by Sarita Leone
“Oh, is that so?”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“You are the one telling the story, Henry. Go on.”
He looked away, as if he could not bear to face her. Henry stood, took a few steps away and stopped at the back fence. It was old, but patched and standing, so he leaned against it. Turning to face her, he said, “I know your grandfather was the captain of The Henrietta. I knew that before I came here.”
That Sam was the ship’s captain was no secret, not in the cove.
“How did you know about my grandfather? My family?”
She struggled to keep the mounting fear from her voice. All she had hoped to have with the man was slipping away, like sand through her fingers.
“I am grandson to one of the pirates. A man called Titch—he survived. A vile man, and his son—my father—was evil as well. They raised me—good Lord, they raised me as if they hated me, and maybe they did. I don’t know. And I don’t care. They are both dead, and good riddance to them!”
“Henry!”
He pounded a fist against his leg. He looked at her, then through her. Now that he’d begun to speak, he sped onward, as if running faster than the truth might somehow make it less taxing to tell. Mary put a hand over her mouth, and watched in horror as the man’s past tumbled out.
“I did not kill them, but I wished them dead. Every time they beat me, I wished them dead. Every time I went to sleep dirty and hungry, I wished them dead. Every time—but, I did not kill them. They did that. A fire, their own drunken carelessness, that’s what did them in. So I left. Didn’t even stay to bury them. What was left of them.”
He paced the length of the fence as she fought to take in his story. She never expected this. Not once thought any one man could carry such a heartache inside him. She had certainly not seen the despicable side of human nature before, the treatment that had been his reality for his whole life. It disgusted her.
Henry crossed the space separating them. He stopped in front of her chair and squatted down. Their faces were level. The eyes staring into hers begged forgiveness.
“I am so very sorry.” His voice caught, but he went on. “All I ever knew was there was a treasure on the ship. Every time they got drunk they said the treasure was ours, and if I ever was man enough I would find it and bring it home. To them! Ha! Can you imagine? As if I would bring it home to them!”
He fought for composure, so she placed a forgiving hand on his shoulder. The muscles beneath his shirt were hard, but she stroked him gently.
“You came for the treasure? How can you be so sure there is one?”
He stared into her eyes. Shrugged. “I’m not. And it does not matter. I had nowhere else to go. I come from bad seed, Mary. And bad seed never grows, so I just wandered into the only place that even felt familiar. The first day, I thought to steal the chest—if I could find it. If it’s even real. But then, I met you…”
Some of the anger seemed gone, so she smiled. A tiny smile, but it worked. Henry exhaled, and then the edge of his upper lip turned up in the corner. Just one corner, but it was a start.
“Yes, we met on the beach. I remember that day.” She did not stop stroking his shoulder. “I grieved so, and wished myself dead but you came along…”
“I saw you and everything changed.” His gaze beseeched her to understand, so she nodded. “I have always wanted to belong somewhere. To feel as if I matter to someone. As if I am worthy of respect. All I want is to have a good life. Lobster Cove and its people have given me those things. But I cannot let you go on thinking I am someone I am not. It is not right and even though I am bad from birth, I know I cannot keep silent.”
Mary prayed for wisdom. Her heart was certain and the task was great. She prayed she did not make a mess of things.
“You are not bad. You are not your father or grandfather. And just by telling me, which you certainly did not have to do, you have shown you are not like either of them.” When he opened his mouth to interrupt, she held up a hand. “No, don’t say a word. And even if you did come here thinking to claim a silly pirates’ chest, you did no such thing. You became a member of our village, a kind, hardworking man. You have not done anything dishonorable, and as far as I am concerned, it does not matter why you came here.”
“How can you say that?” He sounded wholly tortured, so she placed her hands on his cheeks and held his face.
“Because it is the truth. I don’t care why you are here, only that you are here. My life has changed since we met, and that is all that matters to me.”
