Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  A rap sounded on the door.

  He opened it to Rigley, blood splattered on his shirt, and a hesitancy in his droopy eyes. “The captain’s dead,” he said without emotion. “Nelson requests yer presence on the quarterdeck. The crew voted to make ye actin’ cap’n ’til we make port.” He turned to go, but halted. “Oh, an’ we’re takin’ on water faster than we can pump it out.”

  Elias made no reply, merely stared after the man as he left. He already knew about the water. He could feel the sluggishness, sense the brig lowering in the sea. What he hadn’t realized was how badly injured the captain had been. But Elias, acting captain? That he also hadn’t expected.

  Miss Westcott hugged herself. “Dead. How horrible.”

  Elias stuffed the pistol in his belt and went to retrieve his other weapons. “Life at sea can be brutal, Miss.”

  “Life anywhere is brutal,” she returned. “What are you going to do?”

  “First thing, give him a proper burial. Then take command of the ship and head for the nearest port. In this condition, we won’t make it to Barbados.”

  Chapter 9

  “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

  The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.

  But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

  Charity stood beside Elias as he read from the Holy Scripture. Around them mobbed the sailors of the Enmity while in the middle of the crowd—and within reach of Charity—lay the body of Captain Littleman, shrouded in white sailcloth.

  Oblivious to the sorrowful occasion, the sun danced toward the horizon in a festive array of brilliant saffron and gold, flinging hot spires upon them until it felt as though they would enter hell along with the captain. Charity bit her lip. She shouldn’t even think such a thing. If there was a hell, she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Well, perhaps Lord Villemont. Nay, not even him.

  Perspiration dampened her gown as Elias droned on with more Scripture. The men wiped sweat from their brows and shifted their feet, appearing no more interested in this final salute to their captain than she was. Besides, she hated funerals. She’d only attended two in her life. Both times she’d left a piece of her heart buried deep beneath the ground, never to be retrieved.

  Her mother’s funeral was nothing like this one. The day had been dismal and gray, cloaked in fog and a mist that chilled to the bone, as if the world itself mourned the loss of such a sweet soul. The other funeral had taken place in the pouring rain, dark skies weeping along with Charity. Hundreds had swarmed to pay their respects to her mother, while only Charity grieved at the second funeral for the life that had never been.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we commend your spirit, Captain Herman Littleman to the deep and into the hands of God.” Elias’ voice brought Charity back to the present, and she shuddered despite the heat.

  He nodded to two men holding the plank on which Littleman lay, and they tipped it until the body slid over the railing and splashed into the sea. The end of a life. Just like that. What did it all matter? She swallowed as memories of Lord Villemont came crashing down.

  The good Book says your life is but a vapor, woman! Naught but a cloud, a shadow that ‘appeareth for a little time and then vanisheth away. He thrust the Bible in her face, then tossed it to the table. No one will remember you when you’re gone. Egad, I hardly remember that you are here now!

  Except, no matter how much she tried to stay out of his way, he did remember she was there. Far too often.

  “Miss Westcott … Miss Westcott.” Elias’ handsome face appeared in her vision, looking concerned. He lifted a hand toward her. Heart pinching, she jumped back and flailed her arms in front of her in defense. She struck him, but he gripped her hands and clasped them within his. Warmth and strength enfolded them and settled the fear that rose at his touch.

  “Calm yourself, my little mermaid. I was merely brushing hair from your face.”

  She jerked to attention and glanced around to see most of the crew had returned to their duties. Those who weren’t staring at them.

  “Forgive me.” Holding a hand to her mouth, she grabbed her skirts, dashed down the companionway to her cabin, and fell onto the cot, sobbing. Why did her husband haunt her even from the grave? Would she never be free of him? She pressed a hand to her belly. Nay, she would not, for this child would be a constant reminder. Yet…she would love him or her with all of her heart. If only God would give her a chance.

  Hours passed, her tears finally spent, she rose, lit a lantern, and washed her face with day-old dirty water. Dabbing her puffy eyes, she tried to convince herself ’twas the terrifying events of the day that had caused such a childish outpouring of tears and not a past she’d just as soon forget.

