by Janie DeVos
“And what do you think of it?” For some odd reason, I wanted him to think it was as special as I did.
“It’s beautiful, like many things in South Florida are.” He smiled, looking intently at me. “Are you riding alone? If so, may I escort you to wherever it is you’re going?”
Lord, he was smooth…and handsome…and apparently kind. “Oh, that’s not necessary, Mr. Perry,” I replied, trying to sound independent and sophisticated. “I take this route all the time, and I came prepared,” I said, turning in my saddle and laying my hand lightly on my rifle. I also wanted him to know I was brave. Somehow, that was important to me.
“I’m impressed, Miss Harjo,” he said, satisfying that part of my ego. I pulled my shoulders back slightly and stuck my chin out rather jauntily. But just as I was starting to feel like the proudest peacock in the pack, he added, “Before you get back to town, though, you might want to readjust yourself and perhaps throw a shawl around you, as well. We don’t want all of Miami thinking you’re up to no good out in the badlands, do we?” He grinned.
Mortified, I followed his gaze downward to see what in the world he could be talking about, and when I did, I realized that my skirt was still hiked up to mid-thigh, and the water that I’d splashed all over me just minutes before had turned my crisp cotton blouse and chemise beneath it absolutely transparent, leaving nothing to the imagination. I immediately understood why he’d looked so amused from the moment he rode up, and I couldn’t jump off Sundae fast enough to allow my skirt to fall back into place and grab a shawl from my saddle bag. Suddenly, I felt like the peacock had just lost every one of its feathers, leaving it quite naked and foolish-looking.
Chapter 13
Deeply and Thoroughly
Owen Perry and I sat by the open window, enjoying the light breeze that blew in off the bay while people-watching as fellow diners came and went at the Captain’s Table Restaurant in Coconut Grove. It was the second time we’d eaten there, and the second time Owen had ordered steak for dinner.
“I think you’re better suited to be a rancher than a light keeper,” I laughed, as I watched him take his last spoonful of beef barley soup while I ate my lobster bisque more slowly. “You hungry tonight?” I asked, though there wasn’t a real need to. He’d hurried through his first course as if he’d been fasting for a week.
“Guess it’s more about being able to eat some good cooking for a change,” he smiled. “Eating Adam and Striker’s meals—if they really qualify as such—takes some real getting used to, although, in all fairness, my concoctions aren’t much better. We could use a woman’s touch out there.”
“I couldn’t help you much, I’m afraid,” I laughed. “I cook a lot of seafood.” It was easy being around him, and even though this was only our second date, I was completely at ease.
Looking around at the décor of the new restaurant, one knew immediately what the menu would offer up. The walls were adorned with all kinds of nautical items, including a ship’s wheel, fishing nets and lobster traps. Proudly displayed on a large shelf in the room was a variety of model ships that had been meticulously put together. But it wasn’t just the nautical items that let every patron know what culinary treats awaited them. It was the unmistakable aroma of fried seafood, as well. My mouth watered at the wonderful smells wafting through the dining room and I realized I was quite hungry.
“You look very pretty tonight,” Owen said, drawing my attention back to him.
“Oh, thank you,” I said, pleased that he’d noticed the new dress I’d bought just that afternoon. It was cream-colored with tiny light blue roses covering it, and though the light blue eyelet lace came up my neck and was tight at the wrists, the dress was made from the new lighter weight cotton, making it much more comfortable than the suffocating wool dresses and heavier cotton we’d always worn. One thing I refused to wear, though, much to the chagrin of the proper ladies in our community, was a bustle. I figured if the good Lord had wanted me to have a good-sized rump, He’d have put one on me Himself. I wasn’t about to add a bulky mess of material to my backside to increase the weight and the heat of my dress, especially during a brutal Miami summer.
“I bought this dress off the rack at Burdine’s,” I said. “I’m glad he’s carrying such a nice variety of ready-made clothing. Folks love having so many choices available to them. I particularly appreciate it since I don’t have the knack with a needle that my mother does.”
