“You doubt me?
“No, no…I’m just surprised.” He tore his gaze from Tobias’s body. “I honestly thought the man would beat his fever and survive.”
“I prayed he would.”
Sam heard the angst in her voice and closed the distance between them. Once more, he gathered her into his arms. “You did everything humanly possible.”
“Did I?” She laid her head on his shoulder.
“Of course—you did that and more. You didn’t leave the man’s side the entire time he was ill.”
“He has no people. He was an orphan, taken into a religious orphanage. That’s why he always helped out with the children…he swore it was the typhus.”
“Well, I still disagree. The man died from those infected wounds on his back.”
Moira’s head moved as if she nodded. “But the rash on his chest…”
“Fevers can produce rashes too.”
“That’s exactly what I thought and Rachel said.” Moira lifted her head. “And here’s another strange thing—”
Sam had trouble concentrating with her face so close to his. All he could think of was leaning forward just a sliver and kissing her delectably sweet mouth.
“Some orphans survived their illnesses. The way I understand it, the typhus is always fatal.”
“Yes, that’s what I heard of it also.”
“Still, I didn’t want Brother Tobias to feel abandoned, and after he lapsed into unconsciousness yesterday afternoon, I sensed he would die.” She locked her arms around Sam’s shoulder blades and it felt quite natural to rest his whiskered jaw against her silky hair. “I didn’t want him to die alone.” She sniffed. “I thought it could be me someday, dying alone, without any…family.”
“Moira, don’t ask me how I know this, but I do. You’ll not be alone in your life.” Was that a nail being hammered into the coffin of Sam’s bachelorhood? So what if it were? Moira Kingsley was the least demanding woman he’d ever met, next to his mother, of course.
She began to cry again and Sam’s heart crimped. “Come, let’s put you to bed.”
“What’s going to happen to Brother Tobias now?”
Sam gave in to the half grin tugging at his lips. “Darling daisy, death is the most that can happen to any man.”
“No, I don’t mean that…”
Sam led her to their cabin.
“I’m referring to his burial.” She paused in the saloon. “He will get a decent burial, won’t he?”
“Of course.”
“Will the crew toss his body overboard?”
“I wouldn’t say they actually toss it. They more or less slide it down the gangway into the sea.”
Moira moaned. “If that’s ever me…”
“Stop that talk.” With his arm now around her waist he glided her forward.
“Just make sure I’m really dead before they...” A little sob broke through. “Well, before they slide me into the water.”
“Moira, you are far past exhausted. Park your thoughts on something pleasant.” Sam pulled back the blanket and sat her down. After removing her leather booties, he lifted her ankles onto the bunk. “Lie down now and close your eyes.”
She sank back onto the lumpy mattress then rolled to her side. Sam heard her softly crying. How did a man handle such a situation? Reasoning with her hadn’t worked.
He blew out a breath and remembered back to what his father did. Surely Mama suffered with such emotions.
Hands on his hips, he stared at Moira. It came to him then. Papa always treated Mama like some cherished possession that he didn’t want to break. Well, then, he’d do the same.
At least for tonight.
Sam stretched out on the bunk beside her, but on top of the blanket under which Moira lay. He touched her hair and rubbed her arm. Within moments he yawned. His eyelids grew heavy. Perhaps she felt as drowsy as he did.
Her crying ceased and her breathing evened. Good, she slept at last.
With his arm slung over her waist, he pulled her close just before giving in to the sleep that beckoned him.
Chapter Fourteen
With only a few hours of sleep behind her, Moira stood with Sam on her left side and Rachel, Anthony, and the rest of the crew at her right. Canvas sails rippled and clapped above as they caught the wind. Hot August sunshine beat down on the ship while a gray chopping sea surrounded it as far as the eye could see.
“We gather together today to lay to rest the remains of the man known to us as Brother Tobias.”
