Island Fire

by Bobbi Smith

  "Yes, I'll wait for you."

  Espri hurried to the captain's cabin, eager for a last visit with her dear friend. She knocked softly. "Mildred?"

  Mildred called out for her to enter. "Are you all ready to go ashore?" she asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

  "I think so." Espri smiled tremulously. "Mitch certainly is."

  "I'll bet he's excited to be going home after so long at sea," Mildred observed.

  "Yes. He's looking forward to seeing his brother again."

  "You will let me know how you're doing on shore, won't you?"

  "Of course!" Espri hugged her quickly. She valued Mildred's friendship and fully intended to remain as close to her as possible. "I want to thank you for all your help. Can you imagine what this would be like for me if I hadn't had your wise counsel and your help with my clothing?"

  "I was more than glad to assist you." Mildred smiled a bit sadly. "To tell the truth, I'm going to miss you when we set to sea again."

  "Maybe I should go with you," Espri teased.

  "No way. You stay right here with that husband of yours. He needs you just as much as you need him."

  "I know. But I'd never have discovered that if you hadn't urged me to confess my love to him. Why, I'd probably be making plans to return to Malika right now." That thought sent an unwelcome chill down her spine.

  "Well, you aren't, and I have the feeling that you and Mitch are going to have a long, happy life together right here."

  "I hope you're right," Espri fervently declared. Then they embraced once more.

  "You'll be going ashore soon, won't you?"

  "As soon as the captain can get a boat away."

  "Are your things all packed? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

  "No. I got everything done last night. All we have to do now is wait."

  "Let's wait up on deck, then. There's a lot to see, and you'll be ready to go when Mitch is."

  "A good idea."

  "I have a present for you." Mildred held out a tissue-wrapped package.

  "A present? Oh, thank you. What is it?" Espri asked excitedly.

  "Open it and see." Mildred chuckled and then watched happily as the younger woman unwrapped the shawl. "It's a shawl and you wear it . . . so." She put it about Espri's shoulders. "There."

  "Thank you. It was chilly out on deck."

  "This will help," her friend told her.

  Then they started up on deck. Their last minutes together flew by in easy companionship, and before she knew it, Espri was hugging Mildred in final farewell

  "I'll send you news as often as I can," Espri promised.

  Mitch, who was watching their affectionate parting, added comfortingly, "I've invited the captain and Mildred to join us at the house for dinner, two nights from now."

  "You have? Oh, thank you, Mitch." Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Espri turned back to Mildred and pressed her hand. "I'll see you then."

  "I'll be looking forward to it."

  After words of parting to Tommy and the captain, they were ready to descend. With Mitch's help, Espri managed to descend the ladder to the skiff and then sat nervously by his side as two seamen rowed them to shore. Mitch bade her to wait with the boat until he'd procured a carriage for them. When he returned with an equipage, he handed her into it, and after giving his address to the driver, he climbed beside her. When the carriage started up with a lurch, Espri gasped and clutched at Mitch's arm for support as she almost lost her seat.

  He laughed softly. "That was a smooth start for one of these hired conveyances. Wait until you've ridden in the rough ones."

  "They get worse?" Her eyes were wide with a mixture of astonishment and excitement.

  "Definitely," he confirmed. "But, hopefully, you'll never have to worry about it."

  "I won't?"

  "No, we have our own carriages and horses."

  "Are you very rich, Mitch?"

  He grinned at her. "I was when I last departed this fair city, and I hope to find that we still are."

  "I don't care about the money. It just seems so extravagant to travel this way."

  "Believe me, traveling by carriage is one of the necessary evils of living in 'civilized' cities. There are many places in San Francisco where it's not safe to walk."

  "Oh." Espri turned to look out the window. She stared with interest at the construction underway and at the people who crowded the streets. "It's so busy here."

  "That it is, sweet. It's a boomtown that's been booming since '49," he told her.

  "What happened then?"

  "Gold was discovered nearby, and San Francisco's been growing ever since."

  She nodded. "Is it far to your home?"

