The Blue Enchantress

by Marylu Tyndall

  She smiled and looked away. “William says I have lost my youthful glow.”

  “William has gone blind.” Hope no longer tried to hide the disdain in her voice.

  A breeze blasted over them, sending the lanterns flickering and shadows crouching across the ceiling of leaves. Abigail entered, her arms full of tattered cloths.

  Kneeling beside Eleanor, Abigail lifted the sailcloth and peeked beneath her bloodstained petticoat. Her face went white, and she raised a tremulous gaze to Hope.

  Terror curdled in Hope’s belly, and once again she was in Portsmouth, this time beside her mother’s bed, holding her mother’s hand as she now held Eleanor’s.

  Eleanor groaned. “I feel so weak.” She let out a ragged breath and turned to Abigail. “Thank you, Miss Sheldon. You both have been beyond kind. I wish I hadn’t been so reserved and had gotten to know you better.” She smiled. “Perhaps we could have been friends.”

  “I am sure we shall be. There will be plenty of time for that.” Abigail cupped her cheek in her hand.

  “You know what the worst part is?” Eleanor faced Hope. She swallowed, and a foggy sheen covered her eyes. “I still love him.”

  Tears burned in Hope’s eyes, and she squeezed them shut, releasing streams down her cheeks. She understood that kind of love just as she understood the heartache of giving it to someone who did not, or perhaps could not, return it.

  Eleanor coughed and struggled for a breath. She gasped. Hope drew nearer, gripping her hand. “Eleanor!”

  Mrs. Hendrick’s eyes focused on the leafy roof, then went blank. Her chest fell, and one final breath escaped her lips.

  Abigail dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.

  “No!” Hope grabbed Eleanor’s shoulders and shook them. “No!” Not again. “Mother. No!” Falling onto Eleanor, Hope embraced her. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Hope.” Abigail pulled her from Eleanor and drew her close, wrapping her arms around her. “Shh, shh.”

  Leaning on Abigail’s shoulder, Hope opened the floodgate of years of sorrow and loss and allowed her tears to flow unrestrained for Eleanor, for her baby, for a brother Hope would never know, and for a mother she never had. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.”

  Abigail planted a gentle kiss upon her head. “Life isn’t fair.”

  ***

  Numb, Hope trudged from the hut, the tiny, cold bundle cradled in her hands. The sultry night air struck her like a wall, thick with sorrow. She barely felt it. She barely felt anything save the agony wrenching at her heart. Crushing her toes into the sand, she peered into the darkness.

  In the distance, flames danced high into the night, circled by a raucous band of pirates flinging chortles and curses and lewd ballads through the air. Enjoying themselves as if two precious lives had not been snuffed from this earth.

  Her gaze moved to five shadowy figures sitting on a log outside the mob of pirates. One pirate, armed with pistols, stood guard over them, yet his attention and his body drifted toward his companions.

  Pressing the bundle against her chest, she started toward the men. Over the sea, a full moon flung sparkling diamonds upon the liquid ebony. The crash of the waves offered a soothing alternative to the boisterous revelry of the pirates, but she didn’t want to be soothed right now. She wanted justice. She wanted revenge. As she approached the log, Nathaniel’s gaze shot to hers, as did Gavin’s. The major lay upon the sand, snoring, and Kreggs and Hanson seemed oblivious to anything save the pirate’s unrestrained festivities.

  She halted before Mr. Hendrick, glancing only briefly at Elise, curled up in a ball at his feet.

  His drowsy eyes widened, and he rose. “’Tis the babe?” He held his arms open to receive the wee bundle.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hendrick. Your son did not survive.” Hope took no care to soften the blow with a sentimental tone. Her only thought was to whisper the ill tidings so as not to disturb Elise.

  “What’s this? What are you saying? My son?” He took the bundle in one hand and peered beneath the cloth. For a moment his expression registered grief and sorrow and perhaps a bit of remorse, and Hope felt a spark of sympathy for him. But then his eyes flashed dark with anger. He shoved the dead child back into Hope’s arms and stormed toward the hut.