For a long moment, she wondered if she should have been less impassioned because Henry looked confounded. He placed his left hand on her wrist and when she tried to take her hand away he held it there. He shook his head, holding her gaze with eyes that had a definite sheen to them.
His voice softened. “You are an angel.”
She shook her head. One hand fell onto her lap, and she waved it in denial. “I am no more an angel than you are the devil you make yourself out to be. Don’t you see? I could not feel this strongly about the man you describe. You have let the behavior and unjust thoughts of your family color your view of yourself. You are not the man they were. You are not the man they have made you believe you are. And it hurts my heart to know how you have been mistreated.” A tear slipped from her eye as she struggled to go on.
“Don’t. Please, don’t cry. I am not worth it.” His thumb brushed the tear from her cheek, sending a thrill through her like none she had known before.
“You are worth so much more than you know.” She took a breath. The atrocities he had lived through were almost too much for her sensitive heart to bear. “You are the reason I fought to survive this festering wound. Don’t you see that? I am happy with you, and I did not want to leave.”
“Are you saying you do not care that I come from―”
She placed her thumb across his lips, then brushed it along his skin until it rested on his cheek again.
“Hush. Never say anything bad about yourself again. Never.”
“But you—”
“Do not care. Not one bit.”
“Don’t you understand? I am from bad stock, and that might be passed on if I ever…” He shrugged, and the gesture was so sad she could not think of one other thing to do so she leaned forward and kissed him.
A fast touch, so brief it was as if butterflies had slipped off each other, but it was enough.
“The touch of an angel.” Henry grinned.
“It is forward of me, but I am not sorry.” And, she wasn’t. Her heart beat so hard in her chest she wondered if he could hear it.
Henry leaned back, straightening his left leg and placing a hand in his pocket. He pulled a seashell out, held it up and gave her a sideways glance.
“You told me this is an angel wing, and that when two are found and put together, it means the match is made in heaven. Is that right?”
Mary was puzzled. She took the shell from him when he offered it. Warm from his pocket, smooth from the sea, it was beautiful.
“Yes, that’s right. This is the shell you found the day we met, isn’t it?”
She held it on her palm. Dappled sunlight fell in iridescent slivers across its surface. An ever-changing pattern dictated by the breeze blowing through the oak leaves, it made the shell even lovelier.
“No, it’s not. When you kicked the whelk, I picked it up off the sand and put it in my pocket. And, when I picked you up off the sand, I grabbed that angel wing along with you. It was under you, I think, because I scooped you up—and I scooped it up, too.” He pulled a second shell from his pocket. “This is the one I found the day we met. That one, I think, belongs to you.”
He placed his seashell on her palm, lining up the edges so together the halves made a perfect whole.
“They match.” He gazed into her eyes with such tenderness she could barely breathe. “The way I feel when I am next to you, as if I have been waiting all my life to feel that I belong with someone
. I feel that way with you, Mary. I feel that we match. Please, tell me how you feel. Do you feel it, too?”
She closed her hand over the two seashells, then threw her arms around his neck. Telling him now that their match had not only been heaven-sent, but approved by Father, would only muddy the waters.
“I believe this is a match made in heaven.”
His lips covered hers, and his kiss was like the man. Smooth. Tender. Sweet. He did not linger, but held her close and spoke softly.
“I came for revenge, Mary. Revenge for the misery I’d known. Instead, I found you.”
He gazed into her eyes and she saw the love shining there.
“Maybe true love is revenge enough.”
Henry claimed her mouth a second time, sweeping thoughts of pirates, revenge, and everything else from her mind.
A word about the author…
Sarita Leone loves adventure, whether it be in a distant continent or her own backyard. When she’s not off exploring the world, she keeps busy writing, reading, and dancing beneath the stars. Always a fan of happy endings, she’s fortunate to have a job which allows for so many of those!
She loves to hear from readers. Easiest way to connect? Check out her Facebook page, where all the latest news hits the screen.
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.