Stafford took a protective step toward Charlie.
Alden led the group to the main road, his eyes scanning ahead for any sign that a band of American sailors weren’t welcome. Pensacola was a small settlement with just more than a hundred houses and some outlying farms.
Life for the city’s inhabitants seemed to be going on as usual. Alden saw farmers tending to their crops, women hanging clothes on a clothesline, and children playing. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, save for the burned fort, which stood out like a blemish against the white sands and blue ocean.
The group approached an Indian settlement on the edge of the city. Alden had heard stories of injured and hungry Red Sticks fleeing to Pensacola, hoping for assistance after the tribe’s defeat at Horseshoe Bend. From the looks of it, the group consisted of mostly women and children, and the majority hid away, peeking from their grass-and-mud dwellings as Alden’s crew passed.
“Charlie? What is wrong?”
Alden turned when he heard the concern in Stafford’s voice.
Charlie stood frozen, her face ghostly pale and eyes wide. She trembled all over, shaking her head. “No. No. No.”
“Zere is nothing to fear,” Marchand said. He extended his hand to coax her forward.
Charlie gasped for breath, sinking down to sit on the path. “I can’t. I have to go back to the ship.”
Stafford looked worriedly at Alden. “Captain? I don’t—”
Alden motioned with his chin for the men, including Stafford, to go on ahead. “Give us a moment.” His stomach was ill as he saw the young woman’s panic and understood the reason behind it. This must be the same tribe that had attacked her family and taken her prisoner. No wonder she was afraid to continue. Just seeing the Red Sticks must be an enormous shock. He crouched down beside her, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Charlie, you’re safe with us.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head back and forth. “The ship. I must return—”
“Charlie.” Alden moved around, facing her directly. He lifted up her chin—her very soft, unwhiskered chin—holding her gaze. “I will not let them—or anyone—hurt you. Do you understand?”
Charlie’s lip trembled, and tears fell from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m just . . .” Her voice choked off.
Alden’s throat constricted, and he felt a strange combination of anger toward the people who had hurt her and a swell of compassion for the girl. “You’re afraid. I know. And it’s all right. I’m here.” He gestured behind to the other men who waited ahead on the road. “We’re all here. You’re safe.”
She continued to tremble. “I know . . . I just can’t.”
“Then, we’ll wait until you can.” He sat, knowing it wouldn’t do for him to embrace a crewmember. But if he couldn’t comfort her, perhaps a distraction would help.
“Have I ever told you of the time the Belladonna welcomed an elephant onto her deck?”
She didn’t respond, so he continued. “It was about three years ago. A large cargo ship had run aground on a sandbar near a small island off the coast of Madeira. We were cautious about approaching. The Barbary pirates set traps to capture Christian ships in that part of the world, you see. But we determined the ship was truly in distress and decided to extend our aid.”
Charlie continued to stare at her boots.
“As we drew near, the crew heard strange noises coming from the ship. Shrieks and screams and something that sounded very much like a roar.” He leaned an arm on his knee, twisting toward her. “You can imagine the response in some of the crew. Nye in particular was certain the ship was haunted.” He chuckled and thought he saw a flicker of a smile on Charlie’s lips.
“But we continued on and, upon boarding, discovered the ship full of African wildlife: monkeys, birds, a cheetah, two giraffes, their long necks poking out of the hatch in the deck. There was even an elephant in the hold. The ship was apparently delivering the animals to a wealthy Venetian conte for his personal menagerie.”
Charlie glanced at him, and her shaking seemed to calm somewhat.
“The captain attempted to lighten the ballast and loosen the ship from the sandbar, and the easiest way to do it was to jettison the heaviest cargo—which was, of course, the elephant.”
“He didn’t throw the elephant overboard, did he?” she asked, her voice still unsteady.
“Hardly.” Alden shook his head. “That one animal was worth more than the rest of his shipment combined.” He was relieved to hear her speaking again. “The ship had a special crane with a sling made of ropes and heavy canvas that he’d used to load the elephant onto his ship—ingenious device. So we drew the Belladonna as close as possible, attached the great beast to the crane, and swung the animal over the waves for a visit.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm as he described the operation.
“You are joking.”
Alden grinned. “You should be glad you weren’t cleaning the decks that day.”
Fifteen minutes later Alden and Charlie walked toward the other crewmembers. She was still pale, but her shaking had subsided and she was walking on her own, though her hand clasped his arm.
“I’m so sorry, Captain Thatcher. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Charlie.” Alden turned his shoulders, deliberately blocking her from the view of the village.
“I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.”
They reached the others, and she released her hold.
“Charlie, are you all right?” asked a worried-looking Stafford.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I was just—panicked, I guess. But Captain Thatcher calmed me.” Her cheeks regained a bit of color, and she looked down at her twisting fingers. “I’m sorry I made everyone wait.”
Alden motioned them toward the city, his mood lighter than it had been all day. “On we go, then.”
Chapter 11
Charlotte walked through the city of Pensacola, hardly giving a glance to the Spanish-style buildings with their wrought-iron balconies and arched doorways. She still shook from the attack of panic that overtook her upon seeing the Creek Indian encampment. Her body felt wrung out, and she was utterly humiliated that her shipmates had seen her fall to pieces. But even more upsetting were her muddled feelings when it came to Captain Thatcher.
