Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)

by Heisinger, Sonja

  In response, the child turned to her with a smile.

  “You are special, you know. Your courage has saved many lives.”

  Josephine received the praise with a nod of her head.

  It was not enough. Evelyn’s mouth was working, her words refusing to cease.

  “I wish to confide in you,” she told the girl. “I have a secret. It is a great secret that no one must know.”

  Josephine nodded. Evelyn swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak.

  “Lucius is my husband.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  She waited for Josephine’s brows to lift in surprise, but the girl remained unmoved.

  Evelyn felt the compulsion to explain.

  “We were hardly more than children when we were betrothed, but our friendship had long since been at an end. The betrothal meant nothing to Lucius. Rather, he became quite unruly. He was recurrently discovered philandering with some hussy or another: a fact that was initially, I’ll admit, quite bothersome. I suppose I thought my father would take notice and call off the engagement, but he never did. I was frightfully angry. Angry with my father, who had turned a blind eye, and especially angry with Lucius, because he had been such a sensible child and yet here he was, making a complete idiot of himself before the entire city of New York. And no one did anything about it! I kept thinking, ‘Lucius, you are better than this!’ But after so much tomfoolery, I started to question whether he really was. Then I thought to myself, ‘Well, he may not be better, but I certainly am!’ And from that moment on, I wanted nothing more to do with him. And then there was the incident in the pub with my father. He was murdered, you know. Lucius was there, and it was actually him the man meant to kill. But my father stepped between them. It was dreadful. My God, I miss him so much. But that was the final ‘nail in the coffin’, as they say. I swore I would never speak to Lucius again.

  “Yet how like a conniving little cockroach he is! Burning with gold fever, he came to me on our wedding day and informed me of his intentions to drag me to California. Our wedding day! Can you believe it? Now I cannot escape him! Each night I hear him murmur in his sleep, each afternoon I pass him in the hall, each evening at supper I suffer his presence across the table. Until last night, when we were informed of the outbreak, we had not spoken in days.

  “And then, of all things, Lucius produced his violin, and it was as if we were thrust back to a time and place that existed before all of this silly nonsense, a time when Lucius and I were friends. Indeed, he was my only friend. That is, until he was forced to grow up, and I suppose a little piece of me felt as though he had abandoned me. Perhaps that was when my resentment was first conceived. After all these years, it has continued to feed upon every difference that arises between us. No doubt you have seen the way we repel one another. The truth is we are pretending not to be married, and when we arrive in California, it will only be a matter of time before the marriage is annulled. We have agreed that it is mutually beneficial to sever the bonds our fathers placed upon us. Lucius may do whatever he likes with his freedom, but I intend to return to Ireland, and perhaps one day, I shall marry for love. I imagine you have witnessed my disposition towards Mr. Donnigan, as I am quite taken with him. If he should find it in his heart to wait for me until I am an independent woman, then perhaps my story will have a happy ending at last.”

  Evelyn looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of her coffee cup.

  “After all this, you must be curious why I am so concerned with Lucius’ well-being, as he and I are not friends, and we have not been friends for a long, long time. But you see, I never knew my mother, and my father is dead. Despite our differences, the law has made Lucius the closest thing I have left of family. As I have been stripped of all else, I find he is the only remaining person I have left to cling to, even if only for a time. It is his fault I am on this ship bound for a new world, and as I never quite imagined that world without Lucius, I was frightened at the prospect of encountering it alone.

  “Besides,” she concluded, “when I think of who I would be without him, I see nothing, for he has always been there, whether in favor or not. And last night, when he looked so deathly pitiful… I could not let him die, Josephine. I simply could not let him die.”

  She paused a moment, then parted her lips as if to say more; however, her thoughts were exhausted, laid bare before Josephine, and there was nothing left for her to say.

  Josephine took her hand and squeezed it, as if to confirm that Evelyn had said enough.

  When twenty four hours had passed without a fresh outbreak of cholera, a slow recuperation began. The ship was scrubbed from top to bottom, and contaminated sheets and garments were thrown into the sea. Several of the afflicted continued their inhabitation of the infirmary while others kept to their beds until their strength returned. With the declining availability of healthy nourishment onboard, their recovery was sorely prolonged.

  Lucius, however, refused to be brought low for long. Though weak, he was excited to be alive. Not long after a corporate ceremony was held on deck, where Stephen Whitfield performed the funeral rites of the deceased, Lucius joined a ruckus party to celebrate the cholera’s passing.

  A couple of pints on an empty stomach later, he raised his glass and commanded the attention of the room.

  “I would like to propose a toast,” he told his congregation. “To Health!”

  “To Health!” they cheered. Many proceeded to snicker into their glasses, for Lucius’ appearance was anything but ruddy.

  Lucius took a large swallow of ale and continued.

  “I should also like to say a few words in honor of those who are not with us today,” he said, adopting a solemn expression. “Fifty-three men, damn fine lads, the lot of ‘em, and I, myself, nearly among them! That’s right! I, Lucius Flynn, should not be here among you, and am, this very moment, a living miracle and testament of supernatural divinity!”

