After years of suffering, Ma finally had peace. Prosperity did not. The journey to Key West was supposed to have solved everything, but instead it had brought sorrow and turmoil.
“Ma, what do I do?” she whispered into the quiet before looking back at the letter.
Her eyes scanned the words, but they jumbled together into nonsense until she reached the very last sentence.
I will marry tomorrow.
A cry burst from her lips before she could stifle it. David had written. He had tried to tell her. He had acted honorably.
The room was suddenly too small. All thought of meeting Elizabeth’s sister vanished. She must see David. She must talk to him. Nothing else mattered. She ran out of the room, past the startled ladies, and out of the house.
17
As was his habit, David spent Sunday afternoon at the work site reviewing the week’s progress and noting what changes and corrections needed to be made on the morrow. His father would be appalled. The Sabbath was a day of rest. He ought to have stayed away from the fort, but he could not abide the usual occupations of the officers on a Sunday afternoon. The families banded together for a large Sunday dinner, complete with children playing ball and other games on the parade ground and married couples sitting in the shade of a canopy.
So instead he focused on work, which was much easier to set in order than the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to undo his stiff reserve.
“Come now, Lieutenant,” Captain Dutton had urged rather halfheartedly, “you don’t see any of us at work on a Sunday.”
“No, sir.” Yet he had still made his apologies, and the captain had let him go.
The idle work site could not revive his spirits, for Prosperity’s pained expression tormented him day and night. After a promising start, he had driven her away. She had teased him like in the old days. Her eyes had sparkled. Then he had to open his mouth. She’d first paled at his refusal to talk about Aileen’s baby. Then he’d compounded the problem by accusing her of lecturing him. What if she had? He deserved it.
He scrubbed his face, sticky from the thick air and ever-present dust.
“Prosperity.” Even speaking her name constricted his throat.
She had meant so much to him, everything, and he had ruined any chance of regaining her trust. She had proven that by running straight into the arms of the good doctor.
He tossed down the pen. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind drifted here and there, untethered to anything solid. Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window at the construction. The most difficult portion, the foundation, was done, and the first level was rising. At this rate it would take years more to complete. Then came the second and third levels. Cannons must be put in place. Permanent quarters built for soldiers and officers. Armories, furnaces for shot, and countless other smaller buildings. Then Captain Dutton had proposed five towers elsewhere on the island. This project would last his entire eight years and more.
Within that time, Prosperity would surely marry. She would gather with friends on a Sunday afternoon to watch the children play. He would still be here, alone. Dampness touched his little finger. Ink. He’d pressed the nib so forcefully that it spilled its ink onto the desktop.
He reached into the drawer for a blotter, and something sharp bit into his hand.
David hauled everything from the drawer to find the culprit. It was in his Bible. He heaved it onto the desk and opened it. The binding cracked, twisting the pages into two disjointed halves. Wasn’t that the case with everything in his life? Broken. Impossible to mend.
Prosperity’s calm gaze looked back at him. The engagement daguerreotype. How nervous she had been, afraid she would ruin the picture and waste his good money. He’d had to console her, telling her it cost pennies when in truth it cost a great deal, but the price had been worth it, for he had carried her with him from Nantucket to Key West.
She had been his rock until he cast her aside. What now?
He reached to turn the plate upside down and then realized the Bible was open to the final chapter of Proverbs.
She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.
Prosperity. He stared at the verse. By chance he had placed her image atop the verses extolling the virtues of the noble wife. If only he had read that chapter before throwing it all away on a night of drunkenness.
He slammed the Bible shut and shoved it back in the drawer. In his youth he’d believed God blessed him and guided his every step. No longer. He had fallen so far that nothing could bring him back.
How fruitless to try to work today. He put away his pens and drawings and left his office.
The soldier on guard bid him a good evening.
“Evening?” Surely it wasn’t that late. David peered west. The sun hung low, but at least an hour of daylight remained. Plenty of time to walk back to the garrison before dark.
Within a few blocks he could hear the lively jigs and chanteys drawing men to the grogshops. Squeals and laughter permeated the late-day air that hung heavy as a cloak over the island. The streets began to take on a different appearance at this hour, transforming from daytime business to nighttime revelry.
David walked past the very grogshop that had wreaked such havoc in his life.
“Eh there, Cap’n.” The sultry voice came from a saucy wench who doubtless intended to lure him into her employer’s establishment.
“No thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am!” She hooted. “I ain’t married.” She grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “I might have something you want, Cap’n.”
David ought to walk away, but something made him pause. Poor Aileen had been in the same condition. He’d tried to rescue her without success. Perhaps this one would leave her occupation if another means of making a living might be found. “I’m sorry, miss, but I am only a lieutenant, not a captain.”
She cocked her head, and the light struck her face. That’s when he realized she was far younger than she’d first appeared. And her tooth wasn’t missing. Rather, her teeth were gapped, making her less than comely to men not deep in their cups. Sorrow swept over him. If only something could be done so women didn’t fall into this terrible trap.
