Her gaze shot to his. “Why can’t I have both? Surely my parents will reconsider after some time has passed.” Yet even as she spoke the words, she no longer truly believed them. She glanced toward the window. It had been six months since she’d last received word from them.
Cupping her chin, Reverend Thomas drew her head back to face him. “You made the right choice. God does not condemn you for what happened.”
Isabel’s thoughts skipped from her parents to Abigail and her pretentious friends. “No, but people do.”
Thomas nodded, releasing her chin. “Are you still having nightmares?”
“Yes, nearly every night.” Her thoughts sped to the strange encounter with the pirates in town earlier, and fear convulsed in her belly.
Leaning his elbows on his knees, the Reverend peered into her face. “Do you wish to tell me about them?”
Isabel shook her head.
“Perhaps speaking of them would allay some of your fears.”
Sighing, she stared at him. She knew that look. He would not allow her to leave until she told him. Yet perhaps it would help to share them—to shine the light of day on how foolish they were. “’Tis the same every night—the most terrifying vision you could imagine, Reverend. All dark and gloom and a mist that permeates my skin like icicles.” She jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms about her chest, feeling Frederick’s empty sling.
“Frederick is crying, and I am running through the fog, waving my hands before me. I cannot reach him. He stops crying, and I come upon his cradle. It is empty.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the images that haunted her day and night. “A ship appears in the distance, dark and foreboding. Ashen showers spray over its bow. A pirate flag flaps from the mainmast. Then I see him.” She opened her eyes and glared at the reverend. Somehow relaying the nightmare made it seem more real than ever.
“’Tis Kent. He smiles at me with his twisted, salacious grin. Then he turns away, and I am alone.” She began to sob. “Oh, Reverend, do you think he knows where I am? Do you think he knows about his son?”
“It is only a dream, milady.” Thomas stood and drew her close to him.
“I could not bear to lose Frederick.” She gazed up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Never fear.” He grabbed her shoulders and leaned down, meeting her at eye level. “You belong to God. Nothing and no one can touch you, save by His permission. Rest assured in that.” Tugging a handkerchief from his waistcoat, he offered it to her. “Besides, you are safe here with me. Who would dare harm anyone who resides within the house of God?” He offered her a warm smile.
Nodding, she took a step back, snatched the cloth, and dabbed her face. “How weak and silly you must think me.”
“Not at all, milady. You have been through a great deal for one so young. Be patient with yourself.”
She handed the handkerchief back to him, but he pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. “Nevertheless, we must find something for you to do around here—something that you don’t find too insufferable, perhaps?” His brows arched.
“Of course, Reverend.” She returned his smile, feeling a bit ashamed. “Now, I’d best see to Frederick.”
Drying her eyes, she patted her hair in place and gave the reverend one last glance before shutting the door.
The tiny church seemed much larger when it was empty. The long wooden pews stretched back toward the front entrance like waves flowing toward shore. A chill pricked Isabel. Dream or no dream, she could not shake the eerie foreboding that had haunted her the past few weeks. And why had those pirates in town been so interested in her son? Surely it was nothing, but the incident only added to her unease. Rounding a corner, she flew up a set of stairs and bounded into her room, anxious to see her son again.
Marlie had put a fresh cloth around his bottom and was now bouncing Frederick on the tiny cot. His giggles floated through the room like bubbles of joy. Isabel knelt beside the bed, and Marlie instantly stiffened and handed the baby to her. She stood.
“If you need anything, miss, I’ll be in the garden.”
Isabel reached up and grabbed her hand before she turned to leave. Her dark brown eyes quickly shifted from Isabel to the floor. “Marlie, I beg your forgiveness. I’ve been terribly rude.”
“’Tis all right, miss.” The girl scuffed her shoes across the wooden planks and tugged her hand from Isabel’s.
“No, I can be quite callous at times. I apologize. You have been so good with Frederick.”
Marlie raised her gaze, and a twinkle flashed through her eyes. “He’s a good baby, miss.”
