The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1)

by Marylu Tyndall

  Uncontrollable tears filled Charlisse’s eyes accompanied by that warmth again deep within her.

  The reverend continued, “We come before you now with just such a request. Our friend, and your son, Edmund Merrick has been falsely imprisoned. We lift him up before you and ask for your protection over him, for your comforting presence to be with him. We pray, Father, for his release from prison, and for your will in this situation for all involved. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, we pray, amen.”

  Charlisse wiped her eyes and looked up. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “It will be all right.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways. Perhaps He will use Sloane to find the evidence needed to clear Merrick’s name.” He picked up his pipe and tapped it. “And we have yet to appeal to the governor. There are still things we can do. Have faith.”

  Charlisse sat back in her chair. Indeed, there are still things I can do as well.

  Nothing else was said that evening. Charlisse pondered all the reverend had told her. For some reason she could not stop crying. Excusing herself early, she retired to the back room where she tried to sleep, but as on many nights before, she was unable to find the comfort of slumber.

  Strange feelings tormented her. It was more than her anxiety for Merrick, her longing for her father, or her fear of the future. Some unseen force tugged at her, beckoning her with a gentle whisper.

  When she finally did fall asleep, terrifying images filled her mind. She tossed fitfully on the cot as a darkness invaded her soul, bringing with it visions of her uncle, his pristine white robe, the large crucifix that always hung from his neck, mocking her with its brilliance. It was a symbol of life and hope to so many, but to her it meant only terror and disgrace. The beatings, the shame of her nakedness, the insidious name calling, the days spent locked alone in her chamber—memories that haunted her continually.

  During the day, she could force them to a dark place in her mind. There cowering like demons afraid of the light that would expose them for what they were, they hid, waiting for darkness to descend, for her mind to grow weary and lower its defenses.

  Then they flew out, scattering like bats to every corner of her thoughts, tormenting her over and over. God doesn’t love you, you little whore. She heard her uncle’s booming voice echo through the cold hallways of his manor. His eyes, so clear to her now, drooping, wrinkled and bloodshot: wicked eyes, oscillating between hatred and what she now realized was lust. Other than to whip her, he had never touched her, but he had done more damage with his words—and with his evil glare—than any physical contact could have.

  She was naked, curled in the corner of her dark room. The shadowy form of her uncle descended upon her. Suddenly, a door opened where a door had not been. A waterfall of light poured from it, saturating the entire room with its brilliance and warmth.

  Her uncle, furious at the intrusion, roared and sprang to shut the door, but he could not budge it.

  The light slowly molded into the figure of a man, sending her uncle scurrying for the darkest corner of the room. Charlisse was not afraid. She rose and slowly walked toward the door. The man held out his hands to her. His radiance showered her with peace and love.

  “Caw. Caw. Caw.” The hideous sound jerked Charlisse from her dream, and she jumped from her bed, panting. A large, black crow stared at her from her window ledge.

  “Caw. Caw. Caw.” The bird glared at her with tiny eyes that squinted in wicked delight.

  “Shoo, get out of here!” she yelled, but the crow remained steadfast, like an omen of evil, wings spread, hovering in the window, blocking out the lustrous dawn of the new day.

  The reverend barreled through the door, a look of concern on his face. He glanced from Charlisse to the crow and took another step forward. The crow bellowed one more caw before it turned and flew away.

  Charlisse grabbed a blanket and covered her nightgown.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, miss,” the reverend said. “When I heard you scream, I thought someone was in here.” His blond hair stuck out in every direction.

  Charlisse glanced at the open window, trying to shake the eerie feeling that something—or someone—had been in there. Why had the crow fled so rapidly when the reverend entered?

  “You look tired.” His eyes were puffy from sleep.

  “I am,” Charlisse said. “But thank you for coming to my aid.”

  The reverend stood for a moment, looking perplexed. He rubbed his eyes. “Well, I’m making breakfast,” he stuttered and turned to leave. “It’s Sunday, you know—church today. I asked one of the ladies who attend church to bring you some fresh clothes.”

