Margaret stood beside the chair and listened in wide-eyed horror, but as Mikal moved toward her, she pitched forward and lay limp and lifeless on the bare wooden floor.
“Margaret!” Mikal scooped her up in his arms. “Do you have first aid supplies? A cloth and some cold water or some smelling salts, perhaps?”
“No, I keep nothing here. I say, this is highly irregular. . .”
“Where is your infirmary? We must take her there.”
“Follow me.”
Mikal lifted Margaret’s limp body into the waiting carriage while Major Copperfield untied his horse from the hitching post.
As the wagon driver followed the officer on horseback, Mikal cradled her in his arms and tried to absorb the bumps. Just as they drew up before a long, wooden barracks building, Margaret’s eyelids began to flutter. “Mikal?”
“I’m here, Margaret. We’re going to take good care of you.” He helped her to a sitting position, supporting her with his arm. “This is the infirmary. You’ve had a great shock, and you need medical attention.”
Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to dredge up memories that would explain why she was here, but as the major’s horrible words crept back into her consciousness, she screamed, “No!” Then with a tremor in her voice, she begged, “Please, Mikal. Just take me home. They have no medicine here that can cure my grief. I want to get away from this dreadful place. I just want to go home and be alone.”
“As you wish, then. Just give me a moment to speak to the major.”
Mikal knew that Margaret would have questions later after she recovered from her initial shock. He wanted to have some answers ready for her.
He approached Major Copperfield and listened as the officer related all the facts as he knew them. Allen Fairchild’s body lay buried in an unmarked grave somewhere along the trail to Fort King.
“Is there anything of the captain’s that you might give to the lady? Some small token of his that she might keep?” Mikal asked.
“Captain Fairchild’s few personal effects were sent to his parents, but it is doubtful they will ever receive them. The territory is a lawless land, Mr. Lee, and unfortunately only a very small percentage of our mail ever reaches its destination. I’m sorry,” Major Copperfield said. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing either of us can do.”
Mikal returned to the carriage and gave orders to the driver to turn around. Then, taking his place beside Margaret, he waved his thanks to Major Copperfield and the horse-driven carriage began to retrace its earlier route.
Mikal held Margaret’s trembling body in his arms and let her cry. No longer interested in the dramas being played out around her, she buried her head in Mikal’s shoulder and allowed unrestrained tears to flow. They rode through the village of Tampa in a shroud of silence, interrupted only by the sound of hoofbeats and the soft sobs of Margaret Porter.
three
Margaret sat on the sofa in Miss Priscilla’s parlor, her eyes clouded with confusion. Pain was overshadowed by the numbness that permeated her whole being. The events of the morning seemed like a dream from which she must soon awake and cast aside, just as she had cast aside her strange dream of the night before.
Mikal sat across from her in a Sheraton chair, his long legs crossed at the knees. Earlier, he had spoken to Miss Priscilla and explained the unfortunate situation. In a rare burst of sympathy, the landlady had provided a tea tray in the parlor, breaking one of her own steadfast rules about taking food into her keeping room.
“Is there anyone in the territory whom I could contact to come be with you, Margaret?” It tore at Mikal’s heart to see her sitting there alone, so fragile and defenseless, sipping her tea from a thin porcelain cup. He yearned to comfort her.
Her hand shook so that when she set her teacup down, it rattled against the saucer. “No, I don’t know anyone here except you, Mikal. I know I’ve been a terrible burden for you, and I’m sorry. You don’t need to stay here with me any longer. As soon as I can pull myself together, I’ll figure out what I’m going to do next.”
“Margaret, I truly don’t want to leave you, but I have to be on the Windsong when she sails tomorrow morning. I wish that I had a choice in the matter, but I don’t. We’ll make our regular run up to Apalachicola to unload our cargo of textiles, and then we’ll reload the ship with cotton brought down the Apalachicola River from Georgia and Alabama. Then we’ll turn the ship around and head back to New York.” Seeing her eyes wander about the room, he said, “Margaret, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, I’m listening, but I have a lot of things on my mind, Mikal, and I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”
“I’m coming to that. Don’t you see? When we return from Apalachicola, we’ll be stopping over in the port of Tampa again. I’ll have to be gone for the next several weeks, but as soon as I return, you can rebook passage on the Windsong, and I will take you back home to your father in Savannah.”
Margaret hung her head and did not answer for several minutes. Mikal had been so kind to her, and she knew that he only wanted to help her. But how could she explain to him the complicated reasons why she could not return to Savannah?
First, there was the matter of her father. He had been so terribly angry with her for leaving. How would he feel now about having her return? And what a lot of pride she would have to swallow! His dire predictions about the foolishness of her plans were proving to be all too true.
And then there was the matter of money. There was simply not enough money in her black velvet reticule to pay for return passage to Savannah. If she could find some sort of employment, perhaps in time she could save enough for her fare, but certainly not within the next few weeks. And what possible talent could she offer to any potential employer? She had never earned even a half-dime in her whole life.
She could not tell Mikal of her financial problems without sounding as though she were hinting for his charity. Of course, no respectable lady would accept money from a gentleman, even if he should happen to offer it. In fact, she would consider such an offer a personal insult.