Isabel gazed at her son, who gurgled and played with his left thumb as if he had just discovered it. “That he is.”
After Marlie left, Isabel caressed Frederick’s chubby cheek, always amazed at how soft his skin felt. “You like her don’t you, little one?” Frederick grinned, revealing two baby teeth jutting from his bottom gums, a pool of saliva stuck between them. His eyes were umber, just like his father’s.
But he wasn’t like his father.
He had such a sweet disposition. She kissed his forehead and sighed. How could she ever have considered giving him up? Before he was born she longed to be free of him—of any reminder of Captain Kent Carlton. Now, she could not imagine her life without her son.
Tears filled her eyes as Frederick grabbed her hair and pulled a strand loose from her pins. He tugged on it and squealed in delight. “You’re all I have left, my son.” Taking the handkerchief the reverend had given her, she wiped his mouth. “Oh Lord, please protect him.”
After a quiet supper with the reverend, Isabel retreated to her room for an early evening. Frederick was unusually fussy, and it took quite a while before she was able to calm him enough to lay him in his cradle. Afterward, Isabel washed her face, donned her nightdress, and then ran a brush through her long hair as she stared out her window onto the moonlight-laced trees. Coconut palm fronds and rosewood leaves fluttered in the warm night breeze, casting dancing shadows onto the soil and plants below. The vegetable garden where Marlie grew tomatoes, sugarcane, and yams blossomed by the dirt road. Behind the church, lantern light spilled from the Reverend’s cottage just like the warm love of God that constantly spilled from the reverend’s heart. Isabel envied his steadfast faith.
Taking a deep breath of the fragrant air, she tried to quiet the alarm that had been rising within her all day. The Lord had protected her and strengthened her through so many harrowing circumstances, why did she doubt Him now? Even though her future loomed before her like an uncertain shadow, she had no reason to mistrust the God who had seen her through troubles time and time again.
Frederick snorted and began fussing, and Isabel rushed to the cradle beside her bed. She rocked it until she heard his tiny breaths deepen. Then lying down on her cot, her hand still gripping the cradle, she bunched a mound of pillows around her and prayed for sleep to come.
After what seemed like hours, she fell into a chaotic slumber that kept jarring her awake. One hour she woke in a torrid sweat. The next, chilled to the bone. The third time she awoke, she checked on Frederick, tucked a blanket around him, and dozed off again.
The nightmare returned.
But this time the sounds rang in her ears, the smells stung her nose, and icy mist pricked her skin. Somewhere a door creaked, and footsteps thudded toward her. Frederick murmured, but he didn’t cry.
This dream was different.
Isabel waited for the ship to appear, waited for the face of the man who had ravished her to taunt her with his grin. But the images never appeared. Frogs croaked outside, and a breeze blew across her face.
She was not asleep. This was no dream.
The church’s oak door slammed shut, trumpeting an ominous echo through the sanctuary.
Isabel bolted up in bed and glanced across the shadows of her room. Her eyes darted to the cradle beside her. It rocked back and forth. She peered inside.
Frederick was gone.
Chapter Two
The Pirate’s Son
Isabel bolted down the stairs, stubbed her toe on a pew, and dashed from the church into the night. Save for the sliver of a moon that grinned at her from its perch atop the trees, no light graced the dirt pathway. Mud oozed cool between her toes, easing the pain shooting up her foot.
“Frederick!” she screamed.
A baby’s wail pierced the humid air. “Frederick!” She bounded down the street. Tangles of vines and shrubs clawed at her, clutching at her, slapping her face. Palm fronds quivered in the night breeze. Mist rose from the ground and crept over her feet and up her nightdress.
The black outline of a man darted around a corner up ahead. “Bring my baby back!” she cried. “Frederick!” Gathering all her strength, she rushed forward, the sounds of the night fading beneath the heaving of her breath. She must not stop. She must get to her son.
Laughter echoed across the wooded path. She rounded a corner. Tavern lights flung a hellish glow over Kingston Bay. Several ships dozed idly on the wave-tousled water as if nothing were amiss.
