Under the Moon Gate

by Marilyn Baron

  Love could make you crazy and content all at the same time. That was the ten-year-old boy talking, the boy whose mother had left him, who still held on to the belief that he somehow wasn’t worthy of love.

  “But I do. I know everything I need to know about you. I know my own heart. And I feel as if we’ve known each other forever.”

  “You don’t know everything about me,” Nathaniel said, taking his grandmother’s letter from his pocket and placing it, along with a pouch of diamonds, in her hands. “Here. Read all about Nathaniel Morgan’s noble roots.”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a letter my grandmother wrote to William Whitestone on her deathbed. She made me promise to bring it to him when I returned the diamonds he gave her. Now he’s gone, it all belongs to you. So, go ahead, read her letter.”

  She took the letter and the pouch and read the words. “My God!” she said as she finished, “Your grandmother was Yvette, Nighthawk’s mistress!”

  “So now you see, it would be best if I left.”

  “But I don’t want you to leave.”

  Nathaniel groaned and grabbed her to him roughly.

  “I feel…so much for you…I don’t want to feel,” he managed. “My heart breaks with it.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “No, you can’t possibly know. You can’t know the depths of my feelings for you. I don’t even understand them.”

  “Help me to understand, then,” she said softly. “Don’t go.”

  “I want to stay,” he said, torn by some eternal, inner turmoil he could not explain.

  “Stay and love me, Nathaniel. Love me now. Even if you must go. I need you to love me tonight.” She was trembling, and suddenly he couldn’t stop kissing her, touching her.

  He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.

  “Patience, I…we can’t do this. You’re not ready. And I’m leaving. It wouldn’t be right.”

  She put her hand to his lips.

  “No more talking. Touch me, Nathaniel. I need to feel you. Tell me you love me, even if it’s not true. Even if it’s just for tonight. I need to hear you say the words.”

  “Oh, God, Patience, but I do. I do love you.”

  Nathaniel let out a deep, shuddering breath as he broke down and let the tears come while he kissed her, his tongue lashing hers, his kisses pounding her lips, tears raging like rain in a violent storm. She grabbed onto him for dear life like a drowning woman, pressed herself into him, and refused to let go.

  They were close. She wanted to be closer, pressing harder against him. Of course, he thought, she wanted to experience the passion she had only read about in paperbacks, the shimmering love she had witnessed between her grandparents. “Closer, please,” she urged breathlessly.

  Burning for her, he ripped away her blouse impatiently and clasped his hands to her breasts. Touched them, tasted them. She moaned. It was her first time, he knew, but he couldn’t be gentle. His need was too great. And he knew she could feel the growing evidence of that need. He wanted to take it slow, for her sake. But he had to have her right now or he would die.

  “Patience, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so rough.”

  “Don’t be sorry for wanting me as much as I want you, my love, my darling Nathaniel. Please, take me now. I want you to.”

  He tried to keep his need at bay, but her responsiveness was just fanning the flames of his desire.

  “No, you deserve more. You deserve everything.” He drank from her lips. They were bruised and swollen from his kisses. He touched them, savored them. Then he showed her how much he worshipped her. Touched her everywhere gently, sweetly until she trembled with need for him.

  “Now, Nathaniel, now.” She was asking, so innocently, for something she didn’t really understand.

  “Ssh, let’s don’t rush,” he breathed softly.

  He was shaking from his need for her, but he made his hands give her pleasure, more and more, until neither of them could stand it. She was writhing on the bed, moaning and bucking under him, her skin burning.

  He touched her everywhere, tortured her with his hands and his mouth until he felt she was hot and wet and ready. He kissed her and drove into her, firmly but gently at first, and she struggled just a little under him before he lost control and she called out his name in surprise and ecstasy. His heart soared and his body made her his as they surrendered on the waves of passion together.

  “Patience, you were made for me,” he breathed, astonished.

  “Oh, Nathaniel,” she sighed.

  He didn’t know how he would ever leave her now that he had known her sweetness, her safe harbor.

  “Did I hurt you, my sweet Patience?” he whispered, as they lay back, spent, on the sheets, tangled together.

  “No, no, it was wonderful,” she said. He kissed her softly on the lips.

  “For me, too, my love.”

  He held on tightly as if she might disappear into the mist.

  They lay together like that, restful, coming together again during the night, until dawn broke through the open picture window. And, for the first time in his life, he knew true happiness. She had calmed his ancient restlessness and offered him his first sense of inner peace. He felt the anchor in his heart drop with a thud.

  Patience was still sleeping when he left to load the boat. He’d had the entire night to think. It was wonderful. She was wonderful. He couldn’t bear to leave her, but he knew he couldn’t stay. It was in his nature to leave. It would break her heart and her spirit to leave the island. Hamilton Farnsworth had learned that the hard way. So he wouldn’t ask her to.

  She would be hurt at first. But she would only hurt more if he stayed longer and then left. He had battled storms before and survived. But he knew if he stayed, if he even saw her again or touched her again, he would lose the ability to fight his feelings.