Mikal interpreted her long silence to mean that she was in agreement with his plan. “I’ll speak to Miss Priscilla to make sure you’ll be allowed to have room and board here until I return. You’ll be safe here and moderately comfortable. I’ve been praying for guidance about this, Margaret, and I know that everything is going to work out for the best. We just have to put our faith in God.”
Margaret jerked to attention. “How can you talk to me about God at a time like this?” she yelled. “What kind of God would let a bunch of savages murder a nice man like Allen Fairchild? Answer me that before you talk to me about having faith in your God!”
Mikal, remaining in his chair, planted both feet on the floor and clasped his hands between his knees. He let her rant and rave until her energy was spent. She had suffered a severe shock today. Perhaps she needed to vent her anger. Sometimes the steam in the boilers of a steamship built up to a dangerous level and had to be released to avoid a devastating explosion. Release could be a good thing, up to a point.
When Margaret finished her tirade, she sank back against the cushions and let her tears escape. She wondered that her eyes had not run dry of tears by now, but still they came in cold rivulets, running down her fiery cheeks.
“I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Margaret. Perhaps you’d rather be alone for a while. In any case, I have to return to the schooner and be ready to sail at dawn.” He rose. “I really hate to leave you this way, but I have no choice.” He grasped her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Walk with me out to the porch. I want to look back and see you waving to me. I’ll carry that memory all the way to Apalachicola and back, and then we’ll talk again about your plans for the future. Please trust me, Margaret, and. . .”
Anticipating his next words, she cut him off by saying, “Thank you for all your help, Mikal. I’m sorry if I was rude. I didn’t mean
to be. It’s just that I’m not myself today. By the time you return, I’ll have myself pulled together and be able to tell you what I’ve decided to do.”
He did not call for a carriage, preferring a brisk walk in the cool night air. The setting sun had cast a soft, pink-tinged glow across the horizon, and the streets seemed quieter and cleaner in the twilight.
She watched him walk down the street until he blended into the crowds, and when she could no longer identify him, she turned back into the house and went upstairs to her room.
❧
Miss Priscilla served supper promptly at six o’clock. “We eat a little later in the summer when the days are longer,” she ex-plained, “but in the winter, we try to conserve our candles by eating early.”
Margaret sat at the long, rectangular table and helped herself from the platters of food as they passed her way. Fried chicken, sweet potatoes, and collard greens made the rounds, and although Margaret had little appetite, she put a small portion of each dish on her plate. She told herself that she must build up her strength for the trying days ahead. She could not go around fainting as she had this morning, especially now that Mikal would no longer be around to pick her up.
One by one, the other boarders introduced themselves, and Margaret acknowledged them each with a nod. The two gentlemen, Patrick Anderson and Charles Jeffries, were dressed in a manner that suggested to Margaret that they both might be barristers. The elderly Rosada sisters, Hope and Charity, shared a room next to Margaret’s. Their demure, black and white print dresses were almost identical, as were the twists of white hair each wore coiled atop her head. A young woman, whom Margaret judged to be only slightly older than herself, was introduced as Mrs. Lucy White, a young widow. She was modestly dressed in black cotton, fashioned in the austere style that seemed to prevail in this area, and her sandy brown hair was caught in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.
Miss Priscilla sat tall and erect, presiding at the head of the table with a small crystal bell beside her plate, which she used from time to time to summon help from the kitchen.
Margaret listened with only a modicum of interest to the chatter around her. “I hear there’s a rumor going around that the Florida Territory might be coming into the Union before long,” one of the Rosada sisters said. “Would there be any truth to that, Mr. Jeffries?”
“Not if that bunch up in St. Augustine has their way!”
“But the people up in the western part of the territory have something to say about that, too,” Patrick Anderson pointed out. “They’re making plans for a Constitution Convention, I hear. Wonder who the delegates will be?”
“I wouldn’t mind being a part of that,” Charles Jeffries admitted. “And if I couldn’t be a delegate, I’d sure like to be a mouse so I could listen in.”
“I was a delegate once,” Miss Charity stated proudly, “to the Ladies’ Missionary Society in Virginia. I believe that was back in 1779.”
“It wasn’t ’79; it was 1778. And you weren’t a delegate at all, Sister. You were just attending as a member from our local church,” Miss Hope insisted.
“Delegate, member, what’s the difference, Sister? At least I got to attend.” A satisfied smile spread across Miss Charity’s face. “As I recall, you were a little miffed that Papa wouldn’t let you go.”
“Only because I was so much younger,” Miss Hope retorted, determined to have the last and best word.
Margaret wanted to excuse herself to escape from this conversation, which did not interest her in the least, but she did not want to appear rude. She sat quietly and listened until Miss Priscilla rang for the maid and dessert was served.
“Indian pudding!” Miss Charity exclaimed. “My favorite.”
“Now, Sister, just last night you said that sweet potato pie was your favorite!”
“Well, it was my favorite last night, Sister. But tonight my favorite is Indian pudding!”
