The Pirate's Revenge

by Sarita Leone

  But now, Henry prayed. Maybe God didn’t have a good use for him, but he was certain any god would have a purpose for a woman like his Mary.

  Chapter 16

  Doctor Jameson took his hand from her cheek, and she instantly wished he hadn’t. He had known her since the day she was born and had never been unkind. Mary thought of him as a sort of doting uncle, someone who would advise wisely and love unconditionally.

  His presence soothed her body, but her mind needed more.

  She had a vague recollection of being carried upstairs, to her own bedroom, by her brothers. One, or all of them, she couldn’t puzzle that out, but she was certain it had not been Henry’s arms that held her. She would never forget how it felt to be held by the man, and no other could ever compare to—or be mistaken for—his touch.

  “Well, you are much improved again, my dear.” The doctor sat back in the chair beside her bed. With a small sigh, he nodded. “And I think this time, it is for good.”

  “What happened? I was speaking with Henry, and then…”

  The doctor raised one bushy eyebrow which matched his copious moustache and smiled. “Henry, is it? My, my…tsk tsk…”

  She tried to sit up, but he waved her back.

  “What? Is there something about Henry I should know? Is there something wrong about him?”

  “Of course not. At least, nothing I am aware of. I am just amused, my dear. You have never called a man by his given name in your entire life. Your brothers don’t count.” He steepled his fingers and gave her a long look. “No, never. Henry Titchell must be someone special, for you to be so familiar.”

  A sigh escaped. Just speaking of the man made her happy.

  Meeting the old doctor’s gaze, she asked, “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Need I remind you I’ve never divulged the source of that bellyache you had—what, when you were six? Seven, perhaps?”

  “The memory of all those apples makes me ill to this day. And, remember how Mother baked two apple pies the very next day? Her way of pampering me for having been so sick. Goodness, but I could barely manage one slice without losing the contents of my stomach.”

  “You never ate apples that you were warned were not ready again, did you?”

  She shook her head. Mother had loosened her hair, so it lay across the pillow behind her. A curl tickled her nose, so she pushed it away with a fingertip as she answered.

  “Never.”

  “And that is the last secret you asked me to keep. And, I have kept it.” Doctor Jameson paused, then leaned forward in the chair. He threaded his fingers loosely, set his elbows upon his knees and lowered his voice. “So tell me…what is going through that head of yours today? And possibly, if I am not mistaken, through your heart?”

  The confidence wasn’t hard to share.

  “You are not mistaken. Not at all.”

  He gave her a small smile. Hard to see hidden in the white hair, but it was there. “Have you told anyone? Your sister? Or maybe your closest friend, Mable?”

  Mary shook her head. “No one. I went to talk with Mable a few days ago—oh, but it was last week, I think. Time has gotten from me, but I did search her out to talk, but she—well, she…” How to speak without giving that confidence away?

  She should have realized the doctor might be privy to the information. “She told her bit of news, didn’t she?”

  Meeting his gaze, she nodded. “She did. I didn’t know what to say. I’m afraid I was not as good a friend as I should have been. I have been considering my reaction…I am sad to admit, it was not encouraging.”

  Doctor Jameson did not seem surprised by the admission. “Well, it was a shock, I am sure. But she will need as much encouragement as we can give. You know, Mary, many young women find themselves in that position. We are human, and it happens.”

  She swallowed. Hard. The notion had not crossed her mind before she had learned of her friend’s state. Since then, she had given much thought to the situation.

  He went on, “She will require a great deal of compassion in the coming months. And, years. You are as close as sisters; I expect you will be her biggest ally. She has made a decision that many are not strong enough to make. There will be no man around to help raise that baby. Did she share that with you?”

  “No man? Good Lord, why not?”

