Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  She blinked back tears, and Paul experienced her pain. Embarrassed, she left the table and turned her back to him. “I’ve grown up these past few days,” she rasped, “and I don’t think I like being a woman.”

  Paul fought the consuming desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, to carry her to the bunk and make tender love to her, to prove her wrong. But his mind screamed: Charmaine— remember your pledge to Charmaine.

  He drew a deep breath to calm himself. “Rebecca, no one need ever know what happened between us,” he said evenly. “If all goes well tomorrow, I may have my father and brother with me when I return. If so, this cabin will be yours alone. I will tell everyone I found you in the hold, that you wanted to see the New York City sights, but now I’m bringing you home to your brother. I’ll spend the remainder of the trip in the common quarters with the crew, and no one will question me.”

  It was not what she longed to hear. He seemed certain he was going to find his brother alive. Charmaine would have her husband back, and he would no longer be bound by his promise. Still, he made no pledge to her, not a single word of encouragement. She meant nothing more to him than a tawdry encounter that had claimed her virginity. She was like Felicia: out of sight, out of mind. In fact, she meant less to him than Felicia, for Felicia had shared his bed many times, and she, only once. He showed no desire to make love to her again. He did think she was a little girl. She’d best accept that or her heart would break, and she would not allow him that final triumph.

  He waited for her to face him again, surprised and relieved to see she was smiling. She appeared pleased with his plan, and he breathed a bit easier. Perhaps everything would work out for the best.

  Later, while he bathed, Rebecca studied him surreptitiously from the shadows. Even though he’d rejected her, she yearned for him still and battled the urge to offer herself to him. She remembered his rough hands, his impassioned kisses, and her eyes stung with tears. She had all she could do to hold tight to her spot on the bunk. When he rose from the tub, she turned away. He was lost to her. She was a little girl—a foolish little girl, with big, foolish dreams.

  New Year’s Day, 1839

  Early the next morning, Paul left the ship, telling Philip Conklin he’d been down in the hold and discovered a stowaway, a young girl charmed by the notion of living in the big city. “Her brother will be distressed,” he explained, “so I’ve locked her in my cabin until we leave port.”

  The captain raised a dubious brow, but said not a word. The hold had been unloaded the day before, and none of his crew had spotted her.

  Paul found Roger Dewint waiting for him on the quay. Together, they walked along the many piers in the harbor, stopping from time to time to engage somebody in conversation.

  By noon, Paul got lucky. Samuel Waters worked for John, had in fact, arrived in New York aboard a Duvoisin vessel. He was a runaway slave. It took quite a bit of coaxing, but Samuel capitulated, telling Paul he knew a Rose Forrester, whose sister was a good friend of John’s. He gave Paul their address.

  Chapter 9

  Sunday, January 13, 1839

  Charmantes

  CHARMAINE woke with a start. Had Marie cried out? The infant’s tiniest squeak could bring her out of the deepest slumber. She rolled over and peered into the cradle. Marie was still sleeping.

  Paul had been gone for nearly three weeks, and Charmaine had counted the days, his journey ever on her mind. She had traveled to town every morning for the past week. Today would be no different. As before, the girls and the Harringtons insisted on accompanying her.

  She visited the chapel before departing. Without a priest, she hadn’t attended Holy Mass for over four months, but she found solace in the serene sanctuary and petitioned the Almighty to bring her husband home to her. She had not missed a day in her novena, nor would she until her prayers were answered.

  Just before ten, they were on their way. Because it was Sunday, nearly everyone was strolling along the main thoroughfare, greeting neighbors and enjoying the cool breezes that would not last much longer. They did a bit of shopping and went to Dulcie’s for lunch, but Charmaine ate very little.

  Loretta looked at the food on her plate. “Charmaine,” she chided lightly, “you haven’t touched your meal.”

  “I’ve no appetite,” Charmaine replied.

  “But you must eat,” Loretta proceeded, “for your daughter’s sake. Starving yourself with worry will never do.”

