The Captain of Her Heart

by Anita Stansfield

  Chapter One

  BROKEN WINGS

  The Colony of Virginia—1780

   

  Ritcherd leaned his shoulder against the window frame, staring into the darkness. He knew trying to sleep was futile. Even exhaustion wasn’t enough to free his mind of the torrent of thoughts that consumed him. Waves of emotion tossed him between elation and grief, like a ship being tossed without mercy on a stormy sea. One moment he felt perfect joy and unfathomable relief. He had found Kyrah at last. They were together, and he knew her love for him was strong and true. But the bright future he had always dreamed they would share had become cloudy and vague. Thinking through the enormity of complications between them made his heart plummet with despair.

  Pondering the events that had finally brought them back together, he felt disoriented and uncertain. They’d only been together a matter of hours, and the minimal opportunity they’d had for conversation between her labor pains had barely given him enough information to believe that they could get beyond the difficulties facing them. The problem was that he didn’t know exactly what they needed to get beyond. All he knew for certain was that Kyrah had gotten into some kind of trouble and had married as a result. He suspected that a good portion of that trouble was being pregnant and unmarried—a situation that he was responsible for. But the regret and shame associated with his responsibility made the reality difficult to even think about. The fact that Kyrah wanted to divorce her husband—wherever he might be—had given him the hope he needed.

  Ritcherd turned to sit in the window sill, sighing deeply as his eyes were drawn to the central focus of the room. Kyrah lay sleeping, a peaceful contrast to the harrowing labor that had ended with her giving birth less than an hour ago. Her dark, unruly curls framed her face against the pillow. He could hear the baby crying in the kitchen, where Daisy was bathing her. Thank heaven for Daisy, he thought. She had become a dear friend to Kyrah through much of her stay here in this little port town. It was evident that Daisy had done a great deal for Kyrah, but nothing greater than being here to deliver the baby. He knew that the minimal medical help available was far from ideal, and he wondered what Kyrah might have done without Daisy’s help.

  Overcome with a mixture of emotions, Ritcherd closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. He expressed his gratitude for Kyrah and the baby being safe and healthy, and for his being guided to her at this time. He thanked God for sending Daisy to watch over Kyrah, and he prayed for the strength and guidance to make it through whatever lay ahead.

  When the crying quieted, Ritcherd felt compelled to see if everything was all right. He entered the kitchen to see the baby lying on a towel on the table, wearing a tiny linen gown, wiggling and cooing. Daisy was slumped over the table, sobbing quietly. He attempted to leave the room undetected, but he’d barely taken a step backward when she lifted her head and saw him. She turned her back abruptly and wiped at her face. He couldn’t bring himself to leave now without asking, “Is everything all right?” When she didn’t answer he added, “Is the baby—”

  “The baby is fine,” she said, lifting it into her arms.

  “If you want me to turn around and mind my business, all you have to do is say so. I realize we’ve only known each other a matter of hours, but what we just went through in there ought to count for something.” She said nothing and he added, “I want to thank you . . . for all you’ve done for Kyrah—especially for helping her . . . helping both of us . . . get through this.”

  “It’s my pleasure, really,” she said, but it was evident she hadn’t stopped crying.

  “Then what’s wrong?” he asked.

  Daisy nodded and he waited for her to gain her composure. “As I said, the baby’s fine. That’s just it, I suppose. I’ve grown to care so much for Kyrah, and . . . I was so worried that the baby . . . wouldn’t be fine.”

  Ritcherd felt something prickle at the back of his neck. “Why?” he asked, and her countenance changed abruptly. She looked as if she’d just been caught in some criminal act. The sensation at his neck shot down his spine. “Why did you fear something would be wrong with the baby?” he demanded.

  “Well . . . with everything she’s been through, and all . . . I just . . .”

  “Daisy,” he walked around the table, “I have no idea what she’s been through.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you!” she countered. “I should have just kept my mouth shut. I always say too much and—”

  “Daisy, please,” he insisted, believing that she could help answer his prayers. “The months Kyrah and I have been apart will not be bridged quickly. I know her, and I know it will take time for her to open up about the difficulties. Please . . . help me understand. Just give me something to go on. I can’t help her through it if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.” She still seemed hesitant and he added, “I swear to you Daisy, I will keep it to myself. I’ll let her tell me in her own time, but if I know . . . I can be prepared. I can . . .” Hearing his own words come back to him, Ritcherd realized he was expecting something horrible, even though he had no idea what to expect.

  Daisy sat down and sighed, holding the baby close. He sat down across the table and waited. She looked up at him and said straightly, “I knew something was wrong before I ever met her. I’d heard neighbors saying they’d met the man living here, and he’d said he would be getting married and bringing home a wife. I’d hardly seen him coming and going at all, but it happened to be my day off when he showed up in a hired carriage with a woman. They went inside. The carriage left. Not ten minutes later the screaming started.”

