Joseph headed for home, with the two teens in tow. Their ages fell between John and Jason, so it worked well. Sarah would have food ready for them, and his boys would see that the Turner lads felt welcomed.
As they entered, that little voice in his heart reminded him how blessed he was. Everything was as he predicted. The food was ready, and his boys showed their guests where to get cleaned, giving him a moment to take Sarah in his arms, hold her like he never had to let her go.
She didn’t fight him. Instead she held on, sending strength and love to him, refilling him with what had been drained.
He kissed the top of her head. “I am filthy and need to bathe. It was… oh, love, it was not good.” He shook his head, remembering. “I had to send the boys home. I couldn’t allow them stuck with that vision in their minds for the rest of their days.”
She pulled back. “Then ye found the Gibsons?” She shuddered speaking the words.
“Only Robert. He was home alone and asleep. He never knew what happened.”
“What did happen, Joseph? How did the fire start? We haven’t had a lightning storm in over two weeks. I can’t understand.”
Joseph had been so busy putting out the fire and looking for… he hadn’t gotten to that point. He released her, starting to mull her words. “I don’t know if we’ll ever know. The damage is extensive; who can tell where it started? Perhaps the cat knocked something over, or Robert smoked his pipe in bed. He was alone in the house. He might have tried that without his wife to tell him no.”
Sarah chewed her lip. That meant she gnawed on an idea. He let her put it together without interruption.
She walked away a few steps, then faced him. “What if it was not an accident? What if it were deliberately set?”
“Murder?”
She nodded. “Aye, only perhaps it was arson. And the arsonist thought everyone out of the house?”
Joseph shook his head. “I can’t believe we have someone in our community who would do such a thing.” Yet the thought wouldn’t shake from his brain.
“Joseph, our community isn’t the most likely place to find the person. We have the area by the docks. People there who’ve been on the wrong side of Judge Gibson’s rulings. I don’t want to blame anyone without proof. But I would keep my eyes and ears open.”
He hated it, but Sarah could be right. Yet who?
* * *
It was the first restful sleep he’d had in over a month. Oh, he’d heard the clang, but it only brought him a smile, and he went back to sleep.
Waking, he stretched in his bed, the reality of living without assistance falling on him like bricks.
But he’d have his revenge.
Eleazar Ferguson sat on the edge of his bed and reached for the pencil and the book on his nightstand. Perusing the journal page, he found the name Judge Robert Gibson and drew a line through it and smiled. Some weight of the bricks fell away. They would learn the price of crossing Eleazar Ferguson.
He inhaled the new day and stood. Might as well get the morning underway.
Downstairs, he started the hot water for his tea. He was civilized when left to his own devices. Tea, a bun, a leisurely morning stroll. His hand made its way to his right cheek. No, no more morning strolls. At least not leisurely.
The lack of food in the pantry reminded him he needed to purchase more. That required going into the world. He was willing to pay someone to make his purchases, but there was no one willing to take his money. Even minions like the O’Malley creature avoided him. And fear was losing its touch. Now it put distance between them and a branded rapist.
The bricks returned heavier than before.
There was nothing else to do about his food situation. He must go out. Would the shopkeeps sell to him?
He pulled his suit out and gave it a thorough brushing before getting dressed. Next he located a linen scarf and wrapped it around his face, tying it under his chin. Though it would be a warm day, he would cover his cheek.
Downstairs, he topped it off with his hat and carried his walking stick. At the door, he paused. He was Eleazar Ferguson. These people, these creatures, should feel privileged to serve him. He had money and power. Well, perhaps his power was tarnished at the moment, but it would return. He would see to it. Anyone getting in his way would learn firsthand. He would not grovel. He’d done that once as a boy and learned the hard way. The feeble of the earth are steppingstones for the powerful to tread.
And he was powerful. He would show them.
Eleazer Ferguson pulled open the door, tugged at his cuffs, and stepped into reality. No bricks toppled him. He strode for the market.
* * *
Beth climbed the bluff and found a place under the sweet gum. The house was too full of maleness. She needed a quiet place to be alone.
Funny, she’d forgotten how boisterous it could be with five brothers under the roof. Bringing the Gibson lads into their home made her miss her brothers who were gone. Joseph Louis still came by, but he was married now. Even with his wife as a new sister, it was different. They were starting their own family. James, away at school, rarely even remembered to send a letter. He always kept his nose in a book. But the one she missed the most was Willie. Not that she loved him best, but they were the closest. He understood and never pushed her.
Perhaps that’s why she enjoyed coming here so much, his place. He told her when he stood on the bluff, the wind cleared his head of everything demanding his attention. Then he could come back, more focused.
For her, though, it wasn’t a matter of focus or too many things vying for attention. She inhaled the peace of the place. Watching the birds, finding cloud pictures, listening to the stories told by the breeze. Peace.
It brought her closer to Willie.
She tried to imagine his life at this moment. What did he look like now? Had he filled out, becoming more manly? Did he have a beard, and was it as curly and wild as his hair? She laughed at that one. “Oh, Willie. I sure miss you. Come home soon, brother. It’s not the same without you.”
