Surely the Lord brought her to Isla de Santa Maria. There was no other explanation. And where He took her, she would go.
Even if that meant leaving her home to find another in a strange land.
Oh, but Mama would be there, so all else was of no consequence. Her heart soared even as she felt tears fill her eyes. And Abuelo too. Soon she would see them both and they would be a family again. How terribly had she missed them.
Maribel let out a long breath and said a prayer of thanks for all God had done for her. And then she said one more for the safety of the people who lived in this wonderful place.
The warning bell rang and crewmen took their stations. The man assigned to lifting the anchor began the process. Up at the wheel, the captain stood at the ready, his second-in-command at his side.
But it was not her captain—not the terse but oh-so-kind Captain Beaumont—who would be guiding this vessel. Nor would the gentle African giant Mr. Bennett be assisting him.
Another tear fell, this one for friends lost. And though the light was still quite good, Maribel could bear looking at her island home no longer.
To the north, the black cloud bore down on them. Over on the deck, the sails were being adjusted to turn the vessel out into open water at an angle designed to sail around the coming storm. Overhead the lookout was doing his job, likely wondering when the captain would warn of lightning and send him back down onto the deck.
She smiled. On those few occasions when Captain Beaumont had called her down to a place of safety from the storm, she had not gone willingly. Unlike the others on the captain’s ship, she loved to watch the lightning zigzag across the sky.
This much she did remember.
Maribel’s heart thudded as an image rose. Sails. Yes. Black night and sails that were only revealed when lightning danced across the clouds.
A memory buried so deep that she wondered whether she had imagined it. She willed her heart to slow its rapid beating. Imagination, that’s what it was.
After all the books she read, of course she would begin to see things she hadn’t seen at all. Hadn’t Mother Superior said as much every time a thought such as this occurred?
She’d told the old nun all about how she got to the island. About the planks of wood that had become her floating home for an interminable amount of time. About the explosion of light that led to her landing on those planks, and ultimately about awakening from a deep sleep on a soft cot in the back corner of the chapel. Somewhere in between were voices and strong hands. Embraces and promises too, but nothing that she could recollect with any assurance.
Mother Superior had listened patiently, her unseeing eyes never leaving Maribel’s face. And then, at the end of it all, the old nun patted Maribel on the head and told her it was likely that it had all been a dream.
It wasn’t, of course.
She knew very well that Captain Beaumont, Mr. Bennett, Mr. Rao, and Mr. Piper were all very real. But the rest of her memories? Those she’d been unable to sort into real and imagined, so eventually she had ceased to try.
But the lightning? That was a new memory, one she could not recall reading about in any of her novels.
As if on cue, fat raindrops began to plop around her. Maribel gathered the ends of her scarf tight in her hands, gave a cursory glance toward the horizon, and then made her way to the passageway leading to her cabin.
“Sloop to the northeast,” she said out of habit just as she disappeared inside.
Maribel froze.
Sloop to the northeast?
She raced back onto the deck. There it was, a gaff-rigged schooner.
Taking a calming breath, Maribel watched the vessel continue its approach. Surely this was not the same vessel she had seen in the inlet. Also, there was no proof that this ship was headed for Isla de Santa Maria. More likely, the schooner would tack around to lay anchor at Port Royal to the west. Most of the ships in this part of the Caribbean Sea were headed there.
Very few ever made a stop on the tiny island where orphans and nuns awaited.
“Yes, of course,” she whispered as the rain pelted her. There was nothing of concern in a gaff-rigged schooner sailing toward Port Royal. “It will tack soon.”
But the schooner did not tack, nor did it veer off a course that would take it directly to Isla de Santa Maria. That just would not do.
And yet there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She could, however, get a good look at the ship and its crew so that she could report them to authorities. Which authorities she would work out later.
Ignoring the rain that pelted her, Maribel raced to the rail and remained there as the schooner drew nearer. The seas roiled, and the deck heaved beneath her feet. Still she kept her attention focused on the gaff-rigged schooner.
“Excuse me, miss.” A crewman came to stand beside her. “The captain has asked all passengers to please return to their cabins until the weather improves.”
She spared him a quick glance. “I’m sure I’ll be fine here. I’ve had experience sailing, and you may tell the captain this.”
“I do appreciate that you’ve sailed before, but I am afraid the captain’s request applies to everyone and not just those who do not have as much experience sailing as you do.”
His sarcasm was evident, but she ignored it—and him—to return her attention to the white sails silhouetted against the black clouds. The vessel still had not made the adjustments to its course that would take it to Port Royal.
“Miss, forgive me, but I must insist,” he said as he reached for her arm. “I am only following orders.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “I do see the predicament, but I am in the process of attempting to identify a vessel that is suspected of criminal activity on Isla de Santa Maria. Thus, I am certain your captain will understand if I decline his request that I return to my cabin.”