  Charmaine had heard the lecture before and was grateful when Yvette interrupted. “Can we go down to the wharf after this?”

  Charmaine nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Marie, who’d been content for hours, began to fuss. “Please, finish eating,” she said as she stood with her baby. “I’ll be back once I’ve fed Marie.”

  Loretta nodded, and Charmaine left them in pursuit of the carriage that was parked in the livery. Once there, she rearranged the cushions within the brougham, drew the curtains, and began nursing her daughter.

  Marie’s mouth opened wide, and Charmaine smiled down at the infant, watching her pursed lips working the nipple, stopping only to swallow. The tiny eyes rolled heavenward, satiated, her delicate eyelids, already fringed with dark lashes, closing slowly. Charmaine basked in the moment, as she did each time the child suckled at her breast. “My little Marie Elizabeth,” she breathed. “What will this month bring for us?”

  Is John still alive? Or would she be forced to face Paul’s marriage proposal? Charmaine struggled to suppress the thought. But today, it was so vivid she could not ignore it. Would she wed Paul? Probably. Not so much for herself, but for her daughter and for him. She knew he was suffering, realized now how poignantly he loved her. Yes, if she were forced to recover from another loss, she would consider marrying him.

  She was still staring into the distance when the carriage door was yanked open. “What goes on in here?” A toothless man peered in, tobacco-tainted saliva drooling from the side of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his grimy hand.

  Horrified, Charmaine quickly drew her bodice together. “Sir! This is my carriage!”

  He squinted at her. “Are you the new Mrs. Duvoisin?”

  “Yes, I am. Who are you?”

  “Martin St. George,” he replied, dark spittle spraying in all directions.

  The name triggered an ancient memory. “Martin, the farrier?”

  “That’s me. And what are you doin’ in this coach all the way back here?” Oblivious to the baby she held, his eyes darted about, as if he’d find her lover hidden in the corner.

  Suddenly she was laughing, laughing as she hadn’t laughed in a very long time, laughing so hard she shook. I mistook John for this man the night we met. Impossible!

  Marie squeaked in her sleep, and Charmaine subdued her mirth.

  “What’s so funny?” the noisome hostler demanded.

  Charmaine sighed, wiping away happy tears. “Nothing, nothing at all!”

  He shook his head, spat into the hay, and walked away.

  She giggled again and then, making herself presentable, climbed out of the carriage, the slumbering Marie clasped firmly to her breast.

  Loretta and Joshua had just stepped out of Dulcie’s with the girls when she returned. Together, they strolled toward the harbor.

  A shout went up, and Charmaine’s heart leapt into her throat, missing a beat when beyond the peninsula, on the open sea, she caught sight of a ship’s sails, bellied out. Pray God it was a Duvoisin vessel! Pray God it was from New York! Pray God it was Paul bringing John home!

  Pedestrians migrated to the wharf, and soon there was a throng of onlookers. They stepped aside when they saw Charmaine and the twins, sensing the importance of the merchantman wearing into the mouth of the cove. Joshua led them to an unobstructed spot, where they waited for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, the vessel entered the inlet, and someone shouted, “It’s the Tempest!” as it closed the distance to the quay. Charmaine’s trembling hand flew to her mout
h. She’d have her answer today.

  “Look, Mademoiselle,” Jeannette exclaimed, “it’s Wade!” The man had drawn up alongside them, but Charmaine’s eyes never wavered from the ship.

  “May I hold Marie?” Jeannette asked, wanting to show off the babe.

  Charmaine surrendered her daughter without a thought, and Jeannette giggled when Marie objected with a squeak and a squirm.

  The Tempest grew in size and majesty, sailors now visible fore and aft, making ready to moor the one-hundred-fifty-foot vessel, some high on the forecastle deck, others on the quarterdeck, many climbing the ratlines to reef the sails, all immensely busy. When Yvette made a move to run ahead, Joshua grasped her shoulder, urging her to stay put. Charmaine didn’t recognize anyone on board, and she brought folded hands to her lips, uttering a swift Hail Mary.

