“Johnny sounds like an exceptional man.” Isabel dared to interject her opinion, then braced herself for Morris’s angry retort, but “Aye” was all he uttered in reply.
“He was very handsome.” Hann’s violet eyes danced in the firelight. “And funny. What a sense of humor.” She paused, her eyes welling. “He had a good heart.” She gazed at Isabel. “You would have liked him.”
Isabel smiled, but inside her heart melted as she realized how deep the blade of Johnny’s loss had cut into both Hann and her father.
Morris swayed on his seat. His eyes glistened in the firelight.
Hann stretched out her legs. “Mom would have been proud of him.”
Morris chuckled. “Well, she weren’t too pleased when he followed in me footsteps and became a pirate, to be sure, but aye, lass, I think she’d have been proud of him.”
Frederick murmured and shifted in Isabel’s arms. “What happened to your mother?”
Clutching his bottle, Morris jumped to his feet and turned his back to them.
A log tumbled in the fire with a crackle, shooting sparks onto the moist dirt.
Hann shifted her sorrowful eyes to Isabel. “Yellow fever.”
Morris swung about and cursed. His face swelled into a red ball, and he seemed to have aged ten years. “I shouldn’t have brought her to the Spanish Main.”
Hann gazed up at him. “She wanted to come.”
“I couldn’t save her.”
Tears burned behind Isabel’s eyes as her gaze shifted between father and daughter. Agony folded over them both, suffocating them. This family had suffered far too much. Oh Lord, please bring them the comfort that only You can bring.
Hann rose to her feet. “’Twas not your fault, Father.”
“What is a man if he can’t protect his own family?” He thrust the bottle toward Hann, anger fuming in his blue eyes. “First your mother, then Johnny.” He dropped his gaze. “At least she weren’t around to watch her son die.” He grunted. “I can thank God for that.”
“Father you take too much on yourself. Only God can control who lives and who dies.”
“Perhaps.” He stumbled, threw his arms out, then regained himself. His glazed eyes landed on Frederick still asleep in Isabel’s arms. “But I can avenge their deaths—at least Johnny’s, so he can rest in peace.”
Hann rushed to her father’s side. “Johnny wouldn’t want an innocent woman and her babe to suffer for his sake.” Morris studied her and blew out a sigh, the lines in his face softening. “Leave your vengeance to God, Father. If you cling to it, it will poison your heart.” Hann cast a knowing smile at Isabel, who returned it with one of her own. Hann had been listening to her after all.
A slight glow began to lift the heavy shroud of night as dawn broke over the jungle. Was that a sign that Isabel’s nightmare was over? A single bird twittered. One of the pirates rolled over with a groan. She held her breath. Would Morris change his mind? Would he let her and Frederick go? Oh touch his heart, Lord. Please touch his heart.
Morris swayed, then rubbed his eyes before his hesitant gaze landed back on his daughter.
Frederick whimpered, drawing Morris’s attention, and the softness instantly faded from his face. With darkened brow, he tore his arm from his daughter’s grasp. “Nay, I will not suffer it, nor will I bear your defiance any longer.” He held out his hand. “Hand me your weapons, Annie. And if you so much as look at Lady Ashton, I’ll have her bound and gagged.”
“But Fa—”
“Enough!” His bellow silenced the fading chirps of the crickets. Akers stirred in his sleep.
Isabel hung her head. Drawing Frederick close, she wondered what would happen to them now.
With a snort, Hann reluctantly handed her father her sword, knives, and pistols.
Grabbing them, Morris turned and started across the camp, then spun back around. “It’ll be on your head if I am forced to tie and gag Lady Ashton. You’ll do well to remember that, girl.”
Morris lumbered about the camp in his drunken state, booting the sleeping pirates awake. “Pack up. Let’s be on our way. The quicker I get this over with, the better.”
Thunder cracked the morning sky, and Isabel squeezed her eyes shut. Father, why aren’t You answering my prayers any longer? Where are You? She gazed down at Frederick. His dark lashes fluttered over his cheeks like tiny fans, and her heart swelled with love for him. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, no sacrifice too big. With a sigh, she brushed a curled lock of hair from his cheek and remembered that God considered her and Frederick His own children.