  ***

  Nathaniel shot to his feet as Hope turned and marched after Mr. Hendrick. Though he couldn’t make out what she’d said to him, from Mr. Hendrick’s reaction, Nathaniel assumed the child had been stillborn. He deduced from the fury on Hope’s face that a barrel of trouble would soon explode.

  Grabbing Mr. Hendrick’s arm, Hope jerked him around to face her. Her words were muffled, but their effect boomed louder than a broadside.

  “Gone! Of all the—gone where?”

  Nathaniel reached her side as Gavin circled around Mr. Hendrick, taking a stand behind him.

  “The childbirth was too much for her. She is dead.” Hope’s tone was laced with anger, giving Nathaniel pause.

  Mr. Hendrick took a step back, his mouth contorting into an O, yet his face devoid of any emotion. “Dead.” He glanced at the hut and then at the bundle in Hope’s arms.

  Nathaniel’s throat constricted. Mrs. Hendrick dead. Her ear-piercing screams had trumpeted through the camp all day and half the night, but he assumed they were a result of the normal birthing pains. Hope’s expression was drawn, her shoulders sagging—with exhaustion or sorrow? Perhaps both. What she and Abigail must have endured.

  Anger tightened Mr. Hendrick’s otherwise placid expression. His jaw twitched. “Stupid woman! She couldn’t do even this right without killing herself and my son.”

  As if in protest to his scornful affront, a roller crashed on the shore, reaching its foamy fingers toward them.

  Gavin shook his head. “Sink me, man, but you are a heartless beast.” He voiced the sentiment that rang through Nathaniel’s dazed mind.

  “What would you know of matters of the heart?” Mr. Hendrick dismissed him with a wave.

  Hope shoved her face into his. “You dare call your wife stupid when it was your choice to take her upon the open seas!”

  “The woman insisted on traveling with me.” Mr. Hendrick shifted his shoulders. “She insisted on constantly hovering around me.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Nathaniel could not hide the disgust in his voice. “’Tis obvious you did not honor her in her life. But fire and thunder, man, at least honor her in her death.”

  Mr. Hendrick lowered his chin as if pondering Nathaniel’s words. He kicked the sand with his foot and sighed.

  Hope held the bundle closer to her chest and lowered her gaze. “She loved you, Mr. Hendrick.” When she lifted her face, grief pooled in her eyes. “Though I cannot imagine why.”

  The riotous sounds of the pirates’ merriment faded, and the hairs bristled on the back of Nathaniel’s neck as the sound of their boots sifting through the sand took its place. He had hoped they would have been too far gone in their drink to notice the commotion.

  Mr. Hendrick snorted. “You can’t imagine why, you say?” The hint of moisture in his eyes dried into a hard sheen. “Many fine ladies set their cap for me—some in possession of quite a fortune, I might add—before I was forced to take Eleanor as wife.” He raised his dark brows. “How unfortunate for you that you were not as successful as she with your last beau. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have abandoned you to the auction block.”

  The smell of unwashed bodies and rum wafted over Nathaniel as shadowy figures circled around them.

  Hope’s chest heaved. She pursed her lips and took a step toward Mr. Hendrick. Nathaniel got the impression she would have struck him on the face if not for the bundle in her arms.

  Taking her elbow, Nathaniel eased her back, hoping to quell her rage and her tongue before she sparked Mr. Hendrick’s temper further. The man was grieving, and no matter how heartless he seemed, he deserved to be left alone.

  Turning toward him, Nathaniel stifled his own anger and put on h
is most sympathetic expression. “I realize this must be a shock, but you have no cause to insult Miss Hope. Your wife’s death was no one’s fault. It was simply her time.”

  “But it is his fault!” Hope pushed her way toward Mr. Hendrick. His eyes bulged with rage. Bypassing Hope, he directed their fury toward Nathaniel.

  “You could have healed her. You healed this strumpet.” He nodded toward Hope. “But you wouldn’t heal my wife.” His face darkened. “And now she is dead!”

  The words rang ominous between a lull in the waves, and Nathaniel opened his mouth to explain he couldn’t heal anyone without the power of God. But grunts and groans filtered through the mob of pirates, followed by the crunch of sand beneath heavy boots. Captain Poole appeared beside Nathaniel, his hands planted firmly on his waist.

