Freedom's Price

by Christine Johnson

  “Would you care to sit a moment?”

  As wonderful as that sounded, she would rather stay secure in Tom’s arms. It wasn’t just the protection he afforded but the confidence and the delightful sensation that there was no place she would rather be. In fact, one look up into those brown eyes, dancing with mirth, made her heart leap.

  Elizabeth suspected he was taken with her.

  In that moment, when Catherine’s gaze met his, she could not refute it. Her lips tingled with anticipation, shocking though it would be to put on such a display in public view.

  She dragged her gaze from his. “Perhaps I should rest.” How it hurt to say that!

  His thumb stroked her wrist once, then again. “Of course.”

  He tucked her hand on his arm and led her to the little bench outside the lawyer’s office. Unaccountable disappointment dogged each step until he settled beside her.

  “I’m a bit fatigued also,” he admitted, though the twinkle in his eyes said otherwise, not to mention the way he held her hand.

  She looked away and fanned her face with her free hand lest he see how much his nearness was affecting her. She could not afford an emotional attachment. She would leave. He would stay.

  She withdrew her hand from his grasp. “Perhaps we should—Mr. Fromp?”

  The plump shipping agent approached them as rapidly as his short legs would carry him.

  “Miss Haynes. There you are.”

  He cut rather a comedic figure. If in a court of law, she would have expected to see him with the barrister’s wig slightly askew. Today his plump cheeks glowed red, and perspiration ran off his forehead in rivulets. Between gasps and groans, he mopped his face.

  Tom rose and helped her to her feet. “Do you have word?”

  “A berth,” the shipping agent gasped. “On the Rebecca.”

  Her pulse stirred. Soon she would reach her new home. “What is the fare?”

  “Always the fare.” Fromp shook his head as if chiding her. He then named a price somewhat less expensive than on the Baltimore.

  She did not hesitate. “I will take it.”

  Fromp beamed. “I thought you’d say that and took the liberty of booking it for you.”

  Tom squeezed her arm. “Is there a second berth available?”

  Fromp’s gaze narrowed. “Didn’t know you were looking for two rooms.” A quick flick of his eyes made the disreputable connection.

  Catherine felt her cheeks heat and stiffened her spine. “We are not traveling together.”

  “We are traveling on the same ship,” Tom added.

  She shot him a scathing look. “I believe we have already had this discussion.”

  He smirked. “I believe you already gave your answer the night I lay injured.”

  Her jaw dropped. He’d heard her tell him that he could escort her to New Orleans? “Words spoken in haste under stressful circumstances.”

  Fromp cleared his throat.

  Tom abandoned the spat with her. “Tell me there’s another berth.”

  “Third class,” Fromp said. “But the ship leaves at dawn tomorrow.”

  Catherine gasped. That gave her little time to pack.

  Tom didn’t hesitate either. “I’ll take it. We will meet you in your office in, say, an hour?”

  The men settled on the timing, and then Fromp went into the customhouse to take care of business for one of his clients’ ships.

  Only then did Catherine point out what had occurred to her while the men talked. “You are expected on the Redemption.”

  His jaw tightened, and she knew she’d struck a blow.

  “I am free to do as I wish,” he finally muttered, his brow drawn low.

  While her heart danced at the idea that Tom would be with her for the voyage, she could not let him give up the life he loved and a small fortune just to see her safely home.

  “I will ask if anyone else from Key West is making the voyage.”

  He folded her hand in his. “There’s no need to ask. I am.”

  9

  Since Tom had never taken a room anywhere but at a boardinghouse, he hadn’t accumulated many possessions. After he retrieved a few items at the O’Malley house, it took him less than an hour to pack. Then, by the light of a single candle, he wrote a letter to Rourke explaining as best he could why he had to leave.

  Rourke would be disappointed, and that hurt worst of all. Tom didn’t want to disappoint his captain. The man had given him a job. Even more, he’d given Tom faith and hope for the future. That future now included Catherine. Somehow. He couldn’t put the pieces of the puzzle together yet, but no other woman had tugged so strongly on his heart. He must ensure her safe arrival in Louisiana. Even at the cost of his place in Rourke’s fleet.

  At least Ma no longer needed him. Tom clenched his hand until it ached. She would be married by now, Pa long forgotten. He flexed his hand. There was nothing he could do about his mother’s decisions, but he could make sure Catherine came to no harm.

  Tom sealed the note with wax from the candle on the writing table. Since the Redemption had not docked and wouldn’t until late morning, he would leave the note with Elizabeth when he stopped by to escort Catherine to their ship.

  His conscience pricked. Leaving Rourke’s employment was bad enough, but not giving him the news face-to-face smacked of cowardice.

  Catherine regretted leaving so hastily that she could not bid farewell to all the generous people she’d met in Key West. Captain O’Malley had not returned home. There was no time to pay a visit to Prosperity Latham.

  Catherine had had just enough time to see Mrs. Durning, who warbled on about how much she would miss her company and was quite in tears before they parted.

  “I will be beside myself with boredom.” The elderly woman dabbed at her eyes. “Mr. Durning is so busy running the ship. I shall miss your companionship.”

