All her knowledge of healing plants could not conquer this foe. The doctor said the disease must run its course. A man’s survival depended on his strength. And God. That’s the part the doctor ignored.
She slipped to her knees and held on to David’s shaking hand. “Almighty Father, please heal him.”
David thrashed, tossing his head from side to side. The compress flew off. She retrieved it from the sun-dappled blanket, dipped it into the cool water, and placed it again on his hot forehead.
She felt helpless. Utterly and completely helpless. As she had been the day she learned her father’s ship had gone down with all hands. Unwilling to believe God would take her pa, she had run to the harbor and then the dunes looking for him. For months, even after the funeral, she had scanned the horizon for the familiar silhouette of his whaling ship. It never returned. Then her mother had slipped from the bonds of this world into the next, her skin translucent, each blue vein visible. The last sigh had been so peaceful that Prosperity couldn’t believe her mama had left her.
Even then, there had still been David. Until she learned of his marriage, hope had held fast in the stormy sea. She had clung to God’s Word, praying that He would make good from all this. Then David’s wife had died, and Oliver had arrived in Prosperity’s arms. David had begged for forgiveness, just as she’d hoped and prayed, but she had been too caught up in bitterness to grant it. Now she might lose both Oliver and David.
“Heal him, Lord.” It was the most she could manage.
Many survived yellow fever. Elizabeth and family, for example. Yet others perished. Elizabeth’s mother. Many newcomers whose graves bore testament to their suffering.
Would she yet again plead for a life that would end up being taken? Would God leave no one untouched?
She turned the compress. David’s forehead burned, and his eyes stared at nothing. He hovered on the edge of a vast abyss. At any moment he might fall, and she could do nothing to prevent it. He was in God’s hands. To Him alone could she plead.
She knelt again. The wood floor made her knees ache, but what was that compared to the suffering David endured? Nothing.
“Spare him, Father. Please?” She drew in a shaky breath, painfully aware of her ineffective pleas.
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Must David die for her to know true love?
She buried her face in her hands. “Forgive me for clinging to bitterness, for not extending forgiveness.” She had wallowed in her own pain, unable to see David’s. How great it must have been! Yet he had never once spoken ill of Aileen. He had never once accused her. He had taken on her child as his own. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry. You gave so much, and I didn’t see it.”
He could not hear her now, could neither brush away the tears nor condemn her. She would gladly have taken either rather than this silence that could stretch unto death.
“Grief will not heal him.”
She looked up to see Dr. Goodenow standing at the foot of the bed. She did not wish to speak to him. Not now. “I was praying.”
“Dr. Rangler insists you leave.”
As usual, he ignored her faith. Why had she not given that greater account in her decisions? Faith stood as a chasm between them.
She removed the compress and swept a curl from David’s temple. “My place is here.”
“I can’t convince you.” It wasn’t a question.
She shook her head.
“I thought as much.” He paused. “You still love him.”
She sucked in her breath, shocked that he had seen what she had tried so hard to hide.
“You always have, but I was too much a fool to see.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Forgive an old man his dreams.”
She rose then, tears building behind her eyes. “I wanted to make it work.”
“I know. But it never would have.” His gaze shifted to David. “I hope he survives. That little boy needs a father and a mother.”
The first tear crested her lid and dribbled down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, my dear. It was a glorious fantasy. For two short months I felt like a young man. You gave me that gift, Prosperity. Never regret it.”
Then he put on his hat and walked away.
The army surgeon would not hear her arguments. Once Dr. Goodenow left, he insisted Prosperity follow. He would have the guard remove her if necessary.
The parade ground was quiet at the midday hour. She supposed the men were either dining or at the fort. David’s project. A pang rippled through her. He took such pride in his work and agonized over every failure. He’d often written of his quest to find brick of better quality. He would have accounted for every item. The charges against him made no sense. David would never steal from the project he loved.
Fearing she would not be readmitted to the garrison if she left, she strolled the grounds. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the officers’ quarters last time. They looked welcoming with their verandas and many windows. A ball at the bottom of one set of steps marked the presence of children. She blinked back tears and walked on.
Her steps slowed as she rounded the larger buildings that must be the soldiers’ barracks. Ahead, in the shadow between buildings, four men played cards. Judging from their whooping and hollering, gambling was involved. One man, dark-haired and handsome, rose from the makeshift table and chairs created from crates and shoved something into his pocket.
Prosperity recognized that man. He had been one of those who’d accosted her when she wandered into the wrong part of town. David had rescued her, but the incident still sent a shiver down her spine. She backed out of sight, painfully aware of how vulnerable she was. David could not save her today.
She hurried back toward the officers’ quarters. The families there brought a measure of safety. A fragment of memory drifted past. She wracked her mind. What had it been?
Soldiers streamed out of what must be the dining hall, ready to return to their labors.
