On the Wings of a Whisper: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 1)

by Lynnette Bonner

  But before she could even open her mouth to voice an apology, he was smiling down at her. “What have you been wanting to speak to me about, love?”

  She ran her tongue over her lips and leveled her best pleading expression on him. “Papa, please. Don’t go. I know you are not well.”

  His nostrils flared. “Not well? Whatever could you be speaking of?” But the evidence of the lie lay there on his face, plain for her to see.

  She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not a naïve child, Papa. I haven’t served with you in the clinic on the plantation for all these years without learning a thing or two. And”—her voice hitched—”I need you, Papa. Please stay on Zanzibar?”

  Papa’s chin lifted slightly. His jaw hardened. And he blinked rapidly a few times. “I can’t, child.”

  Despondency threatened to overwhelm her. But if he wouldn’t stay for her, maybe he would stay for himself. “Papa, you are going to need me in the days to come. You are going to need medicines and care.”

  He looked down at her, and his features softened. “When did you grow into such a beautiful young woman?”

  Good. Let him feel sentimental. Maybe that would sway him to her argument. “Papa, I’ll take care of you. And Jasmine and Rory, they deserve to have a good-bye.” Her teeth clenched for a moment before she tacked on. “And Mother.”

  Papa’s face became even more tender. “My sin has brought such a great deal of pain into your life, RyAnne. And for that my sorrow knows no boundaries.”

  RyAnne felt her eyes widen. The Hunter family secret was never spoken of openly where someone might overhear. She darted a glance around, but the music and rustle of skirts likely had prevented anyone nearby from taking heed of his words. She lowered her voice. “You’ve given me a good life, Papa, and I’ve nothing to regret.” She swallowed. Except losing him too soon, and this was much too soon.

  A sigh slipped from him. “I wish your mother could have learned to love you.”

  RyAnne pursed her lips. And only because she was trying her hardest to stay in his good graces, she offered, “She loves me in her own way, I suppose.” Hopefully the Father above would look past the lie to see her heart was only in sparing Papa untold suffering at his end.

  “Hmmm…perhaps, dear. Though she could better show it, methinks.”

  She seized on that opportunity. “She always treats me better when you are near. If you won’t stay for yourself, mayhap you’ll stay for my sake?”

  Papa touched his cheek to hers, and she felt a shudder tremble through him. “There is none stronger than you, dear girl. Anne may not know it, but she needs you. And so when I go, I ask that you have patience with her.” He must have felt her stiffen, because he hurried on. “You always do have patience with her, I know, but now, even more, you must bear with her impatience.”

  Discouragement was rapidly building a mound in her throat that threatened to block off her airway. She looked up at him again. “You must stay, Papa. There will be no help for you on the Continent.”

  Above her head, Papa looked over to where Mother and Jasmine still sat awaiting Papa’s return. So many emotions passed across his face that RyAnne couldn’t seem to pin any one of them down. Slowly, his features released their tension. His eyes were no longer so hard, his jaw not quite so set. And the longer he watched his family, the softer his countenance became. At long last his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he turned to study the ballroom floor.

  Relief coursed through her. She had done it. Papa would stay. She dropped her forehead onto his shoulder and pressed her eyes closed hard to keep the tears of thankfulness locked away. Joy welled up inside her. She would have her papa for at least a few more months if he rested and convalesced well. Her happiness could no longer be contained. It bloomed into a huge grin that she turned upon him. “Thank you, Papa. You’ve no idea—”

  “RyAnne, child. I cannot stay.”

  Like a wave had just crashed over her, all hope and joy disintegrated. Her feet stumbled to a stop, no matter that they were in the way of the other dancers. The song was coming to an end anyhow. “But I thought—”

  “I’m sorry. There are many reasons you wouldn’t understand. I simply must go.” He started to lead her off the floor.

  But she struck at his arm and dragged her feet. “And what about us!? Your family? You will just leave us and go off to the Continent to”—she checked the volume of her voice—”die alone?”

