Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance)

by Christine Johnson

  Father had wanted a son.

  Most men did, but seeing it written in ink turned conjecture to cruel knowledge. No wonder he had doted on Charlie growing up. The accident must have destroyed his plans. If he knew Elizabeth had dragged Charlie into that disaster, he would never forgive her.

  Father had wanted a son. But he got a daughter. Two daughters, if she read her mother’s entry correctly. What had happened to that other baby girl?

  Mother’s joy overflowed onto the page as she recorded every little thing that Elizabeth did. That joy even washed away the anger and grief over Father’s mistress.

  How can I harbor anger with her, when she must feel the same as I? A perfect girl, beautiful in every way, is a blessing from God, regardless of the sin that led to her existence. I must forgive. Indeed forgiveness has already soothed my heart. I cannot explain such a change except as God’s grace. If He has forgiven me, shall I not also forgive others? So I have, and with that I see now that grace has granted me an advantage. As I have been forgiven and blessed with this child, so shall she. These precious children will be raised alike, neither one better than the other. I will ensure it.

  Elizabeth turned the page, eager to read what Mother had done, but she was met with just one line:

  It is done.

  Then the diary ended. Not a single word after that. No explanation. No names. Nothing.

  Elizabeth slammed the book shut. “How could you?” she cried out.

  A night breeze whispered through the tamarind leaves. Somewhere a shutter banged. Father paced the hallway beneath her room. Aunt Virginia snored and then coughed. The familiar sounds could not soothe. This diary had turned everything upside down. Instead of fighting for her daughter, Mother had given the illegitimate girl the same benefits as Elizabeth. How could she?

  Approaching Poppinclerk was a last resort. As the days passed, Rourke puzzled out another way to get Anabelle out of the Benjamin house the night of the ball. John wanted to sneak her out, but Rourke preferred to act. Drive an ax through the fence and pull her out, except that would only put a bullet in his back or clap his legs in irons. No, he needed another idea.

  So he gathered the men. It was time his crew knew the whole plan—and the risks. Someone might see a solution that he couldn’t.

  It took precious few minutes to detail their mission and the obstacles they faced.

  “I don’t want a one of you to accept blame if we’re caught,” Rourke said, even though his men all appeared eager to whisk away John’s wife. “As far as you know, we’re heading to Briland to fish. Nothing more. Understand?”

  John caught the flaw in his attempt to shield the crew. “Der be no women fishin’ on de Windsprite.”

  Anabelle. Rourke scrubbed his whiskers. “We might have to disguise her as a man.” At the rumble of protest, he added, “Only as a last resort. Once we reach Briland, you can sign on to another ship or fish with me. I won’t hold it against a man for wanting to return to Key West. Any questions?”

  “How long we settin’ here?” asked Rander, a cantankerous deckhand with a soft heart.

  “Five more days.”

  Five short days before the pendulum swung to either freedom or death. Somehow he had to devise a way to spring Anabelle from Benjamin’s trap. A rat would gnaw off its leg to get free. Barracuda and sharks could bite their way off a hook and line. The crafty lobster hid deep in the jagged reef. None of those offered a solution, but something tickled at Rourke’s memory. As a girl, Elizabeth had sneaked out of the house. He’d seen her once, crawling through that large wild tamarind like a monkey. Anabelle was no girl, but she was strong. That tree extended over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Perhaps she could climb out that way. Then they’d rendezvous at the appointed location.

  He spelled out the idea to his men. All but John seconded it.

  “How she get to Miz Lizbeth’s room dat late? Massa lock dem in de back.”

  John had found a flaw in his plan, but Rourke didn’t want to admit it. “Do you have a better idea?”

  John’s head drooped.

  “I do,” Tom Worthington said.

  All heads turned toward him.

  “It’s the night of the ball, correct?” Tom looked around the assembled group. “She could go there with Miss Benjamin and slip away while everyone else is busy.”

  Few ladies brought their maids to such a function—at least in Key West—but maybe Anabelle could convince Elizabeth. It would also be difficult to disappear from a ball, but Anabelle had managed to reach his ship a half dozen times without being seen.