If God loved her even half as much as she loved this little boy, she had nothing to fear. Perfect love casts out all fear. And God’s love for His children was perfect—the kind of love that prompted Him to sacrifice His only Son to save them.
After changing Frederick’s diaper—to his extreme agitation at being forced from his sleep—Isabel returned him to the sling and gave him a piece of fruit.
As the pirates tossed bits of leftover food, canteens, and bottles of rum into their packs, Miles wandered into the camp, rubbing his head, while Morris laid into him with a barrage of curses regarding the heritage of his mother. After flinging an angry scowl toward Hann, the pirate grabbed his pack and took his place in line.
Clinging to Frederick, Isabel dove once again into the green maze, breathing in the warm, musty scent of earth and life. Massive leaves hanging from the canopy sank low under their weight of morning dew, and splayed beside her like outstretched palms offering their gifts of water. Instead, they only soaked her gown as she brushed past them, sending a chill through her. Above, an orchestra of colorful birds tuned their melodious warble for the day’s ensemble as more light lifted the dark curtain on their performance.
Fully awake, Frederick bunched his knees and clutched Isabel’s gown, trying to crawl from his brace, then sobbed when he found himself once again confined.
“Tis all right, Freddy.” Isabel kissed his forehead and rubbed his back, but found she no longer had the energy to console him. With every step of her bruised feet, pain lanced up her legs. Her neck and back throbbed. Her injured shoulder burned. Hunger gnawed at her belly, and exhaustion sat upon her like a weight, forcing her down.
She stopped to adjust Frederick in the sling, and Miles’s hot, rancid breath curdled down her neck as he crept close behind her and nudged her onward.
Plodding forward, she couldn’t imagine how things could get much worse, when in an instant the sky opened up and a cascade of rain dumped upon them. Sheet after sheet pounded over Isabel. Frederick wailed and she wrapped her arms around him and tried to shelter him with her head.
“Keep going.” She heard Morris shout as the deluge intensified, obscuring him from view.
Within minutes, the path transformed into a river of mud, bubbling over her feet and leeching away her strength. Thrusting into the downpour, Isabel slogged up the trail as hope seeped from her with each step she took. Captain Morris was determined to sell her to the Indians, and she could no longer count on Hann’s help. The poor girl was as much a prisoner as she was. Even if Kent managed to escape Sawkins’s clutches, he had no idea where she was. Her heart shriveled at the realization that she would never see him again.
The rain continued for what seemed like an eternity but finally ceased as abruptly as it had come. By then, it had done its damage. Isabel’s hair hung in saturated strands. Mud clung to the bottom of her gown, weighing it down as she dragged it through the mire. Frederick had fared no better. She did her best to wipe the water from his eyes and face. When he fussed to get out of his wet brace, she finally complied, wringing the rain from his soaked nightdress. Steam rose from the forest floor, and her sodden gown chafed her skin. The pitter patter of drops on leaves surrounded her like a rhythmic march, lulling her exhausted mind into delirium. Slogging forward, she braced Frederick in her arms and prayed.
As long as she could remember, all she’d ever wanted was wealth and title
and the comfort and respect that came with them. The more she had craved them, the more they had slipped from her grasp. The more she had turned her nose up at common people, the more like them she had become, until she had been reduced to this: a mud-encrusted, soggy, hungry woman with naught but the ragged clothes on her back and two silver combs. She gazed lovingly at Frederick and kissed his cheek. But she had her beloved son. And she had the love of God. And somehow, as she trudged through the mud on her way to becoming a slave, none of those other things mattered anymore.
At midday a band of savages sprang out of the greenery.
Naked save for loincloths, the men surrounded Isabel and the pirates, brandishing clubs and spears in their hands and looks of hostility on their faces. They stood at medium height, clean shaven, with long black hair. Streaks of black paint lined their brown faces.
The pirates instantly drew their pistols.
“House your weapons, men,” Morris said in as calm a voice as Isabel had heard from the pirate. Then, turning to the natives, he said something in a language unfamiliar to Isabel.
