“Fair enough. Your grandfather has anticipated your reluctance and has provided this as proof.”
He shuffled through the documents until he retrieved a letter that bore a red seal adorned with what appeared to be her grandfather’s coat of arms. His expression solemn, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales handed it to her.
Maribel accepted the letter and tucked it away with her book, refusing to even look at the handwriting on the outside. Not with this stranger watching her.
“Thank you, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales. I will read this and give it the consideration it deserves.”
If her response flustered him, the stranger did not offer any indication of such. “Yes, all right. Might I then let you know that I will be sailing tomorrow on the tide and I wish you to join me? Your family has been most encouraged that I have been able to find you and are very much hopeful that I can bring you home to them as soon as possible.”
Your family.
Maribel shook off the strong urge to think the man’s search might have culminated with her. Instead, she took a deep breath and allowed the reality of the situation to sink in. This very kind man had mistaken her for someone else. Yes, that was the likely scenario.
And yet he knew her name. Knew Mama’s name, though she could not vouch for the string of ancestors he quoted in relation to her.
Along with all of this, he offered hope that the people she had mourned so many years were alive. It was too much.
“Thank you,” she managed. “I will give the matter serious consideration, but I do have an allegiance to this orphanage.”
“I do understand.” He returned his spectacles to his nose. “However, I will need an answer before I sail. And should you decline to accompany me, might I request a letter in response to the one you’ve tucked away? Your mother and abuelo would then at least have some measure of comfort in knowing you have been found and are alive.”
Her heart lurched.
Somehow Maribel managed to keep her dignity intact as she responded in the affirmative and then walked slowly out of the room. She managed to continue to maintain that dignity until she reached the hedge of avocado trees.
There the temptation to run toward the beach and cast herself into the surf almost overpowered the good sense the nuns had taught her. Instead, she straightened her spine and walked past the avocado trees with only the quickest of glances at the sea beyond.
“Gaff-rigged schooner to the northeast,” she said almost without realizing the words had escaped her lips.
A gaff-rigged schooner was not his vessel of choice, but today it was Jean-Luc Valmont’s vessel of convenience. From his post at the wheel of the ship he called the Lazarus, Jean-Luc spotted the old convent and orphanage, a landmark he had used many times before to navigate his way into port.
Not the port where ships of the line rested anchor. That was Port Royal over on the island of Jamaica. Rather, he pointed the schooner toward the inlet he preferred that kept all but those he trusted from knowing where he was.
Though Isla de Santa Maria sat within view of Port Royal, the presence of the nuns had discouraged any of the undesirable element of the city to relocate there. Whether it was the prayers of the nuns or the fiercely protective Mother Superior that struck fear in otherwise fearless ruffians, the end result was that the little island—easily walked around in a few hours—was a haven for the orphans in their care and off-limits to just about anyone else.
They sailed past the orphanage with its line of avocado trees and center courtyard marked with a cluster of guango trees rising above the center spire of the chapel. A small boy played in the stream that ran past the chapel, likely hiding from the classroom where the other children would be at this time of day. Beyond the orphanage, a forest of mahogany trees hid an inlet and a small sandy beach.
He called out the order to prepare for docking then turned the wheel over to his second-in-command. “Take us in, Israel,” he said with a smile.
If anyone thought it odd that a former slave held such a position of honor on a vessel that was reportedly engaged in the slave trade, no one dared say it. For in his world, the name Valmont opened doors and closed mouths.
It always had.
As was their habit, Israel guided the Lazarus past the intended spot for docking. He would order the schooner to circle back around once the man in the watch post indicated he had not spotted anything—or anyone—problematic awaiting them onshore.
Jean-Luc looked up at the forward mast to watch for the signal to land. After all these years, this still brought back memories of a wisp of a girl with flaming hair who was better at spotting and naming vessels than any man with whom he’d sailed then or now.
“All clear,” the man on watch called, drawing him back to the task at hand. Two other men on lookout shouted their agreement.
“All clear, Mr. Bennett,” he said. “Take her in and let’s get on with it.”
Maribel tucked her feet up under her damp skirt and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. From her perch in the mahogany tree, she’d hoped to evade Mother Superior—or whichever of the children might be sent to fetch her—while she read her grandfather’s letter yet again.
She hadn’t planned on evading pirates too.
Past memories that she generally kept in check arose as Maribel heard the slap of sails and the sound of men shouting commands. When the craft bypassed the inlet and continued on, she let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding and retrieved Abuelo’s letter from between the pages of Robinson Crusoe.
Age showed in the spidery handwriting, but enough of her grandfather’s unique script and signature remained for Maribel to know that Mr. Lopez-Gonzales had spoken the truth. According to Abuelo, Mama was very much alive and distraught that she was not allowed to travel with their representative to Isla de Santa Maria to greet Maribel herself.
Your mother and I came to this city we now call our home in hopes of being closer to the place where you were last seen. It was our hope, a hope we never once gave up on, that our precious Maribel would somehow return to us. No expense has been spared in our search for you, my sweet granddaughter. And now at last you have been located.