Sailors readied to slide the religious man’s body down the gangplank. Sam and the captain himself had wrapped and buttoned Tobias within a gray muslin sheath. They couldn’t take a chance of rumors of a contagion circulating among the crew. The fever-produced rash on the dead man’s chest was disconcerting. To let it be seen by sailors dressing Tobias’s body might invite rumors which in turn would produce mutiny.
Then, again, it might not, as rashes weren’t uncommon to those suffering with a fever. Either way, Captain Harney wasn’t willing to take a chance.
Moira’s knees felt like gelatin. She turned and hid her face in Sam’s shoulder so she didn’t have to watch the body enter the ocean. Why it bothered her so, she couldn’t say. She knew God’s Word stated that to be absent from the body was to be present with the Lord. The physical body was merely a shell beneath which lay a man or woman’s soul. And Sam said it was purely exhaustion and the fear of drowning which plagued her. Once she’d slept well, the fear would subside.
Sam’s arm held her about the waist and Moira suddenly felt as secure as a fence post despite the anxious rhythm of her heart keeping time with the bobbing ship.
“He longed to emulate the suffering and death of the Savior,” Captain Harney continued, “and, thus, he succeeded, although not by crucifixion, of course. The beating he took sufficed.”
The sounds of fabric rubbing against wood reached Moira’s ears, followed by a kerplunk she wouldn’t soon forget. Only when Captain Harney led the crew in the Lord’s Prayer did she turn back around.
Sailors swept off their caps in reverence, and Moira attempted to concentrate on the spoken words of Scripture. Sam’s steadying arm brought her a measure of comfort, but her mind’s eye saw Brother Tobias sinking deeper into the water, lower, lower, into the depths…
She sucked in a breath and realized she’d been holding hers. Sam’s hold around her waist tightened. Was she losing her ability to reason?
She squeezed her eyes closed. Lord, help me.
The service, such as it was, ended, and the sailors went about their business as usual. Suddenly it all seemed like a bad dream.
“The sun is hot today,” Rachel remarked, shielding her dark eyes. “Moira, shall we spend time together in the saloon sewing? It’s cool down below.”
“I’m afraid I’m putting Moira back to bed.” Sam’s determined tone surprised her and she turned to stare at him. He’d become awfully bossy of late. She’d like to tell him so, but felt so…tired.
“Sam’s right. I need some sleep.”
“Of course.” Rachel gave her a quick hug. “How thoughtless of me. I should have offered to relieve you and care for Brother Tobias one night.”
“Nonsense. You’ve got a crew of men to feed.” Moira smiled at Anthony, who watched the exchange with a spark of interest in his gaze. “Not to mention a growing boy.”
“True enough.”
Applying slight pressure on her elbow, Sam urged her steps forward. He said nothing more until they entered their cabin below deck.
“If you’re not up by mid-afternoon, I’ll awaken you. Otherwise you may not sleep tonight.”
“Thank you.”
He turned to go.
“Sam?”
He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised expectantly.
Moira wetted her lips. “Brother Tobias said he was on his way to help missionaries in the state of South Carolina who have started a church and school in an Indian outpost.”
Sam stepped back into the cabin and closed the door behind him. “Where in South Carolina?”
“Northwest of Charleston. Isn’t that near where you hail from?”
“It is.” Sam placed his hands on his hips. “Did he say what the outpost is called?”
“He didn’t know, but I hoped you would. You see, I’ve been thinking that perhaps I should take his place. After all, there are no such things as chance, luck, or coincidence in a believer’s life. God used you to bring Brother Tobias aboard the Seahawk for a reason. Perhaps it was to lead me to these missionaries and help with their ministry to the…what did you call your mother’s people? The First Nation?”
Sam nodded. “But I hardly think that outpost would be suitable for you. The cabins are made of hand-hewn wood. There are no papered walls. Just logs and clay.”
“I’ve lived in more primitive homes.”
Sam narrowed his gaze. “I think finding a good family for you, one with means who require a governess, would be more suitable.”
