Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Then enlighten me. Tell me, who is this Charity Westcott?”

  She faced away from him and felt the wooden cross he always wore press against her back. A further reminder of the vast difference between them. “I wish to hear more of your tale first.”

  He rubbed her arm. “Very well. I finally came to my senses, thank God. But I had done so much damage, caused my parents so much pain and worry. I longed to make it up to them. They always wanted to see me as happily married as they were, so I vowed to find a Godly woman they would approve of and marry her.” He paused, and she sensed his angst fill the air around them. “Miss Rachel Channing.” He spit out her name with both sorrow and spite. “I thought she was someone she was not. She presented herself as a God-fearing, kindhearted, pure lady who loved children and wanted to live her life serving God and others.”

  A woman. Charity should have known. Emotions roiled. One she recognized as jealousy and quickly dismissed. The other…guilt, for what was she presenting herself as to this man?

  “Rachel sought after wealth and title,” he continued. “She discovered that my great uncle Merrick is the Earl of Clarendon, and assumed since we had connections at Court and holdings in the West Indies that we were wealthy.”

  “And you are not?”

  “Nay.”

  “Yet you throw away ten pounds on releasing a foolish woman from prison.”

  She sensed him smile. “Not a waste. What money my family has and what we acquire, we give to those in need.”

  Charity stared into the darkness, pondering his words. If what he said was true, she’d never met such a man, nor such a family. “What happened to Rachel?”

  “We were to be married the next day.” He gave a sorrowful laugh. “She not only left me but she stole valuable jewelry from my mother, among which was a ruby heart amulet very important to my father.”

  Vapors! Any woman who turned down this man’s proposal was a fluff-headed harpy who hadn’t the sense of an ox. Anger seared through Charity toward this woman who had caused Elias so much pain. “I’m so sorry, Elias.”

  “I should have seen it. She was beautiful, charming, and quite convincing. But in the end, nothing but a liar. I can tolerate many things, but never a lie.”

  Charity cringed. And she’d been doing naught but offering them to him on a silver platter. Just like Rachel. The thought invoked a sorrow so deep, she felt the pain in her gut. Rachel had broken this strong, honorable man who, by all accounts, was unbreakable.

  And Charity was following in her footsteps.

  She swallowed a lump of burning regret and thought to leave the hammock at once, remove her vile polluted self from so pure a man before she soiled him with her sin and broke his heart. But she sensed there was more to the story. “Did you get the jewelry back?”

  “I did. But at a huge cost.”

  Charity felt the beat of his heart against her back, his warm breath on her neck, his pain leech through his skin onto her, adding to her own.

  Outside, a bird sang a sad tune as if it were listening to the melancholy tale.

  Elias pulled out his wooden cross and Charity couldn’t help but turn to stare at it as he fingered it in the moonlight.

  “My younger sister Caleigh adored Rachel like an older sister. They’d spent hours together choosing fabrics for new gowns and hats from the millinery, making plans for the wedding. When Rachel disappeared with the jewels, Caleigh ran after her. She found her on the ship on which she’d bought passage back to England. In her urgency to hide, Rachel disobeyed the captain and boarded early without permission, and when Caleigh chased her onto the main deck, one of ropes on the pulley broke and a crate fell to the deck. It hit her.” He paused, his voice cracking. “She lost her leg.”

  Oh, my. Tears burned behind Charity’s eyes as she strained to see his face. “Did she survive?”

  “Aye. But what kind of life will she have now?” He rubbed his thumb over the cross. “I made this from that broken crate. ’Tis a constant reminder of my stupidity and gullibility. A reminder to always follow God and to always protect those I love with every ounce of my strength.”

  Which explained his desperate need to protect Charity. “Surely you can’t blame yourself. ’Twas an accident.”

  “If I hadn’t brought the thief home,” he ground out with more anger than she’d ever heard from him, “made her one of my family, she never would have stolen the jewels, and my sister never would have been on that ship. Aye, I blame myself completely.”

