7

Catherine’s days had settled into a routine. In the mornings, she inquired of the shipping agents about passage to New Orleans, thus far without success. In the afternoons, she watched the children so Elizabeth could make calls or host her teas attended by a smattering of ladies and gentlemen, none of whom would be considered high society in England but all of whom held some regard in Key West. Catherine found the older women dull, Mrs. Cunningham insufferably arrogant, and Dr. Goodenow pleasantly interesting, but her favorite by far was Mrs. Prosperity Latham, who radiated generosity, peace, and goodwill.

On the second Monday after Tom’s departure, Mrs. Latham wandered into the nursery. “I can watch the children if you would like to take tea.”

Catherine rose from the little table where she was attempting to interest the children in drawing so they wouldn’t wake the baby. “Thank you, but I would rather stay here.”

“Me too.” After checking on her sleeping daughter, Mrs. Latham bent to kiss her two toddlers. She whispered encouragement over their artistic efforts, then addressed Elizabeth’s son. “Good afternoon, Jamie. What are you drawing?”

“Papa’s ship.”

“So it is. And you’ve drawn a lovely flower, Miss Sarah.”

Elizabeth’s daughter beamed up at her.

Catherine could not imagine how Mrs. Latham spotted a ship and a flower from the scribblings. “A flower?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Latham outlined the figure with her finger, drawing a squeal of delight from Sarah. She then smiled softly at Catherine. “I am highly skilled in deciphering sketches.”

Catherine sighed. “I suppose it comes with practice.”

“That it does.”

The baby fussed from the cradle.

Mrs. Latham wandered to the rocking chair. “Do you mind if I sit with my little one?”

“Not at all.”

The woman gathered her baby from the cradle and then sat down to rock her. After a little fussing, Constance drifted off to sleep. “It has been a long day, but you don’t want to hear about me. I understand you’re from England.”

“Staffordshire.”

“This must be a tremendous change of climate. It was for me. I came from Nantucket, far north of here, near Boston.”

“Nantucket?” Catherine had heard that before. “The same place as Tom Worthington?”

“Indeed, though we did not know each other. I only know of him through Elizabeth. She holds him in high regard.”

That was good to hear. Catherine hadn’t been certain after her last discussion with Elizabeth. “He is quite solicitous.”

Mrs. Latham chuckled. “Elizabeth believes he is taken with you.”

That explained his insistence that he escort her to Louisiana. Pleasure curved her lips before she recalled that a relationship between them could never be as long as he was wedded to the sea. Her future was at Maman’s family plantation. There she would have family. But the thought wasn’t as comforting as it used to be.

A commotion from the front of the house put an end to her thoughts. Catherine hurried to the hallway to see what was happening.

Captain O’Malley stood at the door while the doctor donned his frock coat and top hat.

“What is it?” Catherine asked when Elizabeth came down the hall toward her.

“It’s Tom. He’s been injured.”

“How? When?”

But Elizabeth had hurried back to join her husband.

Everyone shouted over each other, asking questions. The doctor and the O’Malleys were too intent on what must be done to answer.

“Bring Tom here,” Elizabeth insisted. “He can’t recover in a boardinghouse. Who would look after him?”

Her husband added, “I’ve sent Jules to fetch the wagon from the mercantile. We can use that to bring him here.”

Catherine’s heart pounded. If a wagon was required, then Tom was gravely injured.

“I’m going with you to the ship,” the doctor added as he and Captain O’Malley hurried out the door. “Maybe there’s something I can do to treat the wound before we move him.”

Catherine started out the door after them, but Elizabeth held her back.

“We have much work to do.” Elizabeth turned to her guests, who crowded, wide-eyed, in the parlor entrance. “I’m afraid we must end our tea early.”

“Of course,” murmured one of the older ladies. She and her friend fetched their bags and parasols and quickly bid farewell.

Mrs. Cunningham sniffed. “Such things are to be expected in dangerous occupations. Stewart insists the days of wrecking will come to an end once all the lights are installed on the reef. Then we won’t lose so many men.”

Catherine reeled. “How many men die from wrecking?”

