3
Prosperity dropped her bag with a thud. She had never fainted in her life, but her head spun at the guard’s words. Wife? David did not have a wife. He could not have a wife. He had pledged to marry her.
The guard must be mistaken. Perhaps he had misheard David’s name. She did have a soft voice, and the machinery thundered nearby. She must speak more forcefully.
“I meant Lt. David Latham.”
“Yes, miss. That’s the one.”
The quick response left no doubt. David had a wife. The O’Malleys had heard correctly. David was the officer who had married. How could it be? He would have broken the engagement by letter and waited an appropriate period of time for her response. He did not rush into anything.
The missing letters.
The landscape began to swirl as if she were caught in a vortex. What if David had written to her? What if he had broken off their engagement but the letter got lost?
She staggered backward.
“Are you all right, miss?” The guard reached out to steady her.
She pulled away. She couldn’t talk to a stranger about this. She couldn’t talk to anyone. The air pressed in on her, and the world was spinning out of control.
“You look pale, miss. Why don’t you sit a bit? There’s a bench in the guardhouse. I could set it here in the shade.”
“You are too kind. I will be fine. It’s just the heat.” She mustered a smile to prove it, but her chin quivered.
He did not appear convinced. “Might I call a carriage for you?”
“No, thank you.” She took a deep breath and picked up her bag. “See? I feel better already. Where might I call on them? Lieutenant and Mrs. Latham, that is?”
“Why, at the garrison.”
“Naturally.” Why hadn’t she remembered that? David had written to her of the long walk between his quarters and the work site. “Thank you. I will call on him—them—there.”
Her words faded behind the buzzing in her ears. Her vision blurred, and the ground heaved as if she were still aboard ship.
Don’t collapse in public.
Whatever happened, she must not lose control of her faculties here, with only the soldiers near. She plodded away from the guardhouse, each step heavier than the last.
Only once before had she come near to fainting. She had been walking past the fish market when she overheard a fisherman say he saw her father’s vessel go down in heavy seas. They found no survivors. She had clung to a hitching post and drew in the icy breeze until a friend rushed from the market to assist her.
Today no one would help her. She was alone in a strange land. The oppressive heat closed around her. Her knees wobbled. Cold and then hot sweats wrung the last bit of strength from her. Her bag felt like it contained lead, rather than a change of clothing and her Bible. It now took both hands to hold on. She must find shade. She must sit and collect herself. She must not lose consciousness.
The flowers and trees that had so delighted her on the walk here now blurred. The streets and paths spread out in too many directions. All looked the same. She could not think, could not find her way, could not stand much longer.
“Come with me.” The directive came with comforting arms that gathered Prosperity and drew her toward the shade of a large tree.
Prosperity hadn’t the strength to resist.
Elizabeth led her into the coolness where breeze and shadow met. “Let’s rest here a bit.” She spread a delicate handkerchief on the ground. “It’s not much, but it will keep some of the dirt off your skirt.” She guided Prosperity onto it.
The ringing soon eased, and Prosperity’s head cleared enough to wonder why Elizabeth had come back. “How did you know to return? Did you overhear my conversation with the guard?” The idea that anyone had heard that terrible news made her stomach roll.
Elizabeth simply smiled. “After walking a short distance, my strength was sapped. I feared the heat must have affected you even more, since you are accustomed to a much cooler climate. I had to make certain you were well.”
Prosperity had misjudged the woman. She blinked back tears. “I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry about.” Elizabeth squeezed her hand.
“I-I can’t believe it.” She took a deep breath. Unlike Nantucket’s cool breezes, this thick air did not calm. Images of David flashed through her mind. How serious he’d been when he’d asked for her hand in marriage. The relief when she’d agreed. The endearments in his letters. The way he’d smiled when she cut the lock of hair from his head and placed it inside the silver locket. Until we have children. They’d argued over names. He’d wanted to honor her parents. She’d wanted to honor his, but in the end gave in. He had grinned at that, and she’d told him what a fine father he would make.
He still would. But not with her.
“How is it possible?” Prosperity’s agonized whisper thundered in the heavy air.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand again. What could she say? She had no idea what Prosperity was talking about, though she must suspect. After all, she had heard the news that an officer had married. David.
Prosperity gulped a breath to quell a sob. “We pledged to marry a-as soon as he finished his tour. He wrote of his love. He said he would send for me when he’d saved enough for the passage. That promise was made long ago, but he never retracted it. He never led me to believe anything was amiss. M-marry another? How can this be?”
Elizabeth hesitated before asking softly, “How long have you been apart?”