  Loretta patted her arm. “God’s will be done, Charmaine.”

  Charmaine inhaled, praying she could accept her cross and go on.

  A scrape of wood on wood, a great groan, and the ship settled into place. Ropes were thrown overboard, and the longshoremen scrambled to loop and tie them to the pilings. Finally, the gangplank was lowered, and in consternation, Charmaine recognized Father Michael Andrews, lending an arm to Frederic as they stepped forward to disembark.

  “Papa!” Jeannette cried exuberantly and hurried to him with Marie in her arms, welcoming his embrace as he stepped onto the stable quay.

  Charmaine’s eyes flew back to the deck above, but there was no sign of John or Paul. She looked at Frederic again and read sorrow in his eyes, even though he smiled her way. Her heart froze. He hasn’t come back with John! He’s come back with a priest—my family’s priest! She had her answer. He’s brought Father Michael here to comfort me.

  Gulping back a violent sob, she turned away and buried her face in Joshua’s shirtfront. As his arm encircled her, she caved in to her grief.

  Yvette’s squeal sliced through the hum of the crowd. “Johnny! It’s Johnny!”

  Charmaine pivoted around, the name reverberating, sundering her every emotion. Miraculously, she beheld her husband hobbling down the gangplank, supported by Paul, who clutched his arm. He was there—thin, his face pale and drawn—but really there! Although his expression was pained, his eyes lit up when he saw her. Incredulous, she stood rooted to the spot, the entire boardwalk strangely hushed. Behind her she heard Loretta ask, “Is that John?” When he reached the pier, he smiled his familiar, crooked smile. “Will you have this prodigal husband back, my Charm?”

  All her anxiety evaporated, and she ran to him. He pulled free of Paul and stepped forward. She fell into his open arms, his name on her lips. Tears of joy replaced those still moist on her cheeks, and she felt his arms quicken, his face buried in her hair, his embrace so fierce she could scarcely breathe. Then his head lifted, and his hand spanned her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks to wipe her tears away, his fingers cupping her head. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, meeting his lips in impassioned fervor. There they stood in broad daylight, unconcerned about friends and family, the ship’s crew, or the multitude watching them.

  Frederic’s heart swelled, Michael’s throat contracted, and Loretta and Joshua hugged each other, each in exaltation. Charmaine uttered John’s name over and over again as she caressed his face and ran her fingers through his hair, categorizing his every feature, as if to confirm she was not dreaming.

  John held her at arm’s length, perusing her from head to toe. “Well?” he queried. “Where is she?”

  Although Charmaine frowned, Jeannette stepped forward, offering up the small bundle she lovingly held. “Here she is, Johnny. Here’s little Marie.”

  John tenderly took his daughter into his arms, looking down at her in awe, chuckling softly when she wiggled, yawned, and cooed in contentment. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, his gaze meeting Charmaine’s. “You did an exceptional job, my Charm.”

  “We both did,” she replied.

  She was suddenly aware of the many onlookers around her. John’s regard shifted to Michael, and Charmaine wondered why he was there. She noted the significant look that passed between them, and her eyes narrowed.

  John smiled innocently. “What?” he asked.

  “I know something is brewing,” Charmaine supplied. When John shrugged sheepishly, she said, “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  His crooked smile deepened, dimples visible now. “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. She’d find out sooner or later. She found Michael Andrews studying her intently. She couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking.

  Mostly, he was pleased to know his daughter could read her husband so well. The couple obviously liked each other as much as they loved each other. God had smiled down upon their union.

  “So, Father Michael,” she said, stepping over to him and clasping his hand, “what has brought you all the way to Charmantes?”

  “John, actually,” he answered simply. “I’ve known him for five years. He’s a close friend.”

  Charmaine’s astonishment made John laugh. “You see, Charmaine,” he said, “I’m not in league with the devil as you once believed.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to the priest.

  “John has been a generous benefactor to the St. Jude Refuge,” Michael expounded.

  Charmaine’s expression grew incredulous. “My husband? The man who doesn’t believe in God?”