We give thanks to God that what we believed to be forever lost has now been found. Please come home to us, sweet child. Make an old man happy in his last days. I am your adoring Abuelo.
Maribel traced her grandfather’s signature with her forefinger, noting the swirl of the oversize C that she always tried to imitate in her own handwriting, and wondered about Abuelo’s statement regarding his last days.
She sighed. Of course she would go. There was no doubt. But why had Papa told her something that was not true?
Her grandfather had not broached this topic in his letter, but it was a question that would someday need an answer. Had her father truly sought to separate her from Mama and Abuelo? Obviously he had, and yet it made no sense that a man who barely paid her any heed would somehow fabricate a situation that would require him to become her caregiver.
But those were questions for another day.
Maribel folded the letter and tucked it back into Robinson Crusoe and then held the book against her heart. From somewhere deep inside her, a gut-wrenching sob arose.
She had a home. And a family. She was no longer an orphan.
An answer to a prayer Maribel had never possessed faith enough to pray.
Thank You, Lord. Oh, thank You.
Her expressions of gratitude continued until the tears that went along with them finally dried. Resting her head against the rough bark, Maribel closed her eyes. In her dreams she saw the sea all around her, heard the splash of a wooden hull through waves and the slap of sails in the breeze.
The sounds engulfed her, growing louder until she opened her eyes to realize it wasn’t a dream at all. The gaff-rigged schooner she saw earlier was now sliding into the inlet.
Maribel secured her book and prepared to climb down. If she failed to get away, she would be stuck in this tree until the vessel
lifted anchor and sailed away.
The alternative was to reveal herself to be hiding in a mahogany tree on an island populated with only nuns and children to protect her. Maribel sighed. While Mother Superior might very well take on an entire ship of pirates, it was best she did not.
She moved down lower in the tree, but the schooner was too fast. Scampering back into place, she resolved to hide as best she could.
Moments later, another ship of similar design docked slightly behind the vessel that was already there. Though leaves obstructed her view, it appeared a skiff was being lowered from the first ship.
Leaning forward, Maribel was able to see that skiff when it came into view between the vessels. She gasped. “Slave traders.”
While she watched, the boatload of humanity was brought up against the other vessel, and the men, women, and children were hauled aboard. The process was repeated multiple times until finally the skiff no longer emerged from behind the schooner.
After a while, the vessel that was now loaded with slaves lifted anchor and sailed away. However, the other vessel seemed to be making no move to leave.
When Maribel could no longer feel her legs, she had to act. Stretching slowly to bring feeling back to her limbs, she made her plans to escape.
She gave thanks that she’d chosen a dress of drab brown today, for it did help to keep her from being visible to the slave traders. However, her hair would most definitely be a problem should anyone glance in her direction.
Improvising, Maribel removed the scarf from her waist and tucked her all-too-noticeable curls underneath just as the novitiates did. Should the slave traders spy her, perhaps they would think her a member of the convent.
Placing the tree trunk between her and the ship, Maribel began to climb down. Just when she expected her feet to touch solid ground, she felt hands on either side of her waist. A moment later, those same hands swung her about and set her down on the sand.
Maribel whirled around, her fists raised and her heart thudding. Instincts from long ago kicked in, and she swung her fist to connect with a dark-haired stranger’s jaw.
The man stumbled backward, and Maribel seized the opportunity to run as fast as she could back to the convent walls. Only when she reached the garden did she realize she had dropped her copy of Robinson Crusoe.
Going back was not a consideration, but telling Mother Superior was. Maribel hurried toward the office but found the door closed. She knocked, but her way was blocked when Mother Superior came to the door.
“Not now, Miss Cordoba,” she said, as she slammed the door shut once again.
“But Mother Superior,” she called. “I really must speak to you. It is of the utmost importance.”
“Upmost,” a small voice corrected.
She turned around to see Stephan grinning up at her. “That’s what I said.”
Maribel returned his grin and then affected her most serious expression. This child certainly should not be running freely with slave traders on the island.
“You should be in the classroom.”
He made a face. “I would rather not.”
Maribel knelt down to speak to the little boy. “I want you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say. You must go into the classroom very quietly and stay there. If you do not, I will see to it that you are not allowed to swim in the creek ever again. Do you understand?”
His eyes began to tear up. “Ever again?”
Maribel shrugged. “Well, for a very long time anyway. You see, if I cannot trust you to do what I ask you to do, then I cannot trust you to have the privilege of swimming in the creek. Do you understand?”
Stephan maintained his stubborn look. Maribel rose.
“All right, then. I am very sorry you have chosen not to be allowed to swim. Now I will have to march you into the classroom without your cooperation.” She reached for his hand, but Stephan took a step backward.
“I’ll go, but I was just trying to tell Mother Superior about the bad men in the harbor.”
“You saw bad men?” She looked around and then knelt again. “Tell me what you saw.”