  A tired sigh. “I did not think she had told you all the story, and I will do so now because she has already told me you are one of the few who will know the truth. Mary, a woman does not become with child on her own, which I know you are aware of. But, getting in Mable’s condition does not always come…well, let me put this rather indelicate, unfortunate fact as gently as I can.” Another sigh, and he opened his arms wide, hands to the ceiling. “A woman does not always consent to the act that brings a baby into her body. And, in this case, your dear friend…she did not consent.”

  She could not think of a word to say, so she just stared at the doctor. Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not realize she was crying until he leaned forward and wiped her cheek with an old, gnarled fingertip.

  “Now, there is no need for that. It won’t help her, you know.” He patted her cheek with a gentle hand. “And, it is no good for you.”

  “I should have been more understanding. I did not know what to say…”

  “You will have plenty of time to clear the air. But, how did we turn this conversation around? We went from Henry, to apples, to Mable…now, back to Henry, I think. Then, you need to get some rest.”

  She pulled in a deep breath and held it. The doctor was right; she would have a chance to explain herself to her dearest friend. And she would be the one to see her and the baby through whatever lay ahead.

  The baby. Lobster Cove was getting an addition, and that was joyful news. Better to consider the good rather than the bad, always. And however a baby came to be, the child was a blessing.

  “You are right. I am suddenly very tired.” She stifled a yawn.

  “Perhaps you should go to sleep, then.”

  He began to rise, but she caught him by the wrist.

  “No, please, not yet. I fear that if I don’t tell someone I shall burst.”

  A low chuckle came from the doctor, but he sat back down. And, he gave her his full attention. Which, as luck would have it, tied her tongue in knots.

  Maybe she was wearier than she realized.

  “Well…?”

  Mary could not refuse to speak, now that she had practically tied him to the chair. Granted, it was a comfortable chair, but she could not leave the man hanging forever.

  Father had always advised that the best way through something was the straightest path, so she took the one that seemed clearest in her mind.

  “I think I am in love.” She paused. “With Henry.”

  “I thought as much. He seems to be a very nice young man. Is there a problem?”

  “No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.” She considered her words. Then, she met his gaze and pushed forward. “I think he has a secret. That is what concerns me most. It is, I admit, the only concern I have. I wonder…I mean, I am almost afraid to say this, but I wonder…do you think he may have a wife?”

  He did not answer right away, and she felt her heart stop while he considered.

  “I don’t think so, my dear. I believe you are right; he does have a secret, but I tend to believe it is something more personal.”

  “More personal than a wife?” Honestly, what went on in a man’s mind? A wife was one of the most personal things she could think a man might have.

  “I know you are thinking I am a silly old fool, but I tell you—in strictest confidence, mind you—that a wife is not considered secret, not by most men, anyhow. There are things in a man’s soul that are closed away for so long, and hidden so deeply, that they become almost a decaying wound. Those, my dear, are the secrets men hold most tightly. And I believe your Henry guards a secret of that nature. A secret in his soul…festering for a long time. So long, he can barely show i
t the light of day.”

  “He is not ‘my Henry’.” She sighed. “Although I wish…”

  “I know.” He patted her hand, stood and lifted his black bag. “Tomorrow you should ask him to confide his secret, and confide yours, as well. Tonight you need rest, and that is what I am going to tell him when I go downstairs.”

  “You mean he is still here? All this time, and he is still waiting?”

  “All this time, and he is still waiting.” Doctor Jameson went to the door, put his hand on the latch. He turned and gave a smile. “I do believe that man would wait forever if you asked him to. Now, good night.”

  Chapter 17

  Mary could not believe her good fortune. When she woke with the sound of birdsong coming in her open bedroom window, she felt nearly herself again. No hot skin, dizziness or ache in her foot or leg. Had it not been for the weakness that made her a tad shaky when she rose, she would not have supposed she had been at death’s doorstep.

  She would never have believed she had crossed over the threshold of that doorstep—nor would she ever admit it to anyone—but she knew the truth.

