Rather than enter through the front door, she skirted the O’Malleys’ house and entered from the rear. Her room was just inside. Here the shade granted a measure of coolness. She tugged at the ribbon beneath her chin, still upset by the doctor’s insistence on the supremacy of science. The ties knotted. Frustrated, she pulled the bonnet off and sent her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She tossed the wretched bonnet on her bed. The knots could be dealt with later. Now she needed to find calm.
She sank to her knees beside the bed.
Even when Ma was terribly ill, she insisted that one’s knees were the pathway to God. One morning Prosperity had found her shaking from the cold while kneeling beside her bed. How Ma had managed the strength to crawl out of bed mystified her. She’d intended to chide her for such a foolish action, but Ma’s fervent prayer had brought tears to her eyes. Instead of asking for healing, Ma had prayed for her daughter to grow in faith and confidence.
Think first of others. Ma had urged that more times than Prosperity could remember.
“Who, Ma?”
The whispered plea met no response.
Prosperity lifted the Bible from the chair beside her bed and opened it to several different places. Some days the words spoke clearly. Today they muddied and swirled like dirty wash water.
Which man did God intend for her?
She tried to think through biblical examples, but many of the marriages were arranged. Abraham had sent a servant to a far-off land to get a wife for his son Isaac. The servant prayed for a sign, and God gave it at once. If only He would answer her so clearly.
She closed the Bible, no closer to an answer than when she’d left the doctor.
Perhaps Elizabeth could help. She knew Prosperity’s dilemma and did not promote one man over the other. Others, like Mrs. Cunningham, voiced their opinions freely, but their advice had failed to dim her love for David.
She sighed. Her mind was hopelessly tangled unless Elizabeth could make some sense from it.
Her friend had a visitor. Prosperity had heard the murmurings of conversation when she first entered the house. They were probably in the parlor. Since the nursery was empty, little Jamie must be with them too. Surely the guest would leave soon, since the supper hour approached.
Despite Elizabeth’s assurances that Prosperity was always welcome to meet her friends, she usually kept to her room. She hadn’t the lively temperament of her friend and knew little of the goings-on about town. She had always been a homebody, content among family and close friends, preferring solitude to the confusion of large gatherings.
Still, just this once, she would approach the parlor and accept the introduction to one of Elizabeth’s acquaintances.
The floorboards creaked as she edged forward. She hesitated outside the room.
“Is that you, Prosperity?” Elizabeth called out. “Do come in.”
Having received the invitation, Prosperity stepped into the room and immediately halted.
A tall, strikingly beautiful Negress stood in the center of the room with Elizabeth at her side. They appeared to be looking at one of Jamie’s tunics. At their feet, little Jamie played with a slightly older boy who must be the Negress’s son. Both women looked up at her.
“I’m sorry.” Prosperity backed away. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”
Was Elizabeth hiring new help? But then why would the woman bring her little boy? And what had happened to Florie? Prosperity wasn’t accustomed to the ways of those who could afford servants, never having had any herself, but she doubted few employers wanted the servants’ children running about their home.
“Not at all. We were just admiring your handiwork on Jamie’s tunic.” Elizabeth glided toward her with outstretched hands and the welcoming smile that always made her feel like a dear friend. “It’s simply too beautiful to use.”
“But I meant it to be used. I can make another.”
Elizabeth brushed aside her worries. “Come in and meet Anabelle. I have been talking on and on about you, but we seem to never cross paths, what with your work at the hospital. Prosperity, this is Anabelle, my dear sister.”
Sister? Elizabeth’s sister was colored? Prosperity’s jaw dropped.
Anabelle extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Jones.”
The woman spoke with the gentility of a wealthy heiress, not at all like Florie. Prosperity scrambled to gather her wits before she made a fool of herself. She shook Anabelle’s hand. “I’ve heard much about you.”
Anabelle returned a tight smile. “But not my color, apparently.”
“Goodness!” Elizabeth cried. “Forgive me. I never thought to explain that Anabelle is my half sister, as well as my dearest friend. We shared everything as children.” Her eyes glistened. “Still do.”
Their close bond was obvious even to an outsider. “I never had a sister.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I didn’t think I did either. Not until two years ago.”
So much seemed to have happened at that time, but Elizabeth did not explain. Prosperity tried to wrap her mind around the fact that the two openly admitted kinship. That sort of thing was generally stuffed under the carpet, even in the North. She never dreamed to see such an open display in the South.
“You’re free?” The thought slipped out of Prosperity’s mouth before she could stop it. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked such a thing.”
Neither woman appeared disconcerted.
“I am free,” Anabelle stated in a rich voice very different from Elizabeth’s.
Prosperity looked from one to the other. The sisterly resemblance could be seen in their height and noses, but it wasn’t obvious enough that a casual observer would notice. An awkward silence stretched for seeming minutes but was probably only a few seconds before a sharp rap on the front door drew their attention.
“I’m not expecting anyone.” Elizabeth looked to Prosperity. “Are you?”
Prosperity shook her head. Every bit of her irrational feelings longed for it to be David, but how could it be after the way she’d treated him? Momentary anger had cost her any chance of reconciliation.
