Nine

Isabella retreated to the office. Where were all these people coming from? It seemed like just about everyone on the island had stopped by to express their concern. Thankfully, Lizzy guarded her mother’s need for rest as patiently and tactfully as anyone she’d ever seen. Isabella discovered she harbored an appreciation for the refined schoolteacher. Several of her students had gone on to college.

Isabella checked her figures one last time, then closed the ledgers for the day. Richard’s cash balance for salaries was getting mighty low. Perhaps he was concerned about how to pay everyone their salaries and that was why he suggested she work for others. Truth be told, unless he had other work for her, she would be spending a lot of hours doing nothing.

Maybe Richard merely treated her like he did everyone else, kindly and generously, thinking of others before himself.

Lord, it’s my emotions getting in the way. He’s trying to do what’s right and I’m resenting him because of my attraction to him. Isabella’s hands shook. Was it time to admit to her mother that her feelings for Richard were getting difficult to control?

“Isabella.” Richard stepped into the room and closed the door.

“Richard, the door,” Isabella’s voice cracked.

He turned and opened it halfway. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. About last night. . .”

“Shh, you mustn’t speak of it. Would you contact Señor Bower for me and see when I might be able to start work for him?”

“Will you still work for me?”

“Sí, but only one day a week. Perhaps Señor Bower’s friends can hire me for other jobs.”

“Isabella, you don’t have to leave.”

“Richard, have you looked at your cash flow lately?”

“Yes. I know it’s low, but I should have some payments coming in soon.”

“You’ll need them. I’ve got your books up to date, and I think my coming in once a week will keep them in order.”

“You’re very good, Isabella. I will certainly recommend you to others.”

She didn’t want his recommendation; she wanted his love. “Thank you. I enjoy working with numbers.”

“I do too, but I haven’t had much time for it lately.” Richard’s smile sent a flutter down her spine.

“What are you going to do about Manuel?”

“I reckon he’ll be owning a boat at the end of thirty days.”

“I’m so sorry, Richard. What about the loan?”

“Unless we can renegotiate another contract, it isn’t in my best interest to borrow the monies.”

“Again, I am sorry. I somehow feel responsible because Manuel is my cousin.”

Richard stepped closer and placed his hand upon hers. “This isn’t your fault.”

Isabella wove her fingers with his. She knew she shouldn’t, but her love and compassion for this man grew moment by moment. His blue-gray eyes ignited with passion. He stepped closer, behind the desk, beside her.

“Richard,” she whispered.

“My sweet Isabella, you—”

“Shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t. Not now, not yet.”

“How long?”

Her entire body trembled. She turned away. She couldn’t resist him and look into his handsome face. “We must be patient; we must wait.”

“I will ask your father’s permission to court you.”

“No, not yet. I. . .I. . .”

“All right, Isabella, I’ll wait.”

She turned back to him and saw his head bent down, his left hand clutched in a fist, the right clenching the edge of his desk.

“When will you come back to work for me?” he asked, not looking at her.

“How does Thursdays sound? I can do your payroll on Thursday and you can give the men their pay on Friday.”

“That will be fine. I’ll see you Thursday.” He lifted his head and looked at her now. His eyes were dull and unfocused.

“Thank you, Richard. I’m sorry about everything.”

“Buenas noches, Isabella.”

“Buenos noches.” She picked up her purse and headed out of the office.

The house bulged with people. Some folks she recognized, others she didn’t. Everyone seemed to be talking together in small groups.

“It’s a shame,” said a thin woman, perhaps in her forties, who stood wagging her head from side to side. “Don’t seem right. Cook’s been there for so many of us. We ought to be able to do something.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” A young black man shuffled his feet. “But we’s can pray. Cook be glad to hear me sayin’ that.”

“That woman could pray a tortoise out of its shell. But you’re right, we can pray for her.”

The small group grasped each other’s hands and went into prayer.

Lord, be with Cook; give her strength; make her comfortable. Isabella added her own silent prayer. She continued to work her way through the maze of people. As she opened the door, she turned around and found Richard standing on the stairs watching her. An awkward moment passed between them. She took in a deep breath and walked out of the house.

Richard fought the desire to run after Isabella. She seemed so vulnerable. How could he call himself a man of honor when he continually put her in compromising situations?

He turned and continued his flight up the stairs. His emotions were wreaking havoc with his peaceful existence. He was glad to see Cook determined to fight and live a bit longer, but she still seemed so frail to him. In all the years he’d known her, he only remembered a handful of times when she’d been sick.

He’d scheduled a meeting with Marc Dabney at his office this evening. What he wanted to do was call Marc a thief with his ridiculous offer, but what he needed to do was try to renegotiate the contract. If Marc wouldn’t budge, then he’d walk away. He couldn’t sacrifice the entire business for a loss of thirty-five-thousand-dollar.

Richard found a fresh set of clothes on his bed and clean towels in his room. Even with all the people in the house, it somehow seemed cleaner. Lizzy must have been cleaning all day, just trying to keep from worrying about her mother. Nanna was like that too, always cleaning when something was on her mind. Richard grinned, remembering the time Cook forced Nanna to stop cleaning one day. “You’re gonna wear a hole clear through that floor if you don’t stop scrubbin’ it.”