  Charity struggled to sit, nearly tipping them over. How could this noble, God-fearing man blame himself? He had no power over that crate falling. But there was Someone who did. Anger raged through her. Groaning, she untangled her legs from the hammock, swung them over the side, and leapt to the floor. “Where was your God?” she shouted, facing him, hands on her hips. “Shouldn’t He have protected your sister? Why did He allow such a tragedy to happen to an innocent woman? That’s Who you should blame. Not yourself!”

  ♥♥♥

  Instantly regretting whatever he said to cause Charity to leave… to cause her so much anger, Elias slid from the hammock and approached her, slowly, as one would a wild tiger.

  “God? What had He to do with any of it?” he said softly. “’Twas completely a consequence of my own actions that led to the disaster. Why are people always so quick to blame God for every mishap?”

  “Because He has the power to protect us and to change things if He wants. Isn’t that what your precious Bible says?”

  “Indeed, God is all powerful, but He gave us free will to make our own choices, good or bad. Suffering the repercussions of our bad decisions is simply part of that.”

  “Then explain to me why your sister suffers for something that was not her fault?”

  Elias could barely make out her shadow lingering against the wall of the hut. But he didn’t need to see her expression to realize her fury. He could hear it in her voice, sense it in the air heating between them—a fury directed not at him, but at God Himself.

  He took another step toward her, unsure of how to answer.

  “What happened to her anyway?” she spat out.

  “She is recovered and well. Though I fear she will be a spinster the remainder of her life.” Pain twisted his gut at the thought. “No man vies for the hand of a crippled woman.”

  “How sad.” Charity leaned against the hut as if too weak to stand, and Elias longed to take her in his arms. But he remained still, cautious, sensing her need to talk.

  “If someone makes a bad choice in ignorance,” she said, “and then cries out to God for help, shouldn’t He answer? How long does He allow someone to suffer for a mistake they were not even aware they made?”

  “Of course God answers prayer. If we are sincerely repentant, He will always turn our errors out for good. Plus, He will provide a way out in time.”

  To this, she snorted, and he thought he heard a sob escape her lips.

  Still, Elias sensed a weakening in her, a chance to discover her past, to help her move beyond the anger and pain. “What happened to you, Charity? Does this mistake concern your fiancé?”

  His answer came in the form of a palpable silence, made all the more distinct by the sounds of night birds, insects, and the wind whistling through trees outside the hut.

  Pushing from the wall, she strode past him, hugging herself. “He had wealth, title. He provided an escape from my father’s house, an entry into society…things I thought I wanted. Things I thought would make me happy.”

  “He struck you, didn’t he?”

  Seconds passed as she continued walking, her skirts rustling.

  “Yes,” she finally said.

  Elias raked back his hair, shoving down his anger. “Thank God you didn’t marry him.”

  Again silence, followed by a sorrowful sigh. “He was a God-fearing man, always reading his Bible, attending church. He and the bishop of our diocese were good friends.”

  Elias flattened his li
ps, restraining a growl. So that’s why she hated preachers. Like so many people, she’d encountered a hypocrite and assumed all men of God were the same. “Your fiancé may have been religious, but that doesn’t mean he was God-fearing.” Just like Rachel.

  “He read me many things from the Bible,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “How women should be submissive, honoring, obedient to their husbands.”

  “People twist God’s words all the time for their selfish needs. Why did you continue the engagement for so long?”

  She stopped her pacing, her back to him. “He begged my forgiveness over and over, promised it would never happen again.”

  “He hit you more than once?” Fury raged through Elias, tightening every muscle, until he felt like punching something. Or someone. “Did you not have an escort when you were together? How could he get away with it?”

  Coughing, she stepped farther into the shadows on the other side of the hammock. “My aunt…uh…she was often ill, and our only lady’s maid had to tend to her needs. We had no butler or footmen, so my fiancé used his own as escorts. Paid by him.”