“Several a year,” Mrs. Cunningham reported with what sounded like glee. “Stewart says with all the wreckers working this shipwreck, there are bound to be fatalities.”

Catherine could not breathe. Her heart beat wildly, and she had to lean against the wall for support. She felt a comforting hand on her arm. Prosperity Latham squeezed gently.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cunningham,” Mrs. Latham said. “It was a delight to see you again. Don’t forget your parasol.”

She held out the object, and Mrs. Cunningham took it with another sniff.

“I gather that lieutenant of yours is still working on the fort?” the insufferable woman asked.

Prosperity Latham answered in the affirmative as Elizabeth led Mrs. Cunningham onto the veranda and down the steps to the street.

“At last.” Catherine sighed. “I couldn’t bear another moment in that woman’s company.”

Mrs. Latham laughed. “You knew no one like that in England?”

“Yes,” she had to admit, “but not any who insisted on lingering during a crisis.”

“I’m afraid that some people are drawn to tragedy, perhaps thinking they can help.”

Mrs. Latham was being too kind. Mrs. Cunningham would not have lifted a finger to help. She wanted to appease her curiosity so she could tell all her acquaintances what had happened.

Elizabeth climbed the stairs to the veranda. “Prosperity, I’m glad you’re still here. We need to prepare a bed on the sleeping porch.”

On hot, still nights, the family slept on the back porch. Since Catherine’s room was well shaded, she stayed there. She could not imagine sleeping out of doors would be good for someone injured.

“I will sleep on the porch. Tom can have the room I’m occupying.” After all, it had been partly her fault that he’d been injured in the first place. If she had accepted his offer to travel with her on the Baltimore, he would not have gone out wrecking.

“That’s very generous,” Mrs. Latham said.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “We must strip the bed and remake it. Florie!”

The maid popped out of the nursery. Catherine expected Elizabeth to instruct her to make the bed, but instead she asked the maid to stay with the children.

“Catherine, you will need to pack anything you might need over the coming week or so into a trunk. We will have the men move your trunk to our bedroom. With Rourke at sea most days and off to the mercantile the others, you can dress there.” Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Latham. “We will make up the bed on the sleeping porch while Catherine strips the one in her room.”

The two women hurried off to the back porch while Catherine moved to her room. She must strip the bed? And likely remake it. She had never made a bed in her life. The housekeeper or maid had always taken care of that.

As she stuffed her nightgown and other personal items into her main trunk, she attempted to come to terms with the fact that she was far out of her element. What if Chêne Noir was like the O’Malley household? What if she must take care of the house herself? Maman had led her to believe there were many servants, but that was more than twenty years ago. Much might have changed. This new life might be nothing like Deerford.

Perhaps this whole voyage had been a mistake.

Tom couldn’t see straight, and his head ached worse than anything.

“Lift him carefully,” said Dr. Goodenow, who’d examined him and wrapped a cloth around his head. “No jostling.”

“I can walk.” Tom pushed to his feet, but his legs wobbled and gave way.

Strong hands caught him before he fell back onto the James Patrick’s deckhouse, where he’d sat since the crew had hauled him out of the water back at the wreck site.

“Not so fast,” Rourke said.

It frustrated Tom that the captain had been forced to leave the wreck site due to Tom’s inattention. If he hadn’t been watching the surface of the water instead of the line, it wouldn’t have hit him. If he’d dived sooner, the snapped line would have missed him. Instead, according to Rander, the end with the swivel clunked him in the temple and sent him over the side.

“Rander, you take one side and I’ll take the other,” Rourke instructed. “All right, Tom, we’re going to walk you to the gangway and onto the wharf. Jules has a wagon waiting there.”

“I don’t need all this fuss,” Tom groused. “In a few hours, my head will clear.”

“Or you’ll slip into unconsciousness and never wake up,” the doctor said.

Tom blinked rapidly, but the blurry vision wouldn’t clear. “I’m not leaving this world.” His voice sounded thick and mumbled.

Rander and Rourke lifted him, and somehow they dragged him across the deck and off the ship. Every step made his head pound. And the wagon was none too comfortable either.