“A little more than two years.” Prosperity undid the ties of the stifling bonnet and yanked it off her head. “But that shouldn’t make any difference. David is as unchanging as the sea.” Yet even as she said that, she knew its falseness. The sea changed constantly. Placid in the morning, it might rage by nightfall. The sea swallowed ships and men. It had taken her father and never spat him out. Tears welled again. To have lost father and mother and fiancé in so short a time was too much to bear.
“Then there must be an explanation,” Elizabeth said.
Prosperity blotted an escaped tear with her plain cotton handkerchief. “He never said a word.” She shook her head in disbelief. “David always insisted on honesty and integrity. His word was his honor. This is so unlike him.”
“Then it might not be true.”
Prosperity knew the hollowness of such hope. “How could it not? The guard confirmed that Lt. David Latham returned home to his wife. There cannot be two men of the same name and rank in the same regiment. No, as much as I do not want to believe it, it must be true.”
Elizabeth didn’t say anything at first. Birds chirped and croaked in unfamiliar songs. Leaves rustled, sounding like a torrent of rain. Prosperity wept silently.
Only after she had dried the last tear did Elizabeth speak. “Would you like to see him and discover the truth for yourself?”
“I-I can’t. I can’t bear to see him . . . with another woman.” The tears welled again. “And yet I can’t bear not knowing.” She twisted the damp handkerchief. “What will I do?”
“I will go with you, if you wish.”
Prosperity looked at Elizabeth O’Malley, really looked. Beyond the beauty of her features, she exuded understanding and compassion that far surpassed physical attractiveness. Elizabeth meant every word she said. She would brave this moment with her. A wave of gratitude soothed the pain. Prosperity had found a friend in this foreign land.
Yet no one else could bear this burden. Prosperity took a rattling breath and attempted a smile that came out rather poorly. “Thank you, but this is something I must do myself.”
“Two are stronger than one, and a three-strand cord can’t easily be broken.”
“Ecclesiastes.” Prosperity thought of her Bible tucked in the bottom of her bag. All her life she’d found answers there, but this time she wasn’t sure God could speak to the mess she found herself in. She’d never considered what to do if David did not marry her at once. Mrs. Cunningham’s admonition rang in her ears. She should have written ahead. Yet she could not have afforded to stay in Nantucket until a reply arrived.
Key West had beckoned, brimming with a bright future. David would gather her in his arms, reaffirm his undying affection, and give her enough money to let a room until the wedding. How fanciful those ideas now seemed. Without David’s assistance, her few coins would not provide room and board for more than a night.
Where would she go? Where could she lay her head tonight? If she could find a room inexpensive enough to accept her paltry sum, where would she stay tomorrow? If David truly had married, then what?
Her head spun again. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed out the dilemma facing her. “What will I do?”
Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham were the only other people she knew in Key West, yet they had not offered her any assistance. She might call on them and beg for a position in exchange for room and board.
Elizabeth wound her arm around Prosperity’s shoulders. “First of all, you will have a decent meal. Then you will rest. This encounter can wait until tomorrow.”
She thought Prosperity was worried about confronting David. She could not know her desperate circumstances. Prosperity took a shuddering breath. “I suppose you’re right. I will find a room.”
“You will stay with us. We have an extra room that will be perfectly comfortable until you get your bearings.”
“Rourke would never let me hear the end of it if you don’t stay with us. He is always anxious to hear about far-off ports. Once you’ve rested a bit and regained your composure, perhaps you might tell him of Nantucket. He will have a hundred questions about its commerce and ships.”
Somehow Elizabeth had managed to turn a charitable act into a welcome visit. If not for the ache in her heart, Prosperity would bubble over with gratitude. But all she could manage was a whispered thank-you.
“I shan’t stay more than tonight.”
“Stay as long as you wish.” Elizabeth’s mouth curved into an impish grin. “I would greatly appreciate a woman’s help around the house, though I would understand if you prefer quieter quarters. You see, I have a rather boisterous infant son.”
“A baby.” Prosperity touched the locket at her throat. “How old?”
“Almost six months.”
Six months. Elizabeth’s son had been born during Ma’s final decline. So often Prosperity had seen this cycle. An elder passes and a baby is born. “Hope for the future.”
“And a challenge at times.”
“I’m sorry I took you away from your baby.”
“Not at all. He’s visiting his aunt Anabelle and cousin Patrick for the afternoon.” She stood and extended a hand. “Shall we?”
Tonight she would gather her strength. Tomorrow she would call on David.
Disgusted by the smell of liquor on his wife’s breath, David made an excuse about an urgent project and hurried back to the construction site. Work would take his mind off troubles at home.