“I think not.” Moira looked away and moved toward the bunk. “Besides, my future is not your problem to solve. You’ve made that very clear. When we dock in Virginia you’ll seek to annul our marriage.” She chanced a glance in his direction. “All I need for you to do is point me in the right direction and I’ll go from there—alone.”
“What nonsense.” Sam sent a look heavenward. “You’ll not be happy, living in a rugged outpost. It’s a tough life. One must scrape by, day after day, hunt for food, battle the elements, the rains, the floods, the freezing cold in winter and the extreme muggy heat in summer.”
“You see it as scraping by, but I call that true living by God’s hand. I was raised for such a life since birth.”
“We’ll discuss the matter further, after you’ve had some sleep.”
Moira opened her mouth to reply, but Sam left the cabin so quickly she didn’t get a chance. He closed the door behind him with more force than necessary.
Their conversation had, indeed, come to an end.
Sam found a comfortable spot on the deck and leaned back and watched the stars. They looked sharp against the backdrop of the inky sky. The sails of the Seahawk lay furled, but at the ready in case the wind should pick up. It seemed like an eternity since even a slight breeze had wafted over the vessel. At this rate, he’d never make it to Washington in time to warn President Madison of the British attack on the United States Capital.
But even that didn’t seem as impending as the situation with Moira did.
Sam folded his arms. In the past eight days she’d kept her distance and occupied her days by helping Rachel in the galley and sewing. When Sam managed to catch up with her and attempted conversation, she replied with short answers that invited no further interaction. He should be pleased by that, shouldn’t he? She’d taken his words to heart. He’d said he planned to annul their marriage, and that it was all playacting to cover lies which had worked to both their advantages—or so he thought. But lately his words came back, teasing, taunting, and haunting him. Though he justified his statements with logic, he couldn’t help feeling that once the Seahawk dropped anchor he’d lose Moira forever.
Perhaps he’d already lost her.
Mayhap she’d never been his to lose in the first place, although he couldn’t deny a certain spark between them right from the start. Her small shows of affection seemed to say she experienced the same feelings. It was as if they were meant to be together from the beginning of time. Sam and Moira. Moira and Sam.
Like divine affirmation, a star shot across the sky like a silver bullet in the night. Quite a sight to behold.
A smile twitched his lips, until he remembered his duty to his country. Was it not to be first and foremost in his life? Did he not swear an oath to protect United States interests and learn British plots and foils, then bring back news to President Madison himself? Where could a wife fit into such a lifestyle—with such a duty? The president’s men would call her a liability instead of an asset, of that Sam was sure.
Better to let Moira be. Forget her. Focus on his mission, as inconsequential as it seemed at this very moment.
Sam brought his fist down hard on a nearby wooden barrel. He’d gotten himself in quite the predicament. Duty, on one hand, to his country and, on the other, responsibility for Moira. After all, he couldn’t simply allow her to go headlong into South Carolina, traveling alone and to a village where trappers and all manner of unkempt men stopped to trade with the Catawba. They filled their pockets with coins, only to spend them again at the small saloon and eatery, run by Sam’s relatives. True, if the outpost Tobias spoke of proved to be the same village in which Sam grew up, his brother Asher and his wife would be there. Mama, also. They would look out for Moira’s welfare.
That is, if Tobias’s outpost and Yemassee Village proved to be one and the same, which was doubtful. There were many outposts located west of large cities, and they seemed to net all the riffraff between Virginia and Florida. Sam had seen his fair share come and go for years when he worked for his father’s blacksmith shop and livery. Surely such a band of merry men, as in the days of Robin Hood, could use a good Christian sermon from time to time. The villagers would most likely have welcomed the missionaries as they brought with them a semblance of law and order.
But Sam had no plans to return home. Not now. Not ever. Certainly, he loved his brother and mother, but they wanted him to remain among them and take over his father’s forge. Mama said it was “written in the stars.” Still, Sam refused. He’d had bigger plans for himself. Plans to earn wealth. To live in luxury.
Thus far he’d succeeded.
And then he met Moira.