  “But I do believe in good people and good causes, my Charm.”

  Frederic interrupted the exchange. “Come, John,” he prodded with concern, “you’ve been on your feet long enough. It is time we get you home.”

  Charmaine was amazed by the man’s display of affection.

  “He was gravely ill, Charmaine,” he explained, “and is still recovering from a serious injury. He’s been advised not to exert himself.”

  “I’m fine, Charmaine,” John reassured, seeing the worry on her face. “The worst is over, but Father is right. I would like to sit down.”

  She nodded and took Marie from his arms. The babe slept on.

  “Did you get him, Johnny?” Yvette asked. “Did you kill Dr. Blackford?”

  The wharf fell silent until Frederic spoke. “He’s dead, Yvette.” Deciding it was best to get the story out and over with, he added, “When he attacked your brother with a knife, I shot and killed him. He’s no longer a threat to our family.”

  “Good!” Yvette exclaimed.

  Paul offered to arrange transportation from the livery, but as he turned to leave, Charmaine grabbed his arm, holding him there a moment longer. A hint of a smile reached his eyes, and she could see he was happy for her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, “for everything.”

  His smile grew dynamic. “You’re welcome. Now—no more tears!”

  Rebecca tore her burning eyes from Paul and Charmaine, hurried down the gangplank, and headed home. Since the afternoon John and Frederic had boarded the ship, Paul hadn’t said two words to her. Now she knew why. It didn’t matter if John was dead or alive. He would always love Charmaine. She must forget him.

  The Duvoisins ambled down the pier toward the road. Charmaine had completely forgotten about Loretta and Joshua, but found them smiling at her. She went to them with John’s arm looped through hers and Michael Andrews flanking him on the right.

  “John, this is Loretta and Joshua Harrington,” she stated proudly, “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, this is my husband.”

  “Ah, yes,” John grinned devilishly, “Joshua—the Prophet. I’m sorry I didn’t remember you in Richmond, but you weren’t wearing your robes—”

  “John!” Charmaine admonished, her eyes shooting from Joshua to Father Michael, who was snickering behind a raised hand. “I’ve told the Harringtons you’re not as incorrigible as they’ve heard. Must you prove me wrong?”

  “Actually, I’m worse,” John replie
d. Catching her frown, he turned serious. “No, my Charm, I’d never do that.” He took Joshua’s hand. “Thank you for bringing your wife to Charmantes and looking after Charmaine in my absence.” He turned to Loretta and gave her his most charming smile. “Mrs. Harrington.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Loretta nodded dubiously before speaking to Charmaine. “Let me take Marie so you can help your husband to the carriage.”

  The twins accompanied their father, bantering effervescently. “Papa,” Jeannette exclaimed, “you don’t have your cane!”

  “I lost it somewhere along the way,” he commented, his arms encircling their shoulders. “But I don’t think I need it any longer. Not with the two of you to lean on and all the excitement behind us.”

  “You and Johnny are not the only ones with exciting news!” Yvette cut in. “Wait until you hear what happened to us!”

  “Let me help John into the carriage. After that, you’ll have my ear all the way home.”

  The brougham came to a standstill at the end of the wharf. John waved off the hands that offered help and, with some difficulty, pulled himself up and in. He exhaled with a grimace, which he tried to conceal by asking to hold Marie. Charmaine obliged. Then she and Michael climbed aboard, she settling next to John and Michael sitting opposite them.

  As the coach pulled away, she grabbed hold of John’s arm and hugged it, her eyes devouring every line of his face. He was studying his sleeping daughter again, marveling over her delicate features.

  Michael’s heart once again expanded with gladness as he watched them, the interior of the vehicle bathed in a very tangible love.

  “I’m dreaming,” she whispered, drawing John’s eyes from Marie. “I know I’m dreaming.”

  “No, my Charm,” he smiled, “I’m really here.”

  “But I had a premonition—the night Marie was born—that you had died!”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I did die,” he whispered. “But your mother sent me back to you.”