  Catherine regretted not paying more attention to the woman, who had given up the comforts of home to travel with her across the Atlantic. In addition to finishing the voyage to Jamaica, Mrs. Durning must repeat the exhausting transatlantic crossing sooner rather than later. Catherine suspected the captain would hurry their stay in Jamaica in order to recoup both the time and the money the storm had cost.

  Now, in the glow of the parlor lamp, Catherine embraced Elizabeth, her eyes misting at the thought of losing her new friend. “Please tell everyone how sorry I am that I cannot properly say good-bye.”

  “Of course I will.” Elizabeth held on tightly. “We’ve all known this day would come, though I’ll admit I selfishly wish you did not have to leave.” She mustered a smile. “Of course you must go. Your family awaits you.”

  Catherine hoped her letter had arrived and Elizabeth’s words would come true. Often she’d envisioned the family embracing her. Uncle Henri must look like Maman, though perhaps more stoic. His wife and any children still at home would gather around, eager to meet her. She hoped her grandmama still lived. Neither Maman nor Papa had mentioned any deaths in her family, and Catherine had found no correspondence from America in the house.

  Moments later, Tom arrived to escort Catherine to the Rebecca, a side-wheel steamer that trudged a steady route between Charleston and New Orleans with stops in St. Augustine, Key West, and Mobile. In its belly it carried freight, but the upper decks were outfitted for passenger service with cabins, a dining saloon, a reading room for the ladies, and a smoking room for the gentlemen.

  After the lengthy boarding was complete, the ship pulled away from the wharf and soon churned past the Redemption, which was still awaiting a berth. Tom guided Catherine to the opposite side of the deck, perhaps unwilling to watch his friends pass by. Barely outside the harbor, she spotted the lean lines and black hull of Tom’s ship approaching from the south.

  “Isn’t that the James Patrick?”

  Tom frowned. “They’re back soon. Maybe the salvage is going more quickly now.”

  “Maybe.” She squeezed his hand. Seeing the ship wher
e he’d been hurt must bring up mixed feelings. “Do you wish you were with them?”

  “No.” He smiled at her. “Never.”

  For a moment his regard warmed her heart, but all too soon melancholy stole over her as she watched Key West fade into the horizon behind them. She’d grown attached to the place and couldn’t imagine never again seeing the friends she’d made there. However, her future awaited. Maman had painted a beautiful picture of life on the plantation. That would become her home.

  The Rebecca was not a fast ship, and it stopped at every trading post along the way. The Justinian could have made the passage more quickly. Catherine’s initial excitement soon faded beneath the interminable boredom of sea travel.

  Since her cabin was cramped and the woman sharing her room annoyingly talkative, Catherine spent much time on deck or in the reading room, where most of the occupants never picked up a book. Whispered conversation, embroidery, and cards more often occupied the ladies gathered there. A few wrote letters. Catherine carried a book but hadn’t read more than a few pages before one of the conversations caught her attention.

  “The handsomest man I’ve seen in ages,” one matron declared. “Perfect for my Clara. Why, with his ample height, she need not fear towering over her beau.” She sighed. “If only his skin wasn’t so tanned by the sun. It’s almost as if he isn’t the gentleman he appears to be.”

  Catherine realized the woman was talking about Tom. Though confined to third class, he made a point of joining her whenever she strolled on the promenade. That man had an uncanny ability to know where she was at all times. More than once she’d wondered if he spent his days following her. Maybe it would be fun to see him squirm under the attention of an eligible young lady and her eager mother.

  Then again, the thought of another lady capturing his attention made her squirm. Though she’d taken care to keep their relationship no more than friendship, part of her did wonder if a sea captain would make a good husband. Then she thought of Mrs. Durning’s long months and years alone and cast the thought from her mind. She wanted more. She needed a solid foundation that could only come from family.

  Even so, she could not bear seeing another woman with Tom.

  Naturally he would return to Key West once they reached New Orleans. Yet she’d only accepted that with her mind, not her heart. Watching him go would hurt more than it should for an acquaintance of a mere month. Mr. Kirby certainly hadn’t inspired such emotions. With the journey soon drawing to an end, she must come to grips with the inevitable breaking of the bond that had grown between them.

  Catherine closed her book and slipped out of the lounge, not wanting to overhear any more praise or speculation about Tom. None of them deserved him.

  She stepped through the door onto the promenade, where the breezes were fresh. As usual, Tom joined her within the first few steps.

  “Do you wait outside every door for me?” she jested, even while admiring the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck and the impeccable condition of his suit despite third-class conditions.

  He grinned, sending a flood of joy through her. “You can’t escape me. I’m everywhere.”

  How she loved to tease him. “You insisted on escorting me, not hounding me.”

  He pretended to be affronted. “Surely you don’t find my presence intolerable.”

  That was the problem. She not only didn’t find it intolerable, but she found herself looking for him with eager anticipation. When he did not appear at once, disappointment drove her to seek him out. He should not know that, however. A man should never know how strongly he affected a woman.

