Twelve

Richard stretched the kinks out of his back. Morning came all too early today. No word had surfaced about his fleet of sponge boats. The sheriff suspected they went out with another ship during the night. No one in Key West would be able to hide the boats.

He spent a few moments with Cook before heading off to work and found her in better spirits. Her color was returning and overall health improving.

At the dock he found Pete’s old skiff turned over and a fresh patch on the hull drying in the sun. Richard smiled. Pete must have worked on it last night. Amazing, he mused.

“Morning, Richard.” Mo waved.

“Morning, Mo.” Following Mo up the dock was his son William. “Morning, Will.”

“Good to see you, Richie. Been awhile.” The two men shook hands. Will and Richard used to play together, having grown up close in age. But Will had married young and was the father of two boys. “So, Mo dragged you out to help him this morning, huh?”

Will’s broad smile spread across his deep chocolate face. “You might say that. But I’d like to believe it was more the idea of helping a friend in a time of need.”

Richard slapped Will on the back. “Thanks, Will, I really appreciate that.”

“My pleasure.”

“All this yappin’ ain’t gonna get our work done. We’ll be in before noon with our first load, Richard. Have the vats ready.”

“Yes, Sir.” Richard smiled. In a way, he seemed more at home taking orders from Mo rather than giving them. He’d worked many summers for his uncle, and Mo had always been his boss. He’d never been quite able to look at Mo as an employee, but more as a partner. Times like this he was more certain of it. If the family didn’t want to return to Key West, Richard was inclined to suggest that he just give the business to Mo. Except Mo was getting close to retirement age; perhaps he wouldn’t want it.

He waved to Mo and Will as they went aboard Mo’s boat.

“Richard?” a voice called from behind him. He turned to see Micah Bower heading toward him. “Heard about the robbery. What can I do to help?”

“Do you have a boat going north soon?”

“Yup, leaves tonight. Have some sponges?”

Richard pointed to the large mound of dry sponges on the beach above the high-water mark. “That pile there is ready.”

“Great, I’ll have my men come over with a wagon and load ’em up. Who should they be shipped to?”

Richard gave him the name and address of his distributor in New York City. “This will help. Thanks, Micah.”

“Pleasure to lend a hand. Who do you suppose stole your boats? Never heard of anyone ever doing a thing like that before.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was out to ruin me. But fact is, the fire had nothing to do with me or my business.”

“No it didn’t, but someone might be trying to take advantage.” Micah leaned against a piling. His blond hair had now become sandy brown. There weren’t many on Key West with blond hair, and because Micah had the same color hair as Richard’s, he’d always felt a kindred spirit with the man. Now, as a man himself, it seemed pretty foolish; but as a child, looking so very different from most of the people he played with, it had meant a lot.

“Word on the street has gotten around about Marc Dabney making an offer to lend you the money. Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if the rumor came from Dabney himself. He always seemed to want to make more of himself, and I think he thought this was a good horn to blow.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know the man all that well. His proposal was no real offer.”

“You alluded to that the other day. What’s the deal he offered, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He basically was charging about twenty percent interest, and I think it was compounded. I didn’t take the time to do the figures on that. Then he had clauses in there that if I was as much as a day late with any portion of the payment, he’d essentially own the business.”

Micah crossed his arms over his chest and groaned. “You didn’t take him up on it, right?”

“Of course not. I’d rather lose the business than have it stolen from me legally.”

“You’re a wise man for someone so young. Who taught you about contracts?”

“School. Of course, my nanna had a hand in making me wise about my money when I was no taller than a sea turtle. She used to talk about ‘seed money.’ I think she called it ‘corn money’ when I was really small. Anyway, she let me know if I spent it all, I’d have nothing to grow with the following year.”

“Wise woman, your nanna. A bit unorthodox for her time, I’d say.”

Richard chuckled. “I think that’s why she loved it so much down here. Back home she’d have to conform to strict society. Here she didn’t have to worry about social rules. Although more of that has come to town in recent days, I’ve seen.”

“Afraid so. As a town matures, social etiquette does develop along with it. Can’t believe this little island has the second largest city in the entire state of Florida. Been exciting watching it develop, though.”

“Heard several families were pulling out because of the fire,” Richard commented.