Labor! That was it. The men on that terrible day had congratulated the dark-haired man on sharing the fruits of his labor. The way they’d said it made it perfectly clear that he had not labored at all. Were they talking about gaming, or were these men the real culprits behind the thefts? If the latter, the dark-haired man was the leader. What was his name? David had shouted it with anger, and the man had responded with contempt. At the time she’d thought the dark-haired man behaved like a child, like Jamie when he didn’t get his way. Jamie. That was it. The man’s name was similar. Jameson.
Her pulse pounded. Perhaps she could clear David’s name.
Since neither the commander nor the surgeon would allow Prosperity to return to David’s bedside, she had no place to go but the O’Malleys’ garden, where she could stay away from the family.
Clouds had filled the skies during the time she waited for and then spoke with Colonel Stormant. The colonel had listened politely and promised he would question the men. She prayed he did.
The leaden skies turned afternoon to dusk. Rain was on its way, just like the day Ma passed. Ma used to call rain “tears from heaven.” On that day, heaven had wept with Prosperity. Not again. Please, Lord, not again.
She would have tarried in town, but spitting raindrops sent her to the O’Malleys’ house to seek shelter in the cookhouse.
By the time she arrived, the darkened skies shrouded the home in shadow. A carriage waited at their gate. Few carriages traversed Key West. The impending rain must have convinced the visitor to employ his or her conveyance.
She slipped through the gate, intending to skirt around the house to the back garden. Lamps burned in the parlor, revealing Elizabeth, an infant in her arms, in what appeared to be a heated discussion with someone who stood out of view. With the doors and windows open, she could hear the visitor’s strident demand.
“I will not take no for an answer this time.”
Reverend Latham had returned. Her stomach churned. S
he must protect Oliver, but where was he? Did Elizabeth hold him, or was he in the nursery?
She slipped off her shoes and tiptoed onto the veranda. Through the open door she saw Florie step out of the nursery holding Jamie, her eyes wide. That meant Elizabeth held Oliver.
Prosperity crept along the veranda to the open floor-length windows.
Inside the parlor, the reverend faced Elizabeth with the determined stance Prosperity well recognized. Elizabeth’s jaw was set, and she clutched Oliver to her chest. Rourke was not there.
Prosperity’s pulse raced.
David’s father had come for Oliver. If Elizabeth gave the baby to him, they would never get Oliver back. Only women stood between Reverend Latham and David’s son. He clearly expected them to give in. Prosperity could not.
“Stop!”
All eyes turned to her, but she focused on Reverend Latham alone. “You cannot take Oliver.”
Displeasure drew his countenance into an ugly expression. “I can and I will. I have the legal authority right here.” He waved some papers.
She looked to Elizabeth for help, but she could give no answer. Prosperity turned back to David’s father. “This baby does not need to be uprooted again. He needs stability. He needs love.”
“He will get a proper home,” the minister stated.
“He has a proper home.”
Reverend Latham approached Prosperity at the open window, allowing Elizabeth to slip behind him toward the parlor entrance.
The man’s gaze was so fixed on Prosperity that he didn’t notice. “A child needs a good Christian home—”
“Which this is,” Prosperity said.
“With his kind.”
A sudden chill made her tremble, but Prosperity was not ill. She was angry. Rourke had mentioned this possible motivation, but she had not truly believed it. To hear David’s father speak it aloud infuriated her.
“I am his kind.” She punctuated each word with a shake of her index finger. “We are both human beings set on this earth by our heavenly Father. Oliver is the child I always wanted.”
The reverend did not relent. “I am sorry for what you endured at my son’s hands, but this is not your concern.”
“But it is. I love Oliver, and I love David.”
“Irrelevant.” He whirled around to face Elizabeth. “Hand the boy over.”
Elizabeth turned that unflappable smile on the reverend. “As I said, you must wait for my attorney to arrive.”
That must be where Rourke went.
Reverend Latham shook the papers in his hand. “This is a judge’s orders. You don’t need an attorney to read that I have been granted custody of Oliver Latham.”
“But what about your son?” Prosperity gasped. “Don’t you care about him?”
The minister’s blue eyes bored through her. “Why should I care about a criminal?”
“He is innocent!”
Elizabeth seconded that. “In this country a man is innocent until proven guilty.”
“No,” Prosperity said. “You don’t understand. He is innocent. I overheard soldiers boasting about another soldier’s illicit gains. He could be the culprit. The commander is questioning him and having his quarters searched. He assured me that one way or another, the truth will come out.”
The reverend’s righteous indignation deflated a little more with each statement.
“But I do not need proof to know David is innocent,” Prosperity continued. “He is not capable of dishonor even in the worst of circumstances. You see, he protected someone who harmed him.” She swallowed against the tears. “He would not see her honor destroyed even though it cost him his.” The last barely squeaked past the lump in her throat. “Is that not the very definition of honor?”
The fight had gone from Reverend Latham, but he refused to surrender. “Even if David is proved innocent, he could not raise a child. My son is a soldier. The army is his calling. Without a wife, he could not possibly keep an infant.”
“If David lives and will still have me, he will have a wife.”
