“Aye, Captain. Will you be giving her a job too?” he asked, his toothless grin broad.
The humor Rao offered grated on what little good temperament Jean had gained. “I suppose I could give her yours,” he snapped and then continued walking.
Even reaching the deck and finding a nice breeze in the ship’s sails did not repair his mood. Several more of his crewmen appeared to be waiting for him to leave the brig, as witnessed by the group gathered near the mainmast.
“Whoever was next on the list of opponents at draughts should be advised that Miss Cordoba will be available to best you as soon as she is installed in a proper cabin and fed a meal.”
Though no one nodded or even acknowledged his statement, they all scattered to their posts with smiles on their faces.
Maribel watched the captain go, taking note that he was limping. Whether the cause was the shot Papa fired at him or something else that happened while aboard the Venganza, the result had been that the pirate captain had been harmed.
“Privateer,” she said under her breath.
Captain Beaumont was mighty proud of his distinction as a privateer, and her stating otherwise was something she would need to remedy. Apparently there was some sort of honor among men who acted like pirates but followed the rules of the Letters of Marque.
If she had her favorite book, she might be able to read up on the subject. However, with nothing but quiet this deep into the belly of this ship, she had plenty of time to try and remember what Captain Jones said on the matter.
She leaned back against the wall, the straw making for a soft spot to do her thinking. Back on the Spanish ship, she had shared a cabin with her father but had never felt as comfortable there as she did here.
Papa.
His face came to her, and she banished it just as she had done when she was a young girl. Missing Papa had become so much a part of her life that the word missing ceased to have meaning.
He was the man who married Mama, and he gave Maribel her name. Beyond that, Papa was the man in the painting over the fireplace and the man who caused Mama’s tears when she thought Maribel wasn’t listening.
She had seen him take aim at the captain. Heard him curse when she kicked his leg to ruin his aim as he fired and the African went down in the captain’s place.
Maribel closed her eyes. She would have to beg the African’s forgiveness for causing him to be shot. That hadn’t been her intention. At the same time, she gave thanks that the Lord had spared Captain Beaumont.
For she truly knew in her heart that someday he would be a good man. He had to be, for God always answered prayers.
That’s what Mama told her, and that’s what she knew to be true.
Mama.
Oh, Mama.
A wave of sorrow so deep and dark that she had no name for it or control over it rolled up from some bottomless place inside her.
Mama. “What will I do without you, Mama?”
Pray away the fear.
She tried, really she did. But every word that rose in her heart died before it reached her throat. Though she knew prayers were not useless, at this moment they just seemed impossible.
Mama would tell her to pray anyway, so she did. When she opened her eyes, the big African man who she’d been certain her papa had killed was standing before her.
“Are you an angel?” she said softly as she climbed to her feet. “Because you sure do look real, and I see you’ve got a bandage on your shoulder where my papa shot you, and my mama told me that God heals every wound, so if you’re an angel and you’ve still got need of that bandage, then either my mama was wrong or you need to go back and remind God He forgot to take that wound away.”
Out of words, Maribel stood very still waiting for the African angel to speak. In the Bible, Mary was visited by an angel and she ended up with the baby Jesus in the manger after she rode on a donkey a long way then had to sleep in a barn on straw just like this. Surely the Lord would be sending a different message to her through this angel.
One that didn’t involve donkeys, a husband, or sleeping on straw.
Slowly the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. Then, without saying a word in regard to her question, he began to laugh.
Whether or not the man with the bandage was indeed an angel, Maribel decided this is exactly how an angel’s laughter ought to sound. When the laughter stopped, silence filled the small room.
“Mr. Angel?” she finally said. “I want to ask you to forgive me for what my papa did. He shouldn’t have shot you like he did, although to be fair he wasn’t aiming at you. Though he was aiming at Captain Beaumont, and that was also wrong. But I did try and stop him, and when I couldn’t, I hit his leg and he got mad at me so I ran and hid in his cabin, but I saw he still shot you anyway, so I’m very, very sorry.”
“Little one,” he said gently, his voice so deep and beautiful, “I am no angel. I am just a man, and a flawed one at that. But you need to learn right now that the sins of your father are his alone. Do you understand?”
She studied his brown skin and eyes the color of the dark coffee her grandfather loved, and then smiled. “I suppose, but if I had been able to stop him, then you wouldn’t have that bandage.”
He nodded and seemed to consider her statement. “That is true, but if you had been able to stop him from taking that shot, who is to say that the next one might not have killed someone? You and I will never know the answer to that question. Only God knows, and we cannot possibly know everything He knows.”
“That’s what my mama says too.” She pushed back a thought of her mother and the big Bible that filled her lap as they read it together. “So if you’re not an angel, then who are you and why are you here?”
“Israel Bennett is the name I am called on this ship.”
Her eyes widened. “You got to pick your own name? Captain Beaumont told me that wasn’t allowed.” She paused to think about her conversation with the captain. “But he also told me I couldn’t be on his crew because I disagreed with him, and I guess he’s right because when I read the book about pirates that is my favorite, all the captains insisted that everyone do what they said. So since I told him he was wrong about something and didn’t do what he said, I think I understand why he told me I couldn’t be on the crew.”