  The ever-present swoosh of water filled the room, along with muffled shouts and footsteps from above, but darkness prevented her from seeing anything through the porthole. Now that Elias was captain, would he stay in the captain’s quarters and leave her be? Mayhap after her performance on deck, he’d be glad to be rid of her.

  Her stomach grumbled, and she laid a hand over it and smiled. “I know, precious one, I must find food soon.” She’d eaten so little in the past few months and kept so little of it down that she worried for the babe’s health. Still, she could hardly wander about the ship at night in search of food.

  She sighed. ’Twould seem she had no choice. For all his espousing of Christian values and offers of protection, Elias certainly didn’t seem overly concerned with her basic needs. Typical preacher.

  Stuffing wayward hair into her bun, she started for the door, when it swung open on creaking hinges and in walked Elias, carrying a tray of food. If she wasn’t so terrified of a man’s touch, she’d hug him right there.

  “Your dinner, milady.” He grinned and set it on the table. “’Tis not much.” He lifted his baldric over his head, then glanced at her cautiously. “Just taking these off, no need to point a pistol at me.” He placed his cutlass down beside the belt and gestured toward the food. “As I was saying, ’tis not much, but we have salted fish, biscuits, yams, half-rotted mangoes, and rum-tainted lemon water.”

  Savory scents, both sweet and sour, wafted over Charity, and her mouth watered. Perhaps she was past the early sickness of her condition. Which also meant she would not be able to hide that condition for long.

  She wanted to tell Elias how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness. Instead she pasted on a smirk. “I thought you’d be in the captain’s quarters.”

  “Without my wife?” He winked and shut the door.

  Which sent a spike of alarm through her, though she knew she had no cause. “There is no longer need for pretense. The captain is dead.”

  “The crew is not, however. Now, sit.” He pulled up a chair. “You must be famished.”

  She bristled at the way he ordered her about, but for the sake of her babe, she complied and quickly piled food onto her plate.

  He also filled a plate and then lowered to the cot and bowed his head. “Bless this food, our Lord. We thank you for it and also for the victory today. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she said, trying to hide the bite of fish in her mouth.

  At first, they both sat quietly eating, but as her stomach filled, Charity took a sip of rum water and sat back in her chair. “So, Captain, are we to sink or have you found a port nearby?”

  He tossed a piece of biscuit into his mouth. “Aye, Kingston.”

  “Jamaica?”

  “’Tis the closest anchorage, and I know people there.”

  Stories of Jamaica had made their way to Portsmouth, fables of pirate havens and cities so wicked, God sank them into the sea. Surely those were merely embellished stories. “When will we arrive?”

  “Tomorrow, if the holes we patched in the hull remain intact.”

  She watched how the muscles in his jaw bunched as he ate, shifting an errant strand of hair that had settled on his cheek. “And if the
y don’t?”

  “Then we’ll arrive later.” He smiled and took another bite of fish. “But never fear we will arrive.”

  There was that confident tone again that made her believe everything he said.

  He set his plate aside. “Drink your water, Miss Westcott. I had cook put an extra ration of rum into it. Lord knows your nerves could use it after the day’s events.”

  “Your nerves never seem in need of soothing, Mr. Dutton.” Oh my, had she just complimented him? She quickly corrected the mistake by adding, “I thought preachers weren’t allowed to drink spirits.”

  “Another misconception of yours, my little mermaid.”

  “Please stop calling me that! Besides, what makes you think I need calming? Am I shrieking hysterically? Fainting in your arms?”

  He studied her, eyes twinkling. “Nay, but I wouldn’t fault you if you did.”

  “I am not some weak-kneed female swooning at every danger.”

  “Yet you seemed quite distraught after the funeral.” It was a statement, a question, and a look of concern all in one.

  Charity gazed out the dark porthole. “I was thinking of something else.”

  “Something that frightened you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She gulped down her water, wincing at the strong taste, but enjoying the warmth spiraling down her throat. Perhaps the rum was a good idea, after all.

  Thankfully Elias asked no further questions. She’d give him credit for discretion if she were tallying his good qualities. Which she wasn’t.