  Papa took her elbow once more. Firmly this time. “Keep your voice down, child. My decision is made. Don’t make this more difficult for me than it already is. Hush now. Jasmine approaches.” Papa’s face morphed into a beaming smile. He gave RyAnne a little nudge in the direction of her mother, and then Papa swept Jasmine into a waltz as the next song started up.

  Effectively dismissed, RyAnne simply stood where she was. Her vision blurred against the large hand-painted vase that held a bouquet of island roses. She had failed. Now what was she to do?

  “Oh, RyAnne, I do declare. You stand directly in the space where people need to walk as if you are the only person in this room.” Mother snapped her fingers. “Do get over here and sit down, girl! You act as if you’ve never been taught manners a day in your life!”

  RyAnne did move, but she knew from the chill spiraling through her that to sit would sap the last of her strength. She stood instead, behind Mother’s chair, feeling as if the last pulse of life was draining from her.

  Mother gestured to a cup on the side table. “Brayden asked that I give you his good-bye. He had an early appointment on the other side of the island at the plantation.”

  Thankful for something to do with her hands, RyAnne lifted the cup and drained the contents. Still, her tongue felt like a twig in her mouth. She must move or fall down, so she set to pacing. Surreptitiously, she used the sleeve of her gown to pat at the moisture dotting her forehead. Papa’s refusal had drained her emotionally, which had apparently aggravated her symptoms.

  She must stay strong. She must think. Consider what her next move must be. For no matter how much Papa seemed to wish it, she would not see him off to the Continent knowing it would be the last time they ever spoke.

  Papa returned Jasmine to her seat and bowed before Mother. She rose regally and allowed him to lead her into the next dance.

  RyAnne stood next to Jasmine, who was seated in one of the red velvet chairs. She trembled from the simple effort of remaining upright. But Papa always gave Mother one of the last dances of the evening. They should be heading home in just a few moments. Perhaps then, after some quinine and a short nap, she would be able to think what she must do.

  At least her attempts to keep anyone from knowing she was sick seemed to be working.

  Mother never paid attention to her. Papa normally would have noticed, but he was obviously preoccupied with the morrow’s sailing. And Jasmine’s mind was engaged with watching Captain Dawson’s first mate, the tall, handsome Garrett Holloman, dance with Alicia Harcourt. His golden hair combined with deep-blue eyes and broad shoulders melded in a way that might make even the most reluctant of women swoon. Garrett said something, and Alicia stuttered a laugh accompanied by batted lashes. Jasmine turned her gaze to her lap, rubbing at an invisible wrinkle. But after only a moment her focus returned to the couple.

  Garrett looked up suddenly from his partner and caught her eyes on him.

  Jasmine darted her gaze on past him as though she’d merely been studying the room, but RyAnne didn’t miss the dull flush that crept up her neck.

  RyAnne tried to steady the fevered tremor in her voice as she said, “He really is very handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Who?” Jasmine asked innocently.

  “Garrett Holloman, the man you haven’t taken your eyes off all evening, who else? Rumor has it he’s not only Captain Dawson’s first mate but his cousin as well.”

  Jasmine groaned. “Is it that obvious? I had hoped I was doing an admirable job of hiding my feelings.”

  RyAnne smiled and
couldn’t resist teasing. “You probably shouldn’t stare at him continually then.”

  Jasmine giggled, but then her face turned serious as she scanned the room. “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

  The dance ended, and Garrett left Alicia at the edge of the dance floor and strode their way. He met RyAnne’s gaze and offered a bold wink, yet she knew without a doubt it was not her he was coming for. She pressed her lips together. So…rogue must run in the family.

  “Maybe he has.” RyAnne offered her sister the soft warning.

  “Who—” Jasmine’s question was cut short as her gaze landed on Garrett, who now stood before her.

  “May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Hunter?”

  Jasmine’s mouth opened and shut like a sea turtle eating kelp.

  Garrett only raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting silently for her to find her voice.