  A few men scratched their heads at this while Lucius pounded his fist against his heart in sincerity.

  “I, wretch that I am, was lying there, sick as the dickens and wasting away in my own filth. Dying, I assure you! And nearly dead! When what came to me but the elixir of life, brought at the hands of an angel! Such a wee lass, that little Josephine; but so diligent, so compassionate, so strong!”

  “To Josephine!” the men toasted.

  “Hear, hear!”

  Lucius recovered from this interruption with an annoyed, “yes, yes, another drink…” Then his face grew soft again as he returned to his memory. “I could not see her face,” he spoke, “for the place was dark as night; yet I knew her for a spirit of grace, brought to me like an unexplained light in the belly of the earth, where I was all but swallowed by my impending demise. She gave me drink, the purest of draughts! Then, O angel of mercy, she provided me with such sustenance as only the bread of heaven can bestow! With a kiss of her angel’s wings, she lured me to sleep, chasing me to the land of dreams, where I was swept away to the emerald shores of my home country.”

  “Find yerself a damn pulpit!” someone shouted, but Lucius continued undaunted, pleased with the sound of his pretty speech.

  “Happy man that I am!” he cried, “that I shall live to repay this great debt of life while others find their tombs at the bottom of the sea!”

  “Their thirst is satisfied by the ocean; let us satisfy ours with ale!” another drunken, poetic soul declared.

  The others heartily agreed, for Lucius’ tale was beginning to bore them.

  Josephine’s reputation had preceded his account, and none doubted her healing touch. Some even swore she was a saint who bore the stigmata, while others agreed with Lucius that she was an angel, sent by God to bring deliverance and mercy.

  Lucius stepped down and drained his glass in silent reverie. He recalled only fragments from the two eternal nights he battled with death: the violin, the feverish dancing, the fitful sleep, and finally, the pain. Oh, the burning agony! Then, a brief
argument with Evelyn before she disappeared, then nothing, nothing, nothing… Until, blessed heaven, that apparition of grace appeared to him. The encounter, the enchantment, the awakening, the dream… Oh, how real the dream was! He had stood on a bluff, and the wind had snatched the hat from his head, and Evelyn had laughed, her hair whipping about and catching in her eyelashes. She had opened her mouth and sung his favorite tune, and he had tried to sing along, but his voice would not come. It was lost, torn away from him, like his hat on the breeze…

  In the days that followed, Evelyn had tended to him from time to time, nursing at intervals with Josephine. When she entered the room, he feigned sleep, a coward in the face of her undeserved kindness.

  He had avoided her, and now that he was well, they resumed their previous play of equal aversion. It would continue, he knew, if he allowed it. Perhaps for the rest of their lives. Evelyn Brennan was more talented than him at many things, and obstinacy was one of them. If Lucius could play aloof, she could do it better.

  He must not allow it. He must go to her, and if capable of nothing else, he must thank her. In light of the great deed she had done, it was certainly the least he could do, though everything within him balked at the task.

  He found her leaning over the rail on deck, peering into the cerulean water of the Atlantic, and his heart thundered at the sight. Beside her, towering above her auburn head, stood Brock Donnigan, and the two conferred happily in seclusion.

  The Australian was making her laugh. When had Lucius accomplished such a feat?

  Lucius was tempted to turn around; yet in the presence of the other man, his cursed pride rose from the shallow depths from whence it was buried, and he decidedly approached the couple from behind.

  “Excuse me,” he coughed. “Might I interrupt?”

  The others turned towards him. Brock seemed amused, while Evelyn was taken by surprise.

  “Of course,” Brock replied. “We were just discussing the ridiculous inventions the times have inspired. Have you heard of California Gold Grease, mate? Apparently, you rub this solution all over your body and proceed to roll down a hill. Gold is supposed to come right out of the ground and adhere to your clothing.”

  “It is absolute hogwash,” Evelyn declared. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

  Lucius, who was naturally inclined to engage in such silliness, was otherwise preoccupied.

  “Ah, fascinating,” he remarked distractedly. “Now if you would excuse us, Mr. Donnigan, I should like to have a word with Miss Brennan.” He paused. “Alone.”

  The others responded with blank expressions.

  “Please,” he added.

  Brock grinned crookedly, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

  “Of course, mate.” He clapped Lucius on the shoulder. “Have a go.”

  He sauntered away slowly, running a hand through his hair. He settled on a crate nearby where he could watch and, if the breeze was in his favor, listen.

  Lucius took Brock’s place at the rail beside a stiff Evelyn. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching the water. He sought courage, but was immediately distracted by something else altogether.

  “Do you see anything curious in the water?” he asked her, his eyes brightening.

  Evelyn regarded him with unveiled suspicion.

  “I wasn’t really looking,” she replied, coolly.

  He nodded towards the sea, a slight smile playing at his lips.

  “Look now.”

  Evelyn did as she was told, somewhat apprehensive that Lucius was about to show her a floating corpse or something equally as morbid. She was surprised to see nothing but an endless ripple of blue.

  “I see nothing,” she said.

  “Then you are not looking close enough.”

  She looked closer, and her breath caught somewhere in her throat.