“Have you worked at the store much lately?” he asked.
“Some. Just two afternoons a week, and on Saturdays. It’s nice having that money since I’m not getting paid at the village.”
“If you ask me, those Seminoles are taking advantage of you,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Can’t bleed blood from a turnip, Owen,” I replied. I could see why folks didn’t understand why I spent so much time teaching the Seminoles without getting a penny for it. But, sometimes, a person just had to do what she felt was right, even if she didn’t have much to show for it at the end of the day. However, I’d made an excellent paycheck from the sale of the Paso’s tourmalines, as well as the gold bar. Between that and the money I made working for Mr. Burdine, I was feeling flush.
We fell into a comfortable silence while the waiter filled our water glasses and then set a wicker basket of yeast rolls in front of us. Owen began to butter one, but deciding I’d rather save my appetite for fried shrimp, I settled back comfortably in my chair and enjoyed looking out the window. To the east, I could see heat lighting flashing off in the distance over the bay, and to the north, I could see another new building going up, changing Miami’s young skyline yet again. It seemed to be a weekly occurrence. Right before our eyes, a wild land was being wiped away, and in its place was the rising of a new city.
I felt there should be limitations as to how much of this land could be destroyed. But, Owen made the argument that it was all a matter of supply and demand, and with more and more people willing to invest in our community, we needed to accommodate them. And that meant making land available for the building of their homes and business.
“But, Owen,” I countered, “while some people are building a place here, others are being displaced, and that’s not fair.”
“But what if those people occupy valuable land and are doing nothing more useful with it than just sitting on it?” he asked.
“Like who?” I asked. “Who’s just sitting on land, standing in the way of progress?” I had a feeling I knew what his answer would be.
“Well, the Seminoles, for example,” Owen replied. “I know there’s dredging going on in the Glades. I saw it for myself the day I ran into you—and your three miles of long, tan legs,” he teased.
I couldn’t help but smile, and I could feel the color rise to my cheeks. He wasn’t going to let me forget that afternoon he’d caught me in a most awkward state. I knew he was trying to lighten our dinner conversation by bringing that up, but I wasn’t so easily diverted.
“Owen, surely you don’t view the native people as being nuisances, do you? I mean, after all, they were here long before you and I were. If they want to do nothing but sit back and make sofkee stew all day and tan alligator hides, then who has the right to tell them to do otherwise?”
“The one who owns the land, Eliza, and that’s the government. Like it or not, if the government sees dollar bills in that land, then it’ll remove anyone standing in the way of capitalizing on it. And, pretty lady, if that’s the case with the land the Seminoles are occupying, then I’m afraid there wouldn’t be a thing you could do to stop it. But didn’t you tell me that Paroh fellow said the government isn’t interested in the land he and his people are on? The government might feel that keeping the Seminoles happy and quiet and out of the way is worth the price of the land. I’m sure they want to avoid another squabble with the Seminoles. Two wars are enough,” Owen finished.
“I hope y
ou’re right.” I said, smiling weakly and feeling a little more reassured. It seemed as though Owen knew just what to say to make me feel better about the world. Even at this early stage in our friendship, I felt safe with him. He had a way of making me feel as if every problem had an answer. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, and he made me feel like a woman.
I realized I was staring at him, and he did, too. I quickly recovered and launched into another subject. “So, you and Striker are down to a two man crew again now that they moved Adam to Carysfort, right?” But before Owen could answer, a thought occurred to me. “Hey, with Dylan at Alligator Reef, Adam at Carysfort, and you and Striker out at Fowey, y’all are in a line along those reefs! One, two, three!”
“Yes, I guess that’s true,” he laughed.
“Will they bring a third man in to Fowey to help you and Striker?” I asked.
