Righteous anger welled up inside him. “What can we do?”
“We must pray.”
“I have been.” He shot to his feet and fisted his hands.
“Pray like they did in the Bible.” Abigail rose and gripped his arm. “James, the brother of our Lord, said that if anyone was sick among us, we should have the elders pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord.”
The wind began to howl outside, flapping the loose leaves of the hut.
“I have no oil, and I am no elder.”
“You have water, which I’m sure God would bless, and I’m not so convinced about the other.” Abigail released him and brushed the hair from her forehead.
Nathaniel snorted.
“What harm could it do?” Her voice held a challenge.
Nathaniel glanced at Hope. Her lips had turned a bluish gray, her chest pitched as she struggled for each breath. Sweat glistened on her skin. His palms grew sweaty, and a metallic taste spilled into his mouth. He was afraid. Afraid to pray for the healing of another woman. Afraid he would fail again.
A burning sensation ignited in his hand. A warm tingling. He shook it, trying to stir his blood, but it grew in intensity.
His throat went dry.
Abigail stared at him expectantly.
Nathaniel closed his eyes. Lord, is this Your will?
No answer, save a soft whisper floating on the breeze. “ Believe.”
Dropping to his knees, Nathaniel dipped his finger into the bucket and traced a cross on Hope’s forehead. “In the name of Jesus, I command you, Sickness, to leave this woman!”
His shout echoed against the green walls, pounding through the moist air like the sound of a judge’s gavel.
Hope didn’t move. The wind ceased howling outside, and silence descended over the hut like a shroud. The lantern flickered. The crickets silenced, and Nathaniel gaped at Abigail. Instantly, the heavy presence fled the hut. The bristling over his skin eased. His muscles relaxed, and the stink of death dissipated, leaving the smell of moist earth and leaves in its wake. The insects resumed their chorus outside as the wind danced once again through the leaves covering the hut.
Wide-eyed, Abigail scanned the enclosure, then smiled. “Thank God!” She clapped her hands.
Nathaniel laid the back of his hand on Hope’s forehead. Searing hot. He nudged her, but she did not awaken. “She’s still sick.”
“Did you not sense it? Something powerful happened here.” Abigail’s voice rang with excitement.
Truth be told, Nathaniel had felt something, not in the physical sense, but somewhere deep inside of him. Perhaps it had just been wishful thinking.
“Call me if she wakes up.” He rose, pushed the flap aside, and stormed from the hut.
His prayers had failed once again. And once again, a woman he cared for would die.
CHAPTER 18
Clank, cling, chime, clank. The jarring sounds jolted Hope from a deep, peaceful place. She peeled open her eyes. Glittering patches of sunlight danced across a dome of green like dancers flitting across a stage. A light breeze, laden with salt and the sweet nectar of flowers, feathered over her. She breathed deeply, allowing the air to fill her lungs, then ease back out. The breath of life. She was alive.
Pressing her hands onto the leaves on either side of her, she struggled to rise but leaned back on her shaky arms as a wave of dizziness threatened to plunge her back onto her bed.
Clank, clink, clank. Male laughter blared above the pounding of waves.
To her right, a damp cloth sitting beside a bucket of water brought visions to her mind of angels holding vigil throughout the long hours of the night. A plate of half-eaten mango near the leafy wall evoked memories of Abigail tenderly coaxing the sweet fruit into Hope’s mouth.
Raising a hand to her chest, Hope dropped her eyes to her ragged petticoat, whose worn fabric did not leave much to the imagination, and then to her gown draped over a branch strung across the ceiling of the hut. Heat blossomed up her neck and onto her face. How much of her state of undress had Nathaniel seen as he had ministered to her?
Cling. Clank.
With great effort and after several attempts, Hope rose to her wobbly legs and managed to slip into what remained of the once attractive green muslin dress she’d borrowed in St. Kitts.
St. Kitts. Just thinking of that nefarious port sent a shiver through her. Yet for some reason, the harrowing day she’d spent there seemed an eon ago.
