Cadence (Langston Brothers Series)

by Blue, Melissa Lynne

  An army medal, a handful of worn letters, a tintype, rosary beads, and a battered bible littered the floor around her feet.

  Quickly she bent to scoop the items back into the box. Biting the bottom of her lip she threw a glance toward the door. The bible had fallen open to the 23rd Psalm, the spine cracked along the page of the familiar passage. The tintype was of a young woman, worn and water damaged at the edges as though it had been carried for a long time. Who was she? Intently she stared at the lovely young face, rolling the simple wooden rosary beads between her fingers.

  “Did you find it yet?”

  Guiltily her head jerked up as Curtis strode through the door, the smile on his face instantly shattered. For a long moment he stared at her with an unreadable expression. “What are you doing?” His tone was flat, frighteningly so.

  “I, um, it spilled when I was looking for your rain slicker.” She gulped. “I was just putting it away.”

  In two strides he crossed the cabin, snatching the items from her hands, and stuffing them into the wooden chest. The lid rattled as he slammed it shut, and his face had gone stone white. “Stay out of my things,” he rasped and strode from the cabin without his oil skins.

  An hour later she found him in one of the holds drawing designs for the new ships Ashton Langston had agreed to invest in. To watch him work was mesmerizing. His thick fingers were surprisingly nimble and with each flick of his wrist the muscles in his forearm rippled. He was left handed. For some reason she liked that. Her eyes fell to the healing gash marring his arm. It must still be painful, but ever stubborn he refused to let her nurse it. Jack, apparently, had removed the stitches she’d so carefully placed. “Curtis?”

  He didn’t look up.“

  Curtis, I’m sorry.” She stepped forward hesitantly, unsure of what had happened and desperate to make amends. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It really was an accident when the box fell open.”

  He grunted.

  She swallowed.

  Taking a sideways step and clearing her throat she searched for a way to break the ice. “I didn’t realize you were Catholic.”

  “I’m not.”

  She tried again, “What is the medal for?”

  “Nothing of consequence.” He slapped a ruler onto the makeshift desk.

  Cadence was more than frustrated by his cryptic reply. “What is going on here, Curtis? Why are you so angry? What did I do?” As though she weren’t there, had never spoken, he continued on with his work. Stamping her foot childishly she yelled, “All I did was find a box of your old war relics!”

  * * *

  This time he stopped.

  Curtis heard his own blood rushing past his ears in the ensuing, deafening silence. He didn’t look up, but ever so slowly the drafting pencil slipped from his suddenly limp hands. How could he tell her the coffer contained far more than war relics? How could he tell her the coffer held what was left of his soul?

  He’d tried to forget.

  With her he’d almost believed his sins could be absolved. He’d even found nights of blissfully dreamless sleep in her arms. He’d felt so good with her—too good. He should have known it couldn’t last because he was the kind of bastard who wasn’t entitled to the kind of life he’d have given anything to have with her. The absence of dreams—nightmares—didn’t change who he was, what he’d done.

  * * *

  The silence frightened Cadence. She’d never seen her husband look so defeated. All youthfulness had drained from his features and he looked… tired, sad. “Curtis?”

  Still he said nothing.

  Cadence moved to stand between his knees and knelt before him. When he wouldn’t look into her eyes she laid a gentle hand on his cheek and turned his face to her. “Curtis, I lov–”

  “Don’t say it,” he interrupted, “please don’t say it.” Opening his eyes he looked to her with the sad eyes of a shattered man. He captured the side of her face in his palm, holding her gaze with his. “You,” he rasped, “have the eyes of an angel, and every time I look into them I am reminded that to pay for my sins I have nowhere to go but hell. My life is hell.” Gently he traced the curve of her chin. “I’m so sorry, Cadence. I don’t deserve you. I could never deserve you.”

  “What do you mean, Curtis?” Tenderly she cupped his face with both hands. His voice was laced with such burden. She tried to stare past the wall of his eyes, tried to see him. “What could you possibly have to be sorry for? What sins? How is your life hell?”

  Grasping her wrists Curtis pulled her hands away from his face. “I— Damn it!” he swore. “Cadence, you couldn’t possibly understand.”

  “At least let me try. You might be surprised. Curtis, please let me help you, I lov—”

  “I told you not to say it! Don’t you see that I don’t want it? I don’t want to hear it and I can’t love you! Ever.”

  “What are you saying? Wh-why?”

  “Why don’t I love you or why did I marry you?” His face grew hard, his voice flat, but his eyes… his eyes were not so guarded, his eyes were… sad, burning. “I married you because you were a lost little girl and you became my responsibility the minute you set foot on this ship and because I’m an idiot. I am an idiot and a bastard and I took advantage of you.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she breathed.

  “Believe it, Cadence. The best thing for you is to stay away from me.” He stopped for a moment as his eyes roved across her face. “I’ll never be good enough for you.”

