Margaret’s Quest
Muncy Chapman
Copyright
© 1999 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
one
On a crisp February morning in 1836, Margaret Porter stood on the deck of the schooner Windsong and let the breeze have its way with her long, dark hair. Her full skirts billowed around her ankles and she used both hands to restrain them lest they rise to reveal the ruffles of her new lace pantelettes.
As a small child holding fast to her father’s hand while he made his daily tour of the tobacco warehouses, she had stood on the Savannah docks many times and watched the schooners pass. But not even then, and not in her wildest dreams since, had she ever imagined that she would someday travel on a vessel like the magnificent Windsong.
She breathed deeply and filled her lungs with the salty air. Out here on the high sea, even the air smelled different from that which blew along the Savannah waterfront: fresher, cleaner—exhilarating!
A northeasterly wind filled the great, white sails above her head, puffing them out to resemble giant goose-down pillows. White-capped ocean swells slapped against the side of the schooner, causing it to pitch and roll, but contrary to her father’s dire warnings, Margaret found the rocking motion most pleasant.
Her excitement was twofold. She would be traveling beyond the boundaries of the United States into the mysterious region known as the Florida Territory. But any fears that she might have entertained were quickly dispelled when she thought of the handsome fiancé who would be waiting there for her.
The moment she had laid eyes on Captain Allen Fairchild, she had vowed that she would somehow manage an introduction. In all of her twenty years, she had never seen such a handsome man! He filled out his army uniform with broad, muscular shoulders, and sleek, black hair framed a finely chiseled face that seemed to wear a perpetual smile.
She was not ashamed of the way she had manipulated their introduction. In fact, she was rather proud of her clever ingenuity. She had just entered Marshall’s Emporium that morning when she had seen him standing in front of the handkerchief counter. Without hesitation, she had grabbed up an armload of merchandise that she had no intention of purchasing—spools of thread, a bonnet, three skeins of yarn, and other items she did not even pause to identify—and moved across the floor in his direction. When she had drawn almost abreast of him, she’d positioned her bonnet so that it obstructed her view, and then she’d plowed headlong into his tall, unsuspecting frame.
Merchandise had flown out of her arms and scattered across the floor.
“Oh, I’m sorry, miss.” The soldier had begun to apologize profusely for the “accident” that was in no way his fault. He’d stooped to gather the items from the floor, and she had bent to help him. In this odd position, their eyes had met and locked, and he’d dropped the yarn he had just retrieved. “S–sorry,” he had stammered. “I’m not usually so clumsy!”
“Nor am I!” She’d stood and held out her hand. “I’m Mar-garet Porter. I’m afraid I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
He had taken her hand and had not released it right away. “I’m Allen Fairchild, and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, even under such unfavorable circumstances.”
“Why, Mr. Fairchild, what a nice thing to say. Are you stationed here in Savannah?”
“No, but my parents live here. I’m just home for a short furlough. I’ll soon be going back to join the rest of my company at Fort Brooke.”
“Is that in Georgia?”
Allen had laughed. “How I wish! No, it’s way down south in the Florida Territory.”
As they had talked, an aproned stock boy had begun to re-trieve the merchandise and place it on the counter. Allen, whose eyes had never left Margaret’s face, had said, “The least that I can do to make amends is to buy you a cup of tea. I’ll wait while you complete your purchases, and then perhaps you will do me the honor of accompanying me to Miss Bessie’s Tearoom.”
Margaret had looked at the stack of randomly chosen merchandise piled neatly on the wooden counter. She had no use for any of it. “Oh, my, I’m afraid I’ll have to come back later to finish my shopping,” she had said, fluttering her eyelashes in a coquettish manner. “I do feel a little shaken, and a cup of tea might be just what I need to settle my nerves.”
That contrived introduction was the beginning of their whirlwind courtship. Allen had asked permission to call on her, and for the rest of his leave, he had spent every possible hour in her company.
Margaret, who had never lacked for male attention, nevertheless found his obvious devotion both flattering and enjoyable. On the eve of his departure, he had proposed to her beneath the huge magnolia trees, where silver moonlight spread dancing shadows across her lawn. In breathless excitement, she had accepted, and the two of them had sealed their promise with a kiss.
Now scarcely three months later, Margaret stood on the deck of a giant schooner on her way to join him. Without the scent of magnolia blossoms or a moonlit sky, what, at the moment, had seemed so terribly romantic now seemed just a trifle awesome.
Her father had offered all kinds of objections to this journey, and most of them Margaret had to admit were valid. She had not known Allen long, and she knew very little about him. She only knew that the very thought of him sent her blood racing through her veins in a most exciting way and that her fondest dream was to become his wife. She was twenty years old already, and she certainly did not want to end up as a spinster! And handsome men like Allen Fairchild did not happen along every day.
She tried to picture what a handsome couple they would make walking down the streets of Tampa, she in one of her elegant new dresses, he in his regal military uniform. It bothered her just a little that she now had difficulty recalling his facial features—she had not seen him for three months—but she did remember that he was a very tall and strikingly handsome man, and she would be proud to stand beside him as his wife!