Clank, clink, clank. If not for the accompanying laughter, she would think they were under attack. Pushing aside the flap of sailcloth, Hope stood in the doorway and leaned on the bamboo pole forming the front brace of the hut. The trill of myriad birds announced her entrance even as sunlight caressed her face with warmth. The glint of flashing steel drew her gaze to Nathaniel and Mr. Keese hard at swordplay upon the shore. Sweat glistened on their bronzed chests in the morning sun. Beyond them, the glittering turquoise sea billowed toward the island as if it hadn’t a care in the world. Nathaniel twirled the tip of his sword over Gavin’s midsection and offered some taunt Hope could not make out. Gavin chuckled as he dove to the left, spun around, and met Nathaniel’s blade with a clank. Back and forth they parried, their feet spitting up sand as they shuffled across the beach. Nathaniel moved with the confidence and ease of a man who had been weaned on the sword. The muscles in his arms bulged as he dispatched Gavin’s latest attack and offered him another mocking challenge. Hope’s breath quickened. A sudden lightheadedness struck her, and she raised a hand to her brow.
“Hope!” Abigail entered the camp, carrying a bucket of water. Her bright smile reached her eyes with a sparkle. “You should have called me to assist you.” She set down the bucket and clutched Hope’s arm, bearing her weight and helping her to sit on a fallen log at the center of camp.
Returning her smile, Hope struggled to catch her breath. “You’ve done far too much for me already.”
“How are you feeling?” Abigail placed a hand on her cheek. “The fever is gone. Thank God.”
“I feel a bit feeble.” Hope dug her toes into the sand. “How long have I been sick?”
“A week.”
A week? The past few days jumbled together in a blur that seemed at times only minutes and at others as long as months.
“Let me get you something to eat.” Abigail started to rise, but Hope placed a hand on her arm. “How can I ever thank you, Abigail? I don’t remember much, but I do remember you—your soothing voice, your gentle touch. You seemed always to be at my side.”
Abigail’s eyes moistened, and she patted Hope’s hand. “’Twas my pleasure. But I wasn’t the only one who tended you.”
Laughter and another clank drew Hope’s attention back out to the beach, where Nathaniel sprang to the left just as Gavin thrust his sword into the vacated spot.
Abigail followed her gaze and smiled. “I’ve not seen Mr. Mason so distraught. He barely slept during your illness and refused to leave your side for more than a few minutes at a time.”
Shock tightened Hope’s jaw. Fleeting memories flickered across her mind—Nathaniel’s firm grip on her hands, his scent of wood and tar drawing her from her sleep, his whispers of encouragement tantalizing her ears. Were the memories real? Or had she conjured them from her feverish dreams? “I should think he’d be pleased to be rid of me.” She let out a tiny chuckle that belied the statement’s stab in her heart.
Abigail’s eyes sparkled with playfulness. “Rid of you? Why, he was struck with grief at the thought of losing you.” She leaned toward Hope. “I do believe the man fancies you.”
Hope flinched, even while trying to ignore the sudden thrill surging through her. Abigail’s tone carried naught but elation, not the jealous sting Hope would expect from a woman who had set her affections upon the same man. Hope studied her friend. The more she became acquainted with Abigail, the more Hope realized how virtuous she was. And what a high standard she set. And how unattainable that standard was
becoming for Hope.
“Preposterous.” Hope chuckled. “The man is a saint. He cares for everyone.” And he deserves someone like you. Someone who won’t tarnish his reputation and break his heart.
“Hmm.” Abigail grinned as if she withheld a grand secret.
Kreggs scampered into the clearing and scratched his mop of gray hair. “Well, I’ll be a two-legged swine. Look at ye. Up and well after we all thought ye were knockin’ on the gates of Hades.”
Hanson followed on his heels and tossed an armload of coconuts onto a growing pile. His wary gaze wandered over her, and he turned to Abigail. “There be no more fever?”
“Nay. God has healed her.”
God? Hope could not fathom that possibility. Fresh water, salty air, bark tea, the love and care of others, perhaps. But God? Save her? She couldn’t imagine Him wasting His time or His power on someone like her.