Israel Bennett nodded. “It is important to follow whoever God has put in charge of you.”
“Unless what he is doing isn’t right?” she said.
The big man’s expression softened. “You’re a very wise person, Miss Maribel. If you ask me, you’ve got a fine name and ought to be proud of it. What purpose would it serve to change your name just to become a member of this crew?”
She thought about the question then offered one of her own instead. “What purpose did it serve you?”
“Ah well,” Mr. Bennett said as he nodded. “My new name kept me and the captain out of trouble.”
Maribel shifted positions and looked past him to where Mr. Rao seemed to be trying to hide from them. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” he said gently, “and I hope you never do.” His face brightened. “But right now I need to get you out of here. Did you bring anything with you?”
She shook her head. “I had a book with me, but I dropped it on the deck of the Venganza. It was my favorite. The pirate book. But maybe the captain would be happier if I didn’t have a copy of that book, what with the fact he seems particularly sensitive to the use of the word pirate on this ship.”
“Would that happen to be The Notorious Seafaring Pyrates and Their Exploits by Captain Ulysses Jones?”
Again her eyes widened. “Yes. How did you know?”
Mr. Bennett chuckled. “Because I’ve read it. Twice. Now come with me and let’s get you out of here.”
I’ve read it twice too,” Maribel said as she followed Mr. Bennett out of the cell. “And part of a third time until I lost it on the deck. I might have finished reading it more times than two, but I loaned it to William Spencer
so he could practice his reading.” She stopped short. “How is William? Is he faring well as a crewman?”
“Hasn’t been long enough to say for certain, but I do believe he’s going to make a fine ship’s doctor.” He nodded toward his shoulder. “The lad helped our Mr. Connor to patch me up, so I’m told.”
“A doctor?” she said softly. “I had no idea he possessed doctoring skills. Although, there was quite a good chapter on medical attention at sea in the pirate book. I suppose he may have taken an interest in the study of medicine by reading that chapter.”
Mr. Bennett took her hand and started her progress down the corridor once again. “Or, he was assigned the job of doing what Mr. Connor told him and he did it.”
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I would guess that’s the correct answer. It pains me to say this since I have been the one teaching him, but I suppose I could learn something from William Spencer.”
“Considering what I’ve heard, I’d agree, Miss Maribel.” He nodded toward the corridor ahead. “Now follow me or you’ll get lost. And remember you just decided you’d follow orders from now on.”
“Yes I did, Mr. Bennett, but I feel like I ought to warn you about me. See, what I decide to do and what I turn out to do is not always the same thing. So if I don’t follow orders very well right now, I would like you to know I will only get better at it the longer I keep trying. I’m working on it, but I’ve got a long way to go.”
Again he chuckled. “Miss Maribel, you and me both. You and me both.”
Rocking at anchor in the warm turquoise waters of Havana, Jean’s ship was taking on supplies for the trip back to New Orleans. The time had come to lay low for a while.
Jean walked down the sandy street in the direction of the town square. If anyone could help him with the problem of what to do with Maribel Cordoba, it was Rose McDonald.
She spotted him before he saw her, and hurried to greet him with a warm embrace. “Welcome back, love. Have you changed your mind about sweeping me off my feet and marrying me?”
He laughed at the joke, an old one but one that never ceased to bring a chuckle. Though Rose was a beauty, she was twice his age and the widow of a former crewman.
“You’d not have me and you know it,” Jean said. “However, I do have a favor to ask. It concerns a situation I find myself in that is in need of your assistance.”
Rose gave him a serious look and then nodded toward her home, a cottage perched on the edge of the hill overlooking the harbor. “Come in and let’s talk about this, shall we?”
Jean followed her inside and then produced a heavy bag of coins from his coat. “I have a business proposition, Rose, but I want you to think carefully before you accept it.”
“What is it you want me to do?” she said as she studied him carefully.
An hour later, the talking was done and it was time to introduce Maribel Cordoba to her new home. Rather than tell her what he intended to do, Jean coerced Israel into bringing the girl to Mrs. McDonald’s cottage for what she believed was a tea party.
“Just us girls,” Mrs. McDonald said as she shooed the men out the door.
“You will take good care of her,” Israel said. A statement, not a question.
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. McDonald said softly. “I shall treat her like my own daughter.” She turned her attention to Jean. “You have my word she will be treated well.”
Those words were little comfort when he and Israel returned to the ship without Maribel. Ignoring the silence of his crew, Jean stalked to his cabin and slammed the door with a resounding thud. A short time later, a timid knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” he said and then looked up to see Israel standing in the door. “The ship is fully loaded up and ready to sail, sir.”
He took note of Israel’s woeful expression and decided to ignore it. “Weigh anchor and head for New Orleans then.”
Israel did not move from the doorway. Rather, he appeared to be considering what to say or perhaps whether to say anything at all.
“Will there be anything else?”
