In a Pirate's Debt

by Elva Cobb Martin

  Ethan looked at him levelly. “Lucas, I truly believe the Lord is going to intervene. But we don’t know exactly what He may do. I will most certainly carry out any of your wishes to the best of my ability.”

  Lucas lowered his voice. “In the floor of my mercantile office just under the left back leg of the desk, you will be able to pry up a loose board. You will find a leather bag I managed to deposit there on my last trip in. Give half the contents to Travay. It was actually always meant to be hers one day. Even half is quite a fortune in gold. She and her aunt should be fine for many years.”

  “Lucas, I will most certainly carry this out, if the Lord does not see fit to rescue you. But somehow, I believe He will.”

  “Don’t wait, Ethan, I want you to write this up in a note for me and deliver it now to Travay and Merle. Just tell them someone has made provision for their future.” He looked away, then back. “Promise them they need not fear. They will be taken care of. No need to give them the details for now.” Lucas smiled his old smile. “And you’re welcome to go check out this buried treasure of an old pirate and put it in a safer place, my dear friend.”

  Ethan grinned. “I’ll write the note right away. And check out your treasure. But what about the other half?”

  “One more request. You know I always planned to find and rescue my mother from Spanish hands if she still lived. The Contessa Maria told me of a captive English woman with my same green eyes working as governess with a family in St. Augustine.

  Ethan sat up, interest spreading across his face. “Yes, you mentioned that earlier, Lucas. But how can I help?”

  Lucas glanced around the cell and took a deep breath before meeting the minister’s eyes. When he spoke, his voice did not falter. “If I am … unable to go after her, Ethan, would you pray about trying to find her? I know you once sailed the seas yourself. I ask you to take the other half of the money, buy and outfit a ship, hire a good crew, and see if you can find and rescue her … if the woman is my mother.”

  Ethan groaned and lowered his head. When he looked up, his fists were clenched. “Lucas, you’ve blasted my mind with sea longing again when I thought I had it conquered.”

  “What do you say, my friend?”

  Ethan closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them to look at Lucas’ face, he spoke with the conviction that was part of his character. “I believe one day you and I both will go after your mother together. But if for any reason you can’t go with me, I will attempt to do it alone.”

  “That’s my man. Thank you, Ethan. I’ll never forget this.”

  After the minister left, Lucas lay back on the mattress, satisfied, and slept soundly.

  For days, Travay did not know when the sun rose or set. Feverish, sick in more ways than one, and confined to her bed, she tried to make sense of her disjointed thoughts when wakefulness played against her eyelids. Nightmares plagued her when weariness finally dragged her into unconsciousness. At times, hands touched her hot brow with a cool cloth and someone held a spoon to her lips until she opened her mouth. Then broth made its way to the back of her throat and caused her to swallow.

  The third evening, she sat up in bed, pushing through the darkness that weighed her down. What day was it? Lucas! Sentenced to be hanged!

  Shadows moved from the corners of the room and gathered around her. They clung to her, choking out breath. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed. “Oh, God, oh, God.” Would He answer her desperate cry?

  She became aware of her aunt’s voice in the next room, laced with tears and crying out indistinct words. Was her aunt praying for her?

  She heard a sound just outside her door and knew Mama Penn had taken her post in her rocking chair, which she called her seat of prayer. Travay heard humming so soft it sounded like angel song. Then the black woman’s voice flowed under the door. “Lord, I knows you are working with the heart of Miss Travay even in all this sickness. In Jesus’ name, I bind every demonic thing that would keep her from turning her heart to you.” The voice faded, and the humming resumed.

  Inside the room, the darkness lifted. The soft glow of sunset lit the windows. A golden-pink sunbeam flowed through the window nearest her bed. Travay wiped the tears from her face and looked at it, wondering if she were dreaming. Silver sparkles danced within the beam. Like a heavenly staircase, it rose from the foot of her bed to the window. She reached down and put her hand into its radiance. When she did, warmth traveled up her arm and enveloped her. Suddenly, she had a glimpse, a taste, of the most wonderful peace. Peace like she used to know when in her mother’s presence as a small child.