The clanking stopped. Nathaniel held the tip of his sword at Gavin’s neck. Mr. Keese dropped his blade to the sand and shrugged his surrender. Laughing, Nathaniel lowered his sword and faced camp. His gaze locked upon Hope, and a slow smile curved his lips as he trotted toward her, Gavin following quick on his heels.
Hope’s heart lurched in her chest. She brushed aside the tangled curls from her face and straightened the drab lace at the bodice of her gown as he entered the camp. Thrusting his sword into the sand near a cassia tree, he stared at her as if she were a lone spring of water in the middle of a desert.
Gavin plopped down beside her. The smell of musky sweat met her nose. “Miss Hope. ’Tis wonderful to see you up and looking so well.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the playful gleam in his blue eyes and the upturn of his lips. “Thank you, Mr. Keese.”
“Gavin. If you please. I believe being stranded together on an island calls for the tossing aside of formalities, don’t you, Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel shoved a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “Indeed.”
Something intense burned in the brown depths of his eyes, forcing Hope to once again tear her gaze from his. Unfortunately, it landed on his thickly corded chest still flexing from exertion, then it drifted to his breeches clinging to his narrow hips. Fingering the lace at the edge of her sleeve, she shifted on the log and focused her attention on the white foam atop the incoming waves. She chided herself for the direction of her thoughts. Not the behavior of a true lady.
“I owe you my heartfelt thanks, Mr. Mason,” she said without looking at him. “I understand from Abigail that you spent many hours caring for me.”
“It pleases me to see you well again.” At the sound of his deep voice, scattered memories flashed through her mind, bits and pieces of intimacies she shared during her feverish trance—intimacies about her sisters, her father, her dreams. Horrified, she scanned the shoreline, wondering what other things the fever had loosened from her tongue. A flush settled over her face as if she’d been doused in hot water. The sensation intensified when she caught sight of Major Paine striding in their direction. Gavin shifted an apprehensive glance between her and Nathaniel.
“Allow me to get you something to eat, Hope.” He hopped from his seat and plucked a shiny green guava from a pile of assorted fruit, then tore off a piece of dried fish hanging over the fire.
Hanson broke a stick on his knee and tossed it into the flames.
“What baffles me is how she sits here to tell the tale. I ne’er seen anyone with marsh fever rise from their bed again.”
Marsh fever. Fear bristled the back of Hope’s neck.
“God is more powerful than marsh fever, Mr. Hanson.” Abigail straightened her skirts and folded her hands upon them. “Nathaniel simply did what God’s Word instructs. He anointed Hope and prayed the prayer of faith over her.” Her dauntless tone attempted to cast all doubt away. Yet a frown marred Gavin’s brow, echoing the niggling questions burrowed deep in Hope’s heart.
For if what Abigail said was true, if God was real, and if He loved Hope enough to heal her, it would change everything.
“Two hours later, the fever left her.” Abigail sent an admiring glance toward Nathaniel as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea, and a nod of intimate understanding passed between them.
Gavin snorted as he sat beside Hope and offered her the guava. “Perchance this smacks of some divine touch, perhaps not. I care only for the outcome, and that is to see this beautiful lady restored to full health.” He winked at her, his flirtatious ways temporarily soothing her pangs of jealousy. Accepting the fruit, Hope took a bite. The sweet pulp burst in her mouth and slid down her throat like a soothing balm. “Thank you, Gavin.” She admired the sharp cut of his jaw and his hawklike nose, but against her will, her attention drifted back to Nathaniel.
Kreggs’s forehead puckered. “Ye healed her? Ye aren’t some kind o’ witch, are ye?” He took a step back.
Nathaniel raised a palm. “Nay. You speak of the wrong source of power. And I didn’t heal her. God did. I was only His instrument. Though I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t truly believe God would perform the miracle.”
“Well, I can’t deny me own eyes.” Hanson rubbed them and squinted toward Hope once more as if making sure of what he was seeing.
“Some do recover from marsh fever.” Gavin bit a piece of fruit and dragged his bare arm over his mouth, wiping away a trickle of juice.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but none this quick. And ’tis a rare thing.” Kreggs rubbed his chin.