Elizabeth gave a gasp, immediately followed by a brilliant smile. She kissed Oliver’s forehead. “As it should be.”
Reverend Latham, however, stared in disbelief. “What do you mean, if he lives?”
“As I tried to tell you, Reverend,” Elizabeth said, “your son suffers from yellow fever.”
That shook the minister. “Is he very ill?”
Prosperity nodded. “But I place my hope in the Lord that David will recover. I love your son, Reverend Latham, and always will. Now, what will you do with those papers? Will you support your son and grandson, or will you heap more grief upon his shoulders?”
His hand trembled.
“Either way, I will not stop loving them.” The words seemed to flow from someone else, a woman confident and certain, and the sensation was exhilarating. She looked David’s father in the eye, no longer afraid of his imperious gaze. “If you take Oliver away, I will search for him the rest of my days.”
He looked down, his shoulders bowed. “I wish to see my son.”
27
David heard her. Somehow through the memories and images swirling in disorder, he heard Prosperity’s cry.
She loved him.
She wanted to marry him.
All he’d ever wanted would come to pass. If only he could get out of this deepening pit. But something pulled him down into the darkness. Taunting, insisting what he’d heard was not real.
He gulped for air and drew in nothing.
The darkness suffocated like a blanket pressed over his head. He tried to push it away. Tried with all his might, but he was too weak. It would smother him, and he could do nothing to stop it.
He tried to cry out for help. The words formed in his mind but refused to pass his lips. They were so dry. So terribly dry. His eyes would not open. More people spoke, but he could not make out a single word. He strained to hear, and the voices faded away.
The temptation to give in nibbled at his fingers. But if temptation existed, so too must a way out. Did not the Holy Word say so?
Help me!
The cry echoed in his mouth and nowhere else.
Yet he began to sense someone at his side, someone holding him steady, pulling him up inch by inch.
“Look up,” that person seemed to say, though he heard nothing.
Above streamed a brilliant light like the rays of the midday sun. Suddenly from darkness to light. He blinked, blinded, and squeezed his eyes shut.
“The fever has broken,” a man said.
A hand cupped his forehead.
“Praise the Lord.”
That from the sweetest voice he’d ever heard.
Elation surged through Prosperity, cut off the next moment by a thought. Dr. Goodenow had mentioned a lull. Had that already passed, or was this the critical moment? “Will he survive?”
Dr. Rangler hesitated. “It is not yet certain. If the symptoms do not return within a day or so, he will recover.”
Then this was the lull. Prosperity smoothed the damp curls from David’s forehead. “I will remain with him.”
The surgeon started to dissuade her but ended up shaking his head. “All right, but only until nightfall.”
“I have no intention of leaving his side until he is recovered.”
“This is not a private home, Miss Jones,” the surgeon snapped. “This is an army hospital, subject to regulation. You will leave.”
“Colonel Stormant will grant my request.”
The surgeon growled. “Then get that permission. In writing.” He stormed from the room.
David’s father, standing on the other side of the bed, shook his head. “He ought to realize by now that you will stop at nothing to get your way.”
“To gain what is right,” she corrected him.
He nodded soberly. “Will you grant me a moment alone with my son?”
Though she hated to leave David’s side, a father was entitled to time with his son.
“Do not fear, Miss Jones. You have shown nothing but love for my son and grandson.” His throat bobbed as if struggling to say more, but he did not.
His grandson. Not some nameless, unconnected child. His.
Tears rose as she stumbled out of the room and into the ward with its handful of patients. Between last night’s confrontation and this morning, Elizabeth revealed all that had happened when Reverend Latham appeared at the house. He had been shocked at first by Oliver’s appearance, but that surprise did not alter his course of action. In fact, it seemed to reinforce it. Rourke had indeed gone to fetch Mr. Benjamin, leaving Elizabeth alone to fend off David’s father. The tide had turned the moment Prosperity arrived and the reverend realized how much she loved little Oliver.
Still, Reverend Latham had not relinquished his claim to Oliver. This very moment he might be forcing the issue with a weakened David.
She leaned against the wall of the ward, eyes closed, praying for reconciliation between father and son.
The isolation room was no longer guarded, the commander having found proof of Private Jameson’s dealings with the merchants and shippers in town, as well as a few items in his trunk. David was free, his rank and honor reinstated, but none of that mattered if Reverend Latham still intended to take away Oliver. Though fear clutched at her exhausted mind, she must trust in God’s plan. She must have faith.
Prosperity grasped the locket. It still contained a lock of David’s hair. It needed a lock of Oliver’s hair.
Would David still want to marry her?
She had been overwrought when she revealed her heart to David and presumptuous when she told his father that they would marry. What if he could not forgive her constant refusal? What if she had hurt him too much, pushed too far?
The door to the room opened. Reverend Latham stepped out. He looked different. His shoulders weren’t quite so straight, his back not quite so stiff. Red-rimmed eyes met her gaze.
“You may return. I have said my piece. Good day, Miss Jones.” He nodded and left.
Honor Redeemed Page 27