Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3)

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “May I come in?” she asked, her blue eyes wide and friendly. “I’m Adele Morton. I thought you might be hungry.”

  Ella opened the door and backed up into the room until she was sitting on the bed as Adele came in with the tray. “I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this,” Ella said,

  “Not at all!” The girl put the tray down on the bed between them. “When Lawrence told us—that is my father, Judge Morton, and myself— what happened to you, well, we were just so appalled. And on your first day on Thompson’s Island. Really unimaginable.”

  Thompson’s Island?

  Ella watched Adele pour tea from the pot into a delicate china cup. She added milk and sugar to it and handed it to Ella. “You look exhausted,” she said. “Shall I ring to have a bath prepared for you?”

  The girl’s kind words brought Ella close to tears. She put her hand to her hair, which from the feel of it was a mess. It stuck out in wiry exclamation marks of frizz. Her dress was stained at the hem from the dirt and mud she’d walked through to get to the Morton’s residence.

  “I’m so sorry to just show up on your doorstep,” Ella said, giving up on her hair and gratefully sipping the hot tea. Her head ached but the tea was already helping.

  “Don’t say another word about it. Although I admit Lawrence never mentioned you were coming to visit. But don’t you worry,” Adele said hurriedly. “We are delighted that you’re here. Lawrence only got here himself the day before yesterday. Were you on the Miranda as well?”

  Ella had no idea what the girl was talking about. “I don’t really know,” she said.

  “Well, the doctor will be here first thing in the morning,” Adele said, placing a thick linen napkin across Ella’s lap.

  “The doctor?”

  “Our family physician. When Papa heard that you…that your memory had been affected by the assault…”

  “Right. Thank you, Miss…Morton.”

  “Please call me Adele.”

  “Can you…I know this is going to sound odd but…where exactly is Thompson’s Island?”

  Adele hesitated as if not sure Ella were serious in her question but smiled and handed her a small plate of sugar cookies. “Thompson’s Island is the southernmost point of the United States of America,” she said.

  “Southernmost point,” Ella repeated, her face creased in confusion. “That’s not…that wouldn’t be Key West?”

  “I’ve heard it called Cayo Hueso,” Adele admitted. “That’s Spanish for Bone Key. I fear there’s a gruesome story behind how it got its name.”

  Ella waved a hand weakly as if to stop the girl from speaking further.

  Key West? How is that possible?

  She jumped up and ran to the window again, the little plate of cookies falling to the floor when she did. She put both hands to her head. Yes. If a bomb had gone off and totally destroyed Mallory Square and ripped up Duval Street and all its shops and seafood restaurants and flung them into the void of the Atlantic Ocean, then yes, this could be Key West. She turned, stunned, to look at Adele who was watching her with concern.

  “Miss Morton,” Ella said, her lips trembling such that she could barely speak. “Can I ask you what year this is?”

  Adele nodded as if this were not an unusual question at all, as if, in fact, it were a perfectly reasonable thing for any seriously deranged person to ask. She reached her hand out to Ella. “Please come back and drink your tea, Miss Pierce,” she said. “It is 1825.”

  Even though she was half expecting to hear them, the moment the words were out of Adele’s mouth Ella felt the room close in on her and the floor rock as if she were standing on a seesaw. Her stomach lurched into her throat at the same time the darkness engulfed her and sent her crumpling to the thinly carpeted floor of the 1825 Key West home.

  16

  Rowan watched the looming harbor of Key West as it came closer and closer. He still found it difficult to believe that he’d pinned so much hope on Jan getting the letters to Cairo. He’d spent the entire four-month voyage believing Ella was reassured about his absence.

  Now he knew she was frantic and terrified—if not in outright mourning.

  And then of course there was poor Jan.

  As he prepared to disembark, the movement of Sully on the quarterdeck caught Rowan’s glance.

  Cold-hearted murderer.

  The one thing that stood between Rowan returning to Ella and his child was that creature strutting about on deck. He wondered if the man could feel Rowan’s hatred silently boring into him.