He churned out a low growl. Now he found it difficult to imagine his future without her.
Sam ceased his stargazing and cast aside his muse. There was time to figure out what to do. No decision needed to be made tonight. He stood and stretched and conceded a yawn.
“Time for bed, Mr. Stryker,” the night watchman called from his perch high above.
“Aye, Mr. Abbott.” Sam gave him a mock salute and heard the fellow chuckle.
A yearning for sleep weighed on him as he made his way down below and through the saloon. But when he tried to enter the cabin he still shared with Moira, to keep up appearances, of course, he found the door locked.
So the chit had locked him out. Fury burned his gut. He clenched his jaw. “Open up this door, Moira. Now!” He cared not if he awakened her, although it occurred to him on more than one occasion that he could find an empty bunk and sleep more comfortably in it than on the floor. Still, he’d never made the move. “Unlock the door. I’ll not say it again.”
“Nay, Sam, I cannot.” Her soft voice sounded as if she stood right behind the door boards.
“Why in heaven’s name can’t you?” He placed one hand on his hip and the other on the doorframe.
“Sam…”
He tipped his head. Something wasn’t right. He heard it in the weak lilt of her voice. “Moira, what’s happening? Tell me.”
“I have a headache, Sam.” She seemed to choke on the words. “It came on late this afternoon.”
“A headache?” He grunted. “Surely Rachel has some remedy for it.”
“Yes, she gave me something, but it hasn’t abated. It’s gotten worse.”
“Open the door.” Sam would not stand here and banter such silliness. Why should a mere headache keep him awake tonight?
“Brother Tobias had a headache, Sam. Remember?”
Her words hit him like a fist to his midsection. Of course. Tobias had a headache for a couple of days and then the fever came on…
“Open the door, Moira.”
“Nay, I do not wish for you to get sick.”
“Too late for that, I’m afraid.” A sort of peace settled over him and he believed he wouldn’t get whatever sickness ailed her. One thing was sure, however, it wasn’t the typhus. It couldn’t be. Sam would never forgive himself for brin
ging that monk aboard if something happened to Moira. Surely God in His goodness wouldn’t allow her to suffer, since she’d seen to the man’s comfort until his death.
“Sam…”
Her voice trailed down the length of the door and then he heard a sound like Moira’s head thumping against its bottom. “Unlock the door so I may help you.”
No reply.
Had she fainted?
“Moira!”
Sam got down on his belly to peer beneath the uneven door boards and saw her lying in a heap, surrounded by her nightdress. Her unbound, sun-kissed brown hair fanned her head.
“Blast it all!” He got to his feet. He could hardly kick in the door with her lying directly behind it.
Kneading his jaw, he gave it a moment’s thought before examining the knob and lock. He may be able to pick it with a hairpin.
“I’ll be right back, my darling daisy.” Would to God she could hear him. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Every nerve taut, he prayed it might be so as he dashed to the Harneys’ quarters in search of Rachel.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam swabbed Moira’s fevered brow. She’d slept relatively peacefully while suffering a headache. Rachel’s herbs and an extra bit of rum in her water greatly helped. But then the fever came and the longer it lasted, the less her chances of survival.
It was going on five days now.
“Get well, Moira.” Sam bent to place a kiss on her overly warm rosy cheek while sorrow pressed in on him. “I’ve been thinking about that first night we met. I’ve concluded that I never would have actually killed you.” The grin that pricked one corner of his mouth felt both amused and sorrowful. “I’ve never killed anyone, save in self-defense.” He lowered his voice. “But that’s between us. After all, I’ve got a reputation to live up to.”
He dipped the rag in the bowl of cool water and wrung it out, then swabbed Moira’s hot skin just as Rachel instructed. He prayed the Almighty would heal her. Ironically, he hadn’t communed with God since Pa’s murder. And yet Pa, an honest man, dedicated father, and devout Christian had perished. Why did God allow such things? A good man died while his murderers walked free. How had it been fair and just?
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