The Joy of the Morning: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 6)

by Lynnette Bonner

  William glanced out over the water and uttered a sound that could only be interpreted as a curse.

  “For shame, William! A lady is present,” Trent admonished him with a grin in RyAnne’s direction. Holding on to William’s arm with one hand, he squeezed her shoulder with the other. “Why don’t you go on into the cabin? Asha and I will get these gentlemen settled in the hold, and then we’ll be on our way to Cornwall’s.”

  RyAnne retrieved her violin and tucked it carefully back into its case. She was relieved to see that it didn’t seem to have suffered any damage. As she once more sank onto the settee in the captain’s cabin, she noticed the silver letter opener that had been on the desk lying on the floor near where the wooden giraffe had once been lashed to the wall. Asha had obviously found the hidden passageway and then, upon arriving in the captain’s cabin, used the sharp blade to slice through the thin ropes lashing the giraffe to the bulkhead.

  RyAnne could hardly believe that their search might have finally come to an end. There was only one additional thing that could make her feel more complete than she felt right now, and that was to see her family again.

  Trent had been correct about the wagging tongues. Commodore Cornwall had immediately sent fast ships to Zanzibar to round up the people on Trent’s list, and he hadn’t encountered any trouble getting most of them to talk. Their testimony would be the nail that sealed the lid of the Harcourts’ coffins.

  Trent and RyAnne now stood on the shore below Commodore Llewellyn Cornwall’s estate. The commodore was about to board his ship to take the captives to England for a trial, and there was a great deal of glee glimmering in his gaze. He stretched his hand out to Trent. “Once again, I thank you, Captain, for a job well done. Her Majesty will be most pleased that we have shut down this ring. I’ve already sent ships to the smuggling locations you remembered from Khalifa’s correspondence. I’m sure we will have it wrapped up within a fortnight.”

  “Good. I hope so.”

  “Before I go…” He held out a hefty bag. “Your promised payment.”

  Trent accepted the bag with a nod of thanks.

  RyAnne was surprised when Commodore Cornwall turned to her next. “Young lady, I’m sure you’ve had quite an ordeal, but I wonder if you might consider sailing to England and sharing your story before Parliament? It is stories such as yours that help in the forming of new and better laws.”

  Whom shall I send, child?

  RyAnne felt a chill pebble her skin as an answer formed almost immediately in her spirit. Here I am, Father. Send me. To the commodore she responded, “I think I would be very happy to do that. If you set it up, I will go, providing”—she turned a look on Trent—”that my soon-to-be husband agrees to sail me there?”

  Trent laughed. “I’m beginning to realize that there won’t be much I can deny you.”

  The commodore’s chuckle was hearty. He slapped Trent on the back. “That’s as it should be, lad. As it should be!” To RyAnne he said, with a bow over her hand, “I will arrange for you to stand before Parliament next session, if that is suitable to you?”

  RyAnne lifted a brow to Trent.

  He nodded.

  She turned back to the commodore. “Next session will be most suitable. Thank you for asking me.”

  The Commodore waved away RyAnne’s thanks. “‘Tis I who should be thanking you. After all, you are a beautiful and well-educated young woman who according to the laws of the land ought to be stripped of all your rights and left to the whims of others. But thoughts on that are changing, and you’ve been through so much! You will be the perfect one to speak directly to the heart of the matter. Sometimes it takes the humanizing of an ethereal conceptualization to open people’s eyes to truth. Perhaps all the severe hardships you’ve encountered will aid the politicians in opening their eyes to change, eh?” He patted her hand. “Well… I’d best be off before the tide leaves without me.” With a hearty wave over his shoulder, he climbed aboard the dingy that would row him out to his ship, which was anchored in the deeper waters farther out.

  But the moment he walked away, RyAnne dropped to her knees with a gasp.

  “What is it?” Trent sank to his haunches before her. “Are you hurt?”

  RyAnne shook her head but placed one hand over her heart. “No, I’m just so overwhelmed with all the answers God just heaped upon me. Things I’ve been praying about for so long. Do you remember me telling you earlier that I felt the Lord was asking me to go somewhere, but I wasn’t sure where that was?”

  Trent nodded.

  “The moment Commodore Cornwall asked me to go to England, I had my answer.”

  Trent smiled with understanding.

  “And do you remember when I asked you how a good God could be defended in the face of such misery as I had witnessed?”

  Again he nodded.

  RyAnne threw up her hands. “I’ve been in such turmoil. Trying to understand how a good and loving God could allow such terrible things to happen. I understand man’s free will plays into it. As well as people who may be called to do good things but choose not to respond. But for my part, I can honestly say that it was all for this moment.” She gestured to where the commodore was just ascending the ladder to the deck of his ship. “If I hadn’t followed Papa from Zanzibar to here, and if I hadn’t been captured and hadn’t gone through all those hardships, then I wouldn’t have a story to tell to Parliament. But because of my hardships, laws might be changed! Others’ lives might be bettered.” She could no longer hold the tears at bay. “And for that to happen I would go through these last torturous months all over again.”