  “There are shapes in the water!” she gasped, forgetting her reserve.

  Lucius smiled.

  “And what do you think they could be?” he asked.

  “I do not know! They are somewhat round, but without substance. A trick of the eyes, I wonder? I have never seen such a thing!”

  “Can you see how some seem to grow, and others to shrink in size?” Lucius asked, enjoying Evelyn’s candid interest.

  “Yes, indeed!” she replied. “How peculiar. There are so many of them. What could they be?”

  “Do you remember those jelly-like puddles we sometimes found on the rocks back in Ireland?”

  “Of course.”

  “This is what they look like when they are alive.”

  “Jellyfish! How odd that I never noticed them! And yet no matter where I look, there they are, rising up from the depths.”

  “Indeed, there must be hundreds of them.”

  “Thousands!”

  In her excitement, Evelyn had forsaken her resistance. She suddenly recalled her rigidity by straightening her back and rearranging her shoulders, tightening her mouth into a knot as she thought of Lucius’ ungrateful behavior as of late. It was nearly a week since the pestilence and this was the first time he had spoken to her. This unexpected joviality was a little overdue, and he should be made aware of it.

  In silence, the pair continued to stare into the water, watching the strange shapes gliding up and down below the glassy surface of the ocean.

  Presently, Lucius lifted his eyes to the horizon.

  “That might have been my funeral this morning,” he began, recalling the bared heads of all those present to honor the dead while Stephen Whitfield had given his eulogy.

  Evelyn took a deep breath.

  “Indeed,” she murmured.

  Again they were quiet. She waited for a thank you or an apology or both, but neither came. Instead, she took in his appearance, which was frightfully emaciated. His hair was wild and unruly, as it often was in the sea air, but his once handsome face was almost skeletal, his eyes and cheekbones popping unnaturally.

  “You look terrible,” she told him honestly.

  “Still on the mend,” he shrugged. “I’m not yet myself.”

  “Indeed. Your skin is sallow, and your clothes hang off you like drapes. Your health is your responsibility, Lucius, yet you take no care. On the contrary, you have been drinking, haven’t you? Do not think that I did not realize it the moment you appeared. You smell a fright.”

  “Can a man not celebrate his victory over death?”

  “Not when death is still knocking! Do you feel as dreadful as you look?”

  “I am a little weary.”

  “That is because you do not eat.”

  “I have not had much of an appetite since it happened.”

  She scoffed, her anger shifting to the recent abominations emerging from the ship’s kitchen.

  “You are not missing anything, I assure you,” she said.

  Lucius perked up at the change in subject.

  “The food is miserable, isn’t it?” he added.

  “It is appalling. I am glad someone else is finally willing to complain with me.”

  Lucius laughed. Though Evelyn’s demeanor was not inviting, he felt sudden warmth towards her.

  “If I may speak candidly,” he began, “I’d say you are handling all of this-” he waved a hand through the air- “quite well.”

  He was in earnest, and she stared at him in shock.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she responded.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I simply meant to bestow a compliment. Not many women are as strong, nor as brave as you, lass.”

  Her shoulders softened a little.

  “Thank you, Lucius.”

  Lucius cleared his throat.

  “The other night…” he trailed off, his mind scrambling for articulation. “You did not have to look after me. I had no expectations…”

  Evelyn waited.

  “What I mean to say is,” he continued, “I did not realize that ‘nurse’ would be a part of your job description.”

  She sighed.
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  “Neither did I.”

  “I am sorry for subjecting you to… to… all of that.” He shook his head as if to shake off the memory. “It was a dreadful mess, wasn’t it?”

  “There is no need to apologize. It was my decision to look after you. Without Josephine, I should have been completely incompetent. You should really be thanking her; if thanking me is indeed what you are trying to do.”

  “I have already spoken with Josephine.”

  “I see.”

  Lucius shifted his weight, and Evelyn looked around uncomfortably.

  “Nevertheless,” Lucius finally managed to speak, “I cannot help but wonder- after the way things have been between us- I suppose I am quite surprised at how you… well, that you did not take the opportunity.”

  Evelyn’s brows came together.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” she asked.

  “If I should have died, you would be free to reclaim everything. Your independence, your inheritance, my inheritance, your future… You could have caught the next steamer to Ireland.”

  Evelyn’s hand came to her bosom.

  “Mr. Flynn,” she began, quite exasperated, “do you think I am cruel? Do you sincerely believe I wish you dead?”

  Lucius shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

  “I would not think the less of you. I might even so much as understand.”

  “Lucius, we have a plan. Do you not think me capable of upholding my end of the bargain?”

  He lifted a hand.

  “On the contrary,” he said, “you are more capable than ever I imagined. I thank you, Miss Brennan, for saving my life. That is what I came here to tell you. You risked your own health for mine, a sacrifice I do not know that I, in my endless selfishness, could ever commit. You have a better soul than I.”

  He did not wait for a response, but turned and fled like the coward he now acutely feared he was, leaving Evelyn shocked and alone.

  Nearby, Brock smiled to himself, rose, and returned to where he felt was fast becoming his rightful place.

  Chapter Fifteen