  “Oy, mkubwa,” Ansel said as he walked up beside Rowan. “Toad said yer going ashore with the rest of us.”

  Rowan’s eyes widened. “I am?”

  “Cor, I thought sure they’d lock ye up again but I didn’t want to say. I’m that glad, mate. I’ve got a few things to show ye. I mean women, ye savvy?”

  Did it make sense that they’d let him just go ashore of his own free will? It was true, for the last three months he behaved the perfect crewman. So much so that he appeared indistinguishable from the other pirates. His clothes were in rags—when he bothered wearing them at all—his beard was full and dark, and his hair hung to his shoulders. But they’d spent a week in Bermuda and Rowan had never left the ship.

  “Go get yer money. There’ll be things to spend it on in Cayo Hueso.”

  Rowan turned to make his way back down to where the men hung their hammocks and walked right into Edward Toad.

  “Hold on, there,” the man said, holding a set of irons in his hands. “Ye’ll not be going ashore without these.” Toad reached for Rowan’s hands and, instinctively, Rowan took a step back. The black Bermudan called Aesop grabbed him from behind.

  “Sorry, mate,” Aesop said in Rowan’s ear.

  Rowan allowed the irons to be affixed to his hands. Toad gave him a hard push toward the gangplank that had been lowered. As Rowan stumbled forward, just catching himself before falling off the side of the walkway, he saw Sully standing on the dock already waiting.

  Toad walked close behind him as they joined Sully.

  Without a word, the men moved across the busy dock of sailors, longshoremen, Bahamian wreckers and Cuban fishermen and into the main unpaved artery of 1825 Key West.

  Rowan’s mind was whirling. There was so much to take in. The commotion and smells and noise of Key West harbor seemed more like a festival than a working port. People from every different color, dressed in rags or full suits, flowing Arabian robes and colorful Cuban native dress.

  He forced himself to focus on where he was going. It occurred to Rowan that unless Sully carried the lighter on him, it was still back on the Die Hard. Ansel told him before they left the Bahamas that he saw Sully selling Rowan’s wedding ring in the bazaar in Nassau. The bastard.

  He strode behind Sully, also a tall man with a long stride. Toad had to trot to keep up with the two of them. They hurried down the plank-board walkway that served as the shop sidewalks until they came to what looked like a business office. Over the door, a sign swung on a chain and read: Bennett and Sons. Sully entered without knocking.

  Inside, it looked to Rowan like an auction was in progress. It was a massive room with at least fifty people lining the perimeter walls. In the center was a substantial wooden stage with a lone black man who stood with his head down, his hands chained in front of him.

  Rowan stopped walking and Toad ran into him.

  “Son of a bitch!” Toad snarled.

  Rowan felt the vicious smash to his kidneys as Sully turned to them and frowned as if they’d embarrassed him in front of people he respected.

  “Don’t damage the merchandise,” he hissed to Toad.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing,” Rowan said in a low voice to Sully.

  “Oh, yes, I think you do,” Sully responded, a smile replacing his moment of pique. He turned and gestured to an older gentleman standing at the base of the stage next to a desk. The man nodded back and moved his head as if to see Rowan
better.

  Rowan watched Sully and the old man shake hands. Upon closer inspection, he decided the guy was around fifty. He was balding, grossly overweight and stood barely five-foot-five. His eyes—as black as beetles—watched the activity of the slave auction on the stage behind him.

  “So this is the man?” he said without looking at Rowan. “He is big.”

  “As promised. And skilled. He’s a carpenter—”

  “You can’t do this, Sully,” Rowan said. “Slavery is illegal.”

  “Not yet it isn’t,” Sully said to Rowan, looking at him as if he would say more. As if he knew more. “And besides, I’m not selling you. Am I, Mr. White?”

  The older man glanced at Rowan before looking back at the stage. Two women in their twenties stood quivering and terrified, completely naked, as the auctioneer brayed out the desired prices.

  “Not at all,” he said. “I am accepting an indentureship on you for the price of three hundred dollars. After that, you are free to go.”

  “I didn’t agree to any indentureship.”

