Relief coursed through her, even as the fleeting question over what Rory was doing back in town flitted through her mind. She didn’t know why he was here, but perhaps the good Lord had brought him.
He burst through the open door and skidded to a stop by her side. “I just saw Sarah. She’s gone on to fetch the doctor. What happened?”
So that was where the maid had disappeared to. Thankfulness for her quick thinking filled Jasmine. She shook her head in answer to Rory’s question. “I just walked in and found her collapsed. My guess is cholera.”
“Cholera!” Despite his obvious shock, he bent to scoop Mother into his arms. “Here, let me get her. Where do you want me to take her?”
“Take her up to her bedroom. I’ll go fetch hot tea. It seems to be something that helps some people recover from the sickness. But we have to spoon it into her every ten minutes round the clock for the next several days.” Jasmine bustled toward the kitchen, willing herself to keep her composure, and wishing that Garrett were here. Just his presence somehow had the ability to calm her.
Trent awoke the next morning with the reminder that he still hadn’t found any evidence of whom Khalifa might have been working with. His heart was heavy with the failure. Llewellyn—and the queen—were counting on him to get the job done.
The savannah trilled with its typical morning serenade of warbled birdsong and wind-swept grasses, interrupted by the occasional bark of a gazelle or the braying of a zebra. Already he could feel the oppressive heat that was slinking over the horizon to scorch everyone and everything with its hot, fetid breath.
He sighed and sat up on the edge of his pallet and studied the side of the tent across the way.
He had given the feather tick to RyAnne the evening before, but she had declared that she could not sleep on anything so befouled by Khalifa.
“More than once I witnessed him take women in there and—” Her words had cut off, and she had looked out toward the setting sun, its golden light glinting off the tears shimmering in her eyes.
Fear threaded through him as surely as though a needle were drawing it. He stepped around to ensure he had a good look at her face. “Did he…touch…you?” Everything in him seemed to still as he waited for her answer.
She gave a derisive snort and shook her head. The tears spilled over. “No. Never me or any of the other women who were chained with me. We were worth more, you see.” Self-derision hung in her tone. “To get one of us with child would have cost him money. And he was ever about his profits.” She looked at him then with a world of hurt dulling the green of her eyes. “I despise myself for being glad that I was deemed too costly to touch.”
He had pulled her into his arms, his soul quaking with thankfulness that she had been spared, and yet aching with her at all the evil she had been witness to.
Trent’s jaw bunched now as he shook out his boots to ensure no scorpions had taken refuge in them during the night, and then he tugged them on.
The feather mattress had been given to Moyo and Nyimbo, who had in turn insisted that June sleep on one end of such a luxurious anomaly of bedding. Trent had worked with Kako and Asha to transport those who were wounded, or too weak from sickness and malnutrition, into the larger tent that had been Khalifa’s. RyAnne had also wanted to give up Jabir’s tent, but he had convinced her to take June, Moyo, and Nyimbo into the shelter and stay with them. And he was glad she had capitulated, for he knew he would not have slept a wink had she insisted on sleeping under the stars last night. Sometimes one rogue lion followed another. Thankfully there had been no incidents in the night hours.
He rolled wearily to one side. Today his task would be to convince RyAnne that they should leave for Bagamoyo, post haste. He knew she would want to stay and help care for the sick. But Kako and June had confided in him the evening before that they would not be traveling farther with them. They had no desire to go anywhere near the fateful city called Lay Down Your Heart. They would stay here and care for the invalids, they had said, but he should take Miss RyAnne back to her people, where she would no longer be in danger.
And that was the very thing he planned to convince her of today.
After that he would have to face his failure and decide how he was going to reveal the disappointment to Commodore Cornwall.
Last night before they had moved the captives into the tent, he had torn the place apart again. Even going so far as to flip back the rug and check the ground beneath it. But the lantern light had revealed nothing out of place. No buried safety boxes. No parchment secured to the underside of the rug. Nothing.
In disgust he looked over at the two wooden drawers that he had lugged out and set by his pallet. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to take them, but if nothing else he could hand them over to Llewellyn to show him they contained no proof of illegal activity, nor revealed whom Khalifa’s contact on the island might be. And he would like to have the Arabic letters translated by a trustworthy source just to be sure they contained nothing revealing.
The morning sun spilled across the drawers as though to mock him with his lack of evidence. But then something caught his eye. He sat up. There was a crack along the base of the top drawer that he hadn’t noticed in the dim interior of the tent the evening before. At first glance it could have been a seam in the wood, but it was in an odd place.
Trent dragged the drawer closer and held it to the light to study it from all angles. The seam continued around the entire circumference of the bottom side of the drawer. It had a false bottom! He pressed on it from several angles, to no avail. Then he removed the drawer casing and peered inside the cavern left by its absence. There! A small round piece of bronze protruded from the front lip on the inside. He pressed it with one finger and heard a satisfying click.