Her cheeks heated when she remembered his gentle touch and the patient way he’d soothed her fear. His humor, his kindness, his fingers in her hair . . . She glanced up, certain she had a longing expression on her face and hoping none of the others noticed her blush.
Annoyed, Charlotte shook herself. She was acting foolishly, letting her emotions get out of hand. Captain Thatcher thought of her as a boy, treated her as he would a younger brother. That was the extent of his affection for her. Brotherly kindness.
But on her part . . . She sighed then glanced around to ensure nobody had heard her do it. She felt confused. Was she simply reacting in this way because so much time had passed since anyone had shown her kindness? She didn’t think so. Tom and Marchand both treated her well, and she didn’t feel anything more than friendship toward the two of them. What was she to do? She clenched her fists tightly and reprimanded herself. She was not a silly young girl but a woman with a responsibility. She was not simply on an adventure but a mission to find her brother. She would leave the Belladonna and Captain Thatcher behind as soon as they reached New Orleans. And in the meantime she’d keep on as she was doing: perform her duties on the ship and avoid spending any unnecessary time with the man. Perhaps then the feelings would not be so complicated. With her mind made up she felt much better, though a part of her was sad the voyage would end. She had been unexpectedly happy working aboard the Belladonna.
Captain Thatcher led the party up a street lined with palm trees to one of the grander homes in the city. The walls were ma
de of whitewashed stucco and the roof of red terracotta in the Spanish style. They followed the captain past a low wall and along a flagstone path through a nicely maintained flower garden.
The main door made Charlotte think of the entrance to a castle. It was arched and constructed of thick, sturdy-looking planks. Within the door was a small window.
Captain Thatcher stepped up to the door, brushed the dirt from his coat and trousers, straightened his hat, and knocked.
After a moment the small window opened, and a man spoke in what Charlotte recognized as Spanish, but she couldn’t understand the words. Captain Thatcher answered, though his speech was much slower. The window closed, and Nogales whispered to the group that the servant had gone to fetch his master.
Charlotte wondered why Captain Thatcher hadn’t asked Nogales to do the speaking for him. He was clearly more fluent in the language, having Spanish parents.
A moment later the door was flung open and a man with dark hair and a white smile strode through.
“Alden Thatcher! ¡Qué sorpresa!” He clasped Captain Thatcher’s shoulders and kissed both of his cheeks. “I wondered if I would see you again, mi amigo.” He stepped back, and his smile grew even wider. “Your timing is terrible, as usual.”
Alden smiled, inclining his head. “I am nothing if not consistent.”
“Please, enter.” He made an elaborate bow, gesturing for Alden and his party to come inside.
They entered into another courtyard, but this one had a pool in the center, lined with painted tile. A fountain sprayed water into the pool, and a wooden table and chairs sat in a shady spot created by potted trees. Other wooden furniture was arranged around the area, decorated with colorful pillows and cushions.
Along the far side of the courtyard, arches led to what Charlotte supposed were the family’s private rooms. An ornate wrought-iron cross hung on the wall.
As the party filed inside, Charlotte studied the Spaniard. He appeared to be close to thirty years old. A finely tailored coat fit perfectly on his slender body, and on one finger, he wore a golden ring with a red gemstone. His face was handsome, with high cheekbones and dark eyes. Though he acted friendly, Charlotte thought his manner was rather pretentious.
Alden clapped the man on his shoulder. “You look well, Sebastián.”
“Gracias, my friend.” Sebastián sniffed and raised a brow as his gaze traveled from Alden’s hat to the tips of his boots. “You, however . . .” He made a tsk noise and shook his head at Captain Thatcher’s weathered clothes and dirty boots.
Charlotte frowned, not liking the man’s way of making insults sound polite just because he spoke them with a charming accent. Captain Thatcher looked perfectly presentable, especially for a man who’d spent the greater part of the day hiking through a swamp.
The Spaniard glanced at the other members of the crew as if just noticing eight other people stood in his house.
Alden lifted a hand toward the other crewmembers. “Allow me to introduce my companions.”
Sebastián nodded a polite greeting to the men as Captain Thatcher presented them and related their specialty aboard the ship. Charlotte was surprised that, while he introduced the others by their full names, he referred to Paulo Nogales as Paul. She wondered if the captain was just speaking quickly or if he did not want Sebastián to know Nogales was Spanish as well.
The captain introduced Charlotte last of all. He gestured toward her. “And this is Charlie Bower, the newest member of our crew.” Charlotte nodded her head as she’d seen the others do, relieved he’d not called her the swabbie.
Sebastián’s brow lifted when he looked at Charlie. His gaze lingered, but after a moment he turned back to Captain Thatcher. “Alden . . . por favor, do not tell me you are in trouble.”
“Me? In trouble?” The captain put his hand on his chest as if insulted by the implication, but his smile remained. “I am here on business.” He smirked as if the two shared a private joke. “Legitimate business. One of the beams below my deck is damaged, and I have simply come to purchase a new one on the way to New Orleans.”