  Finally Jasmine offered the man a wobbly smile and said, “It would not be proper, sir. I’ve danced with you once already this evening, and besides, I should not leave my sister standing here alone.”

  “Then allow me to keep her company.”

  RyAnne clenched her teeth as Captain Trent Dawson stopped beside her. Stodgy recriminations were the last things she wanted to deal with at the moment. Still, she wouldn’t let that keep Jasmine from enjoying her evening. She nudged Jasmine in the back. “I’m sure Captain Dawson will be tolerably passable company, Jas. Please don’t let me hold you back.”

  Garrett tipped a nod of thanks to his cousin, then held out a hand to Jasmine with a smile. His look said he would accept no more excuses. “Let’s make tongues wag, shall we?”

  Jasmine looked at RyAnne questioningly.

  RyAnne nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  Jasmine still looked uncertain when Garrett led her away. But RyAnne didn’t have emotions to spare worrying about her. It was taking all her gumption to remain standing.

  Captain Dawson took her elbow and directed her toward the settee. He seated her carefully at one corner and then sank onto a chair across from her, his quick scrutinizing glance taking in her trembling.

  RyAnne expected him to launch into a lecture and was pleasantly surprised when he spoke in a compassionate voice. “May I get you something to drink?”

  She passed her tongue over dry, fevered lips. The punch Brayden had left for her had only primed her thirst, it seemed. “That would be nice.”

  He was gone only momentarily and returned with a cup of hot spiced apricot juice. RyAnne wrapped her hands around the cup and could feel warmth begin to seep back into her body as she sipped the soothing drink. Who knew the man could be thoughtful?

  He kept silent as she sipped carefully from her cup, but when she was done, he offered a faint smile and took the cup from her. “I think I shall rather miss your stubbornness when I set sail in the morning, Miss Hunter. Do try and take a care for yourself while I’m away, won’t you?”

  RyAnne sighed and started to tell him he needn’t worry, but that’s when the solution over what to do about Papa stopped her midword.

  Captain Dawson set her cup on the table between them, a furrow creasing his brow. “Is something amiss?”

  She brushed away his concern. “I’m fine, I assure you, Captain.”

  A moment of thought revealed the plan had some weaknesses, but this was the last remaining option she had now.

  She angled the captain a glance. He seemed preoccupied with a stray thread on the arm of his chair.

  Would sneaking aboard Captain Dawson’s vessel even be possible? She bit her lip. All she would need to do would be to hide for a day or two. Then she’d let someone “discover” her, and Papa would be forced to bring her back home. It was an unstable plan because there were any number of things that might go wrong. She might be caught trying to leave the house. She might be caught sneaking aboard the ship. Papa might simply return her to port and then head straight back to the Continent without her. But Papa had left her no choices, and it was the only thing she could think to do. At the very least it would give her a few more days at sea to work her wiles on Papa—even if it meant facing the ire of the stuffy Captain Dawson when he’d be forced to turn his vessel around.

  She studied him once more from the corner of her eye, and her chin lifted when she realized it wouldn’t bother her to have a few extra days with him either.

  The movement caused a wave of dizziness to wash through her.

  Her fever was another thing that could go wrong…

  She straightened her shoulders. She’d just have to stay strong long enough to make it onto the ship and keep hidden for a pair of the sun’s rotations. After that, her fever would actually weigh in on her side. Papa was a doctor, and if anyone knew the toll a fever could take on a body, it was him. He’d want her back on the island, where he could offer her the best of medical care—just like she wanted him where she’d have access to his medical supplies.

  Yes, she could make this work. She had to make this work.

  Trent clenched his teeth. Stubborn, contrary woman. She would exhaust herself into a serious illness if she kept up her belligerence. “Listen.” Trent cast a glance in the direction of her parents. “I know things with your mother could be better, but that’s no reason for you to keep your sickness from her. Your father and I will be gone on the morrow, and I just want to make sure—”

  “Captain.” Exasperation touched her tone when she cut him off. “I already told you if I wasn’t better by morning I would go see Dr. Kirk.”