“Such a shame. But I guess it’s the way things are. Are you going to survive?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. If some of the men don’t start paying me back soon, I’ll be in real hot water. I didn’t expect them to not pay me back right away.”

“Risky business loaning a man money when he ain’t asked for it.”

“True, but I thought they would have understood and appreciated that I went out of the way to lend them a hand.”

Micah readjusted his stance. “I think most feel they are in your debt and will pay you back.”

“Oh, I’m not saying they won’t pay me back, just that I wasn’t expecting them to tell me it might take months before they could.”

“Months?” Micah whistled. “No wonder you’re concerned.”

“I’ll be lucky if I get the warehouse rebuilt by the end of the summer.”

“What about your ship?”

“Nothing I can do there. I figure it’s lost, and what the men owe Manuel they will owe me.”

“Listen, I’ll do whatever I can do to lend a hand. I’ve got some funds set aside. Would you like to borrow some to purchase some more skiffs?”

“Actually, I was thinking about waiting on them and buying a motorized vessel or a sailing vessel like Mo has.”

“Going modern, huh?”

“If it will save me money and allow me to make a profit, you betcha.”

“That attitude, Son, will keep you in business. I’ve got to run. I’ll take care of that order of sponges for you. Do you have a letter that needs to go north?”

“No, I sent one the other day when Cook collapsed. Wish we had a telegraph down here.”

“Would be nice. Have a good day, and don’t work too hard.” Micah winked and left him there with his sponges.

Should he write his folks and let them know about the boat, the skiffs, and the problem with the loans? It would certainly let them know he wasn’t quite the businessman he’d hoped to be. Vanity, all is vanity, he reminded himself. Perhaps he should write a letter. Perhaps Uncle Ellis could save the business. Richard certainly was running out of ideas. And there was always the possibility of cashing in some of his trust funds. But if he understood banking, they were being used at the moment.

“Señor Richard,” Emile Fernandez called out.

“And here comes my other problem,” Richard mumbled to himself.

❧

Isabella felt like a five year old being dragged around by her father. She hadn’t been allowed to say a word, and why he needed her to come with him this morning still eluded her.

Richard’s shoulders squared after her father called out to him, Isabella noticed. His shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows and he stood beside a mound of smelly sponges.

“Buenos días, Señor Fernandez, Señorita, como están?” Richard smiled, but his stance reflected concern and caution. He glanced at Isabella for a fraction of a second.

“Bien. I’ve come with good news.”

Isabella wasn’t too sure how good her father’s news was. He’d been bending every man’s ear he knew this morning asking for favors. Richard was a proud man, or at least she thought him to be a proud man. She hoped he would not be offended by her father’s zealous behavior.

“What news do you have?” Richard asked cautiously.

Isabella observed the tiny dimple in Richard’s chin when he was concerned. Normally, it was barely noticeable. When he smiled it was very pronounced.

“I have spoken with some men. This evening after work they are going to go sponging for you. They will be using their own boats, or they will go with another who has a boat.”

“What?”

“They wish to help you. They have heard of your troubles and want to help.”

“But why?”

Isabella knew why, and Richard would not be happy with the strong-arm tactics her father had used. He had pleaded with the men’s sense of justice, their sense of honor, and their sense of national pride—all because Manuel was Cuban and had treated Richard poorly.

“It is a matter of honor. I am here to work for you for the day and I will go with the men this evening.”

“Señor Fernandez—”

“Emile,” her father interrupted.

“Emile, I really appreciate your offer, but there is little to be done at the moment. I have these sponges to wash and soak, but that is about all.”

“You need more vats?” Emile surmised.

“I lost most of them in the fire.”

“I can help you build vats. You can work with your sponges and I can build vats.”

Isabella closed her eyes and sighed. Once her father determined to do something, there was little that could prevent him from completing his task.

“Emile, you need to support your family. I can’t pay you.”

“You insult me, Señor. I do not ask for money. I merely wish to repay a debt my family has caused you.”

Richard folded his arms across his chest. The dimple in his chin nearly disappeared. “Then I accept your offer. I did not mean to insult you.”

“Sí, much better.”

“Isabella, what can I do for you?” Richard asked. “Please don’t tell me you are here to work also?”