  I have loved you with an everlasting love.

  The voice filled Travay’s heart. She recognized the supernatural tugging of it throughout her being. “My Lord and Savior!” Words poured out of Travay’s mouth unbidden. New strength flowed to her weak limbs. She rose and knelt beside her bed. “Please forgive me for all my pride, my hate, my doubt. I need You in my life so much, Lord Jesus. Now I know you are real.” Tears streamed down Travay’s face. “And Lucas, will you help him, Lord?”

  Call unto me and I will answer you.

  “Lord, please help Lucas. Save his life.”

  Peace blossomed like a rose in her heart and mind. She basked in its fragrance, its healing balm, as time stood still. Finally, she crept back under her blankets and slept without dreams.

  The next morning, Travay sat up in bed. “Aunt Merle! Mama Penn!” When the women entered the room, Travay pushed the covers away and stood. For a moment, she swayed.

  Mama Penn steadied her. “You be careful, young lady. You been abed too long to jump up so fast.”

  Travay took hold of the bedpost before the woman reached her. She smiled at her aunt and Mama Penn. “The most wonderful thing has happened. I believe the Lord visited me last night.”

  Merle and Mama Penn’s faces broke out in wide smiles.

  “Praise the Lord, chile,” Mama Penn said. She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron.

  Merle hugged Travay. “Thank God, thank God. Now tell me, Travay, do you feel any heaviness in your chest or throat?”

  “No, none at all.”

  Mama Penn patted Travay’s shoulder. “The Lord done did a work on you. What with you getting soaked and cold and shocked like you wuz, you could’ve died.”

  “What day is it, Aunt Merle? How long has Lucas …” Travay’s brow creased.

  Merle sat down on the bed and patted a spot for Travay beside her. “It is one week until the sentence is to be carried out, Travay.” Her face held nothing but sadness.

  One week.

  Travay refused the tremble that started up from the pit of her stomach. She took a deep breath. The Lord would work something out. Wasn’t that why He visited her last night? Again, she felt peace. When Mama Penn came in with a breakfast tray, Travay allowed herself to be treated like a queen. She sat back on fluffed pillows, placed the tray on her lap, and ate with appetite.

  That afternoon as she was heading from her room to the top of the stairs—her first trip down in four days—Roger Poole came to visit.

  He had dropped by almost every day, and the flowers he had brought stood in vases all over the house, but Merle and Mama Penn had refused to invite him in.

  Travay sank back in the shadows of the hall as Merle answered the door.

  Poole stepped over the threshold and looked into her aunt’s face. He lifted his brows and tapped his silver cane.

  “Travay is better.” It was not a question.

  Merle sighed. “Yes, she is better. How did you know?”

  “My dear, your countenance looks as if a ten-pound weight has been lifted from your shoulders, and I must say I am glad.” Pulling off his white-plumed tricorn hat, he bent in an exaggerated bow, and then eased another step into the hall. “I must see her, Merle. If you don’t let me, I promise you she will never forgive you.”

  “What do you mean?” Travay’s aunt frowned and studied Poole’s face. Travay won
dered what the man had up his sleeve now. His black eyes flew around the hall, up the stairs, and then toward the parlor.

  He turned back to smile at Merle. “Just let me see her. She’ll be very glad to hear what I have to tell her.” He pushed past her aunt to hand his hat to Mama Penn, who stood at the entrance to the sitting room. She took his hat, but a thundercloud darkened her brow.

  CHAPTER 23

  Travay entered the parlor, her back erect and her face relaxed. The proper demeanor taught to all young women of quality rescued her as she walked toward her nemesis. But what did she have to fear from Roger Poole anymore? Her heart had a new refrain. The Lord was going to work out something for Lucas. Wasn’t that the assurance she had received last night?

  Sir Roger stood from the king’s chair he always claimed, one of her aunt’s few treasured pieces of furniture she still owned. He bowed toward Travay and indicated the worn queen’s chair beside him with a sweep of his hand.