  Minutes passed as she finished her meal and then together they stacked their dirty plates on the tray. Though she tried to avoid the man—all six foot and more of him—each tilt of the deck sent her bumbling into his body, a rather firm body that, against her will, caused something to stir within her that she hadn’t felt in years. Certainly not the fear she expected.

  Finally, she settled onto the cot, and tried to focus on anything but the man whose presence took up the entire cabin.

  “Would you like me to read from the Bible? It may bring you peace and help you sleep.” He sat on the chair, pulled a book from his case, and opened it in his lap.

  “Nay. I sleep well enough.”

  “Not by my account.” He said it so matter-of-factly with neither accusation nor surprise. Or even embarrassment that he pried into such intimacies. The embarrassment was all hers, apparently, as heat flooded her face.

  Lantern light flickered over his shadowed jaw and lit the sun-bleached strands of his hair as he gazed at the Bible with the reverence of a monk. But he wasn’t a monk. A preacher, perhaps, but most likely a pirate. A pirate who shared a cabin with her.

  Vapors, if word got out, what little remained of her reputation would be tossed to the wind. She nearly laughed. What was she thinking? She had no reputation left, save that of a murderess.

  “How dare you spy on me whilst I’m asleep,” she snapped.

  He raised his gaze to her, those dark blue eyes sparkling. “I can hardly do otherwise, Miss, since I find myself in the same cabin.”

  “You can remedy that by sleeping elsewhere tonight.”

  “Nay.” He returned his glance to the Bible. “I’ll not leave you to the mercies of this crew.”

  Charity’s jaw tightened as memories of another man intruded—a man equally as kind and protective. During their courtship, Lord Villemont had expressed nothing but care for Charity as if she were the most important thing in the world. Over and over, he lavished her with promises of protection and happiness. And just like this man before her, he also quoted Scripture.

  I will not be duped again! She was no longer a naïve maiden who longed for the love and protection of a man to fill the void left by a distant father. Stupid, stupid girl, so easily swayed by good looks and kind words, so quick to fall in love. Never again!

  “Mr. Dutton,” she began. “You need not pretend to care about my welfare—either my physical or spiritual. I relieve you of any false sense of obligation you may feel toward me as well as any hope you have to receive something from me in return.”

  Oddly, he smiled at her, scratched his head, then shook it as if she babbled nonsense. “Miss Westcott, I bear neither pretense, expectation, nor obligation. It pains me you think otherwise. Regardless, I still intend to sleep in this cabin with you.”

  Charity crossed arms over her stomach and forced back what was sure to be an unladylike growl.

  “Good night to you, Miss.” Closing the Bible, he gave her a grin that she longed to smack off his face. But then he blew out the lantern and it was gone. She heard him settle on the deck and quickly fall asleep. Infuriating man! She lay back on the cot with a huff and listened to the creak and groan of the ship, a constant lullaby that finally lulled her to sleep, despite her conflicted thoughts.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, the dreams returned. Charity ran through a forest, batting aside leaves and branches, following the light of a pale moonlit path. Tall spindly trees clawed their way through the moist earth and reached upward, limbs sprouting, twisting and turning, blocking her path. She darted the other way. Fog curled over the ground, slithering like misty snakes up tree trunks, over boughs, spinning around leaves. Cold. Why was it so cold? Her bare feet sank into chilled mud as she struggled forward, seeking a way out. Trees burst through the dirt ahead of her, growing in maniacal shapes and forms, branches like skeleton fingers reaching for her. Panicked, she turned left. More trees blocked her path. To her right, more wooden limbs crisscrossed into a tangled web. She was trapped.

  She awoke encased in strong arms, a hand caressing her back and words of comfort whispered in her ears. Alarm pricked each nerve and she jerked away, but the arms tightened, pressed her closer, the words grew softer and more intimate.

  “’Tis all right, little mermaid. You are safe. Naught to fear. Nothing will harm you. Safe and warm and … loved …”

  The tears came then, pouring down her cheeks in abandon, dripping off her chin onto the man’s shirt. Elias’ shirt. In her sleep-clouded mind, she knew it was him. But it felt so good to cry—to cry and be held, to feel safe…if only for a moment.

