by Delia Parr
Determined to turn to the one person who might be able to help her, she waited until later that night to search out Capt. Grant in hopes of avoiding an encounter with the reporter for the Transcript. After Lily was fast asleep and Elias had gone to bed, insisting he would care for Phanaby if she awoke and needed care, Ruth slipped out of the apothecary. There was little moonlight to guide her way, but she knew the back alleys well enough now to be fairly confident she could reach the dock area without getting lost.
To avoid being recognized, she draped her shawl around her head and shoulders and kept her face downcast. She managed to reach Dock Street without passing anyone, but hesitated and remained standing in the shadows when she realized she had no way to reach the ships at anchor in the river. It was also too dark for her to see if Capt. Grant’s ship was even there. Entering the several well-lit taverns that were frequented by the seamen to inquire about Grant, even if she were escorted, would be highly irregular and inevitably lead to gossip she could ill-afford to ignite.
Frustrated that she might have made a mistake by coming here, she was ready to turn around and go home when she spied an elderly man exit one of the taverns and walk in her direction. She waited until he had nearly passed her by before calling out to him. “Sir?”
When he paused and looked about, she stepped far enough out of the shadows that he could see her.
He looked at her, shook his head, and lifted a pint of spirits he was carrying. “If it’s company you’re seekin’, missy, you’d best try one of those younger lads in the taverns. I’ve got all the company I want right here.”
Her cheeks flamed hot. “No, sir. I-I … that is, could you tell me how to get in touch with Capt. Grant? His ship is the Sheller.”
“Sailed this afternoon. So did the Primrose Lady and the Annabelle. If it’s passage you want, you might try—”
“No, I really need to speak to Capt. Grant,” she insisted. “Have you any idea when he will be back?”
He shrugged. “Coupla days, I suspect. Maybe less. Wouldn’t know,” he said and then walked away.
“A couple of days,” she echoed, and started back to the apothecary, praying she and Lily might be safe enough staying with the Garners for a little while longer. She had no one else to turn to who would help her to find another place where she and Lily could hide.
Thirty-Five
Miracle of miracles, Phanaby’s fever finally broke Wednesday night.
By the following afternoon, she was still very weak, but she was feeling well enough to take some broth along with her bark tea and shoo her husband back downstairs with orders to leave her in peace. By Thursday night, after Lily had gone to bed a bit earlier than usual, she was sitting in a chair in her bedroom, wearing a fresh nightdress and robe and talking to her husband, who had brought another chair into the room for himself.
Ruth walked back into the room with a fresh pitcher of water and set it on the bed table before she stooped down and picked up the soiled linens she had set on the floor earlier before she put fresh ones on the bed. “As long as the weather is still fine, I’ll launder these in the morning. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
Elias took his wife’s hand. “No, thank you, Ruth. You’ve done so much already.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Phanaby offered. “You’ve been a blessing. Truly,” she added, glancing over at the dresser where the wooden chest had once been before she met Ruth’s gaze.
“I’m just glad you’re recovering,” Ruth said.
“Almost as quickly as I took ill,” Phanaby replied.
Ruth managed a smile. “Since you’re feeling better, I think I might just go to bed early tonight. I’m a bit tired,” she confessed, though it was really only her heart that was weary.
Jake had left her a note at the apothecary every night this week, along with a flower from her garden. She had not been able to meet him at her garden as he kept asking her to do, for fear of encountering that reporter. Hopefully, he had heard of Phanaby’s illness and assumed Ruth was too busy caring for her and Lily to leave, because he could not possibly know she was a virtual prisoner in this home while Eldridge Porter remained in the village.
“Before you go, we need to discuss something with you,” Elias said.
Instinctively, Ruth hugged the sheets close, but automatically assumed Phanaby had told her husband about giving Ruth the wooden chest. Neither of them could possibly know the very intimate information the box contained because the wax seal on the ribbon tied around the letters had not been broken. But until Phanaby was completely back on her feet again, Ruth did not have the heart to tell either of them that she and Lily would need to leave as soon as possible, and that she was hopeful Capt. Grant would be willing to help her.
Instead, Ruth’s mind latched on to her more immediate concern. “Have you heard anything about the reporter? Has he left the village?”
Elias sighed. “According to the latest gossip, which the Jones cousins carried into my apothecary this morning, Porter hasn’t shown any indication that he’s planning to leave any earlier than expected. But in fact, Mr. Burkalow stopped in later and told me himself that Porter had paid him today, in advance, for a third additional week. Beyond that, no one really knows how long he’ll be here but Porter himself.”
“Another week? Why must he stay so long?” Ruth groaned and plopped down onto the bed.
“I’m so sorry. I know how stressful it is for you to have him in the village,” Phanaby said.
Elias cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, ladies, he’s made it clear that he’s here because he thinks he will be able to learn all the information he needs for the article he’s writing about Reverend Livingstone and Rosalie Peale. I think it’s obvious he’s willing to stay until he does.” He paused and gazed lovingly at his wife. “As hard as it will be, I think it’s best that we find new living arrangements for Ruth and Lily.”
