14

Prosperity was true to her word. Later that day, before the last of the officers’ wives left David’s quarters and returned home, a wet nurse arrived to take the squalling baby.

The buxom Negro girl looked barely twenty, if that. Gracie by name. A slave, most likely, hired out to the hospital. Her wages would go to her master. For this service, David wanted the fee to stay with her. After all, she was giving of herself, perhaps diminishing what she could give to her own baby in order to sustain Aileen’s child.

The girl expertly quieted the babe with a few soft words and jiggles, much as Prosperity had. For the briefest instant, a fierce longing swept through him. Prosperity. Dear Prosperity. His betrothed and beloved. Now no longer his.

“You be needin’ someone ta nurse dis boy every day,” the girl said, drawing David from his regrets. “Every three ta four hours.”

He dragged a hand through his tangled curls, painfully aware of the depth of his exhaustion. “I will pay handsomely.”

He named a price, and her eyes rounded. He must have offered too much. Too bad he hadn’t thought to ask the other officers what was a reasonable rate.

“I got my own babes,” she protested. “An’ I does laundry at de hospital.”

“I realize that.”

“I kin only nurse him early in de mornin’ an’ before supper. I cain’t be leavin’ my babes ta live here.”

“That’s not what I intended.” But he had no idea what he intended or what needed to be done. A widower could not raise a baby, even if he wasn’t a soldier. David’s work meant long hours away from home. What was he supposed to do with this child all day? No matter what the doctor tried to impress upon him, this product of Aileen’s wild ways was not his responsibility.

“Ya need someone ta take care of dis boy, ta feed him when I cain’t be here.”

“I know.” His head split from the piercing squalls, well-meaning condolences, and ricocheting emotions. He drew a deep breath and began again. “I realize that must be done, but I don’t know how to do it.” He wished to wake from this nightmare that heaped on difficulties like bricks. “I need someone to take care of him until I figure it out. Could you take him for just a few days?”

The girl glared. “Don’t you be shovin’ your chile off on me. Miss Prosperity done tole me what ya done ta her, how you be runnin’ off with a no-good woman. She too proper ta say anything, but I ain’t got no problem speakin’ my mind. This babe needs ta be fed. You pays me for dat, but I ain’t gonna raise yore chile for you.”

“I’m not asking for that.” Wasn’t he? Didn’t he want every trace of Aileen wiped from the house? He had not shed a tear when the doctor laid a sheet over her. He’d quickly agreed to the commander’s offer of a plain pine casket. He looked forward to the body’s removal to chapel. He’d already contemplated burning everything she’d purchased, but the child would still remain.

“He need a mama,” the girl asserted with the conviction of a matron of forty.

Prosperity. No other name came to mind. No other woman could bring peace and proper balance to his wildly careening life, but she would not even look at him.

“How?” he croaked.

The girl shrugged. “Do what ya must.”

David had seen this often enough. A widower was soon surrounded by women eager to become his next wife. He need only select among the prospects. That would likely prove true here also—if he didn’t have the responsibility of a mixed-blood baby. That narrowed the field considerably, even to nothing.

“I nurse him as long as I kin,” the girl added, “but I cain’t promise ta do it fer long.”

“Do you know someone else?”

She shrugged.

His desperation grew. “There must be someone who would take him.”

The girl’s expression twisted. “Ain’t no one gonna accept dis babe. Ain’t white. Ain’t colored.”

The truth of her words pushed past the pain and exhaustion. This baby had no future. None. That’s what the doctor had been trying to tell him. If he didn’t give this boy his name, the little one had no chance.

The revelation cleared the fog from his head. “I must be his father.”

She nodded with what appeared to be approval. “He still need a mama.”

David had been given his marching orders. Find a wife. Not only a wife, but one who would accept a mixed-blood child and meet the approval of his commanding officers. He might as well have been asked to build a tower to the moon.

Gracie reported that she’d agreed to nurse David’s son before and after her workday. That ought to have brought Prosperity comfort, but the girl added that she’d prodded David to remarry.

“Remarry!” The idea vexed her. “He is newly widowed.”