  “I did that on your behalf,” Sully said, his attention now drawn to the stage where a coffee-colored young woman stood, naked and alone. Her beauty was instantly noticeable, almost like a magical aura surrounding her. The auctioneer ratcheted up the excitement level in his voice and a small ferret of a man jumped on stage and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to turn around to show herself to the crowd.

  “You have no right to do this.”

  “You owe me for your ship’s passage.”

  “I never wanted passage on your ship! I was kidnapped!”

  “Be that as it may, you ate my food, drank my grog—”

  “I worked my ass off for four fucking months!”

  Sully turned to White. “As I was saying, he’s a good carpenter and there’s every reason to believe he can read and write as well. Might even be helpful with accounting. I don’t know what you want him for.”

  White shrugged, still not looking at Rowan. “My overseer needs help and I can’t send a nonwhite into town to do business on my behalf.”

  “I’m not sure you can send this one any time soon.”

  “Well, my overseer is especially good with recalcitrant slaves. It won’t be a problem.” White nodded at the auctioneer and the bidding came to an abrupt close. Rowan saw the weasel-man return to the stage and grab the girl by the arm to jerk her off stage.

  It was all he could do not to vomit on White’s shoes.

  White dug out several bills from his wallet and handed them to Sully. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, snapping his fingers at his own men who materialized by his side. “We’ll take it from here. Take his cuffs off, please. We have our own.”

  Toad took the irons from Rowan’s wrists and, without a word, he and Sully left the auction.

  Rowan turned to White. “I don’t care what he told you, he kidnapped me and he has no authority to promise me to you. It is illegal. I am a free man.”

  White ignored him, his eyes on the young slave girl, still completely nude, who was being led down the wooden steps of the stage. Rowan could see she walked proudly with her head held high, but her eyes were full of fear.

  “As beautiful as they said you were,” White mumbled, speaking to no one. She stood quietly while White paid the weasel-man. He turned to her and without looking at her face, cupped her left breast and squeezed hard, forcing her to gasp in surprise and pain.

  Without thinking, Rowan swiveled on his foot and smashed his fist into White’s face, knocking him to the ground. Any intentions he had after that were preempted by the feel of a solid wooden bat being slammed into the base of his head. The stage whirled and the sawdust on the floor rushed up to punch into his face as he fell. He didn’t lose conscious and felt the hands of White’s two thugs as they dragged him upright.

  17

  The Florida Straits 1825

  When she awoke, Ella was on the bed, the light fading outside her window. Adele sat in a chair by the bed watching her.

  “You scared us, Miss Pierce,” she said quietly.

  Ella had hoped it was all a terrible dream. She closed her eyes again as if she could make it so. She opened them again.

  “The Judge thinks it will help if you eat something.” Adele indicated a china dish on the bedcovers with a sandwich that had been cut into fourths. “I do, too.”

  Ella sat up in the bed. The sandwich was made with homemade bread and seemed to have some kind of fried fish filling. Until she picked it up, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She took a bite.

  How is this possible? How can I be in 1825? Do people really fall through time? If so, how come I haven’t read about it before?

  “Daisy is bringing another pot of tea,” Adele said.

  Wonder if I could ask her to pop some ice cubes in it, instead.

  “I have to say, Miss Pierce, I’m so glad you’re here. It will be like having a sister. I can’t wait to go shopping with you and show you the island. When you’re stronger, of course.”

  “So…I am to just live here with you and your father?” Ella looked around the room as if trying to imagine her new life here.

  “And Lawrence, of course,” Adele said, her smile creating dimples in her fair complexion. “Until the wedding, that is. Papa will help Lawrence find a little house for the two of you after that.”

  “When is the wedding?”

  Adele laughed. “Oh, my goodness, Miss Pierce! I cannot imagine a bride-to-be forgetting her wedding date! Lawrence hasn’t mentioned to me when you are to be married. But he’s already asked Papa to have the ceremony here at Morton House. You and I will have such fun planning it! Our gardens are the envy of Thompson Island.”