The young man gave her a frustrated look and then nodded. “Be that as it may, you will have to explain this to the captain. I will just go and fetch him.”
The schooner tacked and seemed to be changing course. Maribel smiled. Perhaps she was wrong about the vessel’s destination.
Still, she wanted to be certain.
“Do as you must,” she said as she squinted against the impending darkness. “And I will do the same.”
Yes, the vessel was tacking. Then, abruptly, the vessel veered off in the opposite direction and made a straight line for Isla de Santa Maria.
Now the schooner was close enough to see the men running about on deck, the spot where the watch would be, and the wheel where the captain or one of his crewmen would be steering the ship.
There. Now she could almost make out the looks of the man behind the wheel. He was tall but not as tall as the man beside him. That man was dark, possibly African.
Something in how the dark man stood as he weathered the storm sparked a memory. Something buried deep. Not a dream but a memory.
Mr. Bennett. Yes, although surely not. He was long ago lost to the sea.
Yes, this man surely just resembled him.
Turning her attention to the captain, if that was the captain of the schooner, she could make out less of his looks because he had his back to her. They were almost side by side now, separated by a distance no farther than the avocado trees on the beach to the mahogany trees at the inlet.
Slowly, the captain turned toward her. Now they were almost close enough to see facial features. Maribel spied dark hair, broad shoulders, and an expression of surprise on his face.
She leaned closer, her perch precarious as the waves buffeted the ship. But there was something in that face … something that she remembered. Surely that was not the captain.
Her captain.
The world upended and tilted. A moment later, Maribel realized she’d been hauled up into someone’s arms.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but the man with whom you’re traveling, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales? He gave the captain permission to carry you down to your cabin i
f you would not go peaceably. He says he is charged with delivering you safely to your family, and I do see his dilemma what with you hanging over the side of the ship like that. Common in those who haven’t traveled by sea much, though.”
“Of all the nerve,” she said. “I will have you know I sailed with the best of the best during my time at sea. My job was as lookout up high on the mast, and I only fell off once, but that was not my fault. You see, we were being shot at by the French.”
“Shot at by the French,” he said in a tone that clearly conveyed the fact he did not believe her. “That does make for a troublesome voyage. I, myself, have not had that experience, so I would not know for sure.”
“You’re patronizing me,” she said as she squirmed against his grip.
“I am stating facts, Miss Cordoba. Never have I been shot at aboard a ship, be it French, Spanish, or any other.”
The young man avoided any eye contact as he walked toward the passageway. Only when they reached the corridor heading down to the cabins did the crewman realize he would need Maribel’s cooperation to traverse the remainder of the distance to her lodgings.
Though she considered putting up a fight, Maribel knew the vessel had passed behind them by now. Besides, to think the man at the wheel of the schooner could possibly have been the captain she knew eleven years ago was ludicrous.
“I can find my way from here,” she told him.
Looking skeptical, he lowered her to her feet. “I’ll just watch until you’ve gone into your cabin then,” he said, and he did just that.
Reluctantly, Maribel returned to the tiny room that served as her bedchamber for this voyage. The accommodations, consisting of a bunk, a pitcher and bowl for washing, and a hook to hang her clothes, were much more comfortable than Mr. Rao’s makeshift space.
Given the choice, however, Maribel would once again pass the time during this sea voyage in that sailmaker’s hammock with the sound of Israel Bennett and Captain Beaumont bellowing orders overhead.
Her gift from the nuns and children was still where she left it atop the traveling trunk Mother Superior had provided. She retrieved the package and then went over to the bunk to open it.
When the wrapping fell away, her breath caught. Beneath a beautifully bound copy of the Psalms was The Notorious Seafaring Pyrates and Their Exploits by Captain Ulysses Jones.
Maribel traced the edges of the book and then ran her hand over the words of the title, embossed onto the cover in gold script. “Oh,” was all she could manage as she cradled the book to her chest. “Oh,” she said again and swiped at the tears shimmering in her eyes.
When she could finally see the pages without the words swimming in tears, Maribel turned to the first page and smiled. It had been a very long time since she’d read this story, since she had traveled the world of pirates and privateers through these tales.
Eleven years, to be exact.
Once she discovered the treasure that was her copy of The Notorious Seafaring Pyrates and Their Exploits and the lovely poems that were the Psalms, Maribel was content to do nothing but remain in her cabin and read these two books.
Then one evening as she arrived at the page containing the Eighth Psalm, Maribel felt the words come alive in her heart.
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet: all sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field; the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas. O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!
“The fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas,” she read aloud as she heard the gentle sound of waves hitting the ship as the sails slapped above. “Thank You, Lord, for that reminder.”