Her father had also pointed out that a more proper order of events would be for Allen to return to Savannah to marry his daughter before she set off alone on this long, dangerous journey to an unknown land. Although Margaret could not disagree, she knew that for Allen, such a move would be almost impossible. How could he come to Savannah for her when he was stationed so far away at Fort Brooke near Tampa? The United States Army did not give its soldiers vacations to pursue their personal interests, romantic or otherwise. Allen had explained all that to her and told her that they were in the midst of a fierce conflict with the Seminole Indians, forcibly moving them out of the Florida Territory to relocate in Oklahoma.
“The Indians are putting up a fierce resistance,” he had told her. “They know their way around the woods and swamps of the territory much better than we do, and they’re much better adapted to the tropical climate. I wish President Jackson would just let them stay. After all, they were there before we were.”
Margaret tried to explain this situation to her father, and she refused to accept his suggestion that she wait until Allen could come for her. That might be years away. Why, he might even meet and marry someone else before he was granted leave again. Margaret had heard about brazen women who followed the troops from post to post, and a man as handsome as Allen would be a prime target for their wiles.
Her only regrets now were the l
ack of her father’s blessing and the bitter words that had passed between them. He had not even come to the docks to see her off. Would he ever forgive her for going against his wishes? She hoped that he would be able to in time.
She had written to Allen to tell him the name of the ship on which she would be arriving and the date of her departure. Her date of arrival would be dependent on weather conditions. She could only hope that he had received her letter and would be at the dock in Tampa to meet her. The mails were so slow; she had received only one letter from him since he left Savannah, and that he had written soon after his return to Fort Brooke.
“It’s a bit brisk out here, miss. Wouldn’t you like to go in-side out of the wind?”
Margaret turned her head to see who had intruded into her daydreams. “No, I—” She looked up into eyes the color of the sea on a stormy day—dark, cobalt blue. The gentlemen was smiling at her in such a friendly manner that she could not remain angry with him for the interruption. She noted that he was very tall, and his hair, the color of fine corn silk, curled softly where it met the edge of his collar. “I—um—rather enjoy the ocean air,” she finished.
“Well then, I’ll leave you to your meditation. I’m Mikal Lee, part owner of this ship. We like to make sure that all of our passengers are comfortable, so if there is ever anything you need, please let one of us know.”
“No, there is nothing. I mean, the ship is wonderful. I expected the ride to be much rougher. That is, I was told. . .”
“As long as we don’t hit any bad weather, you should be able to enjoy your trip. A schooner this size generally rides easier than the smaller ones.”
“Thank you, Captain Lee.”
He grinned, revealing white, perfectly spaced teeth and an impish twinkle in his eyes. “Whoa, I’m not the captain. I’m just an ordinary guy. Please call me Mikal.”
“All right, Mikal, and I’m Margaret—Margaret Porter. Any-way, thank you for your concern.”
She offered her hand and he held it gently, as if it were a piece of fine silk.
“I apologize for interrupting your morning meditation, Margaret. You see, I come out here myself each day for my daily devotions, and I know how bothersome interruptions can be.” He released her hand and turned to go, but called over his shoulder, “Good-bye, Margaret. I’ll pray for your safe and pleasant journey.”
How odd! Margaret thought as she watched him walk away. She had only just met him, and already he was offering to pray for her. And he seemed to think she was engaged in some sort of religious meditation. He couldn’t have been farther from the truth! Although she had received Christian training as a child, she had pushed all that aside when she became an adult. She would prefer to manage her own life, thank you very much, and so far she was doing very well!
Still, there was something very intriguing about Mikal Lee. He was different from other men she had met, and she was just curious enough to want to learn more about him.
Margaret saw him several more times over the next few days, but he was always busy calling orders to the ship’s hands or inspecting the equipment or talking to other passengers, inquiring about their comfort and welfare. Since the Windsong was used primarily to transport cargo rather than people, there were only a dozen or so passengers, and all of them seemed congenial and friendly. The journey that Margaret had expected to be long and tiresome was actually quite pleasant, and the time passed quickly.
On the eleventh morning after leaving Savannah, she had just finished her breakfast and walked out on the deck for a bit of fresh air when she heard a stir of voices. All of the passengers, it seemed, were gathered on the deck, straining their eyes and pointing.
“What is it?” she asked, peering in the direction of their apparent interest. Her eyes scanned the waves for a whale or some other unusual sea creature that might have captured their attention.
“Over there,” an elderly gentleman told her. “See? You can see land over there. We must be coming into Tampa!”
Now Margaret could see the dark purple line that stretched across the horizon and knew that what the man said must be true. They were approaching their destination at last, and before the sun had set again, she would be in the arms of her beloved!
Shortly after noon, the Windsong sailed into Tampa Bay and crabbed its way into the port of Tampa, using only the drifter sail to ease its hull up close to the docks. Passengers lined the rails of the ship, while the hands struggled with the rigging, shouting phrases that Margaret did not understand.
“Loosen the lanyard; we’re comin’ about.”