  “Come here.” Trent stood and pulled her to him, tucking her against his chest. He rested his chin atop her head. “Months ago when I had first taken on the task of escorting your father to the village, I questioned the veracity of his call. I wondered if God really called people to go to specific places. And figured your father ought to be content to go to the places that were easier for him to reach. But he insisted that it was to that exact village he must go. I think looking back now we can see how the Lord wove all those varied colored threads to the accomplishing of His good purpose. Meeting Kako here at Cornwall’s… Kako’s father being the chief of the exact village your father was called to… You saving Nyanja’s life and us learning that she was from that very same tribe also… The confrontation with Wankulu on our way to the village that eventually led to your capture… All of those strands came together and brought us to this place of answers.”

  RyAnne sighed. “But there were so many tragedies that happened along the way that are still unexplained.”

  Trent rumbled a sound of agreement. “But the Lord is a master artist, aye? And He’s weaving so many stories other than just our own together. Just because we can’t see where the threads of trials or tragedies lead for someone else, it doesn’t mean that God isn’t using them to perfect his tapestry.”

  RyAnne felt a pure wave of peace for the first time in many months. She wasn’t guaranteed a life of no trials. But she was guaranteed that she served a God who loved all of mankind beyond measure and that He was trustworthy and loving.

  He did indeed work all things for the good of those who loved Him.

  RyAnne sighed in near perfect contentment. “Trent?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Take me home?”

  Trent eased her back and pressed his forehead to hers. “On one condition…”

  Her lips tilted up at the gleam of mischief in his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “Marry me right now,” he said. “Before you decide to run off to a cockfight, or a crocodile tries to attack you, or another slave driver captures you, or you simply change your mind.”

  RyAnne laughed. She knew he was teasing, but she played along. She gave him a be serious look. “There is not a chance of me changing my mind, Captain. But I can’t marry you right this moment. Who would perform the ceremony?”

  He grunted. “As a captain I’m qualified, but I don’t s
uppose I can officiate my own wedding. As soon as we land on Zanzibar, then?” He pumped his brows hopefully.

  This time RyAnne batted his arm. “I need time to sew a wedding dress. And it might be nice to invite our families?”

  “You could wear a gunny sack for all I care,” he grumbled. He looked at her intently. “How fast do you think you can get your family to the beach after we dock? Garrett has a fast horse and is used to taking my orders, so I can get him there right snappy.”

  RyAnne laughed at his antics. “The beach is it?”

  “Mmm.” He slid his fingers down her arms until they intertwined with her own. “Looking over the Indian ocean where I first realized I wanted to marry you.”

  RyAnne’s brows lifted. “When was that?”

  “After I’d found you nearly dead in my longboat and took you into the ocean to cool you off. You woke up in my arms, and I knew right then that I would do anything to keep you safe.” His thumbs grazed the sides of her hands, and he pulled her closer.

  Her heart was so full of joy it was near to bursting. She reveled in the feel of his arms around her, curling her fingers to intertwine with his at the small of her back. “I’m quite content right here, Captain. Mayhap there is no need for a wedding at all.” She grinned at him cheekily.

  He growled. But a good-natured smile tipped up the corners of his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll have to kidnap you myself.” He scooped her up and started down the beach.

  RyAnne laughed. “Let’s have none of that. I’ve experienced quite enough of kidnappings for a lifetime, thank you very much. How about Saturday next?”

  “Now you’re talking sense,” he said.

  And then he kissed her.

  Epilogue

  Stone Town, Zanzibar

  Exactly one week after The Wasp docked in the Stone Town harbor, RyAnne sat aboard a topless carriage with her wedding dress tucked in about her as they headed toward the white-sanded beach Trent had chosen for their special day. Valah and Halame, her friends the princesses of Zanzibar, sat across from her on the bench next to Jasmine, and Rory sat next to her, plastered to his side of the carriage on instructions from Jasmine that he not crumple even a frill of her lace.

  The driver pulled the carriage to a stop at the head of the path, and Rory helped the girls climb down. A small stone wall separated the road from the beach below and prevented RyAnne from seeing the seats they’d carefully arranged in the sand the evening before. Seats that were at this very moment filled with guests who were here to celebrate with them.

  As RyAnne waited for her turn to alight, she took in her surroundings. She wanted to savor every moment of this day.

  The day couldn’t have been more beautiful. She closed her eyes and memorized the sounds all around her. The shushing of the waves against the shore. The birdsong warbling through the air. The wind whispering secrets to the palm leaves overhead.

  Thank you, Father, for Your many blessings.

  “If I don’t get you down there soon, it is reported that Trent is going to wear a trench in the sand,” Rory chuckled.

  RyAnne opened her eyes to see him stretching out one hand to help her down. The moment her feet were on the ground, Jasmine swooped in, brushed Rory aside, and set to adjusting ribbons and straightening lace. She gave one last glance and then stepped back with a satisfied nod.

  Valah and Halame opened the boot of the carriage and pulled out the bouquets they had carefully laid out before leaving the house thirty minutes ago.