The man Isabel assumed to be the leader, due to the number of feathers and teeth hanging around his neck, nodded at Morris, said something to his men, and then took the lead.
Several of the natives glanced at Isabel with interest, and she clung tighter to Frederick. Terror squeezed her heart.
This can’t be happening.
Frederick whimpered and Isabel plodded forward, eyeing the Indian on her right. A white bone, perhaps from a fish, pierced his nose. He wore bracelets and a necklace lined with shells and what looked like human teeth. Nausea churned in Isabel’s stomach, and she darted her gaze forward.
She began to pray silently. She must keep her focus on God. He was with her. He would not leave her.
After nearly an hour, the natives led them around the flank of a mountain and past a waterfall that plunged into a crystalline lake. Then pushing aside a thicket of dense brush, they led the way into their camp. Small huts, thatched with palms, encircled the clearing, in the center of which blazed a crackling fire. Isabel examined the roasting pit that was certainly large enough for a human body and wondered how the natives obtained the teeth hanging around their necks. Shuddering, she clung to Frederick.
No sooner had the troop entered the camp than dozens of Indians swept upon them, chattering unintelligibly. They greeted their fellow natives and clawed at the newcomers as if they were merchandise in a store. Several women and children descended upon Isabel, running their hands over her wet gown, tugging at her hair, and fingering Frederick. Dressed no more modestly than the men were, they wore rings of gold and silver in their nose and ears. Isabel cringed and tried to escape their mad clutches, but they only followed her. One woman tried to grab Frederick, another one Isabel’s combs, but one emphatic “No!” from Isabel sent them cowering backward.
A man wearing a thin cotton robe that reached to his ankles approached. A crown of white reeds, sporting three ostrich feathers, sat atop his head. Next to him walked a shorter man, wearing a similar crown but without the feathers. A plate of gold in the shape of a half moon jutted from his nose, and two golden rings hung from his ears.
Captain Morris addressed the men and nodded toward Isabel. Their gazes raked over her, and she looked down, trying to stop her legs from trembling.
The chief led them to an open-sided hut with a fire in its center and motioned for them to sit. Hann dared cast a glance at Isabel, sorrow spilling from her eyes, before her father jerked her aside and forced her to sit beside him. The pirates took their spots around the fire, but Isabel sensed from their stiff, silent demeanors that they felt no safer in the presence of these savages than she did.
Plopping Frederick in her lap, she removed the sling from around her neck and gave it to him to play with, hoping it would keep him occupied. At one snap of the chief’s fingers, the women rushed off and soon returned carrying plates of strange food: large yellow eggs, mashed fruit on leaves, and some type of fish that smelled like the bilge on the ship.
The pirates gobbled down the food with their usual gusto, removing bottles of rum from their packs and offering some to the chief and the other Indians.
Captain Morris continued his exchange with the chief, surprising Isabel with his fluent use of their language. Yet, Isabel didn’t have to understand what they were saying to know Morris was making a deal with theses savages that involved her. In fact, as the conversation continued, more and more of the Indians’ gazes found their way to her and Frederick—especially the shorter chief, whose lips curled in a sinister smile beneath the golden plate projecting from his nose.
Some of the teeth on his necklace were very small.
Unease curdled in Isabel’s belly. The smoke from the fire rose and drifted through a tiny hole above them. It began to rain again, and the droplets sounded like evil laughter as they splattered on the leaves thatching the roof. Smoke stung Isabel’s nose along with the stench of the food. Frederick whined, and she laid a kiss on the top of his head and said a prayer over him as alarm took over her senses. Her desperate gaze scanned the surrounding jungle, and she wondered how far she would get if she made a dash for it. Not far with so many natives on her heels.
The little chief leaned toward Morris, said something, and pointed toward Isabel.
Tossing a piece of fruit into his mouth, Morris glanced at her. “He wants the babe.”
Isabel shook her head, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?” She clung to Frederick. “He will not touch my son!”
“Aye, but he will, seeing as I just sold the brat to him.”