  "'Our' home," he corrected good-naturedly. Then he added, "We should be there shortly."

  "Do you think your brother will like me?" she blurted out, suddenly insecure about meeting Jon for the first time.

  Mitch smiled understandingly. "I think he'll love you, darling."

  She smiled weakly at his reassurance as the carriage drew to a halt.

  "Here we are," Mitch told her anxiously. "Come on." Throwing open the door, he climbed down and then turned back to help her descend.

  Cautiously, Espri took his hand, and holding her skirts, she stepped carefully from the carriage. Only when she had safely, and gracefully, alighted did she allow herself a glance at the imposing, three-story brick structure she would now be calling home.

  "Mitch! It's so big!" She regarded the twenty-room mansion with nothing less than awe.

  "Let's go in," he urged. Then he addressed the driver. "Bring the trunk."

  Mitch led her up the sweeping front stairway and, without pause, opened the front door and went in. He directed the driver to place their trunk inside the foyer and then paid him with the money the Clarks had lent him.

  Mabel, the downstairs maid who had been with the Williams family for years, heard the commotion in the front hall and hurried forth, thinking it was the mistress returning early. She frowned when she saw a tall man standing there with an unidentified woman, and she was about to protest the intrusion when Mitch turned. "Oh my God!" she cried, and as she swayed dizzily, Mitch hurried to support her.

  "Calm down, Mabel. It's just me. I've come home."

  "But Mr. Mitchell, you're supposed to be dead."

  He chuckled as he steadied her. "I assure you, Mabel, that I am quite alive."

  She looked up at him then, and as she grew more composed, she smiled broadly. "Yes, sir. Yes, you are. But how?. . ."

  "I was shanghaied, Mabel, not murdered."

  "Thank heavens! But poor Mr. Jonathan thinks you were killed."

  Mitch frowned. He wondered why Jon would have come to that conclusion, but he quickly dismissed the thought, adding lightly, "Well, we'll just have to convince him that I wasn't."

  "Yes, sir." Mabel beamed and then turned to look at Espri for the first time.

  "Mabel, this is my wife, Espri. Espri, I'd like you to meet Mabel. She's been with the family for longer than I can remember." He held his arm out to Espri and she went eagerly to his side.

  She greeted the short, plump, elderly maid warmly.

  "Your wife? My, my, there certainly have been changes here." Mabel was stunned by the news that he'd married. She well knew that Mitch had taken great care to avoid matrimony. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Williams."

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd call me Espri, Mabel."

  "Yes, ma'am," the maid agreed, finding the young woman's dark, exotic beauty quite breathtaking even in her plain daygown. "I'd like that."

  "Is Jon here?" Mitch interrupted their pleasantries.

  "No, sir. He's at the office."

  At that news, he turned to Espri. "I think I'll go down to the office to see Jon. You can come with me, or you can stay here with Mabel and get settled in."

  "I think I'll stay here," she replied.

  "I'm sure I won't be long." He kissed her tenderly before speaking to the maid. "Mabel
, my wife needs to be outfitted completely, so see if you can arrange appointments for her with the dressmakers. The sooner, the better."

  "Yes, sir. I'll send word out to the carriage house for a buggy to be brought around for you," Mabel told him.

  "Fine. I'll show Espri around while you're gone."

  When Mabel had disappeared into the back of the house, Mitch guided Espri through the maze of rooms on the first floor. The parlor . . . the ballroom . . . the study . . . the music room . . . Her head was spinning as she tried to take in the splendor of the house. The furnishings, Queen Anne in style, were exquisitely worked in inlaid walnut. Heavy velvet draperies adorned the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, and the ornate patterns of the wallpaper bespoke subdued elegance.

  "Do you like it?" he asked, grinning, when they'd finished their whirlwind tour.

  Espri's smile was bemused as she answered. "I think so."

  Mitch laughed heartily at her answer and hugged her close. "I know it's different for you, but I think you'll get used to it."

  "I'll just have to force myself," she teased, knowing that he wanted her to like his home.

  Mitch was about to say more when Mabel returned. "The buggy is being brought around, Mr. Mitchell."