Gracie shrugged. “Gotta git that po’ chile a mama.”

Of course. Marriage was a practical necessity. Some woman would be dazzled by the adventurous life of an army engineer’s wife. That woman could not be her, though it stung to think of David married to yet another woman.

Each day she asked Gracie if anyone visited David. Each day the answer was no.

Her heart buoyed, though she managed to hide that reaction from Gracie.

Eventually she must make peace with David, but the pain was still raw. Anger, fear, despair. The emotions swirled like the rushing tide through an inlet. Each night she prayed for guidance. Prayer brought conviction but no easy path. She must face David before she could move on.

To that end, she determined to pay a visit with Gracie after work on Friday. “Might I go with you tonight to Lieutenant Latham’s quarters?”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Gracie cain’t tell Miss Jones what ta do.”

Her hands paused from folding bed linens. “Are you saying that it’s not proper? I’m simply paying my condolences.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“No one would have cause to gossip.”

“Do it matter what people say?”

It did. It mattered a great deal. Her tenure at the hospital was already on shaky ground. “Perhaps I’ll wait.”

“He not wait fo’ you, no sir.”

That did not sound like David. At least not the David she knew. “Love is patient.”

Gracie harrumphed. “Fo’ a fool.”

“Do you think me a fool?”

Gracie picked up her empty basket. “Love done make every one o’ us a fool at one time or t’other.” She gave Prosperity a stern look. “Alls I’m sayin’ is don’t be doin’ nothin’ rash in the heat o’ things jes’ ta ease the ache in yo’ heart. Else you find yourself with a whole pile mo’ heartache.”

The truth of her words sank into Prosperity over the following days. In the calm of dawn after morning prayers, her thinking was much clearer. In those hours she could lay out David’s character and actions without the confusion that dogged her later in the day. David had betrayed their vows. Not only had he wed another, but that marriage had been necessary because he had been with this woman in a sinful way. Even though the child was not his, he must have believed it was. Betrayal in thought was as wrong as betrayal in deed.

Still, on her daily walks to the hospital or to market, her gaze wandered to every uniformed soldier she passed, alternately hoping and fearing that it would be David. Her breath would catch until she was quite certain it was not him. Then her fragile hope would collapse.

“Come now, Miss Jones,” Dr. Goodenow said as he walked her to the hospital one Monday morning. “Enough of the gloom.”

She paused on the corner of Fleming and Thomas, where they now parted ways. “Is that an order, Doctor?”

He laughed. “It is. Come, let’s continue to the hospital.”

“I thought you understood . . .”

“You may walk ahead of me if you wish, but I must go to the hospital this morning.”

Her curiosity piqued. “You have a meeting with Dr. MacNees?”

“Have you heard of the sorry business aboard the Philadelphia?”

“Cholera, right? I heard Dr. MacNees was not pleased the city refused to allow the ill to be brought ashore.” Dread shivered down her spine. “You’re going to help? Are you going out to the ship? Or are the sick being brought to the hospital?”

“Neither. The ship carries a surgeon. Dr. MacNees is joining the mayor to examine those passengers put off on Sand Key.”

“Those not infected.” She had wondered at that drastic measure, which was doubtless done to remove the healthy from infection. But the conditions could not be pleasant since Sand Key had no shelter beyond the lighthouse, which could not possibly house all those set ashore there. “Is he looking to see if the contagion has spread?”

“Very perceptive, Miss Jones. In his absence, he has asked me to oversee the hospital.”

“He has?”

“Don’t seem so surprised.” But a smile threatened to break his artificially stern expression. “Without an assistant, he has little choice but to turn to a local physician. It will be a brief tenure, however. I expect him to return by nightfall.”

“Very brief indeed.” But still fraught with danger. “I do think it best if I go on ahead.”

He swept his hand forward. “As you wish.”

If their connection that day had ended with the morning conversation, nothing might have come from the chance occurrence, but by ten o’clock, Miss Stern appeared at the laundry. Cook was taking a break to chat with Gracie. At Miss Stern’s appearance, the cook pretended she was fetching clean table linens.