The two gentlemen exchanged amused glances, while Lucy hid her smile behind her white linen napkin.
“Miss Priscilla, would you excuse me, please?” Margaret asked. “I–I’m unable—that is, I’ve had a very trying day, so if you will all excuse me, I think I will retire to my room.”
“Of course, Margaret. We understand.”
Soft murmurs of consent circled the table, confirming Margaret’s belief that Miss Priscilla had already told her other boarders of the tragedy that had struck her life today.
She pushed her chair away from the table, rose, and saw the two gentlemen rise in unison. “No, please, gentlemen. Keep your seats.”
She turned from the table and hurried up the stairs.
In the privacy of her room, Margaret pulled down the window shades and changed into her chemise. She poured water from her pitcher into her washbowl and used her hands to splash some of it on her face before drying on the clean linen towel.
She emptied the money from her reticule onto the bed and counted it. She tried to calculate the amount she would need for room and board for the weeks ahead. Mikal had told her he would not be back for several weeks, and even then she would not have money for passage back to Savannah. Whether she returned or not, she would need money just to live on. She would simply have to find a source of income.
She looked in her trunk and tried to decide what she owned of value that she might try to sell. The only jewelry she had brought with her was a single strand of pearls and her mother’s cameo brooch. Nothing could make her part with that brooch. She would starve first! But perhaps she could find someone who would buy her pearls. Her father had given them to her on her sixteenth birthday. They were real pearls and should fetch a good price.
In the fading light of dusk, she replaced her money into her reticule and put it in her top dresser drawer, along with the velvet pouch that held her beautiful pearls. Rather than light a candle, she pulled back the bedspread and stretched across the cool, cotton sheets.
Lying on her bed in the darkness, she listened to the unfamiliar night sounds. Dogs barking, horses trotting rhythmically along the dirt street, and the occasional creak of wagon wheels. How can they see to travel in the dark? she wondered. Somewhere a baby cried, and from the direction of Tampa Bay, she heard the distant whistle of a steamboat.
She thought of Mikal and the Windsong and knew that by the time she woke up in the morning, they would both be gone. Would Mikal really return for her as he had promised, or would he forget all about her once he was out on the vast Gulf of Mexico? And if he did return to take her back to Savannah, would she find some honorable way to go with him? These and a dozen other questions spun in her head like a tornado.
Mikal had told her to put herself in God’s hands, but she was mad at God right now, and He was evidently mad at her, too. If He cared for her the way Mikal had told her, He would never have let her end up in such a terrible predicament.
But here alone in her room, she had no one else to whom she could turn. Out of desperation, she slid from her bed and knelt on the cold, wooden floor. “God, if You can hear me and You really care what happens to me, show me some way out of this corner I’ve backed myself into. Amen.”
She climbed back into bed and stared through the darkness at the ceiling. If she had some way to make sure that her father would welcome her back to live with him in Savannah and if she had some way to get enough money for her passage, then returning home would be the logical solution to her problems.
She would write him a letter tomorrow, admitting her mistakes and asking his forgiveness. She would ask him to send money for her passage home. Father had never refused to give her anything she had asked him for. Surely he would not let her down now.
But the mails were slow and uncertain, especially where money was involved. She had heard lurid tales of outlaws down here in the wilds of the Florida Territory who made a habit of robbing the mail carriers along the postal routes. Even if her father received her letter and sent the money, would it ever reach her?
Then a new idea popped into
her mind, and she thought that perhaps God really was on her side after all! She would write the letter to her father and ask Mikal to deliver it to him in Savannah, asking him to wait for an answer. If her father still loved her and wanted her back, he would give Mikal enough money to bring her back home.
If her new plan worked out, then all her worries might soon be over. But there were an awful lot of “ifs” to conquer before her plan could have even the slightest chance of success.
four
Margaret kept to her room for a full week, coming out only for meals served in the dining room.
The first job that she tackled was the writing of the all-important letter to her father. She had wasted a dozen sheets of her prettiest stationery, writing and rewriting the letter, before she finally came up with what she hoped would be the right words to touch his heart and win his forgiveness. The sum of money she requested was only slightly more than the amount she would need to pay for passage on the Windsong, but if her father came through in his usual style, Margaret was sure that he would include a generous lagniappe.
She had little doubt that he would honor her request, and now she had only to figure a way to stretch her limited re-sources so that they would last until her money arrived.
Once she was satisfied with the letter, she folded it into thirds and dripped a dot of sealing wax on the back to secure it. She put it in her top drawer for safekeeping and tried to put it out of her mind until Mikal returned.
She passed away some of her long, lonely hours by flipping through the pages of Miss Priscilla’s newest issue of Ladies’ Book, which featured all of Godey’s latest fashions. She supposed that even women who dressed as conservatively as Miss Priscilla still enjoyed seeing what fashionable ladies in the States were wearing. Margaret derived satisfaction from knowing that the clothes in her trunk bore a striking resemblance to the ones featured in this latest issue of Ladies’ Book. Not that she would have occasion to wear them here in the wilds of the Florida Territory, but some day she vowed she would wear them and feel like a real lady again.
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