  “Mr. Mason, the man has just insulted yer wife beyond what any man should tolerate. And yet ye stand here and do nothing?”

  “He’s got the heart of a yellow dog, says I,” one pirate bellowed.

  “Yellow blood runs in ’is veins,” another chortled, and the pirates broke into a chorus of insults.

  The captain snapped his fingers to silence his men. “Unless, of course”—his voice took on a sinister tone—“she is not yer wife and indeed a trollop, as the man claims.” Even in the shadows, Nathaniel could see the lust dripping from the captain’s eyes as he gazed at Hope.

  Nathaniel ground his teeth together and glared her way. Would this woman’s unanchored emotions never cease to cause him trouble?

  The apologetic look in her eyes did naught to appease his rising anxiety. He lengthened his stance, knowing he could not appear weak in front of these pirates. Their lives—all of their lives—depended on it.

  “Mr. Hendrick.” He addressed the man in as calm a tone as possible.

  Mr. Hendrick crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Nathaniel, a haughty smirk upon his lips.

  “You will apologize at once to my wife, and to me.”

  Mr. Hendrick’s eyes flickered between Hope and Captain Poole, igniting a flash of terror in Nathaniel. Would he give them away? Surely the man had enough decency not to put Hope in such a precarious position. If he would simply apologize and walk away, the whole matter could be put to rest. But instead he snorted. “I will not.”

  Nathaniel’s heart fell to his feet. “Then you shall meet me at dawn.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” Mr. Hendrick fingered his beard and nodded.

  The pirates cheered, shoving muskets into the air, one of them firing into the night.

  “Since you are the one being challenged, Hendrick, you may choose the weapons,” Captain Poole stated as if he often presided over duels.

  “I choose pistols,” Mr. Hendrick said smugly.

  Nathaniel’s blood froze. He stood a fair chance with swords, but pistols? He had little experience with them and had never been a good shot.

  “Pistols it is!” Captain Poole shouted, then turned to survey his crew. “We have ourselves a duel, men.”

  The pirates cheered. “To the death,” they chanted. “To the death!”

  CHAPTER 24

  The riotous celebration of the duel sent Elise into a frenzy of tears, and the next hours occupied Hope with trying to comfort the little girl. Finally slipping her arms from beneath Elise, Hope sat up and stretched her tired shoulders. Abigail’s deep breathing filled the hut like a soothing chant. Hope glanced down at Elise, relieved to see she had also succumbed to exhaustion. At least for the moment, she was in a better world, a world where her mother was not dead and at dawn her father would not engage in a fight to the death.

  When Abigail and Hope had first broken the sad news to Elise, shock had kept her silent for quite some time. Then, like a sudden storm at sea, anger raged through her, and she searched the camp, demanding to see her mother. Thankfully, Abigail had already wrapped Eleanor’s body in sailcloth and, with the assistance of Kreggs and Hanson, had placed her in the cleft of some rocks down the shore, in preparation for burial on the morrow. With the bloody leaves and cloths removed from the hut and fresh ones strewn in their place, it was as if the dear woman had never existed.

  Save for the little girl lying beside Hope. Elise had her mother’s blue eyes and the creamy color of her skin.

  Hope swallowed against the burning in her throat at the memories of her own mother’s passing seven years ago. Hope had been fifteen, surely more equipped to handle such a tragedy than Elise at only six. Yet the pain of her mother’s death remained as fresh as if it had occurred yesterday. Afterward, her father withdrew into his own shell of agony, withdrew from his friends, withdrew from society, and withdrew from his daughters—especially Hope.

  She brushed a finger over Elise’s soft face, noting even in the shadows how much she favored her mother. Was it Hope’s resemblance to her own mother that had caused her father so much grief, or was it, as he so often said, that she disappointed him?

  Though she tried to shrug off the sorrow, Hope’s heart weighed heavy in her chest.

  A hint of red peeked through the leaves forming the walls of the hut. Dawn approached, and with it, the terror of what Hope had done. Nathaniel would soon risk his life for her honor. Honor. She snorted at the irony and cursed herself for putting him in this position—yet again. No wonder he wished to keep his distance from her. If only she could have controlled her anger. If only she could have kept her mouth shut, Mr. Hendrick would not have insulted her.