“There would be, yes,” he said slowly. “Are you sure this is best, leaving the girl here? I know you can vouch for Mrs. McDonald, but is it the best thing for the girl to be raised here in Havana? And should we not have said good-bye to her? Seems wrong to just walk out the door as if we were coming back then sail away.”
He felt the same way, but his position as captain would not allow him to admit it to Israel. Or perhaps it was his fear that if he did admit such a thing, he would be forced to go fetch the girl and haul her back on board.
“Wrong?” he said instead.
“Nothing, sir,” he said. “I’ll give the order.”
“Thank you, Israel.”
It did not escape Jean’s notice that his second-in-command slammed the door a little harder than necessary. Nor did he miss the four solid days of silence his crew offered him on their sail back to New Orleans.
Finally, Jean could condone the silent protest no longer. He called a gathering of the entire crew and then climbed the quarterdeck to speak to them when they had assembled on the deck below.
“Let any man who would challenge my decision to leave the girl in a safe home in Havana rather than subject her to the rigors and dangers of sailing with us step forward and speak up.”
The startled crew gaped and a few even laughed as one lone sailor broke through the line of men and presented himself to the captain. “I offer my challenge, sir.”
The youth was small in stature and wore a pair of trousers that had been made for a much larger man. A thick leather belt appeared to be the only thing that kept the threadbare garment in place. The lad’s dirty muslin shirt was knotted at his waist, and a length of blue muslin covered his head.
“Draw your weapon, sir,” the small voice squeaked as he held a stick of wood aloft.
Jean stared down at the angry young man and tried not to laugh. “Do I know you, lad? Perhaps you were misinformed as to how we conduct business on this ship, so I will take your obvious youth and inexperience into account.” He allowed his gaze to travel across the men assembled on the deck, and then he returned his attention to the boy. “Whomever vouched for this cabin boy and is responsible for bringing him aboard, please silence him now.”
Jean waited, but no one came forward. “All right, then. What do you wish, boy? Shall we duel to the death with pistols, or would you prefer to feel the bite of my cutlass?”
Before the impudent youth could respond, William Spencer stepped in front of him. “This is none of your concern, young man,” he told the new recruit.
With a swift move of his hand, Spencer pulled the length of muslin off the youth’s head, revealing fiery curls that could only belong to one person. The crew began to applaud.
Maribel Cordoba faced him with a broad smile on her face and then bowed deeply. “Now can I be a pirate, sir? If I swear to follow your orders from now on, that is?”
“How did you get here?” he demanded, ignoring her questions and the cheering crew.
Her pale face held the innocent expression of a child at play. He noticed the crescent-shaped wound was on its way to healing.
“I told you I wanted to join this crew,” she said as the men crowded around her. “Mrs. McDonald was a nice lady, but I am much happier here. This is where I belong, not in Havana.”
If esteemed Widow McDonald had taken his money knowing she had no plans to keep her end of the bargain, he would be very disappointed. He was usually a decent judge of character, and he’d truly thought she would raise the girl as her own and not let her slip away like this.
“Does Mrs. McDonald know you’re here? And I’ll have the truth.”
“Oh no,” she said. “Miss Rose thought I was waiting for her at the mercantile. We had gone there after tea, and she let me pick out sweets while she ordered new dresses for me. I slipped out while she was looking at unmentionables for herself.” She paused and shrugged. “She told me to ma
ke myself busy, so I did.”
Peals of laughter erupted among the men. Jean grabbed the girl by the elbow and relieved her of her weapon.
“Back to work, all of you,” he shouted at the crew. Immediately the men scattered.
Dragging her back to his cabin, he seated her on a chair and glared at her. “How did you get aboard? I will have the name of the man or men who brought you back aboard my ship, and I will have those names now.”
“It was none of them,” she said. “I did it myself.”
“Your friend William Spencer helped you, didn’t he?”
“He most certainly did not.”
Jean paced the room, sorting through possible scenarios for how the girl got past his men. Then he stopped in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “No, he’s a rule follower. I don’t see him amenable to breaking the rules for you.”
“Nor would I ask that of him.”
“So,” he said as he gave the matter more thought, “was it Rao? He has a certain fondness for you. I warrant he would gladly do your bidding if you asked him to bring you aboard without my knowledge.”
“I told you, I did it myself. I climbed into a barrel of silk cloth that bore a label with your name on it and hid myself inside. It was quite comfortable, and I did fall asleep for a short time, but that is how I ended up back aboard this vessel.”
Jean let out a long breath. He knew the barrel to which she referred, for it was meant to be a gift for his stepmother, long considered his mother, and sister. To think the girl rode onto his vessel in that barrel was almost funny.
Almost, but not quite, because someone allowed her to climb into that barrel. Someone else missed finding her when he inspected the barrel’s contents. He had an idea of who that someone was.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
He paused. “I’m not sure if I do or if I do not. Where did you get the clothes you are wearing?”
“I found them myself,” she answered proudly. “I just looked around the hold until I found something appropriate to my new life. A privateer cannot be seen parading around in a dress.”
The Pirate Bride Page 5