Abigail smiled at the aged sailor as Hope took another bite of the delicious fruit, then plopped a piece of fish into her mouth. Her stomach began to complain at the onslaught of food.
Hanson sank onto a boulder and stretched his lanky frame. “It do make me wonder about God. Whether what I heard about Him is true.”
Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder at Major Paine, who shouted a greeting, and the lines on his face tightened. “If you’ve heard He is a good, loving, and almighty God”—he faced Hanson with a flash of his brown eyes—“then you’ve heard correctly.”
Setting her half-eaten fruit aside, Hope tugged upon a lock of her hair, unable to deny both the lingering effects of the deadly fever on her body and the erratic memories her mind had formed as she approached death’s door. She closed her eyes against an eerie sensation. Death’s door, indeed. Yet in the depths of her unconsciousness, she had sensed an evil beyond the barrier. A hungry, malevolent force, greedily waiting for her to pass beyond this world.
“I daresay, Miss Hope, so good to see you well again.” Major Paine’s nasal tone snapped Hope from her dismal musings. He stood at the outskirts of their camp, one hand at his waist and an insincere leer upon his lips. “Mr. and Mrs. Hendrick and I were most concerned.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat, and Gavin coughed into his hand.
“Why, thank you, Major, I am touched by your kind regard.” Hope nodded but did not return his smile. A breeze tossed the coils of his hair about one shoulder of his tattered red coat, where a gold epaulet once sat. The missing ornament seemed to set the major off balance as he leaned slightly toward his other side.
“Very good. Very good, then.” The major perused Nathaniel with disdain. “I perceive you and your friend here”—he wagged a cursory finger toward Gavin—“were partaking in a bit of swordplay.”
“Your perception is exceptional, Major.” Nathaniel smirked. “’Tis best to keep one’s skills sharp. A man never knows when a sword might be drawn on him.”
Hanson chuckled.
Tossing the pit of his fruit into the foliage, Gavin rose to his feet. “What do you want, Major? More food?”
The major stretched his neck and gripped the white baldric that crossed his red coat. “I have come to inform you we plan to set off the day after tomorrow. Our raft is complete, and we are confident we shall be able to sail safely to Puerto Rico.” He shot Nathaniel a haughty glance.
“I bid you bon voyage, then.” Gavin waved him off, eliciting chuckles from Kreggs and Hanson.
“By the time we received your wise opinion, it was too late, I’m afraid.” Major Paine shifted his stance and swatted away a bug. “Never fear. We have tested her, and she floats quite well.”
“In these shallow waters. But out at sea is a different matter.” Nathaniel pointed toward the ocean and huffed out his frustration. “Even if you make it to Puerto Rico, how do you hope to procure passage to Jamaica from those loyal to Spain? I beg you one last time, Major, to wait for a ship to arrive.”
Hope blinked at Nathaniel’s kindness. Even after all the major’s insidious affronts, Nathaniel still cared for the man’s fate.
The major snorted. “We shall be delivered from the sea by one of the many merchant ships that sail the route to Jamaica. But if we do land on Puerto Rico, I am not without my resources, I assure you.” He gave Nathaniel a supercilious grin. “I’m a man of action, Mr. Mason. That is what separates you and me. You choose to wait. I choose to act.”
“Let him go, Nathaniel.” Gavin spat. “We’ll be better off without him.”
“What of Elise and Mrs. Hendrick?” Hope asked. The mother and child lay nestled in the shade of a tree. “Surely you aren’t planning on taking them along on such an arduous journey?”
“Mr. Hendrick will not part with his family.” The major shrugged. “Besides, we have every confidence in the sturdiness of our craft.”
She bit her lip. Poor Elise. She had been frightened on the merchant brig. How much more terrified would she be on a tiny raft? And Mrs. Hendrick would certainly fare no better with her nausea upon waves that would seem much larger by comparison. But it was the look of concern on Nathaniel’s face that sent a wave of dread washing through Hope.
Abigail laid her hand firmly upon Hope’s. “Major, I implore you. There is no sense in risking your lives. I am confident we shall be rescued soon.”
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