Nanna sat down in the puddle of water. “I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

Cook waddled over and sat down in a chair beside her. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do by frettin’ about it. What’s done is done. Now, trust the good Lord to make it right.”

Richard sat on the edge of his bed. What is done is done. Possibly he shouldn’t have turned his vessel over to Manuel, but it was done. The men on the island who owed Manuel money for the supplies should be more concerned about paying their debts in a timely manner, but what was done was done. Richard knew the risks when he’d used his boat as collateral. Now he just needed to make wise decisions, and signing Marc Dabney’s contract as it was wasn’t wise.

He buttoned his shirt and put on his bow tie. He ran a finger through his collar to remove some of the pressure from the foolish contraption. Who invented these things anyway? He looked at his image in the mirror. It did make him appear older, more businesslike, but who would wear these things willingly? A final brush of his hair and he stepped out of his room and reentered the sea of humanity filling his home. All these folks were here, not for gossip, but to show their love and appreciation for Cook. Richard’s throat tightened. A tear stung the corner of his right eye.

Politely, he greeted several folks and made his way out of the house. He took in a deep breath and headed for Marc Dabney’s office.

“Evening, Richard,” Marc greeted him as he walked through the office door. “Did you look over my proposal?”

“Yes, Sir. And, as it is now, I can’t accept it. However, if you’re willing to make some changes, we might have something to discuss.”

“Excellent. Set yourself down there and let’s go over it, shall we?” Marc’s smile seemed way too friendly. Richard fought the stiffness of his spine and sat down across from Marc’s massive mahogany desk.

Marc’s round belly pulled some of his shirt buttons tight when he sat down.

“So, what are the items you’d like to discuss?”

“The lien you’d put on the business if the payments weren’t made in sixty days. In fact, the way you have it worded, it appears that with the slightest delay, you’d own Southard Sponges.”

“Hmm, let me look. I had my attorney draw these up. Let’s see how he worded it.”

Richard watched Marc scan over the pages and stop at the appropriate spot. “This is pretty standard, Richard. If I lend you the money, I need to have something to guarantee that if you are unable to pay me back for some reason, I’ll have ownership of something to sell and recoup my loss.”

“I understand that. But look at the line that says you will own everything relating to the business. That’s unacceptable. The business and its property I might be able to see, but our house and our land is above and beyond the value of the loan. Even the waterfront property is worth more than you’ve valued it at. And the value of the business is four times what you’ve put on the contract.”

“Hmm, perhaps we can remove the house and the land, but the value of the business, I’m not sure. Seems to me, without the boat, the business isn’t worth much.”

“The boat is an asset to the business, but its value does not exceed the value of the business. I can transport the sponges on other vessels as I’ve been doing for the past couple weeks. Granted it’s easier and a higher profit to ship the shipments myself but—”

Marc raised his hand. “I see. Let me think. I’d really like to help you out here.”

“That’s not my only concern about the contract, Mr. Dabney. The interest rate is extremely high, and the time to pay off the debt seems awfully short.”

Marc drummed his fingers on the desk. “Let’s see. . . . What if I give you ninety days?”

“Possibly.” Richard eased back in the chair.

“I’d have to increase the interest.”

Richard wanted to scream, but the better part of wisdom and self-control took over. He set himself for a long night of negotiations.

After a couple hours, he left Marc’s office, none too certain they would work out an acceptable agreement between them. For everything Marc conceded, he would add another stipulation. Richard agreed to see the new contract after it was drawn up, but he wasn’t hopeful.

He undid his bow tie and let the ends drape down his shirt. His stomach growled. He hadn’t bothered to eat before he went to see Marc. Now he was happy his kitchen overflowed with baked goods.

“Evening, Richard. You were out late.” Lizzy stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Yeah, had a business meeting. What’s good here?”

Lizzy chuckled. “Set yourself down and I’ll serve you.”

“No, you’ve done quite enough. Sit down and tell me about your day.” Richard smiled. “I’m an expert at raiding the kitchen—just ask your mother.”

“I have no doubt about that. I couldn’t keep Benjamin out of the kitchen for a spell. That boy sure could eat.”

Richard grabbed some fried chicken, biscuits, and salad.

“Are you sure you have enough?” Lizzy seated herself in the old oak chair.

“No, I’ll probably go back for some of that pie and possibly some guava pastries over there.”

“Richie, Mo told me you had an offer from Marc Dabney.”

“Yup. Ain’t a good one, but he made me an offer.”

Lizzy played with the edges of the tablecloth.

“Why do you ask?” Richard put down his chicken and wiped his fingers on a linen napkin.

“I don’t know if I should be saying this, but I think you might want to know. Your uncle had an offer from Mr. Dabney years ago. He turned him down.”

“Marc said something about that. Didn’t appear to be any ill will on his part.”

Lizzy bit her lower lip.

“Miss Lizzy, what aren’t you telling me?”