When he arrived and learned that one of the cisterns had leaked during a test, all thoughts of Aileen vanished. The project was constantly beset with supply problems that brought progress to a halt, but thus far the engineering had held true. A leaking cistern invited the dual problems of salt water intrusion and undermining the foundation. It must be repaired. He pored over the plans with Captain Dutton, Lieutenant Ambleton, and the sergeants heading the work crews.
By the time a plan of attack had been agreed upon, darkness had fallen. Captain Dutton invited the lieutenants and sergeants to dine with him at an inn so they could discuss other potential issues. David felt a twinge of guilt for abandoning his wife, but in the army, work always took precedence over family.
“I’ll send a message back to the garrison with Private Jameson,” Dutton said.
With conscience eased, David enjoyed a hearty meal of stewed beef, a meat seldom seen on Key West. While dining, the men discussed progress in detail. Eventually talk drifted toward other problems.
“We’ve had another delay out of Mobile,” Dutton announced. “Don’t expect the next shipment of brick from those suppliers until mid-June.”
The bad news raised a murmur among the men, but supplies seldom arrived on time or with any regularity.
“Engstrom reported a puzzling shortage of spikes,” Lieutenant Ambleton added.
That caught David’s attention. “I thought he’d made more than enough to last through June. Are the men using too many?”
The question was debated, but no one could agree on what had caused the problem. Some cited the blacksmith’s languid pace and thought he was covering up for laziness. Others believed the men had been overzealous in their use. A few drifted back to the problem of supply. Captain Dutton ended the discussion by charging David to look into the problem.
By the time the supper meeting ended, the Negro curfew had gone into effect, and the streets had quieted. While Dutton hired a hack to return to the garrison and the others lingered at the inn, David strolled through the residential area between the town center and the garrison, enjoying the stars above and the occasional domestic scenes in open parlor windows. As he passed one house, he thought he spotted a familiar figure from the corner of his eye.
Prosperity? His steps froze even as his heart raced. Impossible.
Though he watched the brightly lit parlor long enough to draw the attention of passersby, the only woman to enter the room had blonde hair. He must have been mistaken.
Disappointment settled in. Though he could never claim Prosperity for his wife, he selfishly wished for just one glimpse of her or one gentle word to console him that he’d made the correct choice.
Instead he plodded to his quarters where accusations doubtless awaited. Aileen had been upset that he’d left her that afternoon. The confrontation would not be pleasant. For an instant, he considered lingering in town or walking the docks. Alas, Aileen slept very little at night. She claimed it was due to her delicate condition, but he suspected she was accustomed to those hours from working at the grogshop. Though her indolence irritated him, he let the point rest. After all, he had caused this situation. He must shoulder the consequences.
After checking in with the guard, he slowed his pace. Experience taught him that one drink invariably led to another and another. Would she curse him, or had she passed out long ago? After her first drinking spell, he’d scolded her so thoroughly that she promised never to do it again. But instead of giving up liquor, she had taken to hiding it.
He dreaded what he might face. This sort of behavior could not be good for the baby. He must exact another promise from her and watch her more closely, no matter how painful. He would search her things each morning before leaving for work.
He crossed the parade ground. His quarters were dark. What a relief! She must have retired. There would be no vitriolic accusations tonight.
He climbed the steps onto the veranda and entered the dark interior. A lamp and matches should sit on the small table just inside the front door, but they weren’t there.
“Aileen?”
No answer.
He waited for his eyes to adjust. Gradually, shapes came into focus, and he could navigate to the staircase leading to the upstairs bedroom. Again, guilt rippled through him. A true husband should join his wife, but he slept on the parlor sofa. Each night he dropped to his knees and prayed, but he could not love her as a husband ought to love his wife. He could not bear to touch her. Not yet. Perhaps after the baby was born.
Enough moonlight streamed through the open front door to delineate the staircase. He crept upstairs, his weight making each step creak. The door to her bedchamber was slightly ajar. No light shone from within.
“Aileen?” He rapped lightly.
No answer.
Inside this door should be another lamp and matches. He felt around in the dark. Thankfully she hadn’t crowded the washstand the way she’d filled her veranda table. He grasped the lamp and fumbled with the matches but managed to take both from the room. After pulling the door mostly shut to guard against the sudden glare, he struck the match and lit the lamp. Light flared until he adjusted the wick. The oil was low, but the lamp cast enough light to illuminate the dusty hall crowded with piles of unwashed laundry.
He gently nudged the door open a little more. Her bed was untouched.
What? He pushed into the room, his heart pounding. Where was she? Had the birth pangs arrived? Had she gone to one of the officers’ wives?
He stormed downstairs, through the house, across the veranda, and onto the grounds. None of the other parlors was lit. A lone bedroom lamp shone two doors down, but it blinked out before he reached their steps.