Her laugh turned to a solitary tear.
Please come home, Willie.
Chapter Fifteen
True to his word, the boatswain got the new crew members on board. They resumed their voyage toward Ireland. One of the new crew was an experienced cook, making Maybe grateful. He wasn’t as grandfatherly as Cookie, but a good cook, and he allowed Maybe to help. But something about the rolling of the ship, different from sitting at anchor, made her stomach want to roll along.
She excused herself to the deck to stand at the rail. The wind in her face helped. Did she pick up the chicken pox even though she’d had them?
She shook her head. No, not likely. She’d be busted out with spots by now. She was merely worn from the draining work while quarantined. Now lifted, life went back to normal so her body relaxed.
True, she didn’t sleep well. Willie pouted, still put out with her for sending the note. She only promised to not go to the boatswain’s cabin. She kept her word. Well, perhaps not in the spirit he intended, but what should she have done? And no repercussions.
Or had she missed seeing any? Would he tell her if she did?
Every time they had an understanding, something made her bubble burst. He said that if they were back home, he’d be asking to court her. On her part, she’d say yes. She loved him. At times she could still taste his kiss, feel his touch. It wasn’t fair that it was wrong. She wanted him. She wanted to be his wife. She desired that more than returning to Ireland.
Should she stay on with the crew? Now that was a foolhardy thought. She’d have to continue pretending to be a boy. Eventually something would give her away.
In truth, she was surprised she’d lasted this long. She thanked Willie for that. He was great at keeping her secret, helping her when needed.
When needed. Something about that phrase made her think. Something she’d forgotten? Something she should have done? Something…
Then she knew. She knew what hadn
’t happened.
Oh, no! Oh, please, Dear God, no! Not that! Oh, no!
She wrapped her arms about her waist and vomited over the rail.
* * *
Willie arrived on deck in time to see Maybe lose her breakfast over the side. He was still angry with her for not keeping her word, though she would argue that point. But he didn’t want her to be ill.
He raced to her side. “Maybe, let me help.” He pushed her hair off her face, then glanced about to make sure they weren’t seen. It’s wasn’t exactly the thing men did for each other.
When she was done, he guided her to a barrel, had her sit while he went for a cup of water. Then he wiped her face with his sleeve while she sipped. “What’s the matter? Have you gotten the chicken pox? Didn’t you already have them?”
She shook her head and stared at her feet. “No, not that.” She sighed. “I lost me sea legs while at anchor too long. Just give me a wee bit, I’ll be right as rain.”
It was possible she told the truth. Nah, there was more to it. Perhaps she’d worked too hard during the quarantine and needed to rest. Provided no more storms, they should reach Ireland in two months. That wasn’t long. She could rest and be herself there. And he’d find her sister, like he promised. He might even stay beyond that.
That was a strange thought. He’d never considered staying beyond what it took to find Maybe’s sister.
Yet saying goodbye was not a notion he wanted to ponder. His hand tucked her hair behind her ears, unbidden. No, he couldn’t say goodbye to her. They may disagree at times, but he’d rather disagree with her than anyone else in the world.
* * *
The days flew by to become weeks, and the weeks added up to a month. Now they’d neared the two-month stage. Ireland was but a few days away. Maybe’s heart pounded with each second it took to draw closer to home. Not only because she longed for Bantry Bay but also because she knew her body was changing. If she could tell, how long before someone else noticed?
She scanned the horizon for anything resembling land from her perch high above the deck.
She’d been able to resume her duties at top once the new cook was employed. She still missed Cookie, but he’d have been the first to notice her secret. Would he have told on her or protected her? Would he have judged her?
So many questions filled her brain. She hadn’t told Willie. She wasn’t sure she would. He wanted to go back to sea. He only promised to help find her sister so she wouldn’t be alone. She had no idea what he would do if her sister were dead.
No idea what she would do, either.
That was a possibility. No, she couldn’t go there. Not unless there was no choice. Her sister was her only hope. Without other proof, she believed her sister lived.
A swell raised the bow of the ship and brought it down making her stomach jump into her throat. She gripped the rail and hung on for the ride. Things swayed so much more up here. It was a random occurrence and the smooth sailing resumed, but Maybe felt a tad swoonish. She backed up to the mast and slid down, putting her head between her knees.
The sensation passed, and she returned to her job, adjusting as the boatswain called out, waiting for directions as needed. An hour later, her turn was finished. Time to come down. She’d done her shift and, after another touch of lightheadedness, she was ready to be on something sturdier. If she slipped off to her bunk for a few minutes, that might help. If she got caught, though, she’d be branded as lazy. But if she didn’t get a wee bit of rest, she’d—"Oh!”
Woozy again, she missed a step on the Jacob ladder. Panicked, she grabbed at the wet rope. She missed, swinging headfirst.
Then everything went black.