  RyAnne suddenly felt all atremble with nervousness like she hadn’t felt since she’d been chained to a tree while thinking Trent was dead. “You’re sure I look okay?” She bent and fussed with the hem of the dress even as Jasmine thrust into her hands her bouquet of bougainvillea and bird of paradise they’d cut from Mother’s garden just this morning.

  “You couldn’t be more beautiful,” Jasmine reassured. “Now come along. The girls and I will walk down ahead of you. Bishop Tozer is already waiting at the front. And the last time I checked, there was a very handsome groom waiting rather impatiently at the end of the aisle.”

  RyAnne smiled at that.

  Jasmine led Valah and Halame off, and RyAnne knew they would be headed to the seats that had been saved for them next to Mother.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward onto the stone pathway that led down to the beach.

  Rory smiled at her and stretched out his arm. “One look at you, and Captain Trent Dawson will be lucky if he can keep breathing.”

  “Let’s just hope I don’t lose the breakfast Mother forced me to eat, while we’re walking down the aisle.” RyAnne shook out her hands nervously.

  Rory laughed. He gave Bishop Tozer a signal then, and the orchestra struck up the music.

  RyAnne hadn’t been joking about losing her breakfast, but the moment they stepped past the wall and her eyes landed on Trent, all of her nervousness washed away. He was dressed in the same ballroom finery that he’d worn on that long-ago night of the Harcourts’ ball. So much had grown between them from that moment to this.

  Mother was the first one to stand as Rory started them down the aisle, and as RyAnne met her gaze, a bubble of thankfulness swelled in her chest. The day she and Trent had arrived back in Stone Town, Mother had still been abed recovering from cholera. But RyAnne had gone to her immediately and apologized for her part in the pain Mother must have been feeling for all these years. Mother had apologized for her own prickliness, and they had shared tears over the loss of Papa. Mother had seemed to be much softer after that. And RyAnne couldn’t be more thankful than to see her smiling from the front row. Though she knew she would likely never share the same relationship with Mother that Jasmine did, she was thankful to at least have taken a step in a positive direction.

  Asha was there toward the back, and even though he did not smile, there was a softness about his expression that she didn’t remember seeing before. Trent had hired him as one of the crewmen on the newest ship he’d purchased from his father, who was hoping to turn his entire fleet over to Trent soon.

  John Knight, Trent’s bosun, was there, with Dabu, Trent’s youngest crewman, squirming by his side. Two weeks after the village was sacked, John had received word that his captain had been killed and RyAnne captured. He and the crew of The Bee had sadly made their way back to Stone Town to collect Garrett, and had arrived only hours after Trent had docked. RyAnne almost giggled now as she remembered how gleeful the padded bosun had been to find them both alive and well. He’d quite nearly danced an entire jig.

  Valah’s attention upon them was rapt, but RyAnne wasn’t fooled. Her friend was looking at Rory, not her. And from his seat in the front row on Trent’s side of the assemblage, Garrett wasn’t even pretending to look at her. His gaze had moved across the aisle, where it rested upon her sister. Jasmine was trying valiantly to keep her focus on RyAnne, but her gaze kept slipping back to the man across the way. And when Garrett winked quite boldly, RyAnne giggled to see Jasmine’s face match the bougainvillea of her bouquet with such perfection.

  Her gaze returned to Trent then, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this much happiness. Rory handed her off, and she slipped her fingers into the warm, strong grasp of the man who would always hold her heart. His gray-green eyes crinkled at the corners, and she heard his soft sigh of contentment as he tugged her closer and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

  The details of the ceremony were fuzzy. She must have mumbled her lines in all the right places however, for suddenly Bishop Tozer was pronouncing them husband and wife. Trent turned her to face him. He swept a quick, appreciative glance down the length of her before he drew her into his arms with a pump of his brows. And RyAnne knew she would always remember the first kiss they shared as husband and wife, standing on the white-sanded beach with their dearest friends and family cheering wildly behind them.

  Dear Reader,

  Yes, lemon juice has been used for thousan
ds of years as an invisible ink. The acidity in the juice weakens the fibers of the paper slightly so that when heated, that portion of the paper darkens sooner than the rest. African heat in this portion of the country can often climb to 120 degrees in the shade. Even up into WW I and WW II methods such as these were being used to smuggle secrets. A little Googling on “invisible inks” will reveal some fascinating stories for those who might be interested in learning more. For this story, I needed something simple that would have been readily available in Africa during that time and that could be developed with a very simple method. The lemon juice ink was the perfect solution. No pun intended!

  I hope you have enjoyed this conclusion to the Sonnets of the Spice Isle series. If you would like to find more of my historical fiction, please check out my website at www.lynnettebonner.com. I also have a very simple request… Please take a moment to leave an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads. These don’t have to be wordy, but each review helps others know whether this is a story they might enjoy and gives the series more visibility on Amazon.

  Thanks for reading, dear friends. I couldn’t do what I love to do without you!

  Blessings to one and all,

  Lynnette