“We were told that Jim Altman is about fully healed from his fall, and they’ll bring him back out as soon as he gets the okay from the doctor. The government felt that Carysfort needed an experienced keeper since they’ve got a couple of new men there now, so that’s why they sent Adam down. Hopefully, everyone’s in place now, and we won’t have to keep moving from light to light. It’s just hard keeping fellows out at those offshore lights. They’re very isolated and that gets old.”
Just then the waiter arrived with my shrimp and Owen’s filet mignon. After refilling our iced tea and asking us if we needed anything else, the waiter left us to our dinner.
“Owen, did you know that a vessel named the Esmeralda went down north of Carysfort about a week or so ago?”
Owen nodded. Then, “Yeah, I heard about it; a medium size sloop out of Trinidad, no survivors. Why? You and your father going to see about salvaging it?”
“We are!” I excitedly confirmed. “With the lights out on the reefs now, fewer wrecks are occurring, so Papa and I are really hoping we can get in on this one. Lord, listen to me! I sound like I’m happy that ship went down.”
“Oh, I think a tiny part of you is.” He smiled conspiratorially.
“I am not!” I objected. “That’s a terrible thing to say! You make me sound like a vulture!”
“You’re no vulture,” he observed. “You’re a kid in a candy store.” He laughed, which made me laugh, too. But the truth of the matter was that there wasn’t a wreck I worked on that I didn’t feel terribly sad for the crew who’d gone down, especially when I came across their personal items like lockets or shoes. It brought home the fact that people had perished there, but to allow the cargo to fall victim to the sea as well did no one any good. Sometimes, the captain and crew were rescued, and when that happened, the captain was grateful for the assistance in recovering his cargo.
“Do you know who the wreck master is yet, or what kind of cargo went down?” Owen asked.
“Not yet,” I replied. “Papa was looking into it today, but I didn’t see him when I got back from the village. And speaking of the village: I’m thinking positively and assuming we will be salvaging next week, so I told my students that they’re having a week’s break. I have to say, when I was a pupil in school, I was never disappointed to be going on vacation, but these students are.”
“Well, that says a lot about you as a teacher.” Owen smiled.
“Either that, or they’re thinkin’ about all the candy they’ll be missin’,” I laughed.
“You mean you bring them candy all the time?” He looked amazed.
“How else am I gonna get those little boys to sit still instead of chasin’ down a gator or a moccasin?” I asked.
“That, m’ dear, is a world in and of itself,” he said, shaking his head.
“And one that’s fast disappearing,” I quietly added.
Both of us were too full for dessert, so we decided to take a walk along the bay. But just as we began to make our way down Main Street, a light rain started to fall. Grabbing my hand, Owen hurried me back to the buggy parked alongside the restaurant. The conveyance was one that Owen had borrowed from Mrs. Brickell. It surprised me that she’d been so generous, but as I watched my handsome escort climb up onto the seat next to me, I realized that even she would have trouble saying no to a man as charming as he was.
“I’m sorry you’re wet,” he said, watching as I pulled a handkerchief from my small yellow-and-blue-beaded reticule and began wiping the dampness from my face.
“In this heat, I’m not sure if it’s raindrops or perspiration,” I laughed. He wasn’t smiling, however. Instead, he was looking at me intensely, seriously. Then, he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently brought his face within inches of mine.
“I’m about to kiss you thoroughly and deeply, Eliza Harjo. So if you’d rather I didn’t, tell me now.”
I didn’t say a word, and then Owen made good on his words…very, very good.
Chapter 14
Falling Bridges
“Mornin’,” Papa said to me over the top of the Miami Metropolis, the paper Mama worked for. “How was your evening with Owen?”
“Lovely,” I said, taking a plate of scrambled eggs from Mama and joining him at the table. “Owen took me to that new restaurant again in Coconut Grove, the Captain’s Chair…or is it ‘Table’? Anyway, it’s lovely—not fancy, but the atmosphere is cozy, and the food is exquisite.”