“To my house,” Rourke commanded whoever was driving, “and take it slow. We don’t want more jostling than necessary.”

Tom didn’t hear anything else the men said. They were taking him to Rourke’s house, where Catherine was staying. He closed his eyes and stopped resisting.

Catherine met the group of men at the front door. Elizabeth directed them up the steps and down the hall. Her husband and another sailor carried Tom into the house. The patient did not cry out in spite of the jostling. To all appearances, he had lost consciousness.

They placed Tom on the bed in the back bedroom, and then the doctor reexamined him. Catherine waited in the parlor with everyone but the captain, who remained with Tom and the doctor. No word came during long minutes of waiting. Each person held his or her breath and occasionally glanced toward the hall. Quiet prayers were said.

After the clock struck the hour, Catherine hopped up and paced to the windows, open to let in the cooling breezes. Dusk had begun to settle over the town.

She gripped the frame. “He would never have been on that ship if I hadn’t refused to let him escort me to New Orleans.”

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth joined her at the window. “Tom is a wrecker. They salvage ships and know the risks they take.” She placed her hand over Catherine’s. “There is no good to be gained by claiming fault for what was clearly an accident.”

Yet she could not shake the guilt. “He must survive, and when he does, I will accept his offer.”

“I gather you are not speaking of a marriage proposal.”

“No!” Catherine realized how her words must have sounded as heat flooded her cheeks. “I meant his offer to escort me to my destination.”

Elizabeth patted Catherine’s hand as Dr. Goodenow entered the parlor. All turned their attention to him.

The physician donned his top hat. “His heart is steady and his color good, but with the head injury we cannot know the extent of the damage until he awakens.”

“He is still in danger, then?” Catherine asked.

“Fluids might yet accumulate on the brain. That would be very serious. Call for me at once if there is any indication of swelling about the head, and I will let more blood.”

She felt ill. “Is there nothing we can do for him?”

The doctor spoke instead to Elizabeth. “Your husband is with him now. Mr. Worthington must be watched at all times. Keep his head cool. Use compresses soaked in a mixture of half vinegar and half water. His feet must be kept warm. When he awakens, he may have a light diet. Most of all, the house must be kept quiet.”

“The children,” Elizabeth said. “They are rather exuberant.”

Mrs. Latham offered to take them with her.

“Nonsense. You have three of your own. Jamie and Sarah would be more comfortable with their aunt Anabelle.”

Catherine had yet to meet Elizabeth’s sister.

“I can fetch her,” Mrs. Latham said.

Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ll send Florie with the children.” She glanced outside. “It’s still early enough.”

The doctor had donned his black coat. “I would be glad to accompany them.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but it is out of your way. Rourke can go with them.”

Catherine at last saw where she could help. “I will sit with Tom, then.”

Elizabeth nodded her gratitude before seeing the doctor out. Catherine walked down the hallway, now longer than it had ever seemed before. The children were quieter than usual, perhaps sensing the struggle that Tom faced. Would he recover?

Catherine’s hands shook as she pushed open the door to the bedroom.

Captain O’Malley rose to his feet. “The doctor left?”

She nodded. “Elizabeth needs you. I will sit with Tom.”

He readily agreed. Once he left the room, silence descended. Tom looked normal in the low light of dusk, except that his eyes were closed. She settled into the chair at his bedside, still warm from the captain’s presence.

Only a sheet covered Tom, who was still fully clothed except for his shoes. His hair stuck out at odd angles. She reached to smooth it and discovered it was caked with salt. His clothing had the greasy feel of saltwater-soaked cloth. Once the captain returned, Tom ought to be changed into clean clothes. Then again, he had no clothing here. Perhaps Captain O’Malley might lend him a nightshirt.

Every bit of that was trivial compared to Tom’s well-being. Catherine gently touched the bandage on his head. Swelling could prove fatal. The doctor had not said so, but it was understood.

“Get well, Tom,” she whispered. “You must get well.”

In a storybook ending, his eyes would have fluttered open just then. This evening they did not move at all. Tom had gone deep into himself. She prayed he would return.