Florie hurried down the hall to answer the door. Prosperity crossed to the window, hoping to spot the caller. She pressed against the glass, but the lush vines blocked her view.
“Anxious to see someone?” Anabelle asked.
Prosperity stepped away from the window. It would not be David, could not be. Based on the steady flow of Elizabeth’s friends and acquaintances, it wouldn’t even be someone she knew.
A man’s voice rang through the hall. “I must speak at once to Mrs. O’Malley.”
Prosperity knew that voice.
19
Clayton noted Elizabeth O’Malley’s surprise when she burst into the hallway and dismissed the maid. After all, he had just joined her for tea yesterday.
“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.” He closed the door behind him.
“No bother. It must be urgent business. Did you wish to see Prosperity?”
“Not this time.” He removed his hat. “I seek your assistance.”
Elizabeth’s half sister drifted into the hall, her son on her hip. “I should be heading home.”
Clayton knew the former slave’s story, though he had never met her. “If you can spare a minute, you might know someone who could help.”
He had both women’s attention now.
“I need to find a wet nurse willing to take a newborn into her home.” He considered how best to broach the sticking point with Elizabeth’s sister present. “The infant is of mixed blood.” There was no kinder way to state it.
Neither of the women blanched, as he had suspected would be the case. The sister was mulatto. The two were close. Their husbands had worked together for many years.
Elizabeth puzzled a moment. “Wouldn’t Marnie know who has lost her baby?”
“She is ill, I fear, and isn’t in her right mind.”
The sister looked at him sharply. “Fever?”
“She claims cholera, but all the symptoms are not yet present.”
“We shall pray for her,” Elizabeth stated in a tone that accepted no fear. “Any illness is difficult to bear in such heat. May our Lord heal her fully.”
The sister nodded.
Clayton did not believe that prayer cured anyone, but it comforted some, especially women, so he said nothing to contradict them. “The boy’s father will pay. He is in rather desperate need, since he is not allowed to take the boy into the garrison.”
Something flickered in Elizabeth’s eyes. “He is a soldier then.”
“Is—is it David?” The tremulous question came from Prosperity, who stood framed by the parlor doorway, Elizabeth’s son in her arms.
Clayton hesitated to bring Prosperity into close proximity with the lieutenant. On the way here, he had debated the repercussions over and over, but in the end decided the welfare of the child must take precedence. Perhaps under the microscope of daily contact, her childish infatuation with the lieutenant would fade.
“It is David, isn’t it?” Prosperity breathed, stepping closer.
He nodded.
Elizabeth sprang into action. “I have enough milk for two, and we can supplement it with sweet milk.”
Prosperity’s eyes widened. “Here?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Together we will be able to watch him. Perhaps Anabelle might sit with him from time to time.”
“B-but should we?” The agitation was spelled out clearly on her fine features. “Won’t it mean . . . ?” She didn’t need to finish. Everyone knew this meant increased contact with the lieutenant.
Clayton saw his plan falling into place.
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Elizabeth said firmly. She focused on Prosperity. “One can’t make informed decisions on any matter without hearing all sides.”
Prosperity blanched, and her reply came out in a whisper. “I suppose you’re right.”
Clayton saw an opportunity to both ease her fears and strike a blow against the lieutenant. “I doubt the father will stop by often. The last wet nurse indicated he visited just once in the two weeks she had the boy. In fact, she had to send word for him to fetch Oliver.”
“Oliver,” the ladies said in unison.
“That’s the name he gave the boy,” Clayton confirmed.
Prosperity wavered, her lip quivering. “The name we chose.”
“You and David chose the baby’s name?” Elizabeth asked.
Clayton winced at the use of the lieutenant’s given name.
“We talked. Long ago. He wanted to name our firstborn after my mother. Olivia if a girl, and Oliver for a boy.” Her hand rose to her throat. “We hoped to have many children.”
This intimacy was almost more than Clayton could bear. He had to turn the tide. “There is something I must point out before you make a decision.”
He gained the attention of all three women.
“The lieutenant was asked to take the boy from the garrison due to a possible case of yellow fever.”
Prosperity gasped, but Elizabeth stood firm. “He is an infant. The fever is mild in children, and Rourke and I have already had it.”
“We must consider Miss Jones,” Clayton pointed out.
Prosperity squared her shoulders. “I am not afraid. The Lord will see us through.”
“Then all is settled,” Elizabeth said. “Bring us little Oliver.”
As Clayton closed the door behind him and stepped off the veranda, he wondered again if he had made the right decision.
David had managed to talk Mrs. Walters into showing him how to diaper the baby. The messy process nearly made him retch, but at least little Oliver stopped bawling once he was swaddled in a clean cloth.
“Men,” Mrs. Walters had harrumphed as she demonstrated how to line up and secure the cloth so it would stay in place.
David struggled to concentrate. His mind wandered to the dilemma he found himself in. It seemed no one on this island would accept a mixed-blood baby, yet he could not bring the boy back to the garrison.
He moaned. “What am I supposed to do?”