  Rourke had to admit it was the best option they had. “It’s worth trying. Tom, you’re going to have to play messenger again. I’m going to write a note describing both ways to get out of the house. Can you get it to her?”

  Tom nodded. “If I can get near.”

  “Stay in town until you do.”

  “What if they don’t let her out of the house?” Tom asked. “Mr. Benjamin must suspect something if he’s locking the gate.”

  “Don’t she go to market?” Rander asked.

  Rourke could have blessed the pock-faced sailor with a kiss on each cheek. “That’s the answer. Try to catch her at market.”

  “In the daytime?” Tom sounded skeptical. “Someone will see me.”

  “True.” Rourke rubbed his chin. This could go badly wrong, and Tom was smart to consider options. “If you think anyone is following you, don’t come back to the ship. We will have to trust you finished the job.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Good.” Rourke clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you won’t fail us.”

  The following days brought no relief from the twin torments of Mother’s diary and the pending engagement announcement. Elizabeth could resolve the latter by talking to Father, but he seemed to be avoiding her. He took supper in his office. The door was always closed. When she knocked, he either did not answer or asked her to come back later.

  That left the diary. What had happened to the other daughter? Twenty years of silence shrouded the answer. She might have died or left Key West. She might still live here. Who would know? Who could Elizabeth ask? Certainly not Father. Aunt Virginia wouldn’t know. Despite her proclaimed closeness to Mother, this was not something that Elizabeth’s mother would have shared with anyone. None of the current servants had been here at that time. Nathan and Cook arrived shortly before Charlie was born. Florie came along soon after. Only Mother’s maid and Mammy had served the household, but both were gone now. Mother’s maid died of fever when Elizabeth was little, and Mammy left the summer before the hurricane. Anabelle was born two months after Elizabeth. There was no one to ask.

  By evening, her head ached so fiercely that she begged Aunt Virginia to excuse her early from their reading in the parlor.

  “You do look rather out of sorts.” Aunt Virginia lifted a handkerchief to her nose. “I hope there isn’t another of those dreadful yellow fever plagues coming around.”

  For an instant, Elizabeth was tempted to claim the onset of fever. It would keep even Mr. Finch away, but it wasn’t true. She felt none of the aches associated with tropical fevers. A little hint wouldn’t hurt, though. “I hope not, but it’s prudent to take precautions.”

  “Especially with the Harvest Ball nearly here.” Aunt Virginia shooed her away, handkerchief still covering her nose. “You must be in the best of health by then.”

  Only after Elizabeth shut her bedroom door did her headache begin to ease. The layers upon layers of petticoats along with the crinoline felt like lead. She stripped off the dress and as much of the underpinnings as possible and then lay on the bed staring at the plastered ceiling.

  A knock on the door signaled Anabelle’s arrival. “Miss?” One eyebrow lifted at the sight of her partially undressed mistress.

  “It’s too hot.” Elizabeth rolled onto her stomach. “Get this dreadful corset off me.”

  Anabelle closed the door. “I thank God every day that
I don’t have to wear that contraption.”

  As she loosened the stays, the air came back into Elizabeth’s lungs. “When Aunt Virginia leaves, I’m forgoing it also.”

  “Do you think Mr. Finch will look favorably on his future wife shunning proper attire?”

  Elizabeth winced at the words future wife. “Aside from the fact that I have no intention of marrying Mr. Finch, I don’t think I shall ever be a proper wife.”

  “Oh?”

  “I despise shoes and hats and corsets and all of this frippery.” Elizabeth tossed the pile of petticoats off the bed. “Teas and visits bore me to tears. The thought of spending the rest of my days managing a household is insufferable. I want to do things. Go places. See strange and marvelous sights.”

  “And how would you pay for this gallivanting about? Your father wouldn’t support such goings-on.”

  “I could write articles for the newspaper.”

  “I doubt Mr. Finch would want his wife to stoop to working,” Anabelle said as she untied the crinoline. “In my experience, husbands make all the decisions.”