  ♥♥♥

  It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and as promised, one of the reverend’s parishioners brought over two simple, attractive gowns for Charlisse, along with a handbag and fan. After bathing, dressing, and pinning her curls up in a loose bun, she felt refreshed, but could not shake the strange dreams that had tormented her sleep.

  The Sunday service in no way resembled the ceremonies she was used to in England. To her surprise, the small chapel filled near to overflowing: families with small children, single people—mostly men—and even some Negro slaves. Most of the men owned sugar plantations, she was told, but a few had reputable businesses in town.

  After a few hymns—which everyone sang with enthusiasm—the reverend delivered his sermon. Charlisse had never heard anyone talk about God the way the reverend did. His words mesmerized her. Like sharp arrows, they pierced through the casing of her heart, leaving her uncomfortable. Shifting in her seat, she couldn’t wait for the service to end.

  Afterward, the reverend’s time was taken up with greeting his parishioners and various other duties. Charlisse, not in the mood for conversation, excused herself to the cottage, where she spent the remainder of the afternoon.

  Restless, she paced her room, unable to sit still. Her thoughts kept drifting to Merrick, wondering how he was, wondering what would become of him. And what of her father? Should she go looking for him? Yet what would she find if she found him? She hated the waiting. It was driving her mad. Everything was so uncertain. She felt like a ship tossed about at sea without a rudder. It had been two days since she’d seen Merrick. Tomorrow, the reverend promised, they would visit him after their appointment with the governor. It was the only thing that kept her sane.

  By the time the reverend returned and Sloane appeared for his evening report, Charlisse felt as though she were standing on a towering cliff, ready to topple over the edge.

  “Still can’t find no one willin’ to stand up ’gainst Edward.” Sloane’s face was as crumpled as his shirt.

  Charlisse sank onto the couch and wept. No amount of consolation by either men could comfort her. It wasn’t just Merrick. It was her father, her uncle, the shipwreck, the pirates, and her whole miserable past. Everything was mixing into a giant pot of sludge. And it was about to boil over. She must do something. This time, she would not allow fate to drag her into the abyss of despair, not when love had finally taken residence in her heart. Tomorrow, she would plead Merrick’s case to the governor, but if her petitions fell on deaf ears, she determined to take matters into her own hands.

  Chapter 27: The Redemption

  Merrick sat on the cold floor of his dark cell. It had been four days since he had been thrown into this pit, and with nothing to do but ponder his fate, time had dragged on like an eternity. He had grown tired of counting the cockroaches that scuttled across the dirty stones, and was now doing something more productive. He was bringing to memory verses from the Bible.

  The only relief in his gloom had been seeing Charlisse. But that was a few days ago, and her absence brought an aching fear to his soul. With her father and Kent prowling Port Royal, carrying out their wicked plans, Charlisse was not safe.

  And there was nothing he could do about it. That was the worst thing of all—losing his freedom, his control. It
was why he had forsaken home and fortune back in London. He’d not been able to go anywhere, do anything, or make any plans that had not suffered the scrutiny of his powerful father. Now, he was in a different kind of cell, not the bondage of conventional society, nor the restrictions of religious dogma, nor even the unyielding requirements of position and power. Yet these iron bars and stone walls were equally confining.

  Not too long ago, he would have been enraged at his unjust imprisonment, hating those who had lied to put him in this cell, bent on vengeance. Yet instead of hatred, he felt nothing but pity for Edward and Kent. They were miserable, lonely men who would do anything to satisfy a greed and lust that would forever be insatiable. It was a life he had gladly forsaken when he became a follower of Christ.

  Instead of revenge, he felt a crazed anxiety and restlessness at being confined—of having no control. He paced his cage like a wild animal. Did he fear death? Did he fear the gallows? Not nearly as much as he feared being helpless. Lord, what are you trying to show me? Thomas always said when troubles abounded, God was either trying to teach him something or change his direction.