  "Thanks, Mabel. I just showed Espri around the downstairs, but I'll leave the upstairs to you."

  "I'd be delighted to show her around." The older servant was pleased at the chance to get to know his wife. Things hadn't been the same in the Williams household since he'd been declared dead and Mr. Jonathan had married Miss Catherine. Mabel hoped with all her heart that Mr. Mitchell's return would signal a change for the better. "Is there any particular bedroom you'd prefer to occupy?"

  "It doesn't matter. My old suite of rooms will be fine," Mitchell directed.

  "Fine." Mabel was relieved that he hadn't insisted on the master suite for she was certain that Miss Catherine would not have given up her sumptuously appointed quarters without a fight. She wondered if she should tell him of his brother's marriage, but decided he should hear of that from Mr. Jonathan.

  At the sound of the carriage drawing up at the front of the house, Mitch gave Espri a quick kiss and then started out the door. "I'll be back," he declared. Then he was gone to the long-awaited reunion with his brother.

  The ride to the main office of Williams Shipping seemed to take forever, and Mitch jumped eagerly to the ground when the carriage finally pulled up in front of the building. Without hesitating, he strode into the office. Caleb, the clerk who usually sat out front, was away from his desk, so Mitch pushed the swinging half gate open and admitted himself.

  "Jon?" he called out.

  Jon was at his desk reviewing the latest manifests when he heard someone call his name. The person summoning him sounded so much like his brother that Jon stiffened instinctively, but he hurriedly dismissed that thought for Mitch had been dead for almost a year. Realizing that Caleb had left the office on an errand, he pushed away from his desk and started to go to the front office. Just as he stepped around the desk, the door to his office opened and Mitch walked in.

  "Mitch?" Jon's gaze locked with his brother's, stark disbelief in his eyes. "Dear God! Mitch! You're alive!" He all but flew across the room to embrace him.

  "Very much so." Mitch laughed as they hugged each other.

  "What the hell happened to you? Where have you been? I thought you were dead."

  "That's what Mabel told me, but I was shanghaied, not murdered."

  "Shanghaied?" Jon was astounded. In the beginning, when Mitch had first disappeared he'd suspected shanghaiing, but when the body had been found . . .

  "Yes, I was taken aboard the Seastorm."

  "But how did they get you? You weren't down on the coast, were you?"

  "No, I'd just left Lucinda's. The crimps were waiting for me in my carriage," he explained. "By the time I regained consciousness, we had already put to sea."

  "So you've been at sea this entire year?"

  "No," Mitch went on. "The Seastorm was lost during a tropical storm, and I was washed up on the island of Malika in the South Pacific."

  Jon shook his head, perplexed. "Thank heaven for that."

  Mitch nodded. "I was very lucky. Only two of us survived."

  "I'm just glad you did." Jon's words were heartfelt, and the brothers embraced again. "I think this calls for a celebration drink; how about you?" he asked as they moved apart. "Sit down."

  Jon took a bottle of bourbon and two tumblers from the bottom drawer while Mitch settled himself in the chair in front of the desk. Pouring them each a liberal amount, he handed Mitch one glass and then raised his in a toast. "Here's to your return."

  As they touched glasses, their eyes met in mutual love and respect; then they drank the amber liquid down in one long swallow. Jon quickly refilled their tumblers and, leaving the bottle out, sat down behind his desk.

  "This has got to be a miracle." He grinned. "It's so good to see you. God, when I thought you'd been killed . . . Jon shook his head as he remembered his despair.

  "Why did you think that?" Mitch frowned.

  "The police contacted me several days after you'd disappeared. They had pulled a body from the bay and they wanted me to try to make an identification."

  "That's not an unusual occurrence. Why did they think it was me?"

  "The clothing on the body was yours, Mitch," Jon told him.

  "My clothes . . ." Mitch was puzzled. He could recall coming to on the ship and finding that he was wearing rough sailor's garb, but he had no recollection of what had happened to his own things. At the time, he had assumed that the crimps had stolen them. "What about the body?"