For as the day drew near for their arrival in New Orleans, Maribel had begun to worry about something that until now she hadn’t considered. What would Mama and Abuelo think of her now?
When she last saw them she was a girl of twelve years, a child really. And now here she was a grown woman of three and twenty. Educated by nuns and kept from all but the simplest of pleasures, she would be nothing like the girl they knew.
Would they still want her?
More important, would they still love her?
Maribel carried these worries in her heart until the morning the ship’s lookout called out that land had been spotted. Unable to sleep, she had long ago prepared for their arrival by packing her belongings into the trunk, including her books. If Mother Superior was correct, a bookish girl was one thing, but a bookish woman was altogether a different sort of creature.
She wished for a mirror so that she might smooth her unruly hair yet again. The next moment, Maribel gave thanks she did not have one, for she would not be treated to the sight she had become after all this time at sea.
A soft tap at the door indicated the time had come. She allowed Mr. Lopez-Gonzales into the cabin but remained standing at the door.
“What will happen next?” she asked as she toyed with the frayed edges of Mama’s scarf.
The older man offered a kind smile. “You are nervous,” he said. “Do not be. Your family is most anxious to be reunited, so there is absolutely no need for concern.”
“All right,” she said. “So once we dock, then what? Will my mother and grandfather be there to greet us?”
“Probably not,” he said. “The city is young, and its riverfront is a place where proper ladies and gentlemen do not belong. I expect a representative of your grandfather’s household will meet us, and you will be taken to the Cordoba home. It is quite nice, by the way. A beautiful new residence within view of the river.”
“You said that I would be taken,” she said. “Won’t you be coming with me?”
“Oh no,” he said gently. “I was retained to find you and bring you back to your family. Now that my job is done, I will bid you good-bye.”
“I see.”
Though Maribel had not developed any feelings of friendship to the older man, she certainly had not expected to continue on to the final destination of her journey without him. Indeed, he was the only person who had the benefit of knowing both her family and her.
“I do wish you would accompany me,” she said, “but I do understand. Perhaps you would consider escorting me to their door?”
“Yes, I believe that would be appropriate.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And just one thing more. Would you be willing to tell me more about my grandfather and mother? There is so much that must have happened in the eleven years since I’ve seen them. I would like very much to hear whatever you might be able to say in that regard.”
He seemed to consider her request for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes, all right. I don’t suppose it would hurt to tell you a few things, but keep in mind if I do not share something it is because that is a tale that your family must tell. Agreed?”
“Yes, of course.”
Mr. Lopez-Gonzales smiled. “All right, then. I first came to know your grandfather in Spain when he had been searching for his missing granddaughter some two years, perhaps three. I was recommended to him as someone who might be able to assist him in his search. We determined it would be best for him to move to New Orleans to be closer to the places where we believed you might be living. When I suggested this, he immediately put the plan into action.”
Maribel nodded. “My grandfather always was a man of action.”
“Any man who leaves all he has in the way of power and influence and moves to a foreign land …” He shook his head. “Your grandfather is a very good man, Miss Cordoba. He is fair but honest, and for that reason he and I have worked well together over the years.”
She returned his smile. �
�Then that much has not changed. And my mother?”
“A great beauty, your mother, well liked and highly sought after.” He paused. “Beyond that, I will allow her to tell the story.”
Above them the warning bell rang, and a moment later, Maribel felt the familiar tugging motion of the anchor catching hold.
“We’ll be off soon,” he said. “I will send a man down for your trunk.”
“A moment more and I will join you,” she said. Reaching once more for the book she’d left inside the trunk, Maribel turned to the page that had caught her attention previously. “When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him?” She took a deep breath and let it out as she returned the book of Psalms to her trunk. “What am I that You are mindful of me, Lord?” she whispered. “What indeed? Oh, but thank You all the same.”
Maribel’s first impression of New Orleans was not a flattering one. Though the town had been established as the capital of the French territory, the condition of the city left much to be desired.
Water and waste ran from the street into the river, and persons of questionable intent loitered about as if waiting to snatch her or her belongings at any moment. One moved too close and was met with her elbow in his midsection.
As the ruffian went tumbling, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales looked back at her. From his calm expression, he had obviously not noticed the impending attack and its swift resolution.
“Miss Cordoba, the carriage is just up there. I hope all of this is not too much for a lady’s delicate constitution.”
Maribel stifled a smile as she glanced over her shoulder. “No, nothing I cannot handle, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales, but thank you for asking,” she said, straightening her gloves.
Behind her the man groaned but remained on the ground. Maribel returned her attention to the older man’s straight back and followed him all the way to where her grandfather’s carriage awaited.
The Pirate Bride Page 14