“Ah, the Belladonna, tan hermosa. You do not deserve such a ship if you cannot care for her.” He made the tsk sound again, and Charlotte became more annoyed with the man’s criticism of the captain.
Sebastián’s expression grew serious and his voice low. “You take a risk coming here, Alden. Americans are not welcome in the city.”
Charlotte’s breath caught.
Alden winced. “I was afraid of that.”
“But, of course, I will not deny hospitality to an old friend and his shipmates.” He waved his hand through the air as if to banish the thought. “Although I would prefer to be less . . . conspicuous. For your safety.”
“And your reputation,” the captain said.
“Sí, naturalmente.” Sebastián maintained his pleasant smile, and Charlotte didn’t like that he said one thing while his expression said another. She was leery of trusting this Spaniard.
Sebastián called out toward the arched doorways, and three men joined them. He spoke to them in Spanish, gesturing toward the crew, and the men nodded their understanding.
“Alden, these men can be trusted.”
Captain Thatcher lifted his chin in acknowledgement, though he watched the men carefully. He glanced at Nogales, and the man gave a small nod.
“I have ordered them to feed your crew and escort them to the lumber mill—by a less obvious route. Once a beam is selected and purchased, at a slightly inflated cost, of course”—he grinned—“they will escort your men safely from the city.” He spoke again to his men and then turned back to Alden. “It is a dangerous time to be an American in Pensacola. Soldiers patrol the streets. It is fortunate you met none on your entrance, but they will not bother your crew with my men accompanying them.”
“Thank you,” Alden said. He glanced at Nogales again, and the man gave another slight nod.
Apparently Sebastián told the truth about the orders he had given his men, but Charlie still wished Captain Thatcher had chosen a different person to do business with. The man was blatantly extorting the captain, knowing they needed both protection and the lumber—things only he could provide.
“Alden, por favor, join me for drinks and tapas. So much time has passed since we last spoke.” Seeing the captain’s hesitation, he continued. “I know you are anxious to return to your ship, but one hour only, and I will personally see you safely to your crew.”
Captain Thatcher smiled. “How could I reject such a gracious invitation?”
Sebastián dismissed his men, and the crew followed toward one of the doorways. When they neared, the smell of food cooking made Charlotte’s stomach grumble.
“Charlie.” Captain Thatcher motioned her toward him. “Remain with me.”
Sebastián looked surprised at the unexpected request but covered it quickly with a gracious smile. He led them to the table, extending his hand in a sweeping gesture. “Please, señores, be seated.”
A woman wearing a wide-necked white blouse and lace-trimmed skirt brought drinks and plates of food.
“Gracias,” Charlotte said to the woman, feeling a hint of jealousy at seeing her thick curls and beautiful clothes. She wondered how different it would be to sit at this table as a lady in an elegant dress and chat with the men.
Sebastián gestured to the food. “Please, eat.”
Charlotte took a piece of toast with a slice of meat and tomato on it.
Captain Thatcher offered another of the plates to her. “What happened here, Sebastián? We saw the fort. Was it the American army?”
Sebastián let out a theatrical sigh, shaking his head. “No, but they were the reason the English destroyed it.”
“Ah.” Captain Thatcher wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “They could not defend it, so they made it unusable to their enemies.”
<
br /> “Sí.”
“It was an invasion, then?” the captain asked.
“Led by General Jackson.” Sebastián took a bite of fruit. “The Americans claimed the English were using the city as a headquarters for arming the Creeks.”
Charlotte’s insides turned cold at the word.
“Were they?” the captain asked.
Sebastián shrugged. “What difference does it make now? English, Americans, Indians, Spanish. One loses track of who is an ally and who is an enemy from one day to the next.” He took a drink from a metal goblet. “In the end the only people who profit are weapons dealers.”
“And lumber mills.” Captain Thatcher gestured with his cup at the beautiful house around them.
Sebastián leaned forward, clinking his cup against his friend’s and grinning. “Sí, people must always build. It is one constant here in the colony. Houses, forts, ships . . .” He nodded toward the captain as he mentioned the last item. “Materials will always be in demand.”
The captain took a deep drink. “This is delicious, Sebastián. Not that I expected anything less.” He glanced at Charlotte and slid a piece of quiche and some fruit onto her plate.
“Thank you,” she said. He was right. The food was delicious. She took another small bite, out of habit, chewing slowly to make the meal last.
“Where is Jackson’s army now?”
“Gone,” Sebastián said. “Hurried off to defend Mobile, or so I heard.”
“The American and English armies invaded Pensacola, fought, destroyed the fort, and then both deserted the city?”
Sebastián gave a wry smile. “Leaving us to rebuild.”
“I am sorry, my friend,” the captain said. “Tell us what happened to the Upper Creeks—the tribes antagonistic to the Americans. Are they still a threat?”
Charlotte swallowed through a suddenly dry throat. She took a drink to keep from choking.
Sebastián set down his cup. “You do not know?”
Alden shook his head. “I’ve only heard rumors. Your information will be more accurate.” He glanced at Charlotte. “Charlie will particularly wish to hear. He had a personal encounter with the Red Sticks.”
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