Mrs. Walters looked up sharply. “Pay attention.”
He shook his head. This wasn’t just about diapers. “I can’t care for an infant.”
“Any fool can see that. You need a wife.”
“That is not simple to do.”
Mrs. Walters harrumphed again. “Seems to me you had no trouble the first time.”
That was true, but Aileen had come to him. Prosperity ran from him. “It can’t be just anyone. She must adore children. She must be loving and kind. Calm, gracious, and thoughtful.” He’d just described Prosperity. “Even so, we would still need a wet nurse.”
Mrs. Walters clucked her tongue. “Trouble, trouble. You could ask one of them men with darkies if they won’t take him on for a bit.”
“Never.” The line between freeman and slave could easily blur. David would not lose Aileen’s child. He could promise her that much.
“Then you got yourself a problem.” She handed the boy to him.
He sighed. “Thank you for taking care of Oliver.”
“I cain’t feed him.”
“I understand.”
“My milk’s drying up.”
“I understand.” It might be the only thing he understood.
It was too soon.
Prosperity paced the hallway. She wouldn’t have agreed to do this if she hadn’t learned David named his son Oliver.
She closed her eyes and imagined again the picture she had painted of their life together. She and David would share a small whitewashed house with shutters and a trim little porch. She would chase the children from the kitchen while pulling the roasted turkey from the oven. David would insist on carrying it to the table, where the glowing faces of their six children eagerly awaited the feast.
A shaky breath could not calm her nerves. That fantasy would never exist. She no longer lived on Nantucket Island, nor was she likely to ever return. David had married another and now had a son to raise. And he had named him Oliver.
In the face of that and Elizabeth’s courage, she had agreed to take care of the little one. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault that his father had broken her heart. He was innocent.
Think first of others.
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Pacing the floors?” Elizabeth asked from the nursery where she was feeding Jamie.
“No, I was thinking of my mother’s advice to consider others first.”
“Sound advice.”
And yet it carried hidden danger. David. Illness. Loss.
Prosperity bit her lip. “You’re not afraid of fever? For Jamie, I mean?”
Elizabeth set Jamie in his cradle and joined her in the hall, softly closing the nursery door. “I meant what I said. We are all in God’s hands. Of course I’m concerned, but no parent can protect her baby from everything. We can only do our best and trust the rest to our Lord.”
Prosperity blew out her breath. “You’re right, and I’m worrying about nothing.”
“You’re thinking of David.”
Prosperity looked away, but Elizabeth would not let her go.
“You must face him sooner or later. Until you talk through everything, you will never have the answer you seek.”
Prosperity knew her friend was right, but . . . “It’s difficult.”
Elizabeth squeezed her arm. “The most important things in life are often difficult. Think of those long, hard days caring for your mother. Difficult.”
“And yet precious. I would not wish away a single moment.”
“You are strong, Prosperity. Whatever happens, remember that you have friends here who love you and will stand by you.”
A lump formed in her throat, but she hadn’t time to swallow it before the dreaded knock sounded on the door. Elizabeth hurried to open it.
David had arrived.
The golden-haired woman from the social opened the door
wide. “Welcome, Lieutenant. Dr. Goodenow has told us everything. I am Mrs. Elizabeth O’Malley, and we are delighted to help.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He could not have asked for better. Every movement and inflection exuded Southern grace and civility. She might not live in the largest house in Key West, but this generosity placed her higher in his estimation than any society belle. “I will pay, of course.”
She chuckled as she ushered them in. “No recompense is required. We are blessed with more than enough and wish to share with those in need.”
Then her response was urged by Christian duty. Mere weeks ago, that would have embarrassed him, but desperation drives a man to accept any help extended. He only wondered if she knew Oliver’s parentage. One look and she might retract the offer.
He pushed the blanket from Oliver’s face. The boy had settled down enough to gaze with interest at the strangers around him. David watched Mrs. O’Malley’s reaction.
She smiled and stroked the boy’s cheek. “What a lovely child.”
He breathed out in relief. Not one trace of prejudice crossed her lips. “I intend to raise him once he’s weaned.”
She took David’s statement in stride. “Of course you do.”
He had to be blunt. “I don’t want Oliver treated differently because he has darker skin.”
Sadness crept over her face, and he thought he heard a strangled gasp from the shadowed doorway behind her.
Mrs. O’Malley addressed his concerns. “You may be assured that he will receive the same care as my son. You see, my sister is mulatto. I am all too aware of the cruelties society inflicts on those who do not fit their narrow qualifications for acceptance.”
He must trust her.
She took Oliver and pressed a hand to his forehead. She then nodded at the doctor. “No fever.”
Why did everyone think Oliver was feverish? “He is not ill.”
She smiled softly. “Of course he isn’t.”
The doctor shook his head. “It is too soon to tell. Symptoms might take a week to show.”
Panic clutched David’s abdomen. The doctor had found someone to care for Oliver, yet now he was trying to drive her away. Would he lose this kind woman’s help? “Oliver is not ill. He has never been ill, and he’s had no contact with any of the men at the post. There’s no need to be alarmed.”
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