  Merrick leaned against the iron bars, the icy rods shooting dread down his back. A rat scampered across his cell. Halting, it stood on its hind legs and wrinkled its nose at Merrick. Gray-haired and plump, it reminded him of Edward, and Merrick sprang toward it, hoping to squash it under his boot. Squealing, the rodent scampered off and darted through a crack in the wall. “Not this time, old man.” Merrick kicked the wall. “But soon, very soon.”

  He stomped back to the bars and huffed. He would bring that murdering mongrel to justice. And he would no longer let his feelings for Charlisse interfere. Surely, she would understand now that she had seen her father’s true nature. But regardless, her relation to Edward gave Merrick even more reason to lock up the man. Her longing for a father would bring only disaster if she found him. What a fool he had been to think that a monster like Edward could ever change.

  Charlisse was out there with Edward and Kent, protected only by a clergyman. What would happen should their paths cross? Would Kent finish the job he had started and then pass her off to her father as a spoil of war?

  Merrick shook the bars with a fury that sent flakes of rust swirling down on him like angry insects. He had to get out of here! How can I protect her, Lord? How can I capture Edward? How can I serve you from within this prison? He released the bars with one last thrust and paced to the stone wall, raking a hand through his hair. His wrath bubbled over and he slammed his fist into the wall. Just get me out of here, Lord, so I can help her! Hanging his head, he offered a quick prayer for Charlisse’s protection, knowing only the Almighty could keep her safe now.

  ♥♥♥

  Charlisse’s sleep was even more fitful than the night before, holding her captive to the tormenting thoughts invading her mind. She floated in a slumber even too shallow to invite nightmares. Regardless, the terrifying sensation of standing on a precipice lingered in her soul. It was as if someone—or something—was trying to push her over the edge, and deep down she knew if it succeeded, she would be lost forever.

  Her thoughts shifted to the man in her dream who stood in the doorway of light—so full of love and peace and warmth. He beckoned her, calling to her in a gentle, quiet voice. Who was he? And what did he want? Perhaps she was just going mad.

  Tossing aside the tangled blankets, Charlisse sat up on the cot, her body moist with perspiration. An eerie silence crept through the night air. Not even the crickets dared to chirp outside her window.

  With a handkerchief, she dabbed the moisture on her neck and slid off the bed. Her long nightgown clung to her as she walked toward the window for some fresh air, trying to relieve the conflicting thoughts that tore at her soul. A blast of unusually frigid air poured over her damp gown. She shivered.

  Moonlight dissipated behind a mass of dark clouds. Fear gripped her. Once more a crow landed on the window ledge. Charlisse bounced back, startled. He let out a hideous “Caw!” and stared at her with an intensity that sent alarm prickling down her spine. His beady eyes glowed red in the dark.

  An overwhelming sense of evil permeated the room. Like a dark fog, it crept over the window ledge, down the wall, and across the wooden floor until it surrounded Charlisse’s bare feet. Inch by inch, it swarmed up her legs.

  Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Tha-thump, Tha-thump, Tha-thump. Her breath came in frosty clouds. Why is it so cold?

  The crow let out another ear-shattering “Caw.” This time, it sounded almost human. The feathered beast examined her, cocking its head as its hooked beak seemed to spread in a wicked grin.

  The fog reached her knees, eddying and swirling in some demonic dance. She could no longer feel her legs. She must stop it! If she didn’t, it would swallow her whole.

  Frozen in terror, she clasped her hands together and did the only thing she could think to do. She looked up to heaven and prayed. “God, if you are there and you care about me, please … please,” she stuttered, not knowing what to ask, hesitating, feeling foolish. “Please, I need you.”

  Suddenly, the dark clouds outside sped away, allowing a flood of moonlight to filter into the room.

  The crow glared at Charlisse, flapping his wings violently. Then he let out one last angry “Caw” before flying away.

  As soon as he was gone, the fog retreated, slithering from the light back into the shadows until it, too, disappeared out the window.

  An incredible sense of peace and joy swept into the room, riding on the beams of moonlight that now showered over Charlisse like spinning angels. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  She fell to her knees. A sense of shame overcame her, an unworthiness, a filthiness. She bowed her head, sobbing, unable to face the penetrating purity of the light.