  Travay took another seat as far away from him as possible and adjusted her yellow silk skirts to make sure Sir Roger would not catch a glimpse of even an ankle. Merle sat near the door, observing.

  Roger moved to the faded floral settee near Travay. He adjusted his coattails and settled back on the sofa, his hands folded over the handle of his polished cane. “Travay, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you recovered.”

  She knew she should say “thank you,” but she had long ago given up being civil to Roger Poole. She turned her head away instead.

  “You will look at me, Travay. And you’ll listen to me this time.”

  His voice sounded so assured, she cast a glance his way. His dress coat of mauve silk, his white cravat, and his carefully curled wig were pretentious for afternoon.

  Roger leaned toward her. “Do you want to save our childhood friend from hanging?”

  Travay stiffened. “Roger, do not talk to me about Lucas. I will not listen to any of your lies.”

  Sir Roger sat back with a satisfied look. He tapped his cane on the wool rug. Then he smiled and patted the front of his coat. “Oh, my dear, dear, girl. If you only knew what I hold here in my breast pocket.”

  Pricks traveled up Travay’s spine. Her eyes widened. Was this something the Lord was working out for Lucas? Could she believe anything from the lips of Sir Roger?

  “I have right here in my pocket, a pardon for our dear childhood friend, one I need only to enact.”

  “Roger, don’t lie to me, or I will hate you forever.”

  “Hate? Hate?” He sat back, breathing hard. “I only want your love, Travay, and your forgiveness for the past. I am sincere.” He pulled a document from inside his coat. “Let your aunt read this and see if I am telling you the truth. She will recognize this for the legal document it is.” He looked at Merle who had remained silent until now.

  Travay stood, blood rising in her face, making her dizzy. How dare he play this wicked little game with her? “How horrible you really are, Roger Poole. I will never love you. Never. Do you understand? And I don’t believe your lies.” Travay sank back down onto her chair, trying to breathe.

  Merle stood, lifted her skirts, and marched toward Sir Roger. “Let me see the document.” Her voice was flat and her eyes hard. She held out her hand.

  Roger unfolded the document and handed it to her.

  Merle scanned the paper with its bold Charles Town Royal Colony heading even Travay glimpsed. Her aunt walked back to her chair and sat down so fast it tilted. “Travay, this looks authentic. It only requires the signature of a council member of Carolina colony.” She turned blazing eyes on Sir Roger. “Why did you withhold this, Roger? It is dated three days ago.”

  “Well, I might never have brought it forth, actually. And, as you see, I still have to sign it.” Roger stood and walked to the mantel and leaned his shoulder upon it. He pulled a gold box from his pocket and sniffed a pinch of snuff. He took his time pulling a lace handkerchief from his sleeve. He waved it at them both. “I will sign it, Travay, the day we wed.”

  Travay’s body became as stiff as a statue. Even her blood seemed to stop in her veins. Lord, is this what You have worked out? She studied Roger as an icy gust enveloped her mind, her will, and her body as the truth sank in. The only way to save Lucas would be to marry Roger Poole? Her soul shriveled.

  Merle dropped the pardon and walked to stand behind Travay’s chair. She laid a hand on Travay’s shoulder. Her own face mirrored the same despair choking Travay.

  Sir Roger stood, picked up the pardon, and came to stand before the two of them. “Travay, I give you my word. I will sign this pardon the moment we are wed. But we have so little time.”

  Tears filled Travay’s eyes and ran down her cheeks in spite of all her efforts to check them. Roger Poole would see them as sure evidence he had won.

  He smiled and licked his lips. “We must hurry our wedding plans, my girl, if we are to save Lucas. I will be back first thing in the morning.” Sir Roger strutted to the door where Mama Penn stood with his hat. She all but threw it at him. He ignored her and sailed across the threshold. She slammed the door after him.

  Travay stood, and Mama Penn came to her. “Chile, don’t you worry none. It ain’t over yet.” The black woman pulled an envelope from her pocket. “I forgot. This was delivered yesterday by the Reverend Wentworth’s man. We wuz so busy looking after you, I plain forgot.” She waited expectantly.