He related a story similar to what Maribel had seen unfold. “And then the man with the scar on his face saw you in the tree and I told him to leave you alone because you were a teacher and you were a nice lady and he said he didn’t want to hurt you.”
Maribel gasped. “It was very dangerous of you to speak to him, Stephan. You have no idea who he was. He might have been a criminal.”
“Oh no,” he said. “I’ve seen him here before.”
So slave traders had been using Isla de Santa Maria as their base of operations for a while then. Maribel frowned.
Certainly Mother Superior would have an opinion on this. And a remedy for it.
“All right, Stephan, off to class with you. And promise me you will not speak to any strangers you see on this island unless I or one of the nuns give you permission.”
“I promise,” he said. “Does that mean I can go swim in the creek again?”
“Not today, and not as long as the strangers are sailing into that inlet. It is too dangerous.”
Stephan stuck out his lip but remained stoic as he trudged off to the classroom. Maribel waited until the boy had safely gone into the building before she turned away, her heart racing.
Until she knew whether St. Mary of the Island Orphanage was safe, how could she leave tomorrow on the tide?
The answer was she could not. Much as she wished to be reunited with her mother and the grandfather she had not seen in eleven years, her current allegiance was to the second family that had raised her. Once she knew this second family was safe, then she could go home to her first family.
And if that meant standing at Mother Superior’s door until first tide tomorrow, then she would.
Maribel marched back over to the office and lifted her hand to knock. “Come in, Miss Cordoba,” Mother Superior said in that uncanny way she had. She was seated behind her desk, her expression slightly exasperated. “And how may I help you this afternoon?”
She shut the door and returned to the chair she had vacated earlier in the day. “I must warn you about something terrible going on here on our island.”
“Oh?”
“I chanced to learn that there are slave traders using our island for their nefarious deeds. If Stephan is to be believed, and I think he is, then this dreadful behavior has been going on for a while.”
“I see.” Mother Superior paused as if choosing her response. “And other than the testimony of a small child with a penchant for escaping the classroom to lounge about in whatever body of water is available, exactly what proof do you have of such an accusation?”
“I saw it with my own eyes, Mother Superior. There were two schooners, and a man rowed slaves from one to the other and then the vessel with the slaves aboard sailed away. It was absolutely horrific.”
“Ah,” she said. “And exactly where were you when you witnessed this alleged slave trading?”
Oh. Maribel studied her skirt as she worked out a proper response. There was no way to answer without giving away the fact that she had defied the older woman’s edict to cease reading in trees.
“Miss Cordoba,” Mother Superior said. “Where exactly is your scarf?”
Maribel touched the edge of the scarf that now was wrapped around her hair. “Well, I covered my head with it.”
“And it is usually at your waist.” She paused. “You are fond of toying with the ends when you are nervous. For what purpose did you decide to cover your head?”
“Mother Superior, please forgive me for my impertinence, but I don’t understand why you are asking questions about my scarf when we have a serious threat to the orphanage happening at this very moment. I absolutely cannot think of leaving Isla de Santa Maria for New Orleans until I am certain you, the nuns, and the children are safe from these awful ruffians.”
The old nun sat very still, and Maribel knew for sure she had said far more than she should h
ave. Finally, Mother Superior rose.
“I sincerely thank you for your loyalty, Miss Cordoba, and I applaud your dedication to our safety. You will be greatly missed here at St. Mary of the Island, but you must go with Mr. Lopez-Gonzales tomorrow.”
“I simply cannot until I am certain—”
“That an old blind nun and a handful of nuns and novitiates can fend off slave traders bent on harming us?” She chuckled. “Miss Cordoba, do you really think that will happen?”
Maribel perched on the edge of her chair, her nerves taut and her passion for this topic rising. “I really think that men who are willing to trade in the sale of humans would not care if they harmed other humans, be they nuns or children, who might interfere with their commerce. I cannot allow that to happen.”
“Admirable, but the Lord has kept this island safe from all threats for some time now. I am merely His steward, but I do like to think that my reputation among the criminal element is such that they do not bother us. Have you noticed that?”
“Until now, yes.”
Mother Superior sighed. “I insist you are on that ship to New Orleans tomorrow. I have given my assurances that you will be.”
“But, Mother Superior, I cannot possibly—”
“Miss Cordoba, you have no choice. Leave the handling of these men you call slave traders to me. Go and pack your things and prepare for your journey tomorrow.” She rose. “That is my last word on the subject.”
Defying Mother Superior was something she never thought she would do, but if it took defiance to be heard, then so be it. “I simply cannot,” she said as she stood with shaking knees.
“I am sorry you feel that way.” She paused, her expression solemn but without any hint of anger. “Then I must make a correction to what I previously told you. That was not my last word on the subject. These are: Miss Cordoba, you are fired.”
Jean-Luc slipped out of his meeting with the Mother Superior—where she once again asked him to thank Israel for whatever was in the package he had sent to her—in the same way he always did. He climbed out the window.
The Pirate Bride Page 12