“Yes, I-I think it’s best if I take Lily and leave,” Ruth murmured. Although she was surprised Elias had brought up the subject of her leaving, she was reluctant to explain how urgently she needed to take Lily, as well as the wooden chest, as far away from New York City as possible to protect her niece. She also needed to protect the couple sitting across the room, who had no idea they were providing safe refuge for Rev. Livingstone’s daughter and also his granddaughter. “How quickly do you think I’d be able to leave, if I must?” she asked, hoping she did not hurt their feelings by sounding overly anxious.
Phanaby started weeping, and her husband put his arm around her shoulders. “We should be able to put you and Lily on a stagecoach or on board a ship within a day or two, assuming fair weather, but I don’t think it’s necessary for you to leave that quickly.”
Ruth’s eyes grew big. “But how—?”
“Reverend Livingstone’s network of supporters is organized rather well,” Elias explained. “Every time he sent one of his daughters-in-faith to one of us, he had at least one other household willing to accept her, just in case the first one didn’t suit either her or the people who took her in. He asked that we keep that arrangement to ourselves, because if the young woman had trouble adjusting to her new life, he was afraid she’d give up trying if she knew she had someplace else to go.”
Ruth nodded. If what Elias had just told her was true, Phanaby was right to be afraid that Ruth would leave once she had given her the wooden chest. “Do you know if he made those same arrangements for me?” she wondered aloud, grateful she would not have to rely on the hope that Capt. Grant might have been willing to help her.
Elias let out a long breath, his gaze grew misty, and he leaned closer to his wife, who was still quietly weeping. “He did. All I need to do is talk with one of the folks in Forked River to find out what those arrangements are, but I’d rather not leave for the next day or two. As long as you stay inside, I think you’ll be safe for a few more days until I’m able to get the information we need and know where you can go. Bu
t we don’t want you to leave until it becomes absolutely clear that you should pack up, take Lily, and say good-bye.” He bent his head low to comfort his wife.
Ruth quietly left the room without telling Phanaby or Elias that the need to leave could not be any clearer to her. The time to pack was now. The time to take Lily away was now. And it was time to say good-bye to the new life she had found here in Toms River and the couple she had grown to love who had made it all possible.
For the very first time, Ruth truly understood how important her father’s work had been to the women he had served through his ministry. Because of his commitment to them and the network of believers he had developed, she would find another home for herself and Lily with people who would help them. Without their help, she would be forced to live on the street, like Rosalie and many other women who found themselves in such desperate straits.
Humbled and ever grateful she would never face the same fate, Ruth carried the soiled linens down the hallway while fingering the tiny carved heart she wore around her neck. She knew she would probably have to leave without saying goodbye to Jake. She also knew she would leave behind her heart, because he had already stolen it. But she would always have the little notes he had left for her and would keep them always, just as Liza Adams, Lily’s grandmother, had done.
Jake armed himself with a slingshot and a pocketful of tiny seashells he had gotten from Capt. Grant during his travels over the past few years.
He charged up the sandy path that led to the village, with the pesky turkey hen right on his heels, as fast as he could in the dark of night. He had barely an hour left before he needed to be on board the Sheller, which would set sail at first light with or without him. His trunk, which contained everything he owned, as well as the articles he had finished writing last night, were already stored there in Grant’s cabin.
He did not know why Ruth had ignored the notes he had left for her the past four nights. In all truth, he did not care why she had not returned to her garden or that she had never seen how he had weeded the garden and watered it every night after dark, with only the meager light of the moon to guide his work.
When he tripped over something in the middle of the path, he nearly lost his footing. Panting hard, he slowed his steps but nearly fell again when the turkey hen swooshed across the path in front of him before disappearing into the brush. “Stupid turkey!” he snapped and hurried along.
Step after determined step, he kept his focus centered on his mission. Ruth may have abandoned her garden. She may never have sat with him on the bench he had made for her. She may even have decided to abandon any interest in him, too. But he could not and would not leave this village without telling her the truth about himself and assuring her, in spite of his lies and his betrayal of her trust, that he intended to do everything within his power to protect her and the child she claimed as her own.
When he reached the bridge at the head of the river, he stopped before he crossed it, looked around, and listened hard. The entire village was in a deep, silent slumber. Even Burkalow’s Tavern and Inn was dark, which meant the reporter who had taken up residence there was abed. With the singular sounds of the crickets chirping and the cicadas buzzing, forewarning a sultry day ahead, he crossed the bridge and disappeared down the alley that led to the rear of the apothecary.
When he reached the building itself, he planted his feet on the ground below her window and drew a deep breath. He felt a little foolish using the slingshot, but if it was good enough to slay Goliath, he hoped it would be good enough for him to slay the demons of all the mistakes he had made. He pulled the slingshot he had made out of his pocket and then took a small seashell out of another pocket.
He paused to draw a deep breath, but he did not need to pray.
Not now.