  He continued caressing her, combing fingers through her hair, whispering that all was well … and she found all her fear spilling out along with her tears. He smelled of man and sweat, salt and wood, and she breathed him in, desperate for his touch, sensing no evil intent within it. Within him.

  She must have fallen asleep in his arms for the next thing she knew, sunlight rocked in golden bands across her eyelids, back and forth, back and forth with the sway of the ship, awakening her thoughts to the night’s events. And in those precious moments of semi-conscious bliss, before reality and fear brought her fully awake, she felt an unintended smile form on her lips. She attempted to stretch. But her hand was caught. Not caught. Held. She opened her eyes to find Elias lying on the deck beside the cot holding her hand.

  Horrified, she slammed her eyes shut and lay as still as possible. He groaned, sat, and then did the sweetest thing. He kissed her hand, laid it beside her, then grabbed his weapons and left.

  She couldn’t move for the longest time, trying to sort the traitorous feelings invading her heart and jumbling her thoughts.

  No, no, no! He wanted something from her. No one was that kind and thoughtful without an ulterior motive.

  Foolish, foolish woman! How could she be so gullible after what she’d endured?

  She knew one thing. When they arrived at Kingston, she must get as far away from Mr. Elias Dutton as she could.

  Chapter 10

  Kingston. Home. Or the only home Elias had truly known. Though his parents had built a lovely house here on his Uncle Alex and Aunt Juliana’s land—a beautiful cliff side field of flowers and fruit trees overlooking the sea—they were rarely home. In truth, Elias felt more at home on board his ship, Restoration. Still, as he navigated the Enmity through the narrow channel beside Old Port Royal and into Kingston Harbor, he couldn’t help but feel a
sense of joy seeing the familiar landscape of ramshackle buildings making up Kingston.

  Adding to his joy were thoughts of the mermaid below. Not since Rachel had a woman both intrigued him and stirred his heart into mush. Indeed, Miss Westcott was quite the enigma. So dainty and feminine on the one hand, but staunchly independent and courageous on the other. Beautiful and alluring, yet not flirtatious in the slightest way. So unlike Rachel. Which is precisely what he wanted—a chaste woman, a proper lady, someone who challenged him instead of tricked him. Someone who didn’t lie to him. Oh, how he hated lies! Someone who valued family and loyalty and honor. He’d seen evidence of all those within Miss Westcott. And, much to his great relief, last night she’d finally trusted him, allowed him to comfort her. It was a small step. But a step nonetheless.

  Now, if only she would accept his offer to transport her to Barbados and then Charles Towne.

  “Steady now, Bates!” Elias shouted. “Haul taut! Shorten sail! In jib, royals, and studding sails!”

  Nelson repeated the orders before taking a stand beside him. “She’s a sluggish one. She’ll have t’ be patched soon or she’ll meet her fate wit’ Port Royal’s ships at the bottom o’ the bay.”

  Elias nodded, though it was not his problem anymore. “Did Captain Littleman have any relatives?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I suppose the ship is yours, then.” Elias clapped him on the back.

  “This ole bucket of tar?” Nelson laughed, rubbed a hand over his hooked nose, and squinted up toward Elias. “I was hopin’ ye could use me on yer ship. I don’t have t’ be first mate. I can do anything.”

  Elias blinked. “How did you know I have a ship?”

  “I heard o’ ye before, Captain Dutton. Jist didn’t put the two together till I saw the way ye commanded the Enmity.”

  The ship slowed as the topmen lowered sail, and Elias took a deep breath of sea air, tainted with odor of human habitation—horse manure, wood smoke, and sweat. Even in the heat of the noonday sun, Kingston was abustle with activity. Carriages, wagons, mules, and people of every class and color hurried down Harbor Street. Smoke rose from a few of the taverns, and the scent of roast pork drifted past Elias’ nose. His stomach grumbled as his gaze swept beyond the town. Were there a few more houses perched in the hills than the last time he’d been here?