  Pain, palpable pain, living, breathing pain unlike anything she’d known before stabbed her straight in the breast. She could not breathe. It was as though a vise were viciously constricting not just her chest but her life force. Miserably she watched him leave.

  Seventeen

  Sheets of rain cascaded over the decks as though the heavens had unleashed the tears of the angels upon the Heavenly Mistress, perhaps in mourning. From her vantage point just inside the companion-way Cadence peered through the downpour in search of her husband. She could not believe him indifferent to all they’d shared. It quite simply hurt too much. But, for just a moment the guard had slipped from his eyes and she’d glimpsed the raw agony and self-loathing buried deep within him. I can’t love you, he’d said, not I don’t love you, or I won’t love you, but I can’t love you. Cannot as though he were somehow incapable.

  And now she had to find him.

  At long last she did. Standing in the middle of the downpour his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the mast his face turned to the rain. The sight broke her heart. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head she opened the door and ventured into the rain.

  “Curtis!” she called out. The din was deafening. “Curtis!”

  “What are you doing out here?” He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward her. He was thoroughly drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes molded like paper mache to his body.

  “I could ask you the same thing?” Cadence replied, licking the rainwater from her lips. “It is freezing out here.”

  “Which is why you should go back inside,” Curtis took her arm and steered her back toward the door.

  “Not without you!” she had to yell over the heavy pounding of the rain.

  “I like the rain.”

  “But you’ll catch your death out here!”

  “I don’t think so.” Curtis cast a dark glance toward the water and mumbled, “The devil and I have an understanding.”

  “And just what is that supposed to mean!” They’d reached the door and he shoved her back into the dry confines of the ship. “Damn it, Curtis!”

  He turned back to her, his expression a blank mask, and followed her into the companionway. For a long moment he did nothing, just stared at her with empty eyes. “Go inside and get warm.” He turned back to the open hatch.

  “You’re wrong,” she blurted, and he stopped. “I’m not the one who is lost, Curtis Langston, you are.”

  If it was a response she was l
ooking for then it was a response she got because he closed the door with a vicious kick.

  “And I—I…” How she wished her voice wouldn’t tremble, “I think you need me.”

  With a disgruntled sigh he turned and as though battling something within himself and leaned forward to press ice cold lips to her brow. “Cadence, I have a couple of things to check on and then I’ll come to see you. We’ll talk then, alright?”

  “Will you at least be inside?”

  “Yes.”

  Cadence returned to their cabin, and doffed the rain soaked cloak. She paced about the room for a few minutes, looking at the miscellaneous charts and ledgers that Curtis had scattered about the room.

  She elected to distract herself with the copy of Persuasion she’d found in London, leafing through the pages, locating the place where she’d left off. It was rough going but eventually she managed to become engrossed in the story. She’d plowed through a good thirty pages before Curtis finally made an appearance. Without a word he stripped off his sopping clothes, donned an old pair of trousers and a plain shirt. Cadence decided to let him come to her, as pushing for answers had done little good to this point. But however good her book was getting—Anne Elliot had just found the letter from her captain—she couldn’t concentrate, not with this gaping void between her and her own captain.

  “You know I wasn’t even eighteen when I joined the Confederate Army.”

  Cadence looked up in surprise, giving her head only a tiny nod as he haltingly began to speak.

  “Young, stupid, arrogant—you name it that’s what I was.” He leaned against the desk and looked at his hands. “I did terrible things, Cadence. Raided trains, stole information, killed people.”

  Unsure how to respond she tucked her feet beneath her and murmured, “Curtis, it was war, our homes were invaded.”

  “War.” The word rolled acidly around his tongue. “War,” he growled for a second time, “is not an excuse for what I’ve done, and does not absolve me of my evils.”

  A silent chill swept her spine two fold, there was something sinister in his words. The devil and I have an understanding, clamored through her mind. “What do you mean?”

  He said nothing.

  “What did you do?”

  Still he remained silent.

  Frustration, anger, and more than a little fear flared within her. “I am your wife. Therefore I have a right to know what you’re talking about, and what you have done!”

  He shied physically away from her. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “It’s just better if you don’t know, and it probably would have been better if you’d never found me.” Without looking her in the eye he stood and, for what felt the umpteenth time that day, turned his back to leave her.

  “But you found me! I was in danger and you saved me.” Her voice cracked. “In London, I was lost and you found me, searched for me! You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for, Curtis.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  When he left, she could no longer ward off the bitter tears. Hopelessness welled up inside her. She was losing her husband before they’d even begun. What had he done to be so guilt ridden?

  * * *

  Curtis leaned against the bulkhead, listening to her cry, the sound ate at him until he could feel himself dying just a little bit more inside. For all his effort to make things right and avoid hurting her it was not working. He didn’t know what to say, talking had never done him much good, and now he was punishing her for his past. But not only that, he could feel the small bit of solace he’d allowed her to give him slipping through his fingers.

  Eighteen

  Christmas Eve, 1867

  Cadence went to bed Christmas Eve as she did every other night.