He had spent every waking moment praying as he wrote the articles he was taking back to New York City with him, just as he had prayed every night while he practiced using the slingshot, again and again, until his aim was sure. He was fairly confident the seashells he selected for his ammunition were light enough to stir Ruth awake when they hit her window, hopefully without waking Lily, yet not heavy enough to break the glass.
“She’ll forgive me,” he whispered, and shot the first seashell at her window. After it hit the glass with a ping, he waited, but got no response.
“She won’t forgive me.” The second seashell hit the frame of the window, but again no response.
By the time six seashells went unanswered, he wondered if Ruth was in the room at all. He felt around in his pocket. He had one seashell left, the largest of the bunch he had brought with him. This time he did pause to say a quick prayer before he sent the seashell flying through the air. He cringed when he heard it hit, then groaned when he heard the telltale sound of cracking glass.
If that did not wake her up, he feared nothing would, short of banging down her door.
It was too dark for him to see anything through the window itself, but he did not expect her to light as much as a candle since Lily was sleeping in the same room.
He held his breath for a moment, cocked his head, and listened. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a shadow of movement.
“Come to the window, Ruth. Please. Just come to the window and open it,” he said as loudly as he dared, and then he simply waited.
Thirty-Six
Another summer storm?
The first pelt of heavy rain that hit the window roused Ruth from a fitful sleep. Waiting for the rumble of thunder or the sizzle of lightning, she huddled under the covers, but then bolted from her bed when she heard the glass in the window actually crack.
Without bothering to put on her robe, she thought twice about lighting a candle and tiptoed to the window and carefully felt the glass for cracks to be certain she had not simply been dreaming. “Ouch!” she yelped and pulled back her hand. “Not carefully enough,” she grumbled. She tasted just a bit of blood when she sucked her throbbing index finger. She did not think the cut on her finger was very deep as she furrowed her brow and looked out the window.
It was too dark to see much of anything, but she was more concerned about what she did not see and leaned closer to the window. “There’s no rain at all?” she murmured.
“Ruth! Open the window!”
Startled, she looked down, saw the vague outline of a man, and drew back. She had foolishly opened the door to a man in the middle of the night once before and ended up needing to defend herself. She had little desire to invite a similar ordeal, even though she was safe on the second floor of the building.
“Ruth!”
This time she heard her name, recognized the man’s voice, and opened the window. After kneeling down to keep him from seeing that she was in her nightdress, she poked her head through the opening. “Jake? Is that you?” she asked, only able to see the barest outline of his body.
“Yes, it’s me. I need to see you. We have to talk.”
“Now? Are you addled? It’s the middle of the night!”
“I’m sorry, but I’m sailing for home in the morning, and I can’t leave until I talk to you. Please. I promise I won’t keep you long.”
It was so dark that she had no worry that anyone, particularly Eldridge Porter, would see her. Still, she was not about to go outside at night again, wearing nothing more than her nightdress and her robe, to meet any man for any reason, most especially Jake Spencer.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” she whispered. “I’ll try to think of a way to meet you later.”
“I told you. I’m leaving at first light.”
His voice sounded desperate, but she dared not relent. “Then I’m sorry. You should … you should go.”
“I’m not leaving until I speak my piece. If you won’t come outside, then I’m going to stand right here and say what I have to say because you need to hear it from me.”
His voice was no longer desperate, but very determined. She knew him well enough to suspect he would do exactly what he said, and when Lily s
tarted to stir, she knew she had no other choice but one. “Hush! You’re waking Lily. If you’re so determined to talk to me, then you’ll just have to wait until I can get dressed. Now be quiet!” She closed the window before he could argue with her and rushed over to pat Lily’s back until she stopped whimpering and fell back to sleep.
It only took her fifteen minutes to get dressed, but a full half hour had passed before she slipped out the back door. By then the darkness was less opaque and she was able to see him standing a few feet away, although it was nearly impossible to distinguish his features or gauge his expression until she was standing directly in front of him. When she saw the tenderness in his gaze, she swallowed hard.
“I hope you have a good reason to come calling at this hour,” she said, a bit more flippantly than she intended.
“I left notes for you, but you never came to your garden to meet me. Did you get them?”
“Yes, I have them, but you must have realized I couldn’t go anywhere. Between nursing Phanaby and taking care of Lily, I haven’t had a moment to spare,” she explained, unwilling to admit she could not leave because of Eldridge Porter.
“Phanaby’s been ill?”
“Nearly all week, but she’s doing much better now. You hadn’t heard?”
His gaze darkened. “No, I’ve been out at the cabin,” he said, looked east toward the river. “I haven’t much time, but I needed to see you before I left. There’s so much I need to say, that you need to hear. From me,” he said, lifting his hand as if to take hers, then letting it drop.
Ruth’s heart swelled with the hope that he might declare his feelings for her and ask her to leave with him. She reached up to touch the small carved heart she was wearing and wondered if she had the courage to tell him her real identity if he did.
“I love you, Ruth, and I think you have feelings for me, too,” he whispered. “If I could, I’d ask you to leave with me this morning and have Capt. Grant marry us before we reached the mouth of the river. But I can’t do that any more than I can ask you to allow me to help you raise Lily.”
