitting up against a couple of pillows. His hair stuck to his forehead in the dankness of the room. “You’re wearing me out just watching you.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
Mitch chortled. “Sophie told me not to expect any help from you, but I was hoping she was wrong.”
“She shouldn’t have told you I was here.”
“Why? You afraid once they know the whole truth, they’ll send you packing?”
Patrick shifted his attention to his boots. He didn’t want Mitch to see how close he’d come to the truth. He didn’t want his neighbors and friends to know about the life he’d once lived. If they found out, they’d be appalled, just like Emma.
His body ached every time he pictured her hunched over in the kitchen, tears streaking her cheeks, dismayed by who he really was. He hated that he’d hurt her, and now he wished he’d had the courage to tell her much earlier, to share the truth with her.