  Travay opened and read the brief letter from the minister. Treasure to rescue her. But only she could rescue Lucas from hanging. She stifled a sob, handed the note to Merle, and left the room.

  Lucas sat on his prison bed and stared up at the tiny window slit at ground level, his only source of light. Hooves and carriage wheels clattered down the street above him, muffled by the November rain drenching the cobblestones. A steady stream of foul-smelling dirty water poured down the wall from the opening. A sizeable puddle now lay just beyond him. He shivered more from his thoughts than from the cold, damp air hovering about him like a dark cloud.

  He stood, angry lines creasing his brow, his fists clenching and unclenching. God, are You still with me? Silence. He walked to the cell door and shook the bars. Then he paced back and forth, avoiding the fetid puddle. On his third round, his heart smote him. He was acting like the rest of the prisoners down the corridor. He could hear their curses and banging on cell doors with the wooden bowls that were filled with a weak broth twice a day.

  Two more days until the hanging. At least he thought it had been seven days since the travesty of a trial.

  He forced himself back on the corn husks and spent the next hour recalling every verse of scripture he could until fitful sleep finally came.

  Lucas awakened when Ethan showed up at the cell door early the next morning.

  “Good morning, Lucas. Thank God the rain has ceased, but the sun still fights through clouds that don’t want to give up.” A smile spread across the minister’s face. But Lucas had not missed the frown that had wrinkled his friend’s brow as he came down the corridor.

  The guard unlocked the door and clanged it shut behind Ethan.

  “I am fighting through clouds, too, my friend, and I will not give up.” Lucas shook the minister’s warm, outstretched hand, then sat and ate the wonderful crusty bread and piece of dried meat he had brought. “This is good, where did you get the beef?”

  “The Lord provided.”

  Lucas wiped his mouth on his sleeve that had been used often as indicated by the stains marking it. “When are you going to tell me whatever it is you are trying not to tell me?” He studied the minister’s face. Lucas had not sailed the Caribbean for years as captain over men of every cut and color without gaining some discerning of bad news.

  “Travay is preparing to wed Sir Roger at noon tomorrow.” Ethan almost groaned the words out.

  Lucas’ face felt as if it had turned to stone. He threw the remainder of the food across the cell and stood. “I don’t believe you.”

  Ethan folded his arms
across his chest and sighed deeply. “It’s true.” He ducked his head as if to avert a coming tempest.

  “So she never loved me? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”

  “No. No, Lucas. It’s not that way at all.”

  “Then what way is it? It can’t be for her and Merle’s survival, not after what I told you last time. You did send them the note?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Lucas kicked the mattress and yanked a braid of his dark hair. “Then why in the name of … is she doing this?”

  “It’s actually because she loves you. More than you know.”

  “How can she love me and marry that lying cur?” Lucas stormed across the cell and shook the bars of the door so hard a yell came down the corridor from the guard desk.

  “Any more of that, you pirate dogs, and you’ll get the whip across your shoulders.”

  Ethan took a deep breath, his eyes full of compassion. “My friend, she begged me not to tell you, but I see I must. Roger Poole has a pardon for you that lacks only his signature. He promises it the day she marries him.”

  Lucas roared and drove his fist against the stone wall. Blood darkened his knuckles.

  Ethan shuddered as if feeling the pain Lucas did not feel.

  When Lucas drew back as if to clobber the wall again, Ethan stood and gripped his wrist. “We are still praying, my friend. I believe God has a plan.”

  The fire died out of Lucas’ eyes, and he sank down on the corn shucks. “Is that the kind of God we serve? One who would save me but not her? Even if there were any truth in the promise, which I am sure there is not. Truth is not in Roger Poole’s vocabulary.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be praying that Truth will come to this man, Lucas? Aren’t we to pray even for—especially for—our enemies?” Ethan’s soft voice penetrated Lucas’ ears but not his heart.

  The minister laid his hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “Keep faith. Let go of all bitterness. Forgive everyone. Give up control and look to God for His plan. That’s what releases God’s help.”