* * *
Willie came out of the wheelhouse and spotted Maybe. She hung upside down from the Jacob’s ladder. Her right foot remained tangled in the rope. She swung helpless. His heart raced as he ran to her, sure she’d smacked her head on the mast. She appeared unconscious.
He shimmied the ladder to her, turning her body and right foot in the opening so he could put her over his shoulder. Once he had her there, he freed her foot and brought her down, laying her on the deck. Was she alive? Yes, she breathed. He did too.
“Bring him to my cabin.” The boatswain stood over Willie’s shoulder.
He scooped her in his arms, carrying her to the boatswain’s room and placed her on the bed. Seconds later, the surgeon pushed him out of the way.
Willie backed into a corner, watching as terror crept up his throat. Was she all right? Would she be all right? What if the surgeon’s examination revealed—
“Clear the room.”
The surgeon saw something.
Willie’s pulse pounded at his temple.
The boatswain shoved the crewmen out, closing the door before returning to the bed.
“You can move over there, Sam.” The surgeon pointed over by Willie as he pulled a blanket over Maybe.
The boatswain moved. “Why? What’s going on?”
The surgeon glanced up. “We have a young lady here.” Then his eyes bored into Willie. “But I think you already knew that, didn’t you, Mr. Stewart?”
Boatswain Johnson glanced from the surgeon to Willie. “What do you mean?”
“I mean crewman Maybe is a female. Not only that, she is with child.”
Willie watched the boatswain’s face changed colors from white to red to purple as something dawned in his own brain. Clarity and confusion fought inside him as he tried to put meaning into the words.
Suddenly the boatswain gripped Willie by the throat, shoving him into the wall. “You did this! What have you done? I should kill you!”
Willie struggled for breath. The thought that Maybe carried his baby sank in. He was ready to let the boatswain have his way. He deserved to die.
Spots formed in front of his eyes. His hands slapped the wall—he couldn’t raise them.
“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Maybe’s voice.
The blockage lifted, air flowed to Willie’s lungs while he slid down the wall. Someone lifted his chin, the surgeon’s face came into focus. “You’ll live, though you might regret it.”
The surgeon stepped aside.
Boatswain Johnson stood by the door, his hand on the knob. “I will flog you within an inch of your miserable life!”
“No! Don’t! Please!”
Maybe, let him, I deserve it.
“And why not?”
“Because everyone will know me secret if you do.”
* * *
Sam Johnson peered at Maybe, now realizing what stared him in the face this whole time. Not a boy, but a young woman. “What would you have me do? He took advantage of you.”
“Might I speak privately with you, sir?” He… she looked so small, fragile.
Sam glanced over at the surgeon who nodded and helped Mr. Stewart to his feet before guiding him out the door.
Sam waited until it closed. “What do you need to tell me?” He stood by the bed.
She sighed. “You mustn’t blame Willie. It was as much my fault as his, probably even more mine. He… didn’t know about the baby. Might I tell you what happened? How we ended up aboard ship?”
Sam nodded.
The whole story came out, from her father’s death to her stepfather selling her to Willie rescuing her and keeping her safe, even how he had given her the name Maybe. She explained about that night, her trying to keep him from being flogged for only one tankard of ale—to which Sam figured Mr. Cox and Mr. Swain filled the tankard with something other than ale. Irish whiskey most likely. He could understand. Even show a bit of sympathy. But the girl was with child. Something must be done.
“What is your true name?”
“Elizabeth Boulay.”
Boulay? He once met a seaman named Boulay. He was a good man. If this girl was that Boulay’s daughter, he owed it to him to set things right.
He patted her hand. “You rest now. He won’t be flogged.”
She relaxed.
; Sam left to find Mr. Stewart.
It wasn’t a hard task. He waited outside the door. The stricken expression he wore softened Sam’s ire against him. Especially now that she explained the whole story.
“Do whatever you want to me, sir. I deserve it. But please take care of Maybe. It’s not her fault.”
“You two are a pair. I should have seen it from the beginning. She’s in there begging me not hurt you, and here you are worried about her. You are worried about her, correct?” Sam watched the man’s eyes.
“Aye! I swear I didn’t know she was with child. She never said.”
“Do you love her?”
Mr. Stewart nodded. “I haven’t told her, but I do. More every day.”
“Then I’ll get the master. You will marry that girl, right now.”
* * *
Marry? He was about to become a married man? With a baby on the way? Willie grappled with this new reality. Did Maybe want to marry him? But the baby. She’d want a father for her baby.
Father? He hadn’t a clue how to be a father. He didn’t know how to be a husband, either.
But Maybe deserved both a husband and father for her baby. It was his baby too. And he loved Maybe. Why shouldn’t they get married?
Because he was an idiot. Maybe didn’t deserve an idiot for a husband. She deserved so much better than he.
His thoughts swirled. Stupid! She’s waiting, just open that door! He hesitated a moment and went in.
Maybe lay with her eyes closed. Her raven hair splayed about the pillow and her face, oh that lovely face, looking peaceful, serene. He hated to disturb such beauty.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 73