  A sharp rap on the door was followed by the door opening before Adele could say come in. The woman who stood in the doorway was about Ella’s age. She wore the costume of a lady’s maid and her hair was tied back severely into a slick black bun at the nape of her neck. She looked to be of Cuban descent.

  “Yes, Daisy, just put the tray down on the dresser,” Adele said.

  “Excuse me, Miss, but Lord Bingham is asking if…our guest will be dining with us tonight.”

  “No, Daisy. Please tell Cook it will just be Lord Bingham, His Honor and myself tonight. Miss Pierce will eat in her room.”

  “Very good, Miss,” Daisy said. Ella couldn’t help but notice a coldness about the woman that radiated out from the doorway in which she stood. Either she just got some really bad news, or she’s a major malcontent, Ella thought as the woman curtsied and left the room.

  “Daisy’s very conscientious,” Adele said, turning back to Ella. “Between the two of us, I think we’ll take very good care of you.”

  “So Lawrence is an earl or a duke or something?” Ella popped the last bite of the sandwich in her mouth and began pressing the crumbs from the plate onto her finger to lick them clean. She noticed Adele watching her in fascination as she did and immediately stopped. Adele handed her a cloth napkin.

  “Yes, indeed, Miss Pierce. You are engaged to a duke. That will make you a duchess, you know.” The girl hopped up and went to a tall bureau in the room, where she pulled out a long nightgown of thin damask. “I think you have everything you need for tonight. Anything you don’t have, Daisy will be by before you retire to get for you. Tomorrow, we shop!”

  The feeling in the pit of Ella’s stomach threatened to reject the sandwich she’d just eaten. A light film of sweat popped out on her forehead and she pulled back the covers in hopes that it would help.

  “Are you alright, Miss Pierce?”

  “I…can you tell me where the bathroom is?”

  When Adele frowned in confusion, the feeling in Ella’s stomach kicked into high gear. She felt the perspiration begin to creep down the back of her neck.

  “Where I can…relieve myself?”

  “Oh! Of course,” Adele said. She walked to a screen in the corner of the room and pulled out a large ceramic chamber pot. />
  Oh dear God, you have got to be kidding me.

  “It’s just for now, Miss Pierce, while you’re getting your strength back,” Adele said, depositing the pot on the floor. “We have a thoroughly modern privy in the garden not ten steps from the house and I’ll show that to you tomorrow.”

  As in a thoroughly modern hole in the ground with a splintery board thrown over the top?

  “Okay, thanks,” Ella said weakly, falling back into bed, suddenly cold.

  Adele came back to the bed and put a cool hand on Ella’s damp forehead and then turned and folded up a linen towel to blot the moisture from Ella’s face. “I’m just so glad you’re here,” Adele said. “You’ll see. It will be wonderful.” She gave Ella’s shoulder a light squeeze before turning and exiting the room.

  Ella stared at the closed door, the scent of flowers and cinnamon still hung in the room after the girl was gone.

  Please God, make this be a joke and I swear if it is I’ll take it with good grace and laugh with the best of them. Please don’t let me really be living two hundred years before everyone I know is born.

  ***

  That first night had been an uninterrupted spate of sleep that felt as close to a coma as Ella could imagine. She slept deeply, without dreaming, to awaken, still in 1825. In the morning, the maid, Daisy, came into her room to jerk open the shutters and let the morning’s sun invade the room, to whisk away the chamber pot—Ella still cringed at the thought of it—and inform Ella that breakfast was being served downstairs.

  Ella tried to imagine, if she ever got the chance to tell someone from her own time what Key West was like in 1825, how she could ever describe it without mentioning the harsh smell of rotting fish, the burning, pounding sun that never quit and the ever-present, single-minded assault of the ubiquitous clouds of mosquitoes.

  What an amazing—nearly unbelievable—transformation to the ultimate tourist destination Key West would someday become, she thought numbly as she sat in the open-air carriage outside Adele’s house. Even the mode of transportation was foul-smelling, she thought with a grimace as one of the pair of Friesian chargers deposited a solid wet mass of excrement onto the hard-packed dirt street in front of the Morton House.