  Perhaps that was what terrified her. “Like Father.”

  “Like your father.” Anabelle hung up the underpinnings. “Do you want a nightgown, Miss Lizzie?”

  The airy cotton chemise felt wonderful, but it was even better to hear Anabelle use her nickname. Elizabeth was transported back to when they’d giggled under the covers late into the night.

  She scooted over and patted the bed. “Why don’t we pretend we’re girls again? I’ll tell you a secret, and you can tell me one.”

  Anabelle looked at Elizabeth as if she wasn’t quite sure she should trust her. She glanced at the closed door. “Your aunt will wonder where I am.”

  “You’re with me. I’m mistress of the house now, and I want you here tonight.” It felt good to take charge, to finally do what she wanted, not what everyone else said she should do. “I want to talk with you.”

  “Very well.” Anabelle sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. “What do you want to discuss?”

  Elizabeth had to laugh. “Goodness, you’re acting like you’re afraid of me. What happened to the old Anabelle?”

  “She grew up.”

  Elizabeth hugged her knees to her chin. How glorious it felt to go back in time! One day soon she’d have to step forward into the dismal future, but she deserved just one night as a girl, didn’t she? “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Anabelle didn’t ask what she meant. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  “I suppose not.” Elizabeth examined her soft, pale hands, so different from Anabelle’s lean, callused fingers. Instead of inheriting Mother’s long, graceful hands, Elizabeth had gotten Father’s. Who else walked this earth with Father’s features? Mammy was the only one still alive who might have known.

  “Your mother,” she began.

  Anabelle jerked as if shot. “My mother is gone.”

  “I’m sorry. It must hurt to not be able to see your mother. Maybe one day I’ll take you to her.”

  Anabelle laughed harshly. “Your husband would never allow it.”

  “I am not marrying Mr. Finch, even if it means I never marry.”

  “Your father won’t stand for that.”

  “My father will learn to accept it.” Elizabeth bit her lip. Anabelle had distracted her from the question she was dying to ask. “I wanted to ask about your mother. Mammy lived here before I was born.”

  Anabelle gave her an odd look.

  Elizabeth pressed on. “Did she ever mention another baby?” She hesitated, unsure how to say this. “An illegitimate baby?”

  Anabelle’s gaze bored through her, unreadable. “No.”

  Elizabeth slumped against the pillows. “Then there’s no one who knows.”

  “God knows all.”

  The simple truth caught her by surprise. “He might be the only one.”

  “Sometimes that’s best.” Then Anabelle squeezed her hand, like a friend commiserating with her, not a servant. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Anabelle,” Elizabeth cried, throwing her arms around the woman she’d called friend for so many years. “I missed you.”

  After stiffening at first, Anabelle hugged her back.

  Elizabeth swiped at a tear. “I’m sorry for getting so emotional. So many things have gone awry lately.”

  “You miss him.”

  “Him?” Elizabeth echoed, though she knew full well who Anabelle meant.

  “I heard a rumor that he is gone, but I don’t believe it.”

  A clot formed in Elizabeth’s throat. She couldn’t bear to speak his words aloud, so she retrieved Rourke’s letter from her rosewood box and handed it to Anabelle. Her friend slowly opened the paper and then read the lines. She clutched a hand to her waist and rocked forward, eyes closed as if in pain.

  Elizabeth held on to her. “Are you all right?”

  Anabelle grimaced. “A spasm is all.” After a moment, she sat up, somewhat paler. “Then the rumor is true.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Anabelle squeezed her eyes shut again, and the letter drifted to the floor.

  16

  Elizabeth took Anabelle with her to the final dress fitting the next morning. Surprisingly, Aunt Virginia didn’t put up a fuss. Apparently anything that related to the fast-approaching event went above scrutiny. Elizabeth was simply glad to leave the house. She still needed to tell Father that she would not marry Mr. Finch, and he was still avoiding her.

  Anabelle said little, which was to be expected, but her brow was pinched with worry beneath the plain straw hat. Elizabeth had forgone her oppressive bonnet for a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with a broad dark blue ribbon. Though its cheerfulness opposed both her mood and her mourning gown, she couldn’t bear to don the heavy black bonnet again.