  Elias could still not imagine that a servant would tolerate such a thing, no matter how much he was paid. “And you never told the constable?”

  “To what end? My further punishment? He and my fiancé were also friends. Good friends.” Her tone stung with spite.

  “Did your aunt know of this?”

  “Yes, but what could she do? He threatened to ruin her as well.”

  Elias rubbed his temples. Something wasn’t right. An inconsistency that needled the edges of his reason. A fiancé who beat his intended, servants who looked the other way…and this lady—this independent, stubborn lady—who tolerated it for some unfathomable reason. This man, whoever he was, could not have been that powerful. She was holding something back. But what?

  Secrets. So many secrets. He had another of his own that, in the intimacy growing between them, she deserved to know.

  Still hugging herself, she wove around the hammock toward him. “God is punishing me, Elias. I made a mistake, and He’s never going to forgive me or offer His help.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I prayed and prayed and prayed, but He never answered.” Her voice was hollow, wooden, and he thought he saw the glimmer of a tear slide down her cheek in the moonlight.

  “Seems He did. For you are safe now, Charity.” He reached for her, but she wiped her face and backed away.

  “I will not let this man’s brother near you,” he said.

  “That is not up to you.”

  He wanted to tell her that he’d like it to be, if she allowed it, but he sensed ’twas not the right time. “Mayhap, we should get some sleep.” He climbed into the hammock once again and held out his hand, surprised when she allowed him to assist her back beside him.

  She nestled against his chest, and he caressed her cheek. “Sleep, my little mermaid.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” she replied. “For that’s when the nightmares come.”

  Elias ground his teeth together. How could anyone harm such an innocent lady? “He can’t touch you here.” He squeezed her close, and within minutes, he felt her body relax and heard her breathing deepen.

  Yet there was no chance of sleep for Elias. Not with this enchanting woman in his arms, with her sweet smell, her soft skin, and the little whimpers drifting from her lips. Especially not now that he knew so much more about her. Her sad story touched a deep place in his heart, igniting a burning desire to protect her forever.

  So, he spent the long hours of the night holding her and praying—praying for her to come back to God, for her fiancé to pay for what he’d done, and for God’s peace and joy to fill her. He prayed until he heard someone stoking the fire and rattling pots for breakfast, and dawn slipped golden fingers in between the slats of their hut.

  Charity squirmed beside him. His body reacted. Lifting his hand ever so slowly, he stroked her hair and smiled, watching her stir and her eyelids flutter, waving a forest of black against her cheeks.

  She pried her eyes open and gazed up at him. Instead of the fear he expected to see, affection glimmered in them, warming him head to toe.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dutton,” she said.

  “Good morning, mermaid. Now that we’ve spent the night in each other’s arms, I should do the right thing and marry you.”

  Chapter 20

  Marriage. Elias’ half-taunting proposal flirted with Charity all through the afternoon as they trekked back to shore. It continued its dalliance as they rowed out to the Restoration—repaired, with cargo reloaded and ready to go. And even now, it invaded her heart as she stood at the railing, gazing over turquoise waters glistening in the noonday sun. Men raised sails, and soon wind glutted them in a thunderous snap. Trade winds blasted her with warmth and life, and the foamy water gurgled against the hull as they weighed anchor and left the small island for the open seas.

  Why didn’t the idea of marriage completely and utterly terrorize her? Make her vomit profusely and run as far as she could in the opposite direction? Because it was marriage to Elias. This Godly, honorable, caring, self-giving man who seemed almost like a god himself, able to conquer any foe and overcome any problem. Though they’d slept pressed so close together she’d felt his blood pulsing through his veins, he’d made no attempt to take advantage of her, not a single inappropriate touch during the nights they’d spent together. Perhaps he was an angel sent to minister to her as the Bible said angels did, or even possibly…love her. But that would mean God actually cared enough to send one.