  Ritcherd sucked in his breath. He’d insisted she tell him. He had to stay calm.

  “I don’t know how long it went on. It seemed like forever. Then he left. I stewed and stewed over what to do. The house was lit in the evenings and dark at night, so I knew she was here, but it took a few days to be certain he wasn’t here, too. I’m ashamed to say that it was nearly a week before I found the courage to come over.”

  Daisy gave him a cautious stare, as if to warn him that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. He gave her a subtle nod in return, steeling himself for whatever it might be. While he’d interpreted screaming as some kind of verbal argument, he was completely unprepared to hear Daisy say, “The first time I saw Kyrah’s face, it was purple.”

  Ritcherd shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m saying that the majority of her face was covered with bruises so deep that after nearly a week, her face was still dark purple.”

  Ritcherd pressed a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt nauseous and dizzy even before Daisy said, “She tried hard not to show it, but I could tell that it was painful for her to move—and that lasted for weeks. If her face was purple, it’s not too difficult to imagine why she had trouble walking, and sitting, and lifting a fork to eat. And there was no hiding that she was pregnant. And if that weren’t bad enough, when she finally opened up enough to tell me the whole story, she told me she’d been heavily drugged on the ship, and went without food for a number of days. There. That’s all I have to say. That is why I’ve been worried sick about this baby getting here without problems. But she’s healthy and strong, and Kyrah is safe. You’re here, and I know you’ll see that everything’s all right now.”

  Ritcherd forced his eyes open and nodded. Before Daisy left the room, she said, “You remember what you promised me. You let her tell you in her own time.”

  He was grateful to be left alone when the emotion refused to be held back any longer. He coughed in an attempt to avoid sobbing, but he only ended up choking out a cry of disbelief that he knew Daisy must have heard from the other room. The anger he felt toward his mother took hold with fresh bitterness. And the helpless frustration of his months of searching became manifested in the reality of all that Kyrah had suffered.

  When he finally got hold of his senses, Ritcherd knew he had to get a grip on what he’d just learned and t
uck it away until Kyrah chose to share it with him. For a moment he wished Daisy hadn’t told him, but as horrible as it was, it had to be faced eventually. Knowing now would help give him the compassion he needed to start building that bridge between him and Kyrah. And with time, and God’s help, he hoped to understand her perspective on the horror she had been subjected to.

  Praying for strength, he returned to the bedroom, where Daisy was laying the sleeping baby close to Kyrah’s side. The serenity of the picture before him helped assuage his grief. Daisy walked past him and motioned for him to follow. Back in the kitchen, she asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I will be,” he said.

  She nodded, then went on to give him careful instructions on what he needed to do to help Kyrah. He hoped that both she and the baby slept long and well. His confidence was lacking in such things, to say the least. Leaving him in charge, Daisy went home to get some sleep and then to put in a shift at the tavern where she worked. Ritcherd returned to the bedroom and sat near the bed while the room gradually filled with morning light. Concentrating on Kyrah’s serenity as she slept, he marveled freshly at being with her at last, and forced the ugly images of what she’d been through out of his mind. The love he felt for her was beyond his ability to define. The very depth of his love made it difficult for him to understand how they had come to this end. No, not an end, he told himself. A beginning. From this point they would start over. They had to. Any other option seemed unthinkable.

  Ritcherd’s eye was drawn to the baby. His baby. He had been so harrowed with regret over his indiscretion with Kyrah that he’d blocked it out of his mind. But now he had to look at the facts. He had abused something sacred, and the result was lying next to Kyrah. Her very existence seemed a miracle, but the timing and circumstances were all wrong. A thought occurred to him that made him groan. Was this the trouble Kyrah had found herself in? Was this what had prompted her to marry another man? A man who had beaten and abandoned her? Had she done it for the sake of the child? Had her husband become angry with the realization that she was pregnant? The thought provoked such tangible pain that Ritcherd had to force it out of his mind. They would deal with all of that in time. For now, they were together. He would take care of them. And nothing else mattered.

  Suddenly overcome with the exhaustion that refused to relent any further, Ritcherd went into the next room and curled up on the bed. With both doors open, he knew he could hear Kyrah call if he was needed. He became assaulted with nightmarish images of Kyrah being hit over and over, mingled with images of her being drugged and starved on the ship. He wondered what else might have happened to her. The entire picture was so horrible that he turned his mind to prayer, knowing nothing less could bring him peace. He concentrated on his gratitude for them being together, and for Kyrah emerging from her ordeal, safe and strong. With that, he drifted off to sleep.