“Lieutenant, eh? Aileen’s lieutenant?”
A chill shook him. “Yes.”
The girl’s gaze narrowed, and she crooked a finger toward him. “Come out back, soldier, an’ I’ll give ye what ye want.”
She pointed toward the alley behind the grogshop. No doubt this is where the ladies made the bargains that their trade demanded. Squalid shacks lined the far side of the alley. He did not care to know what happened inside those rooms.
“C’mon. Ain’t what ye’re thinkin’.” She touched a finger to her lips.
She wanted to talk. The realization made David’s mouth go dry. Even if she was simply after money, he would attempt to dissuade her from the sordid trade. Decades earlier, Commodore Porter had driven the pirates from Key West. If only the military could scrub away the other vices.
He followed her.
She led him into the quiet alley and pressed a finger to her lips.
Obeying her warning, he did not speak, only waited.
“Don Louis,” she whispered after looking around to ensure they were alone. “From Havana. Told ’er he’d marry ’er, but when she went to the docks, the ship was gone. He left without ’er.”
David drew in a sharp breath. “Aileen?”
She looked at him like he was a fool. Perhaps he was.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“’Course ye didn’t.”
Aileen had told him nothing of her life. He worked the question in his mouth before spitting it out. “She knew she was with child at the time?”
“Aye.” The girl’s eyes darted left and right. Apparently deciding no one was near, she leaned close. “When she seen ye, she knew ye’d raise the babe as yer own.”
Though meant as a kindness, the words still
stung. Aileen had used him for her purposes, and those of her child.
“Then she . . .” He could not bear to ask if she’d ever loved the man who’d gotten her in that state.
The girl understood what he needed to know. “She lost ’er head over ’im. We all told ’er he weren’t the kind ta trust, but she thought he’d come back for ’er. She kept comin’ back here lookin’ fer him.”
Those disappearances and late-night excursions. He’d thought she was plying her old trade in spite of her condition, but apparently she’d come here looking for the man she loved. Don Louis. The name didn’t sound right. Spanish mixed with French. The girl might be pronouncing it wrong, but it didn’t matter. At the moment, he only cared about Aileen’s past. “He never returned?”
The girl shook her head. “But another one loved ’er.”
He recalled the drunken man who’d stumbled into their quarters with her. “She loved him too?”
“Naw, but he helped ’er.”
In exchange for . . . His blood boiled. He squeezed his eyes shut against the knifing pain. Aileen had known no bounds. Marriage vows meant nothing to her. She used anyone within reach to accomplish her ends. This man was clearly a drunkard, yet she’d coerced him into coming to their quarters. Why? What did she need from him?
“How did he help her?” He opened his eyes.
The girl was gone.
On a Sunday, David would be at the garrison. Prosperity must see him, must tell him how mistaken she’d been. He had honorably broken off the engagement. She should never have doubted him.
She raced through the streets, letter clutched to her midsection. Passersby stared, as well they might, for she had not donned cap or bonnet. Her hair spilled from its pins. Her chest heaved from the exertion, and her face burned.
These streets did not look familiar. Lively music spilled from open doorways and windows, mingling with laughter and shouts, many in language unfit for a lady’s ears. She had turned onto the wrong street. Four soldiers stumbled toward her, their hats askew and coats unbuttoned. The sort of confidence instilled by spirits raised their voices in slurred boasts.
“Thank ’e fer sharin’ the fruits of yer labor,” the largest of them said to one whose countenance could capture the attention of many a lady.
The four laughed, repeating labor in such a way that made it clear there had been no labor involved at all.
As a whaler’s daughter, Prosperity had seen her share of such behavior, for the taverns crowded as near as possible to the wharves. When her father found one of his men stumbling out of a drinking establishment, he’d grab the rascal by the jacket and haul him back to the ship to sleep it off.
Pa could not protect her today.
She crossed the relatively empty street.
They crossed also.
She turned back.
They cut her off and surrounded her.
“This one’s purty,” the burly one slurred.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She attempted to slip between them, but the burly man caught her arm and squeezed until it hurt. She drew in a shaky breath. “Please let me go.”
“Dun’t ya wanna talk?” His breath reeked of spirits and tobacco.
She stood tall, knowing from experience that cowering only fed a rascal’s appetite for mischief. “I want to go to church.”
That ought to have silenced the men into reverence, but instead it brought guffaws. Three of them crowded closer.
“Ta church,” the short one squealed.
“I’ll take ya ta church,” the balding one snorted.
The brawny man jerked her closer. “She’s mine. I seen her first.”
Perhaps Dr. Goodenow had been right to insist on escorting her. She tried to tug her arm from the man’s grasp. “Please, let me go.”
“Not today.” His rancid breath gagged her. “A girl in these parts is lookin’ fer a man, and this man is lookin’ fer a woman.”
A chill ran down her spine. “I am not that type of woman.”
That only drew laughter.