“Oh, exquisite, is it?” Mama asked over her shoulder as she stood at the stove flipping Papa’s fried eggs. There was no mistaking the amusement in her voice. After I’d had my first date with Owen and described it as being “divine,” she’d teased me by saying that my vocabulary had become just as sophisticated as my dates were. When she’d said that, I knew she was talking about the old schoolgirl crush I’d had on Striker. Just as she’d predicted, I’d found someone who made me feel special and made that heartbreak seem childish now.
“Well, he seems like a very nice man, Eliza,” Mama said as she put Papa’s plate in front of him and refilled his coffee.
“He is,” I sighed, and even I could hear the dreaminess in my voice.
“Papa, did you find out anything about the Esmeralda? What was she carrying, and when can we start salvaging her?”
Folding his newspaper, he set it aside and looked at me. “Yes. Cocoa and copper, among other things. And we’re not.”
“What?” I said, confused by his answer.
Resting his forearms on the table and leaning in slightly, he explained: “The Esmeralda was carrying cocoa, copper and, according to the manifest, “assorted things,” which could be anything, but it’s a pretty sure bet there’d be some items of real value. But we’re not salvaging her.” He looked rather grim.
“Why not?” I cried. “What’s stopping us?”
“It’s not a matter of what’s stopping us, Eliza, it’s who,” Papa said.
“Who is, Papa? I don’t understand.”
“Ezra Asher, that’s who. He’s the master wrecker, and he’s not about to let us have a piece of that salvage,” Papa said.
“But you told him to stay away from Miami waters,” I reminded him.
“I did and he has—at least for now. The Esmeralda isn’t sitting anywhere near Miami. She’s northwest of Carysfort, on Anniversary Reef, and that’s part of the Keys.”
“Why don’t you just tell the other salvagers what a thief he is?” I urged.
“Because, baby girl, at this point, he doesn’t have anyone else working that wreck with him, except for his own crew. It’s all his. And I have a feeling he’s going to do everything he can to keep it that way. If the ship should need to be parbuckled, instead of getting someone to help him roll it, he’ll just have his crew tear her apart, board by board. Then he’ll salvage as much as he can. Even if that means leaving some valuable cargo behind, he won’t have to split any of what he does bring up, and that could make him a pretty good chunk of money.”
“Other than being born in California, I don’t know,” Papa said. “But wherever he’s been, I’d be willing to bet he’s burned a few bridges there, too. And just like the good ol’ London Bridge, one of these days, one of those bridges is gonna come falling down—and right on top of Ezra Asher.”
Chapter 15
T for Trouble
I helped Mr. Burdine set up his storefront window with the newest selection of fall clothing. Then, after cleaning out the stock room, rearranging inventory to display it more effectively, and painting the women’s dressing room a lovely shade of lavender, I decided I’d had enough of retail to last me for a while. Since there was no salvaging to be done, I returned to the village two days early with a saddlebag full of candy, and quite a few fun new lessons planned. Even though they weren’t expecting me, I figured the temptation of a lemon drop or peppermint stick might entice the boys into the little chickee I used. I missed the children even more than I’d thought I would, so I was glad to be on Sundae again, heading down our usual trail to the Glades.
It was just after nine in the morning when I rode into camp, and it was unusually quiet. I saw only girls and women going about their chores, while a few of the mostly elderly men sat near the central fire pit conversing and smoking their pipes.
The mongrel dog who’d accosted me on my first visit ran up to me, but not because he was attempting to protect his people from a stranger. Now he was accustomed to my bringing him a treat of some sort.
“Mornin’, Fotcho,” I said as I pulled a half-eaten biscuit from breakfast out of my gaucho pants’ pocket and threw it to him. His name, Fotcho, was the Seminole word for “duck,” and when I asked Rose how he’d gotten that name, she said it was because one of the elders thought all of the fur between the little dog’s toes made them look webbed.