  A finger beneath her chin slowly lifted her head. When she opened her eyes, there was no one there, only an overwhelming sense of love that poured into her, filling her up and bubbling over until she could do nothing but smile.

  A giggle escaped her lips and then another and another. She felt as though she were a little girl sitting in her father’s warm, protective lap while he tickled her affectionately. She remained in place, basking in the shower of love for what seemed like only minutes. But when the moonlight was transcended by the glow of dawn, she realized it had been hours.

  Rising, she ran to the window to greet the new day with an anticipation she had never felt before. Birds of every color flitted between Kapok trees and palms. Hibiscus flowers and orchids in full bloom offered their sweet nectar to hummingbirds fanning them with wings too angelic to see. A small, chubby green-and-yellow bird with a red beak landed on a branch near the window to serenade her.

  Throwing on her robe, she crept into the main room of the cottage to start some tea and wait for the reverend to awaken, but he was already up, Bible in his lap, smiling as she entered. She ran and knelt beside him. They exchanged a knowing glance.

  “Did you not sleep, Reverend?”

  His eyes sparkled. “Sometimes the Lord calls me to prayer instead of sleep. Last night was such a night.”

  “Prayer? For what?”

  “For you.”

  Charlisse could not imagine anyone caring enough to sacrifice sleep to pray for her, especially someone she hardly knew. She swallowed a burst of emotion. “Reverend, something happened to me last night.” She told him the story, unable to stop her tears from falling as she relayed the events of the night. All the while, the reverend listened with great interest, a knowing smile steady on his face.

  “Reverend, what happened to me?” she asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? You called upon God, and he answered you.” He gave her hand a squeeze and grinned. “All he asks is that we seek him with all our hearts, and when we do, he can’t help but respond.”

  “The presence I felt, the love and joy, that was God?”

  “His Holy Spirit, yes. Jesus was showing you how much he loves you.”

&nb
sp; Charlisse couldn’t help the excitement erupting within her. “So, he’s real? he exists!”

  The reverend smiled.

  “And he loves me?”

  The reverend nodded. “Do you want to become one of his children?”

  Charlisse searched his eyes for any speck of doubt or betrayal. But she found only sincerity and love. He believed in this God. He had sacrificed everything to follow him. Could Charlisse do any less? How could she deny God’s existence—as well as his love for her—after he had revealed himself to her in such a tender way last night? “I do,” she said.

  There in a tiny cottage on the outskirts of one of the most wicked cities in the Caribbean, thousands of miles from the only home she’d known, Charlisse prayed to her new Father in heaven and gave her life to him.

  Afterward, she lifted her face, dried her eyes, and embraced the reverend so tightly he chuckled with delight. Although none of her problems were gone, and her situation was the same, she no longer felt the weight of frustration, fear, and helplessness that had recently plagued her every moment. They had been replaced with hope and an assurance of love she had never dreamed of before, from a God who cared for her beyond her understanding.

  After finishing breakfast, she quickly got dressed, grabbed her reticule and fan, and set out with the reverend for their meeting with Governor Moodyford. Now, she would see what miracles God could perform, for it would take a miracle, indeed, to get Merrick released from prison. She thought of her father—the man who had put him there. With the power of God on her side, perhaps even Edward’s hardened heart would melt, and she would finally enjoy the loving reunion she always dreamed of.

  Chapter 28: Hope without Hope

  The relentless humidity and heat climbed with the rise of the sun as Charlisse and the reverend traveled down Fisher’s Row in their horse-drawn buggy. The governor’s residence, otherwise known as King’s House, was located near the batteries that protected the entrance to the harbor. Taking in a deep breath of sea air, Charlisse believed with all her heart that everything was going to be fine now—that Governor Moodyford would see the sense of their arguments, release Merrick, and the illustrious captain would be home in time for supper. With God on her side, what other possible outcome could there be? Nothing but cheerful anticipation bounded from her soul—so very different from yesterday’s hopelessness.