Where was she? He hurried back to his quarters. Perhaps she had fallen and was lying injured inside.
He plowed through the parlor, lamp swinging wildly from corner to corner until he could be certain she hadn’t fallen—or fallen asleep. The downstairs and upstairs got a thorough search, but his wife was not in the house. Where had she gone?
His breath caught. What if she’d returned to the grogshop?
He collapsed onto her unmade bed. How could she throw away a good home and a respectable husband? He had given her everything, even his name. He’d pulled her from the dregs of society and turned her into an officer’s wife. How could she return to such a despicable life, especially while carrying their child?
No one would do that. He’d jumped to conclusions. There must be another explanation. Perhaps she had sought the midwife over an unusual pang. Perhaps one of the wives had taken her in—but then a light would have shone from the woman’s quarters. Unless Aileen had sought her old friends at the grogshop.
He raked a hand through his hair. Why would she return to the clutches of sin?
The next second he knew the answer. He had chastised her. He did not trust her. He had never been a husband to her.
The lamp sputtered out.
The missing lamp! She must have taken it with her. Then she truly had gone. As her husband, he must find her and bring her home—willing or unwilling.
His gut tightened. This would not be pleasant. If he did find her at the grogshop and she had been drinking, she would hurl threats and vulgarities at him. A drunkard or two might even come to her defense. He rubbed his jaw, anticipating the blows sure to come. Maybe his uniform would mean something. Then again, a man deep in his liquor did not respect a constable, least of all an army officer.
What if she was with a man? That idea made him nauseous. Surely not when she was so heavy with child. Father would say he had married a strumpet and must accept the consequences. Before this debacle, David had spouted on about saving sinners and granting second chances, but talk was hollow. Doing it was much more difficult.
Structures could be analyzed for weaknesses, but relationships defied analysis. So many flaws riddled this marriage that he could not begin to shore them up.
Nevertheless, he must rescue his wife from the throat of sin. He inched through the doorway and toward the head of the stairs, feeling his way in the dark.
Footsteps sounded on the veranda below. The front door opened to laughter. Aileen’s artificial laugh was echoed by one much deeper and definitely masculine. Only moonlight spilled through the doorway. The lamp had either gone out or been left behind.
“I told ye no one’s here, love,” Aileen purred.
The man’s slurred and unintelligible murmur sent David’s blood raging. He shot down the staircase. Two forms stood silhouetted in the front doorway. He clenched his hands.
“Welcome home, wife.” Each word spat out like a musket ball.
Footsteps followed by a curse told him the drunkard was trying to make his escape.
David tore across the room, past Aileen, and across the veranda. The man had slipped into the shadows, surprisingly quick considering his inebriated state.
That left Aileen.
David spun to face her. The crescent moon revealed her standing with hands braced on her hips, her heavy state masked beneath a cloak.
“Never again,” he said tersely.
“Who d’ye think ye be tellin’ me what to do?” Aileen stood tall and unrepentant.
“I’m your husband.”
“And I be your wife, fer what it’s worth.”
“A wife honors her husband.”
She snorted derisively. “A husband loves his wife. Ye didn’t come home.”
“That’s no excuse. Captain Dutton sent word.”
“Aye, sent word, as if that’s any excuse.”
“It’s no reason to resort to whoring.”
Her sharp gasp sent guilt knifing through him. He shouldn’t have said that.
She started to sob. “I’m no good. No good.” Over and over she said it, punctuated by hiccups. “I try and try, but I’m rotten like me da always said.”
Shame galloped in on the heels of anger. He’d asked too much of a woman berated her entire life and had given her too little. How could he expect her to change in a few short weeks?
He handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. “Why can’t ye love me? Why can’t anyone love me?”
He felt as helpless as a boy caught dragging his mother’s clean wash through the mud.
“It’s ’cause I was born bad,” she choked out. “Me da said red hair’s a sign of the devil, that there weren’t a bit o’ good to be found in a girl baby with red hair.”
In four and a half weeks of marriage, David had never asked about her past, and she had volunteered little. They lived physically together but emotionally apart. He hadn’t wanted to know her, hadn’t wanted to fall in love with her. He might learn to love her after she repented, but what if she didn’t? Every instinct screamed to wash his hands of her.
She hiccupped out another sob. “Jes’ throw me out like he did, like the rubbish, that’s what he called me.”
“Your father was wrong.”
She drew in a shaky breath and rushed into his arms, still sobbing. He instinctively held her.
Earlier tonight he thought he’d seen Prosperity, but she was only a dream—a lost dream. Aileen was his reality.