The bottom of the drawer tilted open. The inside was lined with thick felt and contained four things. A small ink pot. A sharpened quill. A small pouch filled with coins that would come in handy once they arrived in Bagamoyo and needed to book passage. And a scrap of red silk wrapped around a thin rectangular object at the back of the space. Trent tugged it free and unwrapped the silk, his heart rate matching the tympani of village drums in the distance. The silk fell away to reveal a small leather-bound journal. And Trent’s brows shot up.
The journal’s cover was embossed with a golden insignia of Harcourt Shipping. That in itself was not too surprising since Khalifa was commodore of their fleet. But every page of the book was blank, so why had Khalifa kept it hidden in the secret compartment?
One other thing struck him as odd… The same citrus scent he’d smelled upon the letters infused the pages of the journal. Perhaps it had seeped through the box? Yet it seemed too strong for that to be the case. With a disheartened huff, he closed the book and ran one finger over the gilt-foil ship on the front. Could Llewellyn have been right all along? Perhaps Khalifa was indeed working for Brayden.
But of course this was not proof. Khalifa could have any number of reasons for having a blank Harcourt logbook in his possession. If not for the fact that he’d found it concealed in the false bottom of the drawer, he likely would have passed it over as something of little consequence. Yet…how could a blank book be evidence of anything?
The question remained… Why had Khalifa kept it hidden?
Trent gnawed on his lower lip for a moment before stuffing everything back into the compartment and clicking it closed again.
He sighed and clambered to his feet. For now he needed to see what he could do about convincing his stubborn wife-to-be that they should head down the road while the morning was still relatively cool. They would need to stop through midday and find some shade, on a day shaping up to be as hot as this one.
He found her just emerging from Jabir’s tent. Her dress was stained and torn, and it was quite obvious that her hair hadn’t seen the use of a brush for quite some time, yet his heart lurched in his chest at the joy of simply being near her. And her beauty shone through even in these lowliest of circumstances.
How had he garnered enough luck to have her agree to be his wife?
He took her hands in his and leaned close to drop a quick kiss against her lips. “And how are you this morning? Sleep well?”
She nodded. “I did. It’s amazing how well one can sleep when they don’t have an iron manacle clanking against a chain or gouging into their ankle every time they move.”
Trent tucked his fingers into his armpits and plunged ahead with what he’d come to talk to her about. “I’ve something to say, and I’m going to ask that you hear me out before you decline me.”
She smiled. “If you are so sure of my answer, then why ask at all?”
“Because I hope that in this instance you will see sense and do as I ask.”
She dipped her chin and gave him her signature look. “It’s how you sell it, Captain.”
He grinned at that. “Perhaps. But I’m a seaman, not a salesman.”
Taking his hand, she tugged him toward the fire. “Well then, let us break our fast, and you can try to convince me to see things your way.”
He strolled with her to the fire, relishing the feel of her soft fingers intertwined with his.
The fish traps Asha had hastily woven using grass and twigs the night before, and set in the creek overnight, must have done their job, because several fish roasted on the spit above the flames. He slipped one off and took half for himself and gave the other half to RyAnne. There were more loquats too, and he put several of those on his plate while he decided the best way to sell the subject to her.
When they had sat down together and blessed their food, he launched in. “I know you probably want to stay here to continue helping to tend the wounded, but as I told you just before you were captured, I’ve been under a commission from Commodore Cornwall to discover whether Khalifa was up to some illegal activities, and if so, to bring him proof of who the man worked for. Despite my lack of evidence here, I can’t help but think that Khalifa would have ships waiting for his arrival in Bagamoyo, and perhaps I can learn something more from those captains or crews.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done stating his case yet, so he held up one hand. “Please let me finish. I promised your father before he passed that I would care for you, and I’m begging you to make that job easier for me by agreeing to accompany me.”
She leaned toward him. “Captain?”
He barged ahead. “I can conclude my business for Llewellyn, and we can visit your family in Stone Town and have Bishop Tozer perform the wedding ceremony for us. Then if you like, we can return, but for now—”
“Captain!” RyAnne laughed.
Irritation furrowed his brow. But at the humor dancing in her eyes, he offered a begrudging “What?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that we can leave as soon as you deem it necessary.”
“We can?”
Humor lifted one corner of her mouth. “Indeed.”
Relief eased through him. “I see. I thought you would want to stay and help nurse the sick.”
RyAnne glanced toward the newly christened sick-tent, and an emotion he couldn’t quite define crossed her features. “Papa trained June quite well in the weeks that she traveled with us and worked with us in the clinic at the village. I think she will do just as well as I can. Besides…”
When she didn’t go on, he prompted, “Yes?”
She flicked her hand as though to bat away a pesky idea. “I can’t really say for sure, but I think…well…” A hint of embarrassment crossed her face. “Do you think the Lord can speak to us, Captain? Really speak to us?”
Trent tossed the bones of his fish into the fire and licked the grease from his fingers. “I don’t see why not. What is it you feel He is speaking to you?” A leery foreboding gripped his middle. With RyAnne, one never knew what the next words out of her mouth might be. Life with this woman would certainly keep him in the thick of the dance.
“That’s just it. I’m not exactly sure. But ever since I walked the gangplank up to The Wasp that first dawn and saw the horrors of the harbor, I keep hearing a question.” She pressed her lips together and met his gaze.