  Just seeing, even in her sickened state, Father one final time had been enough. Enough to show her he did not suffer. Enough to soothe her troubled soul. Enough to send her heart forward. Sometimes, enough was…well, enough.

  It had taken time, but the effort of dressing with care had been worth it. Her hair was upswept in her favorite way, with loose curls trailing beside each temple. She wore her favorite robins’-egg blue dress, the one her father had insisted made her look like a ray of springtime. And she sprinkled rosewater behind her ears, in the unlikely—but hopeful—event someone might get close enough to enjoy the scent.

  And then, she had waited. All morning, in the front parlor. Beside the hearth, adding stitches to the quilt she was piecing from scraps. The hours passed so slowly, she thought she might faint from boredom.

  Hours spent waiting must pass at half the speed of hours spent not waiting, she thought.

  When a knock came at the front door, she wanted to crane her neck to see who the visitor was, but she knew Mother would not approve. Besides, if ever there was a day to be as ladylike as possible, this was the day.

  Doctor Jameson entered the room with Molly. It was hard not to scowl because he was not the one she hoped to see, but she remembered her manners and forced her lips to turn up at the corners.

  “Molly said you’re looking much better today, and I am happy to see she is right.” He crossed the room, and sat on the low footstool beside her chair. “The question is, do you feel as fine as you look?”

  Mother had not accompanied him into the room. She was probably in the kitchen, making tea. Molly, of course, sat down and smiled at the doctor.

  “Oh, I am quite sure she does, Doctor. Why, it has been so long since we’ve seen our bee looking so well. It certainly does lift my heart to see my sister healthy again.”

  The doctor smiled at the one sister before he turned his attention back to his patient. “How are you feeling, Mary?”

  Aside from the butterflies galloping in her midsection in anticipation of her handsome visitor, she was fine. Finer than she had been since their father’s passing.

  “I am well, Doctor. Really and truly, I feel almost myself. Of course, my knees are a bit unsteady and the toe is not fully closed yet, but I am so greatly improved I hardly feel those things.”

  He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and looked down to where her foot was hidden by her skirts. “Is there any change? In color? Or, is it hot?”

  “No, none of that. And I feel absolutely myself. Not the way I have been feeling at all.” She spread her hands wide, to show she was fully restored. Or, nearly so. “I am well enough to go outdoors, I think. Is that allowable today?”

  Doctor Jameson stood, held out his arm and said, “It is, indeed. Why, I will see you back there myself. Then, I will have some tea with your mother and Molly before I leave.”

  Mary stood and took his arm gratefully. “That sounds perfect, thank you.”

  When Molly looked ready to stand, the doctor waved her back into her seat. “No need. I believe some quiet time will do your sister good. Please remind your mother I would love a taste of one of those ginger biscuits she makes so well.”

  They made their way slowly to the back garden. The foot was tender, but she walked without too much pain. When they reached the oak tree, she was pleasantly surprised by who waited in its shade.

  “Henry!” She could not hide her happiness. “I am glad you are here.”

  He stepped forward and extended his arm. She took it, allowing him to lead her to the chair she favored. As she sat, he and the doctor exchanged a few words but they were brief, and she did not pay a bit of attention to either of them. It was more important that she arrange her skirts to cover her bandaged foot. And, that her shawl be draped nicely around her shoulders.

  Henry waved when the doctor said good-bye, and Mary did, as well, although she did not glance at the older man. Her attention was locked on the one who was responsible for making her heart beat so quickly in her chest.

  He sat beside her, his chair pulled so close his knee grazed the edge of her skirt.

  “You look much better today.” His gaze swept across her face, then met hers. She saw the approval in his eyes when he smiled. “A big improvement from when I saw you last.”

  “I am sorry you had to see that. It must have been…” Ugly did not seem the polite description, although she was certain it was correct.