  He felt troubled about leaving the note and debated whether he shouldn’t just leave without any goodbye. It would be better that way. That way she could hate him and then, in time, it would hurt less. He knew it was easier to hang on to anger than live with the pain of false hope.

  ****

  When her eyes flicked open, Patience was sprawled face down on the satin sheets. The faintest early morning light had started to streak through the window when she felt Nathaniel bending over to press a soft, wet, final kiss to her neck. It tickled, and she tingled just from the touch of his lips against her body. Coming out of a deep sleep, her first instinct was to reach for him. But, for some reason, she held back.

  “I love you, Patience,” he whispered. “You’re everything to me.”

  He caressed her shoulder and then her cheek. He was tender, he was gentle—and he was leaving. His hand lingered, and then he was gone, taking the warmth with him.

  Patience choked back a sob until she was sure he had left her room, and then she let the hot tears flow. She would not beg him to stay if he wanted to go.

  How had it happened? How had she let him in so close and so quickly to her heart? And why was he breaking it? He was her first love, and he had brought her such joy, propelled her to such heights of happiness. Now she was sinking into the depths of despair. She needed to talk to her grandmother and ask her if love was supposed to hurt this much. But her grandmother was gone. And now, so was Nathaniel.

  He’d professed to love her, but he didn’t trust her enough to let her love him back. He had no faith in what they were beginning to build together.

  And then the doubts surfaced. How could he love somebody like her, so unworldly, so inexperienced, so naïve? She had been blindsided by the love she felt for him. Perhaps she had disappointed him in some way. Maybe she wasn’t enough of a woman for him. She was a fool to have fallen so hard, so fast. She could hear Cecilia now. Why did you give everything away to him? Why didn’t you hold back? Why didn’t you hold back your heart? As if she’d had any choice about it. She had learned that to love another person was to hold nothing bac
k.

  But how could Nathaniel smoothly say all the right words and not mean them? How could he take her love and then leave? Perhaps she didn’t really know him at all.

  When they had made love, she had known then they were meant for each other. Could it be any clearer? He was running away from his destiny. He was the fool for throwing something so precious away so easily. Something she had freely offered, something she had given to no other man. Didn’t he understand that? Didn’t he understand her at all?

  As the sunlight filtered through the curtains, she finally turned over and faced the ceiling. She could still feel the lump in her throat, but the tears had dried on her face. She wanted to run to the window, but she couldn’t bear to see the Fair Winds sail away.

  Suddenly remembering her grandfather’s letter, she walked to the closet and pulled it from her robe. She needed the comfort of her grandfather’s words.

  My Dear Patience,

  If you are reading this letter, I am probably dead. There are so many things I want to tell you, that I can’t tell you. I know you have always thought of me as a strong and good man. But there are things, my dear granddaughter, about me that I never wanted you or your grandmother to know and that I hope you will never find out.

  Did you know that at one time in my life, I never wanted a child, never hoped to have one, never allowed my wife to have her dream? But finally, when Diana stopped asking about a baby, when she had given up all hope, the miracle happened. Our daughter, your mother, Gwyneth, was born. And then the love I felt for her was beyond my control. From the moment I held her in my arms, I simply could not imagine a life without her in it.

  I could never bring myself to talk to you about your mother. And that was wrong and selfish of me. But if you can understand how her death affected us, you can understand I believed it was better for Diana to erase all the pain by denying she ever existed.

  One minute she was bright and laughing, the next she was gone, taken from us in a senseless automobile accident. By a miracle they saved her child, you. That is why I call you “my little miracle.” And truly you are. Diana and I were determined to raise you as our own daughter, so you would never know the pain of growing up without a mother and a father. I grew up without my father, did I ever tell you? No, I don’t believe I ever spoke to you about my past, a past that is better left buried.

  By some incredible quirk of nature, you grew into the mirror image of your mother and your grandmother. You turned out to be the perfect imprint of my beloved Diana. Your blonde, curly hair is stamped in the same color of sunshine. Your dancing, bright green eyes could have been my wife’s. The way you laugh, your shy, sweet personality, and the way you love and trust me, no matter how misplaced that trust, is so completely and purely Diana. In fact, I can’t detect a trace of myself either in your visage, your spirit, or your personality. For that I am delighted and grateful, because I adore my wife and I don’t want any evidence of my own flaws to infiltrate and contaminate you, my precious granddaughter. I have searched like a hawk for any signs, but if they are there, I simply can’t find them. Biologically, it seems, I am irrelevant.

  But, as for love, I could not have loved you better if you were my own dear daughter. And I did love your mother so much that even now, all these years later, it pains me to talk or even think about her.

  I have enclosed a picture of your mother for you to have. It wasn’t right to keep her memory from you. She and your father wanted you so much. They had such big plans for you. And it is a tragedy you never knew them, knew her. But just know that every time you look into a mirror you see her. Every time you laugh you hear her. Every time you experience beauty in the world, you feel her. You are good and fine, just like your mother. And she lives on in you.