“And it is…”
“‘Whom shall I send, child?’”
Trent lifted his brows, his curiosity piqued. “Send where?”
RyAnne shrugged. “I don’t know. I first thought it might have meant I was to go to the village with Papa. Which I did. But then, just a couple weeks back, I heard the question again.” She laughed derisively. “I thought I might be going crazy, because of course at that point I thought you were dead and my future would be as the slave to some palace in the East, and I knew I would have no say in where I would go. But then you came and…” She waved her hand again. “I’m once more trying to discern what it means and why God would want to use someone as lacking in faith as I.”
Trent reached over and squeezed her wrist. “Even the prophet Elijah struggled with faith at times, did he not? Immediately after the victory over the prophets of Baal, where God proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was in control, Elijah feared for his life and ran from Queen Jezebel.”
RyAnne pondered that. “I suppose he did.”
Trent nodded. “Our human frailty is no excuse for not following God’s leading. I’m sure it will all become clear in time.”
She sighed. “I suppose so.”
“For now, let’s say our good-byes and get on our way as quickly as possible? I’m still hoping to find some information in Bagamoyo about who Khalifa might have been working with.” He debated the merits of his next words but decided it might be best to prepare her for the bad news now. “I have a strong suspicion he might have been working for Brayden.”
Her eyes widened, and her jaw slacked. “What evidence have you?”
His lips twisted into a grimace of frustration. “Not much, I admit.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that it was only a blank logbook with the Harcourt Shipping insignia that had given resurgence to his suspicions.
RyAnne’s chin tipped up, and her jaw took on that oh-so-familiar stubborn jut. “You must be mistaken. Brayden could never do something as despicable as this.”
Trent might have known she would take up for young Harcourt. And he was man enough to admit to the sheer jealousy roiling through him—if only to himself. He stood. “I pray you are right. Be ready to go within the hour?”
She nodded.
And with that he walked away and left her there, hopefully to adjust to the idea that her former beau might be the one behind her kidnapping.
RyAnne watched Trent stride away, her eyes narrowing with each step he took, until they finally fell closed with dread and exasperation. What if he was right? Could Brayden really be responsible for all of this? On the other hand, could the captain simply be jealous of her past association with Brayden and trying to pin this on him?
She shook her head. If there was one thing she knew about Trent, it was that he’d never do something like that.
She sighed and stood to her feet. She had better get on with her good-byes. She had nothing to pack of course, so his hour long deadline would be easily met.
She searched out June who was in the loquat grove. June stood on the ground catching the clusters of fruit that Moyo and Nyimbo, who were aloft in the trees, tossed to her. It looked like they were scavenging the last of the fruits to feed to the sick with the noon meal. “June…” Emotion clogged her throat. Instead of facing her task, she asked instead, “What will you do to supplement meals when this grove is picked clean?”
June caught another cluster lobbed by Nyimbo and then called to the girls that they had enough for now. Lifting the basket and tucking it against her hip, she faced RyAnne. “There are enough loquats here for two more days. Most should be rested and much recovered by that time. Only half a day’s journey from here we passed a guava grove. Kako plans for us to travel there and rest again if all are not well enough to keep traveling.” She dipped her knees and offered a shy smile. “Captain D
awson has assured us that the God we now serve will provide for us.”
RyAnne smiled and clutched her hand. “He will indeed. You’ve been a good friend to me these past months, June. I’ve come to say my good-byes. The captain and I must be off within the hour.” She pulled the startled woman into an embrace, basket of fruit and all.
June laughed nervously. “Go well, my lady.” She turned then and called the girls to come and say farewell. RyAnne had thought she might escape without shedding any tears, but when Moyo wrapped her skinny little arms about RyAnne’s waist and squeezed with all her might, her vision blurred before she could take command of herself. She embraced the girl in return, holding her in silence for a long moment because she had no words to express all that she was feeling. Finally she set Moyo back and knelt before her. She took the little shoulders into her hands and ensured she had Moyo’s attention before she spoke. “You are very special and precious to God, Moyo. Never let the actions of anyone, future or past, make you doubt that, aye?”
Moyo nodded.
“And Nyimbo.” RyAnne tugged the other little girl close. “You were spared for a reason. You and Moyo will be sisters now. And you must help each other remember to serve the One True God, yes?”
Nyimbo nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Captain Dawson told me many stories from God’s book. I will tell them to Moyo.”
“That’s good. Very good. Come here.” She pulled both the girls against her, one in each arm. She reveled for a moment in the feel of precious little ones tucked close, and then she kissed their cheeks. “I must be off.” And with that she left them there quickly, before she might change her mind and refuse to return to Zanzibar with Captain Dawson.
She found Yani next. The poor woman looked listless. RyAnne had no word of comfort for a woman whose child had been taken from her in such a senseless way, so she simply pulled her in tight for a long moment.
She was ready and waiting when Trent and Asha found her not too long later. The captain was pushing a two-wheeled cart. The rickety cart looked like it might cause more trouble than it was worth.
The Joy of the Morning: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 6) Page 3