Isabel slowed, her lungs straining amidst the heavy dew that seemed to weigh down her every step. The road dipped and then ran along shore among the warehouses. She scanned the buildings.
A baby cried.
Anguish shot through her. Forcing back tears, Isabel darted forward. Two dark figures bobbed up ahead. “Frederick!”
Footsteps pounded behind her. “Isabel.”
Ignoring them, she kept her gaze upon the figures fading into the shadows of the town.
Storehouses raced by on her right. She stepped on something sharp. Pain lanced across her left foot and up her leg. Tumbling, she landed face down in the mud. She pushed herself up and plodded forward. The men vanished into the murky night. Lifting the skirts of her sodden nightdress, she dashed down the road.
“Isabel!” the reverend beckoned.
The sounds of revelry spiraled around her as she plunged into the depths of town and into every kind of wickedness imaginable. Keeping her eyes forward, she sped onward.
“Hey little missy,” one man yelled as she raced past a tavern.
Frederick wailed, and the man holding him glanced over his shoulder at her. The light from a nearby tavern illuminated his heinous features. That face. She’d seen him before. He’d been with that tall pirate. They’d wanted her son after all. How could she have been so careless?
A man stumbled in front of her. “Where’s such a comely lass off to in such a hurry?” The stench of alcohol struck her. He grabbed her arm. Snagging it back, she kicked him in the groin. He doubled over and groaned.
Tumbling through the filthy street, Isabel’s eyes burned with tears, blurring her vision. She rubbed them and tried to focus.
The docks loomed in the distance. The two men had stopped and clambered into a boat. She trudged onward, summoning her remaining strength.
Frederick let out one of his unhappy sobs.
“Oh, my darling. I’m coming” Her milk came down and saturated the front of her nightdress. “Mama’s coming!”
Just another minute and she’d be upon them.
Just another minute.
“Hurry, ye fool, she’s comin’.”
The sound of paddles striking the water assailed her heart. “No!” Her feet hit the hard wood of the dock. “No!” She reached the end of the pier. No boat was in sight. A thick mist blanketed the bay. The swish of water sounded. “Frederick!”
The fog parted slightly, and she saw the dark shape of a boat. Two figures sat inside, one of them clutching a small bundle.
“Isabel!” The reverend yelled behind her, his booted footsteps pounding down the dock. If he reached her, he would stop her.
Isabel plunged into the murky bay. Rising above the surface, she thrashed in the choppy waves. “Fred—” She gurgled as her head sank beneath the water. Gasping for air, she swirled her arms frantically about her, trying desperately to move toward the boat. A somber, smothering shroud of liquid silence settled over her.
She couldn’t let them take her son. God, help me.
Strong arms grasped her waist and pulled her from the bay.
Isabel paced across the reverend’s cabin all through the night, unable to keep even tea in her stomach. Thomas tried to comfort her, but neither his hopeful words nor the verses he read from the Bible nor even his persistent prayers brought her any consolation. Though she’d tried to pray, she felt only a callous chill where the warm presence of God normally filled her soul.
Jacob, a bulky man who lived near the church, and who had helped the reverend pull Isabel from the bay, sat with them during the long hours. The kind farmer had wrapped her swollen, bloody feet in bandages and offered her what consolation he could.
She’d ventured back to her room only once. Perhaps she’d only had another nightmare. Perhaps Frederick wasn’t gone, after all. Perhaps he still slept peacefully above the church. But as she stepped into the room, the empty cradle filled her soul with chilling dread. After discarding the blanket the reverend had given her and removing her wet nightdress, she’d donned a simple gown and returned to the reverend’s cottage, unable to face her room.
Not without her baby.
“How will I ever find him?” She sank onto the reverend’s couch and looked up into his moist eyes. “What would pirates want with my son?”
The first rays of a new day trickled in through the windows, casting an unwelcome intrusion upon her misery.
“We must pray,” the reverend said. “God knows where Frederick is. He will watch over him.”