  Alone.

  In the last couple weeks Curtis had become increasingly withdrawn and she felt at a total loss. He didn’t come to bed at night and she may have thought he’d taken up residence in another cabin except he looked so haggard she doubted he slept at all. Most nights she would lie awake waiting for him to come, longing to speak with him or even just look into his eyes, but he never came.

  What had happened?

  They’d been so happy in London, at least she’d believed them to be happy, and then she’d stumbled across something from his past, something dark, and it was as though he’d descended into the black oblivion of a hell known only to him.

  Tonight was Christmas Eve. Surely, he will come tonight. But she was so tired. Fighting against the fuzziness invading her senses, she was certain if she waited just… a little… longer…

  Cadence woke with a start.

  She was sick. Miserably so. Every movement of the ship was riotous and sent the roiling of her stomach to heights of nausea she’d not thought possible for a human to experience and survive. Rolling from the tangle of bedclothes she could not readily find anything to throw up in, and hurtled from the cabin, swallowing convulsively. If she could just make it to the deck... the rail… She stumbled through the companionway hatch and dashed to the wooden rail, heaving over the side.

  “Cadence.” Curtis appeared at her side along the rail seemingly from nowhere. “Are you alright?”

  “I think I’m seasick,” she collapsed cold and trembling into his arms, it was an experience she’d hoped to forgo.

  “Jesus, I’ll say.” He scooped her up. “You’re shaking and in your bare feet.” He snuggled her more securely against his chest, turning to stride to their cabin. “You’ll catch your death out here!” Settling her on the bed he quickly pulled the heavy quilts over her quaking form, rubbing first her arms and then her legs to warm them. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m not going to throw up again, if that’s what you mean.” She closed her eyes against the dizzying sway of the ship. “At least not imminently.”

  “I can ask old Jack for one of his special teas. I don’t know what he puts in it but it works wonders for seasickness.”

  “Hmm, that might be a good idea. No wait. Curtis?”

  “What?” he was already halfway to the hatch.

  “Don’t wake him.”

  “I’m sure he’s still up, Cadence, it’s only eleven thirty.” Curtis shrugged. “I wouldn’t care if it was three in the morning, if you need something, you shall have it.”

  Curtis strode to the galley, wiping a weathered hand across his face. Cold dread seized him with the thought of any harm or illness befalling Cadence. He’d learned long ago that payment for his transgressions would not be as kind as death, and he was forever terrified that it would be those around him to suffer.

  “Jack?” Curtis cleared his throat in an attempt to mask the concern evident in his tone. “My wife isn’t feeling well. Could you make her some of your special tea?”

  “Not feeling well.” Jack cocked a knowing brow and swung from his hammock, reaching for a packet of herbs. “I wonder, Cap’n, could it be she’s wit a wee one?”

  Curtis may well have been knocked to the flat of his back. “What? Well, I, uh, she’s, er, uh – No!” He shook his head and fell heavily onto a straight backed chair. “She would tell me something like that.” Wouldn’t she? “I’m sure she would tell me if—” Raking a hand through his hair he was inundated with a montage of emotions he’d never experienced or considered of before this particular moment. A baby? He’d told her when they’d married he was taking responsibility for anything that may come of their first night together, but he’d never given it any real thought… until right now. Give me a girl with violet eyes. The flash of a smile tugged at his lips as he looked contemplatively at his large hands.

  “There ye are, Cap’n.” Jack beamed.

  Curtis cleared his throat gruffly. “Thank you, Jack.” Snatching the steaming mug from the table he started toward the door. “And Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s just keep this little talk between ourselves.”

  The old man just chuckled.

  Curtis nudged the cabin door
open, and leaned against the doorjamb. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he took in the sight of Cadence dozing on the bed sheets, she looked an angel again, and in light of the news she may have to tell him he felt full and alive and almost like a pure soul again. A baby was a good thing, right? Perhaps even a good part of him? Moving to the bed he sat carefully on the edge, ever so gently tracing a finger along her jaw line. Leaning close his lips brushed hers as three little words came unbidden to his tongue threatening to tumble forth. He was saved from dwelling on the near decree as her eyes fluttered open and a small smile lit her face.

  “I brought you some tea.” Tenderly, he brushed a hair from her brow.

  “Thank you,” she sat on the mattress, graciously accepting the steaming liquid. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just feel so tired.”

  “It’s alright.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Um, Cadence?”

  “Hmm?”

  “There isn’t anything in particular you need to tell me, is there?”

  “No,” she shook her head before taking a small sip of the tea. “Ugh,” she scrunched her face most adorably. “This is terrible! It’s bitter.”

  He couldn’t help but be a little amused, and grinned. “I know, but it really does help. See if you can get the whole thing down.”

  She took another swig of the brew.

  “If you thought this, uh, not feeling well had to do with, um,” he glanced down unsure of how to probe the question rapidly becoming most dear to his heart. “You’re sure there is nothing specific you need to tell me, about us?”