  All my love,

  Your grandfather

  Gwyneth. Patience touched her mother’s name on the page and then touched her face in the picture, a picture that could have been a picture of herself. No one had ever spoken to her about her mother before. Never mentioned her name. Never displayed a picture. It was as if her whole life had been erased. Patience had known her mother’s death in the auto accident must have been too painful for her grandparents. That she had replaced her mother in their eyes. She had become their daughter. When she was cut out of her mother’s belly after the accident, in their eyes, their daughter had been reborn. And she couldn’t take that illusion away from them.

  Although she did look like her grandmother and her mother, that’s where the similarity ended. Shy, deliberate, and sensible, she was not impulsive or prone to dramatics or fits of nerves, not governed by roller-coaster emotions like Diana. Her drive, determination, wit, reserve, and strength were all traits she had inherited from her grandfather. And she was proud of that. Like him, she had the capacity to go after what she wanted, to fulfill her destiny. Why hadn’t he seen it?

  Chapter 32

  As the island receded on the horizon, no more than a shadow in the waves, Nathaniel stood on the moving deck, looked to the brightening sky, and fought back the certainty that he had made a horrible mistake. He felt it in the pit of his stomach. And in the empty place in his heart. He had only known Patience a few short weeks. Yet he was in love with her. It made absolutely no sense. But there was a connection. He had felt it the moment she first opened the door to him. When she was in his arms, it only became more powerful. But it was too late. That ship had sailed.

  Nathaniel sat at the helm, almost catatonic, staring blindly at the horizon, unable to think or function, except to think of Patience. He remained that way for a long time. He had lost his bearings without her, his sense of direction. He couldn’t make himself move forward.

  “I have to go back for her, to her, to find her.” He kept repeating that mantra. “I have to go back for her.” And when his decision was made, he set to turning the boat about. Then he saw some movement on the deck and sensed another presence. Shielding his eyes from the rising sun, he saw a translucent figure, garbed in white. Was it a ghost or a spirit of some sort? A sea sprite or an angel? Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him in the growing glare of the sun.

  “Mate, I’m getting hungry,” the pale figure called out. “How about one of your famous Morgan omelets?”

  All he could do was stare in amazement, and he didn’t know where he found the presence of mind to stop the boat.

  “Patience,” he cried as he ran to her. “What are you doing here?” He thought he had dreamed her. “You’re in your nightgown. You’ll catch a cold. You’re not even wearing shoes.”

  “No time,” Patience said proudly. “When I saw you leave, I knew I had to go after you. So I stowed away.”

  “You came after me,” Nathaniel whispered, humbled by her courage. “I left you, and you came after me.”

  “That’s how much I love you, Nathaniel,” she said quietly. “You should know that by now.”

  He took her in his arms and held her. Just held her. They swayed together on the deck.

  “I was just turning her about,” Nathaniel explained. “I was coming back for you. Come down below and let me make you warm, sweetheart.”

  “I got your note and your gift.” Patience smiled. “I grabbed the package from the table on my way out.”

  He reached out to touch her neck as the beaming rays of the sun set her new necklace on fire.

  “You’re wearing my locket,” he said, returning her smile. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

  She lifted the bright gold heart-shaped locket from under her nightgown.

  “I could never forget you, Nathaniel.”

  “I bought it when I went into town yesterday,” he explained. “A parting gift. I had it engraved with our initials—an intertwined P and N.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely.”

  “It’s just like that old silver locket you always wear around your neck, the one your mother gave you.”

  “That belonged to an ancestor, one of the first settlers in Bermuda, Eli
zabeth Sutton Smith, who is buried in St. Peter’s Church near my parents.”

  ****

  What a thrill she’d felt when she opened the tiny, square box from Astwood Dickinson and realized the gift he had purchased in town was meant for her all along, not for another woman.

  “And your note…” She’d read the note in his cabin while hiding, hoping he wouldn’t discover her presence until they were too far out to sea for him to turn back.

  “To a Girl with a Heart of Gold. Not much of a pirate, am I? I left the greatest treasure behind.”

  “Were you speaking of the gold, Nathaniel?” Patience asked. “You left it buried under the moon gate.”

  “Some things are better left buried,” Nathaniel answered. “Precious memories are worth saving. And no, I wasn’t speaking of the gold. And you know it.”

  “But you were willing to give up a fortune!”

  “I’ve thought of a better use for the money. I was going to call you when I got back to Virginia. With the proceeds from the sale of the gold you could make a sizeable donation to the Bermuda National Trust to continue restoring and preserving the island and the environment. That would go a long way to nurture the intense and fragile beauty, the harmony of the precious island you love. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “What a lovely idea. I could give it anonymously.”

  “No, you should give it in the name of your grandfather, as a legacy to the place he came to love, just as he loved your grandmother, and you, just as I love you. It would be a gift for the coming generations.” For our children.

  “But you know the truth about my grandfather,” she said.

  “Do I? Whether he came over here, was sent over here, whether he did or did not do the things we thought he did, we’ll never know for sure, will we? And what does it really matter now?

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it,” Nathaniel continued. “Maybe fate had a hand in your grandfather’s life. There was evidence that the Germans were going to seize Bermuda. They sent your grandfather to put their plan in motion. If another man had been put in charge, a man like my grandfather, the Germans might have succeeded and the story might have had a very different ending. The course of the entire war might have changed.