“As you can see, I’m in mourning,” she stated as calmly as possible.
“I know how ta raise yer spirits,” the brawny man chortled.
It was more than she could bear. No act of will could stop the trembling that seized her limbs. She looked to each man, hoping one had enough integrity to stop this. The three leered at her, and the handsome one made no move to help. With no gentleman near, she must save herself. Lacking her father’s brawn, she could only rely on wits. Pa had often appealed to the men’s better nature or even their relations.
She squared her shoulders and stuck an accusing finger in the burly man’s face. “Would your mother approve of this behavior?”
The man’s grasp loosened ever so slightly. “Me mum is gone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. May she rest in the Lord’s arms.”
Her words had a somewhat sobering effect on the men. The short one stared at his boots. The balding man cleared his throat. The burly man released her arm.
The fourth man, whose darkly handsome visage appeared behind the short man, surveyed her from head to toe. “Too self-righteous, boys.”
“Jameson!” barked a familiar masculine voice. “Urich, Smeech, and Drenth.”
The men shot to attention and stepped away from her.
“Back to the garrison at once.” The lieutenant’s voice carried unquestioned authority.
Prosperity knew she should withdraw, but she could not rip her gaze from David, strong and commanding, not broken as he’d been the last time she saw him. Excitement rippled through her. Then she recalled the letter in her hand and the accusations she’d held in her heart. The thrill of pleasure turned to trembling.
“Aw, Lieutenant,” the brawny man whined. “We didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“If you linger one minute longer,” David snapped, “I will report you to Colonel Stormant.”
The four soldiers scurried away.
That left her face-to-face with the man she’d wanted to see when she bolted from the house. That desire had not taken into account her rude dismissal of him yesterday afternoon.
He did not smile. His eyes were cold as ice.
She would not find forgiveness.
When David spotted his men harassing a woman, he expected to find them arguing over one of the girls who plied their trade inside and outside the grogshops. He’d never expected to see Prosperity.
Her hair had tumbled from its pins. Her skirts were dusty, and she clutched a letter to her midsection. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide.
His hands fisted. If one of his men had hurt her, he would pound him senseless. Jameson should know better than to associate with those three. That no-good Smeech had been closest to Prosperity. He would kill the man.
“David.” It came out of her in a gasp, as if she was more terrified of him than the louts who’d been pestering her moments before. She stepped back.
The blaze inside him died. She feared him. Not the men who had hounded her. Him.
He swallowed. “Did they hurt you?”
“No.” She touched a hand to her hair. “I-I left the house in rather a hurry.”
“You’re alone?” He looked around but did not spot the doctor.
She averted her gaze.
“You shouldn’t walk alone . . . in this part of town.” He amended what he’d wanted to say, that she shouldn’t walk alone anywhere, for Prosperity had an independent streak. She walked Nantucket without fear, but there her father’s reputation had kept ruffians at bay. Here she had no such protection, other than the doctor whose seemingly constant presence thwarted most of David’s attempts to talk to her. “This is no place for ladies.”
“I got turned about.”
“Why are you out at this hour? Dusk will fall soon.”
She bit her lower lip, that painfully familiar gesture that signified uncertainty.
He would give her time. “Allow me to escort you to your destin
ation.”
She lifted her face, eyes brimming, and it took all in his power not to run to her. After the debacle at the social, he must use restraint.
“At the very least, we must leave this area.”
She nodded but did not move to take his arm.
“Where to?” he prompted. “Church? Or a friend’s house?”
She straightened her neck, though she did not look at him. “Point me in the direction of Greene Street, please.”
“In that direction a few blocks.” He extended his hand, hoping she would accept his arm. Instead she seemed to suddenly realize that she still held a letter in her hand and folded it.
“News from home?” he asked.
She paled, and her hand trembled. Surely not more bad news. He searched his memory but could think of no other relative of hers on the island.
“What is it?” he asked. “Has a friend fallen ill?”
She shook her head. “Your last letter. It arrived today.”
His throat constricted and his hand dropped. “You never received it.” He had speculated as much when he first saw her here, but to know she’d traveled to Key West assuming they would wed shoved aside the pain of the last few weeks and replaced it with the ache of what he had done to her.
“Until today,” she repeated.
“I am sorry.” Nothing could erase the pain that the letter must have renewed.
Her lips quivered. “I misjudged you.”
Hope shot through him with an arrow’s accuracy. Then he recalled his blunders. “You had every right. I gave you nothing but heartache.”
She looked away. “Why?”
Such a simple question, yet impossible to answer. He would not speak ill of the dead. For all her faults, Aileen deserved that much. Yet he must answer. Prosperity deserved that much.
Boisterous laughter billowed from the grogshops and reinforced the root of his sin. “I failed.” He swallowed against his dusty, dry throat, but it did not help. “I failed you.”
“We all fail those we love,” she whispered.
“But I tried to make amends once I realized you had come to Key West. Why didn’t you purchase passage home?”
Honor Redeemed Page 17