“No, Papá asked me to accompany him.”

“I see.” His forehead knit with confusion. Isabella looked down at the dock.

Emile cleared his throat. “Isabella tells me she is to work only one day a week for you.”

“She is very good at her job. I will only need her one day a week until I can rebuild the warehouse. Then I will have more need with inventory.”

“I see. She says Señor Bower wishes to hire her.”

“That’s right.” Unfolding his arms, he relaxed them against his sides.

“He is a good man, no?”

“He is a good man.” The dimple in Richard’s chin returned.

“Then I should speak with him before Isabella goes to work for him.”

“Papá!” She hated being talked about as if she weren’t there.

“Señor Fernandez.” Richard cleared his throat.

“Emile. . .”

Richard held up a hand to stop her father’s protest. “No, Sir, for this I need to speak with you with respect.”

“Oh?”

Isabella looked into Richard’s wonderful blue-gray eyes and knew what he was about to ask. Should she stop him? Did she really want to stop him? No, she would like to be courted by Richard.

“I would like to speak with you about your daughter, Isabella.”

“Sí.” Emile’s voice strained.

Isabella shook her head, no, ever so slightly, and she saw Richard’s eyes flicker. He swallowed.

“I wanted you to know just how gifted she is working with numbers. I have been extremely pleased with her work. This is why I mentioned her to Señor Bower. You should be very proud.”

“Richard, I am very proud. Now, if she would get this foolish nonsense out of her head to work and find a handsome man like yourself to settle down with, that would make me very proud.”

Isabella felt heat crawl up her neck.

“With someone as beautiful as Isabella, I’m sure the right man will come around any day now.” Richard winked.

At least now she would have time to think about him and whether she truly wanted to marry him and move so far away. Coming with her father this morning had not seemed necessary, but who can refuse a father? What was he really after? Had he suspected more was going on between Richard and she than would be allowed by their culture? If so, why wasn’t he demanding that Richard begin courting her?

Too many questions, and she felt like a flounder flopping on the ground trying desperately to gather some oxygen to live.

“Times a wastin’. I need to get back to work. If you’ll excuse me.” Richard reached down and grabbed some damp sponges and placed them in a vat.

“No problem, I will get to work on some vats.”

Richard had some wood that could be used for that purpose, but not nearly what he needed to keep this business pulling in a profit. Thankfully, the other sponge fishermen had taken employment in town rebuilding some of the businesses. With my money. He bit back the aggravation he felt toward the men who owed him the most. He couldn’t hold resentment toward them. It wouldn’t be right.

Isabella caught his attention with the gentle swish of her skirts. Why hadn’t she wanted him to ask her father’s permission to court her? Emile was walking toward the shore. “Isabella?” he whispered.

“Shh,” she whispered back and handed him a folded piece of paper from out of the pocket of her skirt.

He slipped his hand over the paper and traced the delicate skin of her palm. “My Bella, why?”

“Read,” she whispered. “Señor Richard, which day do you wish me to work for you this coming week?”

Formalities, for her father’s sake. “Thursday would be fine.”

Isabella nodded and left him standing there. He planted his feet firmly on the decking of the dock. She didn’t want him to chase after her. She didn’t want. . . No, wait until you can read the letter. Richard sighed and slipped it in his pants pocket. If only Emile wasn’t helping me today.

Richard pushed the weight of his body down on the sponges in the vat, releasing the remaining seawater so they could soak up the fresh water. After placing the remaining sponges in the vats, he set out hanging the sponges to dry. He strung them on strings and hung them off the pilings. Strings of half a dozen sponges drastically changed the appearance of the pilings, turning them into furry, brown-tipped poles.

Richard turned around to see Emile unexpectedly walking off. Just let the man be. He’s probably got something on his mind, he thought, reminding himself it wasn’t his place to dictate the schedule of a volunteer.

“Mr. Southard,” Mo’s fourteen-year-old son, Joseph, came running up.

“Hi, Joe, what can I do for you?”

“Tell Dad Momma needs him at your house when he comes in.”

“All right. Is something wrong?”

“Grandma’s asked to see him.”

“Cook!” Richard dropped the sponges in his hand and ran.