  She gripped the railing and silently chastised herself. Hadn’t she thought the same thing of Lord Villemont? Well, nearly the same thing. Her father had warned her of her starry-eyed dreams more than once. Mayhap she still harbored a bit of that gullible young girl, her head filled with flighty romantic notions. Even after all she’d endured. Yet, hadn’t she seen signs, warnings when she and Lord Villemont had been courting? Episodes of temper, impatience, his reprimands for the tiniest infractions. There were none of those with Elias.

  But how could she ever trust herself? Or any man. In truth, she never wanted to marry again.

  Then why did she suddenly find such delight in the idea?

  A fantasy, a young maiden’s dream, was all it was. But she was no maiden. She was a murderer and—she pressed a hand over her belly—and she had another life to consider. The most important one of all. The evidence of which would soon reveal itself, proving to Elias that she was either a trollop or a liar.

  Both of which he would abhor.

  Truth was, she wanted to be neither of those things. She wanted to be chaste, pure, Godly, honest, honorable—a woman good enough to gain the love of such a man. But once again, her reason was not grounded in reality…in the way things worked in this world.

  The ship jerked and the deck tiled, and she held on, remembering Elias’ story of his past. A pirate! Smiling, she turned and glanced at him standing on the quarterdeck issuing orders to his men—feet spread, hair tossed by the breeze, sword winking at her from his hip—and she could well believe he’d made a good pirate. How does one change from a thief to a man of integrity? All the more reason not to trust him. For now, she would enjoy the next few days in his company, cherish every moment, implanting it in her memory for those lonely years ahead when she was on the run from the law or settled to a life of isolation with her child.

  Yet one speck of hope lit her sorrow as she remained on deck nigh two hours later—no other ship was in sight. Which meant her dear brother-in-law had lost them in the storm. Thank God for storms, though she doubted the Almighty had sent it for her benefit. Perhaps, she was finally free of Charles.

  She felt free, indeed, as Elias escorted her to dinner that evening. He made no mention of their intimate conversation the night before, though she’d admit to a slight blush when she’d first opened the door to his knock. He stood tall and strong and smelled of the sea and win
d with a slight hint of lye. That and his smooth jaw and fresh attire put a smile on her face as she realized he’d made an attempt to clean and dress appropriately for her. Entering the cabin on his arm with nary a twinge of fear at his touch, she nodded at the officers rising to their feet on her behalf. Though ’twas just more of the same romantic fantasy to be escorted to supper by this preacher-pirate, treated like a princess, protected, and, dare she say, cared for, she vowed to enjoy every minute of it.

  Once all were seated and the blessing was said, the men dove into their food with the usual gusto, and Charity asked Gage about Eddy.

  More reserved than usual, the surgeon smiled at her from his seat at her left. “He is well, Miss. Woke up this morning and appears lucid, thank God.” He cleared his throat and glanced down at his food. “I never had the chance to thank you for your help. What you did was very brave.”

  “You mean since you were too besotted to hold a knife?” Mr. Ballard chuckled. “Had to have poor Ross and a young miss do your work for you.”

  The table exploded in snickers.

  Charity laid a hand on Mr. Gage’s. “I was happy to help. And I’m more than pleased to hear Eddy is well.”

  He nodded his appreciation and when Charity looked up, she found Elias smiling at her.

  “Your hard work, Miss, and God’s healing,” Josiah interjected, helping himself to a slice of boiled pork.

  Nelson snorted.

  Mr. Ballard scooped rice into his mouth. “Nevertheless, quite heroic, Miss Westcott, quite heroic in my eyes. As was your time captured by natives. I was most concerned for your welfare. What a horrifying experience.”

  “I will admit to being quite terrified, Sir. That was, until El—the captain appeared.” Her affectionate glance with Elias apparently did not go unnoticed by Ballard, for he added, “Yet, if the captain had warned you not to venture into the jungle in the first place, you could have been spared the horror.”