  “What is the difference if your mother knows of your illness now or then?”

  RyAnne sighed and tipped her head back. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “Things are…” She swirled her hand as though searching for the right word. “Complicated.”

  He suppressed a snort at her understatement and leaned toward her. “Yes, but—”

  “Excuse me?” A young man wringing pale hands stood beside them. “May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Hunter?”

  Dash it all! What was wrong with the lads in this port? It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the lady was unwell. Trent glowered at the boy, but his besotted gaze lay transfixed solely on RyAnne.

  RyAnne stood to her feet with a smile for the idiotic intruder.

  Trent lurched upright. “Miss Hunter, please.” He kept his voice low so as not to draw attention.

  But he didn’t have time to say more. The smile left her face as though it had drained away with all her color. She swayed unsteadily and reached toward him as her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to topple. He caught her awkwardly in his arms and laid her gently on the floor.

  “Get Dr. and Mrs. Hunter!” he snapped at the lad.

  The young man only clutched the sides of his head and stared down at the lady’s prostrate form. “D-did I say something wrong?”

  Trent might have laughed outright under other circumstances. “No. Just get them!” Yanking off his coat, he placed it under RyAnne’s head. He felt for a pulse on the soft hollow of her throat, and when the beat of her heart bumped sure and steady against his fingertips, relief washed over him.

  Ryan and Anne pushed through the crowd that had gathered around Miss Hunter’s still form. Rory and Jasmine hovered just behind them. Anne let out a gasp but made no move to help her daughter, and Ryan only looked at Trent and demanded, “What happened?”

  Trent gave as brief an explanation as he could, not giving away the fact that she’d been sick since the ball began early in the evening, but only revealing she’d stood to accept a dance request and then fallen into a faint.

  He glanced at the lad who had asked RyAnne to dance. He was wringing his hands and saying over and over again, “Oh dear. Dear me. What did I do?”

  Ryan Hunter hunched forward in agitation as one of his coughing attacks took him. He groped for a handkerchief and covered his mouth. Then gesturing from Trent to RyAnne, he wheezed out between coughs, “Bring her. I’ll fetc
h the carriages.”

  Trent placed one arm under RyAnne’s neck and the other under her knees and lifted her to his chest. Jasmine gathered his coat, and he nodded his thanks, preceding her to the portico.

  Rory assisted his mother into the first carriage, and Trent followed, angling RyAnne through the narrow entry. He started to lay her head in her mother’s lap.

  But Mrs. Hunter jolted back as though the girl might have a contagion. “Oh, no, Captain. Jasmine will sit here on this bench with me. You best keep RyAnne close to you in case the carriage slides on these dreadful roads.”

  Clenching his jaw, Trent laid her onto the opposite seat and then sat so RyAnne’s head could rest against his leg. Jasmine draped his coat over RyAnne’s thin shoulders and then tapped the carriage roof as she sank onto the bench beside her mother.

  With a lurch they were in motion.

  The ride to the Hunters’ city home took twenty minutes, but RyAnne did not stir, and his anger at the mother studying the passing scenery and seeming so callous to the plight of her youngest child mounted with each passing minute.

  When the carriage eased to a stop at the Hunters’ front door and he stepped down with RyAnne, she moaned and rolled her head against his shoulder.

  Relief washed through him. “There you are, Miss Hunter. I was beginning to think you may have gotten yourself into a bind I couldn’t get you out of.”

  RyAnne frowned. Why did her head feel as though it must have been kicked by one of Rory’s mules? Memory seeped in and she moaned. Mother and Papa surely knew now that she’d been taken with a fever again. Would Papa change his mind about sailing with the dawn now?

  Another round of dizziness swept over her. And why was everything moving?

  Opening her eyes, she looked up into Captain Dawson’s face and frowned. It was most improper for the man to be carrying her around. It should be Papa, or at the very least Rory. She pushed at him and made an effort to get down, but she could not budge in the strength of his arms.