  The sun sparkled off the windows. The white sand shimmered. Many people crowded the streets. Since they must pass the harbor, Elizabeth instinctively checked the numerous vessels anchored and moored. The Windsprite was not among them.

  One year. One full year. Would he miss her? She imagined Rourke striding across the deck barefoot, his hair a bit too long and his face clean-shaven in opposition to the dictates of fashion. Rourke was his own man, sure of his place. Such a man would wait one more year. So would she.

  The scents of salt and fish permeated the air. The bustle of stevedores and the crunch of wagon wheels mingled with the ringing of bells and the slap of halyards against masts. This was home. This was where she belonged, not caged inside a lovely house.

  “He is not here,” Anabelle murmured.

  “No, but all he loves is here.”

  “Mrs. Evanston will be waiting.”

  “I suppose I must,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, “even though I would rather be out on the sea.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Anabelle’s sudden formality drew her attention. A claret-colored gig with green wheels drew to a stop beside them.

  “Miss Benjamin?”

  Elizabeth had to tilt her head to see who had called her name. “Captain Poppinclerk.”

  He secured the reins and hopped down from the high seat. “May I escort you somewhere? My carriage is at your disposal.”

  She eyed the high seat. “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”

  The pilot looked surprised. “Extraordinary. Most ladies would leap at the chance to ride in style.”

  “I do not leap, Captain, nor do I prefer the jolting of a carriage to a leisurely stroll.”

  Mr. Poppinclerk bowed. “My error. Perhaps you would enjoy company on your stroll.”

  To Elizabeth’s consternation, Anabelle slipped away.

  Elizabeth attempted the aloof disinterest practiced by many of the ladies she had known in Charleston. “I fear I have an appointment with Mrs. Evanston and have no time for a stroll.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Evanston is the finest seamstress in Key West. I suspect she is making you an evening gown for the coming ball.”

&nbs
p; Elizabeth looked for Anabelle, who had disappeared. “My aunt believes I need one.”

  “A lady as beautiful as you deserves many new gowns.”

  His flattery was even worse than that of Mr. Finch. “I am in mourning, Mr. Poppinclerk, and have not yet decided to attend.”

  “But you must. The Harvest Ball is the event of the season. Everyone of note will be there. If you were not in attendance, Key West would miss its brightest flower.”

  Elizabeth strained this way and that looking for Anabelle. This man’s platitudes sickened her. Why did every man treat her with such obvious artifice? Every man except Rourke. She smiled at the thought of him.

  “Ah, you agree,” Poppinclerk said. “I, for one, am very glad. Perhaps you will save me a dance?”

  Startled, Elizabeth looked at him and finally saw Anabelle. Her maid stood across the street talking to . . . impossible. She took a step to her right in order to see past Mr. Poppinclerk’s horse.

  “Dear Miss Benjamin, I hope I have not offended you.” Mr. Poppinclerk followed her as she tried to get a view.

  “Not at all. I’m simply looking for my maid. We must hurry to my appointment.”

  “Of course.” He bowed in front of her, blocking her path. “Then may I assume you will save me a dance?”

  “Of course,” she murmured in order to get rid of the man.

  “Excellent. Good day, Miss Benjamin.” He bowed yet again and returned to his gig.

  Thank goodness. Elizabeth walked a little farther until she could get a better view. A big wagon from the wharves blocked the street for a moment, but after it passed, Anabelle’s companion came into view. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

  What was Tom Worthington doing in town? He should be on the Windsprite headed for the Bahamas. Did that mean Rourke had returned?

  She started to cross the street, but Mr. Poppinclerk drove past in his gig. After he shouted another greeting, the street finally cleared enough for her to see Tom talking to Anabelle. He handed her maid something. She nodded, and he turned toward the harbor.

  “Tom,” Elizabeth called out, waving her hand.

  Both Tom and Anabelle started. His eyes widened. She dropped something small and square and white that she hastily scooped up and shoved in her apron pocket.