  Rising, she brushed the leaves from her gown and emerged from the hut. A light breeze wafted in from the sea, stirring the coals in the fire until they glowed red. Despite the heat, a chill overtook Hope, and she wrapped her arms around her chest. Her eyes ached—from exhaustion, from sorrow, from spending all her energy comforting Elise, and all her worrying on Nathaniel’s fate.

  Where was he now, and what thoughts raced through his mind? Surely he wasn’t sleeping. Snores filtered through the air from the men’s hut and from down the shore where the pirates had given in to their drink and exhaustion and fallen where they’d stood.

  A sliver of yellow floated atop the pink on the horizon, drawing her outside into dawn’s first light. The sound of a male voice drifted to her on the breeze. Turning, she headed toward it, brushing aside tangled foliage as she went. When she emerged onto another part of the beach, the dark shape of a man sitting atop a boulder took form against the pre-dawn glow.

  Hesitating, Hope bent her ear toward him, trying to distinguish the voice amid the roaring surf. It took only seconds for her heart to skip at Nathaniel’s deep, resonating tone.

  She crept toward him, wondering to whom he spoke and more than curious as to what he said. But as she approached, words like God and Father spilled from his lips, and she realized he was praying. Ashamed to be eavesdropping, she stepped back. He turned in her direction.

  “Hope?”

  “Yes.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want?” Annoyance rang in his tone.

  Swallowing, she approached him. His dark brown eyes scoured her as if he were trying to see her in the shadows, but giving up, he turned away.

  “You were praying,” she said.

  He nodded. “I thought it wise, since today I may meet my Maker.” Humor tinged his voice.

  Hope found nothing humorous about the situation. “I’m afraid I have brought misfortune upon you once again.”

  Planting one bare foot on the rock, Nathaniel leaned his arm atop his bent knee and gazed at the sea. “The man was in shock and grieving. He did not need your carping wit.”

  His reprimand stabbed Hope, but she threw back her shoulders. “That he harbors no affection for his wife or for his daughter, you cannot deny.” She spoke more adamantly as anger flared within her. “But that he shrugged off Eleanor’s death so easily was more than I could bear.”

  “’Tis possible he has other things on his mind.” Nathaniel’s jaw twitched. He rubbed his eyes as the wind flapped his linen shirt.

&nbs
p; “Why do you defend him?”

  “I’ll grant you he’s an ill-tempered mongrel, and perhaps his behavior is deserving of our scorn.” He faced her, his eyes glinting with apprehension as well as reproof. “But might I suggest that you would do well not to allow everything that passes through your mind to slip off your tongue without censure.”

  Hope bunched her fists and looked away, but guilt soon smothered her anger. He was right of course. And once again, she’d failed to behave as a lady.

  “How is the girl?” Nathaniel’s expression softened.

  “She cried half the night but sleeps now.” The first twitter of birds drew Hope’s gaze to the vegetation around them.

  “You are good with her,” Nathaniel said.

  A compliment. Hope’s heart skipped, and she gazed up at him. But he turned his face back to the sea, depriving her of his expression.

  “She is a sweet child, undeserving of this tragedy.” Hope shifted her bare feet across the sand. “I also lost my mother in childbirth.” Why she told him that, she did not know.

  Nathaniel shifted on the rock. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I am sure that made yesterday’s task all the more odious.”

  Hope blinked at his compassion.

  “Were you close to her?” he asked.

  “Nay. We often fought.” Hope tugged on a lock of hair.

  “’Tis the way with mothers and daughters, I’m told.”

  “They say we were too much alike—like two stones grinding away at one another.” Hope smiled, remembering how often her sisters would tease her with such sayings.

  Nathaniel looked at her now, and she caught a whiff of his woodsy scent, a scent she’d come to associate with protection and warmth, a scent she would never tire of. “I am sure your mother only wanted what was best for you.”

  Hope wanted to believe that was true. Yet more often than not, she wondered if her mother had ever loved her. Or did she see too much of her own follies in Hope to care for her at all? “I wish I could go back and erase all our silly squabbles. I wish I had time to get to know her better.”