  They’d been at sea for nearly ten days. The warm waters filled with sea turtles and porpoises had given way to deeper waters, cold and blue, before warming again to turquoise as they drew near land.

  “I understand the stop in Mobile will be brief,” she said to distract herself from the far too personal subject of how she felt when she was with him.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Then we won’t have time to go ashore.”

  Tom shrugged. “What does Mobile have that can’t be found in Key West? For that matter, what could New Orleans have to best that fair island?”

  “My family.”

  A playful grin flitted across his face. “I thought the plantation was located upriver from the city.”

  Catherine ignored his attempt to split hairs. “Close enough. Maman said it was less than a day’s carriage ride from the city.”

  “Not far at all then. Do you intend to hire a carriage?”

  She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I suppose I shall. Unless the family is in the city.”

  “Oh?”

  “They shouldn’t be. If I remember correctly, this is harvesttime. The family would be on the plantation. Maman said they spent much of the winter in the city.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I imagine it’s like spending the Season in London. For entertainments and so forth.”

  “Oh.”

  Again she realized just how far apart their worlds were. Tom was a sailor’s son. He knew nothing of balls and theaters and outings to the museums and parks.

  “Perhaps things have changed since then,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps not. The plantations still use slave labor.”

  Catherine stared at the passing sea. She hadn’t wanted to deal with the subject of slavery. After all, she’d been raised to abhor it. But that didn’t change the fact that her family’s plantation likely swarmed with slaves. How would she reconcile her convictions with the truth of her family’s livelihood?

  “Perhaps I can change that,” she said. “I will speak to Uncle Henri. It is a matter of economy. At Deerford I kept the accounts. I may see a solution that he has not.”

  “Do you think he will listen?”

  How could she know? She had never met the man. “I can pray on it.”

  His jaw worked. “I hope everything turns out the way you want.”

  Something about that felt final. Again she was reminded that he would leave her as soon as they landed. “Come with me to Chêne Noir.”

  Her impulsive suggestion was met with an upraised eyebrow. “For how long?”

  That was the question. She shivered and rubbed her arms.

  He unbuttoned his coat and placed it over her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she breathed in the scent of him. She could not let him go, knowing he would never return. “Until I reach the plantation house and meet my family. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No. Not at all. I will do it.”

  The raw warmth in his voice nearly undid her. She blinked furiously as relief coursed through her. “Thank you.” The whispered gratitude was not enough. “It means a great deal to me.”

  “I know.”

  She had to change the course of conversation before she lost control of her emotions. “We have spoken only of me on this voyage. What of you? Did you receive formal schooling?”

  “Through the primary years. The rest I picked up on my own. You see, I started working summers on fishing boats when I was thirteen and took to the sea in earnest when I turned fifteen.” Anger twisted his features for an instant.

  “You’re bitter about that. Were you forced to sail?”

  He shook his head and attempted a smile, but his jaw was still tense. “I wanted to go.”

  She didn’t believe it. He wasn’t telling her everything. Something had happened to force him from school and onto the ships.

  “Do you have regrets?”

  He shook his head again. “Sailing is a noble profession. Hard but noble. Especially under Rourke.” His expression softened.

  “You respect Captain O’Malley.”

  “Everyone does. He’s rescued many a man and led them to Christ. I think it’s his mission. Anyone who works for Captain O’Malley must adhere to Christian principles, read the Bible, and observe a Sunday time of worship.”

  That sounded unusual for any
ship’s crew, least of all on a wrecker, which had a reputation for attracting rascals. “Admirable.”

  “He gives men a second chance.”

  The way Tom said that confirmed he’d been the recipient of one of those second chances. She couldn’t help but recall Elizabeth’s mention of a duel. Tom had once been a very different man, one he showed no inclination to reveal.

  As New Orleans drew closer, Tom grew acutely aware that his time with Catherine was drawing to an end. He would accompany her to the plantation, but once she met family, he must leave. In her excitement, she would forget their time together.

  He listened as she speculated about her family. Even the few hours in Mobile had been spent wondering how the grand homes there compared to New Orleans and her beloved Deerford. Each statement widened the chasm between them. Catherine was from English gentry. Not titled but landed. Her mother’s family had a large sugar plantation in Louisiana as well as a house in the city.

  After Mornez stole Pa’s ship, Pa had to sell their house and the warehouse to satisfy creditors. Broke and shamed, the entire family went to Nantucket, where Pa crewed on a fishing boat, Ma and the girls worked at the cannery, and Tom took to the sea. Not quite three years later, Pa died, leaving Tom to support the family. Until now. Had Ma remarried to spare him from that burden?

  The thought shook him.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  Catherine’s question pulled Tom from his thoughts. He forced a quick smile. “Not at all. I was just thinking.”

  “I see. Do you think it fruitful to dwell upon something that upsets you?”

  He didn’t have an answer that she would approve of. “I suppose not, but I do hate to say farewell.”

  She laughed, warming the chill from his heart. “You truly weren’t listening to me.”

  He had to admit he’d been preoccupied. “And that is a crime when such a beautiful lady is at my side.”

  She sighed, clearly unimpressed. “I will credit your lack of skill with compliments to spending your formative years at sea.”