“You didn’t, Father!” Hann protested.
Isabel’s heart thundered in her chest. “Sold him! What do you mean?”
“Murato here has just purchased wee Frederick for a sack of cacao beans. Fair trade if I say so meself.” Morris chuckled.
Murato rose and headed toward Isabel, motioning for her to hand over her son.
Hann tried to get up, but Morris yanked her down, restraining her.
Isabel jumped to her feet. Alarm surged through her. This can’t be happening. Lord, I can’t lose my son again! She backed up, casting a glance over the darkening jungle. Perhaps she could make it if she ran fast enough. Murato narrowed his dark eyes as he crept forward. Isabel lurched toward the trees. Strong arms clutched her from behind, holding her in place. A wicked chortle blasted down her neck. Miles.
“I won’t let you take him!” A flood of tears cascaded down Isabel’s cheeks. Frederick began to scream.
Murato stopped within a few feet of her, examined her curiously, then turned and shouted something back at Morris. An odor of putrid fish and sweat gushed from his body.
With a grunt, Morris lumbered to his feet, followed by the tall chief. The three men conversed in angry tones, and Isabel thought for a minute a fight would break out between them, but then the parley soon came to a close. The tall chief returned to his dinner while Murato snorted, turned on his heels, and joined Morris.
“I’ve done you a favor, milady.” Morris grinned maliciously. “I’ve convinced Murato you should not be separated from your son.”
Isabel stared aghast at him, wondering why his kind words did not match the evil glint in his eyes. Swiping the tears from her face, she rubbed Frederick’s back, trying to calm him as renewed dread crept up her spine.
Morris sat and grabbed a chunk of fish. “Chief Murato is from another village far deeper in the jungle—a place where no white man has ever been.” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he nodded toward the smaller chief next to him.
Hann jumped to her feet and faced Morris. “What have you done, Father?”
“Faith, girl.” Morris bellowed. “I’ll thank you to quit interfering!”
Murato licked his lips and leered at Isabel through brown, pointy teeth.
Morris’s gaze shifted to Isabel. “Oh, where are me manners?” He feigned a pretense of distress. “Lady Ashton.�
�� He doffed his hat and gestured toward Murato.
“Meet your new husband.”
Chapter Thirty-One
What Does It Profit a Man?
The twitter of myriad birds beckoned Isabel, drawing her from the half-conscious state she had thankfully slipped into sometime during the long night. A musky scent filled her nostrils as moist grains of dirt scratched her cheek. Pulling the rough woven blanket over her head, she felt Frederick’s warm body cradled against her chest, breathed a sigh of relief, and then fought to hold back yesterday’s memories from bursting forth in her mind. Just a few more minutes—a few more precious moments of drifting on the calm sea of slumber, where she and Frederick were safe and free. But that was not to be. Voices in an unknown tongue shot like arrows around her, their intensity exceeded only by Morris’s angry commands.
Pushing against the ground on which she’d slept—because slaves didn’t sleep in huts with their masters—Isabel rose, rubbed her eyes, and scanned the Indian camp. Captain Morris stood near the place where they had first entered the village, speaking with Akers, while the other pirates stuffed their packs with fruit and meat that Isabel assumed the Caribs had given them for their journey. The women circled the fire, cooking something on massive leaves that sent a putrid smoke curling into the gray light of dawn. A group of children laughed and shouted as they played a game in the far corner, while most of the men Isabel could see, lumbered about talking or sharpening their weapons.
Hann gazed at Isabel from beside her father. The concern in her eyes breeched the distance between them. Isabel gave her a weak smile and picked up Frederick. She must find a clean diaper for his bottom and something for him to eat. Rising to her feet, she stepped from beside the hut where she’d been tossed a blanket and told to sleep. A chill raked across her shoulders, and she knew before she looked his way that her betrothed—Murato—was staring at her. He stood with five other Indians by a trailhead on the other side of camp. His long black hair hung in a tangled mass to his shoulders. He had armed himself with a club and knives for their journey, which made him look even fiercer, if possible, than he had yesterday.
The Restitution Page 34