“Strike the drifter and ready the ratlines. Store the shrouds in the bin.”
And finally, “She’s ready; lower the plank.”
With a great creak, a heavy, wooden ramp descended from the ship’s side to the dock, and passengers hurried to disembark.
For the first time since she had left Savannah, Margaret be-gan to feel a small nudge of apprehension. What was it like, this mysterious new land that would now be her home? And even more important, what was he like, the man with whom she had pledged to spend the rest of her life?
Margaret moved with the crowd along the sloping gangplank. Her heart raced with anticipation as she scanned the people waiting along the boardwalk bordering Tampa Bay. How would she ever find Allen Fairchild in all this mass of human flesh? People were shoving and pushing, shouting greetings when they spied familiar faces. She listened, but no one called her name.
What would she do if Allen did not come to meet her? She had not even considered that possibility. Now a lump formed in her throat and seemed to grow to the size of an egg.
She stood on the boardwalk and watched deckhands unload a portion of the cargo. Soon the Windsong would probably pull up anchor and continue on through the Gulf of Mexico toward New Orleans. She hoped they would not forget to unload her trunk!
All around her people were laughing and embracing, but there was not one familiar face among them. Panic began to engulf her as she scanned the crowds for a tall, handsome man in an army captain’s uniform.
“Is someone coming to meet you, Margaret?”
Astonished to hear her name, she whipped around and looked up to see Mikal Lee towering over her, and for reasons she could not explain even to herself, her panic melted like butter on a hot griddle.
“Yes—well, that is, I hope so. You see. . .” But she gave up trying to talk to him over the noise of the crowd. Her green eyes were brimming with tears, which she struggled to contain.
Mikal gripped her elbow and steered her forward. “Let’s claim your luggage and go somewhere to talk.”
Margaret moved like a child with no plan of her own. Perhaps Mikal would know how to help her find Allen. She let him guide her through the crowds.
“Which of these trunks is yours?” he asked, pointing to the piles of recently unloaded cargo. “Do you see it?”
“Yes.” She pointed to a large, leather trunk with brass fittings. “That’s mine. I have only the one.”
Mikal released his grip on her elbow. “Don’t move from this spot,” he commanded.
As he disappeared into the mob, all of her earlier panic returned. “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded, but her voice was lost in the deafening cacophony of the crowd. She could no longer restrain the tears that now ran freely down her cheeks. Perhaps her father had been right after all, but it was too late to think of that now. Whatever was she to do?
Minutes later, Mikal reappeared at her side. “I’ve hired a carriage,” he told her. “The driver is seeing to your trunk. Come on. We’ll find a respectable boardinghouse where you can stay the night, and perhaps by morning, you will have heard from whomever was supposed to meet you.”
“But how will he know where to find me?”
“The Windsong is staying in the port of Tampa for a couple of nights. If anyone comes here looking for you, I’ll see that he is given proper directions.”
She allowed him to lead her to the street and help her into
a waiting carriage. She was surprised and relieved when he stepped up to claim the seat beside her. “Take us to Miss Priscilla’s Boardinghouse,” he commanded, and the carriage moved forward through the narrow dirt streets.
Margaret craned her neck for a better view of her new town. In her mind’s eye, she had pictured a city similar to Savannah, with wide streets and stately homes fronted by columned porticos, but her conception was not even close. The few stores they passed were constructed of dingy, un-painted boards, not at all like the beautiful brick commercial structures of Savannah. And the people themselves looked like plain, country folk. Most of the women she saw wore simple cotton dresses and covered their heads with calico bonnets, a far cry from the elegant matrons who shopped in Marshall’s Emporium.
“Now that we can hear ourselves talk,” Mikal said, “suppose you tell me the name of the person who was supposed to meet you and what you are planning to do in this part of the world.”
Margaret held nothing back; she told him everything, from her contrived introduction to Allen Fairchild to her father’s objections to the marriage, and finally of her disappointment at not being met at the pier.
Mikal took out a clean linen handkerchief and gave it to her. “Dry your tears, Margaret, and listen to me. There’s probably a logical explanation for this. If your fiancé is in the army, he may be on duty tonight. A soldier’s time is not his own, you know. He may be just as worried about missing your meeting as you are. Or it’s possible that he may have never received your letter. The mail down here is very undependable. Do you have money?”
“A little. Not a lot, but enough to get along for a while.”
“Then I suggest you get a room at Miss Priscilla’s Boarding-house, take a nice, hot bath, and sleep until morning. Priscilla will give you a good, hearty breakfast, and the world will look a lot better to you tomorrow. That’s a promise.”
“You are very kind to help me. Are you staying in Tampa long?”
“For only two days while the ship refuels and takes on extra passengers. I’m on my way to a port in the northwestern end of the territory called Apalachicola. I’ll be sleeping in my stateroom on the schooner tonight, but I’ll come in to check on you tomorrow. If you haven’t heard from your friend by then, I’ll take you to Fort Brooke and we’ll try to find him. Meanwhile, try not to worry. Put yourself in God’s hands, and He will take care of you.”
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