Isabel glared at the reverend, but thought better before replying. What good would it do to pour her fury and frustration out on him? She didn’t want to hear about God’s care right now. Where had He been when her son was stolen? She needed to find Frederick. She must hire a ship and go after him. A thought sparked in her mind.
“What of Captain Merrick and Lady Charlisse? Surely, they can help me.”
“I’ve already written them a letter.” Thomas patted the pocket in his vest. “No doubt they will make haste to your aid as soon as they receive it.”
Isabel clasped her hands and thought of her good friends—the ones who had rescued her from Captain Carlton. They were more than capable of dealing with pirates.
“However,” the reverend added with hesitation, “last I heard they were in the Carolinas. I’ll send the letter to a relation of Merrick’s who resides there. He may be able to locate him.”
So far away. No sooner had her spirits risen, than they tumbled back down again. But she mustn’t give up. She searched the reverend’s eyes for the comfort and faith she usually found there. He did not disappoint her. Yet a new thought came to her. “I will write to my parents too. Perhaps they will help rescue their grandson.”
“Indeed, I’m sure they will.”
Isabel busied herself for the next hour composing a letter to her father, explaining the situation and pleading for his help. Then she and Marlie rushed into town and dispatched it, along with the reverend’s letter to Merrick, on the fastest ship to New Providence. Even the quickest reply would take over a week.
A week.
Isabel sobbed as she trudged back to the church. A week without knowing where her son was or whether he was still alive! Oh Lord, help me. She knelt by the side of the road, and Marlie stooped beside her and placed one arm over her shoulders. Instead of trying to comfort her with false assurances, the young half-breed wept right along with Isabel until they were both out of tears. Then arm in arm, they returned home.
Sleep was but a fleeting shadow for Isabel that night, along with all the other shadows that crept around her, haunting her. She rose from her cot and grabbed one of Frederick’s blankets, Taking a deep breath of his fragrance, she sobbed.
“Where is your justice, God? First you plant this life within me against my will and borne out of violence, and then just when I’ve given him my heart, you tear him away from me.”<
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A cool breeze blew in from the window and swirled through the room. Isn’t that what you wanted? Now you are free. Now you can return home and marry a rich nobleman.
Isabel dashed the tears from her face. She glanced around the room so filled with Frederick’s things: his cradle, blankets, cloths, the little shirts and breeches the ladies in the church had sewn for him, a tiny doll stuffed with straw, blocks of wood he loved to gnaw with his new teeth. A sorrowful chuckle rose to her lips. “Are you punishing me for not wanting my son when I carried him?” She pressed her hand over her now flat stomach. “But I kept him. I love him, Lord.”
She fell to her knees and laid her head on her cot. She tried to pray, but no words formed on her lips. Or in her heart. She scratched her arms where a rash had broken out. The incessant itching only added to her agony and reminded her of Job, God’s servant, who not only lost all his children but was struck down by a plague of boils as well. “What will you do to me next?” she cried and crawled onto the cot where she soon fell asleep, clutching Frederick’s blanket to her bosom.
The next morning when the sanctuary filled with worshipers, Isabel remained upstairs, unable to face their comforting smiles and sympathies. After the service, Reverend Thomas tapped on the door and pushed it open. Wearing that reassuring smile that was beginning to grate on Isabel’s nerves, he approached her and sat on the edge of the cot. He tossed a heavy sack onto the bed. It jingled when it landed.
“What’s this?” Isabel scratched her arm through her cotton sleeve.
“We took an offering to help you hire a privateer to seek Frederick.” With arched brows, he shook the bag. The clank rang though the air, stirring Isabel’s hopes.
“Truly?” Grabbing the bag, she fingered the coins through the burlap, amazed at the kindness of people who often did not have enough food to feed their own children.
“And not only that,” the reverend added, his eyes snapping with excitement, “but two merchants… you may know them. Benson and Purdue? They assure me they will keep an eye out for these pirates and an ear out for any word of a baby, and will alert the Royal Navy should they hear anything.”
The Restitution Page 2