  “Frightening.” Henry ran a hand across his face. She heard the rasp of his whiskers against his palm. “Doctor Jameson says that happens often with festering cases; the last bit of the affliction makes one react strongly sometimes. We should not dwell on it, though. You are better, and that is all that matters.”

  No one wanted to forget the incident more than she did.

  “As are you. Molly told me about your back, and the accident. It must have been horrible.”

  He sighed. “It was. But, as are you, I am improved.”

  “Thank goodness.” She smiled, hoping she looked trustworthy. That was her goal, to make Henry feel comfortable enough that he confide in her.

  The look must have worked, because he gazed into her eyes and said, “I have something to tell you. I’m afraid it is not a very pleasant story, but it is one I need to divulge. Not to everyone, although I have spoken with the Smiths this morning, and plan to speak with Jameson later today.”

  He hesitated, seeming at a loss, so she tried to lighten the mood. It was apparent whatever he needed to say was quite serious.

  “It was the look, wasn’t it?” She rubbed her fingertip across his shirt sleeve. It was pushed up at the wrist, exposing a length of tanned skin.

  “The look? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Why, I am trying to appear open, so you will confide in me. So, I gave you a friendly look, so you will not feel it difficult to talk with me.”

  Henry contemplated her words without speaking for so long she almost wished she hadn’t said a word. Or, given any silly look. She shifted in her seat when he met her gaze.

  “I have never felt as comfortable with anyone as I do with you. Why, I have spoken more with you than any other person I’ve ever met.” He pulled a deep breath, and she watched as he stared at the ground for another long moment. When he looked back up, there was vulnerability in his expression. “I have never met anyone like you, and I am terribly afraid I am about to lose you.”

  Fear shot through her, sending any notion of looks or teasing to the wayside.

  “What are you saying, Henry? Please, I do not understand but I fear it is serious.”

  “It is serious. Very serious. You see, I am in Lobster Cove under false pretenses. I am not who you think I am. And I cannot continue to let you believe I am…well, that I am a good man. I am not a good man—not at all.”

  Chapter 18

  Mary placed her hand over her heart. She
wanted to put it over her ears, to block out the words coming from his mouth, but she had learned her lesson. Not hearing the entire story about her dear friend’s baby because she could not find the heart for unsettling news had been wrong. She did not intend to repeat the mistake.

  “I don’t understand. Why, you have been a good, honorable man all along. You’re the one who brought me home when I was injured. You’re the one who took a positon at the forge and has helped the Smiths so much. Before you came, they were so burdened by the weight of the village’s demands. Why, you fixed Father’s tool that had been broken so long—it is in our shed, evidence that you are a good, hardworking man.”

  Henry snorted.

  “You think that I’m a good man because I fixed a tool? Got a job? Carried home a beautiful woman? Good Lord, but all of those things were done for my own selfish interests!” He stopped, then shook his head. “No, not all of those things. I carried you because you were hurt. That is the only thing I have done which was not part of my scheme.”

  Scheme. The world spun around her, but she could not look away. And she had run out of things to say. Almost.

  “Henry…don’t you know how I feel about you?”

  His mouth snapped shut. He did not meet her eyes. When he did, he shook his head. “You do not know me.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “No, I’m not. Mary, you can’t imagine why I came to Lobster Cove.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. Held it for a second. When she exhaled, she challenged him. “Tell me, then.”

  He scrubbed a palm across his cheek again, but this time she was hardly aware of the whiskery noise it made. All she cared about was hearing whatever he had to say. Then, hopefully, putting it all behind them.

  “I came for pirates’ treasure.”

  Oh, good Lord. A stunning burst of clarity hit her. In that instant, she knew who he was. It was doubtful, but she wondered if he knew where the pirate chest her grandparents had buried after The Henrietta, Sam Fisher’s ship, had been lost off Quinn Beach. They were nearly on top of the chest this very moment, but she was not going to divulge that. It was the family secret each vowed not to share—not even to troubled men who had captured a heart.