  "It had been in the water for some time and was badly decomposed. The height was about right, and the hair color." He paled as he remembered the gruesome ordeal. "Whoever it was, was killed by a blow to the head."

  "What about Nelson, my driver?"

  "He disappeared," Jon explained. "At the time, we thought he might have been the one responsible, but we never found a trace of him."

  "Nelson and I were about the same height," Mitch suggested. "Could the body have been his?"

  Jon considered the possibility for a moment. "Yes, but why would he have been wearing your clothing?"

  Their eyes met in shared confusion. "I don't know." Mitch shrugged. "Nelson had been with us for years, and even if he'd arranged my shanghaiing, he certainly wouldn't have bothered to steal my clothes."

  Jon nodded, disturbed by these new revelations. What did it all mean? "It sounds like someone wanted me to think you were dead."

  "But if somebody wanted me dead, why didn't he just kill me?" Mitch, too, found the situation bizarre.

  "I don't know," Jon replied. "Maybe we're making too much of this. Maybe Nelson did set you up, and just for the hell of it, he did take your things. Probably somebody rolled him on the coast and that was that." But even as he tried to reason it out, Mitch's question hung between them, unanswered.

  "I am eager to know how everything is here," Mitch declared, realizing they could not resolve his question.

  "The business is thriving. I've been importing merchandise for Roland Stuart and profits are better than ever," Jon informed him, relieved to be discussing something more pleasant.

  Mitch nodded approvingly. "I'm proud of you." He paused. "Jon?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm sorry about the way we parted that last day. It bothered me that we didn't have a chance to set things straight between us."

  "I felt the same way, Mitch." He paused to draw a deep breath before giving him the news. "I want you to know that I understood your position, but . . ."

  "But?"

  "Catherine and I were married almost nine months ago. She's made me a very happy man, Mitch," Jon stated. "She stood by me through the entire ordeal of your death."

  Mitch's expression didn't change, but he did not like the news. Still, he found Jon's new maturity impressive, and he hoped that Jon had made the right decision. "I'm
glad she's made you a good wife. As long as you're happy, you have my blessing."

  Relieved, Jon smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

  "I may as well tell you my news," Mitch began cryptically.

  "What?"

  "I've also married."

  Jon was stunned, and it was a moment before a slow grin spread across his handsome features. "You? Married?" He couldn't stop the chuckle. "She must be very special."

  "That she is," Mitch answered warmly, his deep affection for his wife reflected in his tone. "Her name is Espri, and I met her on Malika."

  "Where is she?" Knowing of Mitch's aversion to matrimony, Jon was instantly curious to meet the woman who'd won Mitch.

  "At the house with Mabel," he answered. "I stopped there first after we arrived in port, hoping to catch you at home."

  "I can't leave here until Caleb returns, but as soon as he does, I want to go meet your wife." Jon chuckled again as he refilled their glasses, and once more he lifted his tumbler in toast. "To wedded bliss; may we both share equally in its joy."

  Chapter 25

  As Mabel opened the drapes, sunlight poured into the room. "Mr. Jon never did change these rooms." She gestured toward the heavy masculine furniture that graced the bedroom of Mitch's suite. "Even though Miss Catherine didn't like the furniture in here and was after him constantly for the first few months after they'd married to let her redecorate."

  "Jon is married?" Espri glanced at her questioningly, remembering what Mitch had told her about Catherine.

  "I suppose I should have mentioned it earlier, but I thought Mr. Jonathan would want to tell you himself," she explained. "He married Miss Catherine several months after Mr. Mitchell was declared dead."

  "Oh." Espri paused. "Mabel, you were so shocked when you saw my husband . . . why were you so certain that he was dead?"

  "Because Mr. Jonathan identified a body pulled from the bay as Mr. Mitchell. Oh, that was a terrible morning." Mabel sighed, remembering how devastated Jonathan had been after returning from the morgue. "Up until that day, he'd held out hope that Mitch had only been shanghaied, not that that wouldn't have been awful, mind you, but at least there would have been hope."