Miss Stern ignored the cook and focused on Prosperity. “The doctor requests your presence, Miss Jones.” By her expression it was perfectly clear that she did not approve.

Prosperity lifted the mangle and pulled the sheet from it. “Do you know why?”

“It is not our place to question a physician’s orders. You had best remember that. Now put on a clean apron and follow me upstairs.”

Upstairs. That meant the wards or the dining room or even the surgeon’s office. Prosperity’s hands trembled as she untied the knot behind her back and slipped into a starched white apron.

“Hurry, hurry,” Miss Stern urged.

Prosperity rushed after her while tying the apron strings. Even so she could not miss the sneer that twisted the cook’s expression. Tales would be spread, but Prosperity could not dwell on what she could not change.

“Do you know what he wants?” she dared to ask.

Miss Stern harrumphed. “To assist him, he says.”

Prosperity gasped.

Miss Stern halted. “Let me warn you, Miss Jones, that one misstep will cost you dearly. Listen carefully and obey orders to the letter, but do not make one step beyond what is necessary. Do you understand?”

By now her pulse was racing. She nodded, though she had no idea how she could counter the friendly banter Dr. Goodenow was certain to employ.

They arrived at a supply closet, and Miss Stern unlocked the door. She then handed Prosperity a metal tray filled with bandages, instruments, and small bottles of medicine. “Take this to the first ward. The doctor is already there.”

Prosperity’s hands shook, and the metal instruments rattled against the tray.

“Don’t stand there gawking,” Miss Stern said tartly. “Go.”

Prosperity did not want to enter the wards. She didn’t fear illness or even the seamen suffering there. She feared the repercussions. Hadn’t she made it clear to Dr. Goodenow that they must have no contact in or near the hospital? Yet he’d breached every rule by asking her to assist him. Her stomach knotted as she walked down the corridor.

The ward was far from full. Two men occupied the beds closest to the door.

Dr. Goodenow looked up from tending to one of the patients. “Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if the matron would refuse to let you leave the laundry.”

Prosperity edged into the room. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Come here. I need one of the medicines on your tray.”

“Yes, sir.” She tried to hold the tray steady, but the instruments and vials rattled with every step.

He smiled when she stopped beside him. “You may breathe now.”

She let out her breath. “Yes, sir.” She wanted to ask why he had sent for her, why take such a huge risk, but Miss Stern had made it clear she was only to obey directives and answer direct questions.

Dr. Goodenow picked up one of the bottles and measured out a small quantity. “Tincture of rhubarb will help ease dyspepsia and restore the bowels.”

Prosperity knew she ought to pay attention, but she could not concentrate more than a few seconds. Entering the ward had recalled the painful memory of David’s wife lying amid bloodied sheets.

“. . . often used in dysentery and the latter stages of cholera. Miss Jones?”

Prosperity pulled her thoughts back to the present. “Forgive me. What do you need?”

“I was explaining the properties of the medicine. Didn’t you ask to learn this?”

Her cheeks heated. Was that why he’d called for her? Oh, careless tongue. She regretted ever speaking her mind. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

Dr. Goodenow eyed her a long moment. “I am the one who is sorry. I’ve asked too much.” He guided her out of the ward. “I will speak with Miss Stern.”

Her hands shook so badly that he took the tray from her and handed it to a passing orderly, who gave Prosperity a knowing grin before going into the ward as directed. Oh dear, the gossip would spread terribly.

“Please understand that I meant no harm,” Dr. Goodenow whispered.

His nearness made things even worse. She avoided his gaze. “I should return to the laundry, sir.”

“You deserve better.”

In other circumstances, that statement would have delighted her, but she could not shake the fear. If she lost her position, she would have no money to let a room. Elizabeth would insist she stay, but Prosperity could not accept charity. Her lip quivered.

“Don’t be afraid.” Thankfully he did not reach for her. “Dr. MacNees did approve of this and will tell Miss Stern when he returns. That should smooth things over.”

The knot in her stomach began to unravel.

Dr. Goodenow lingered a moment longer. “Forgive me, Miss Jones, but if the officials allow the passengers from the Philadelphia to enter Key West tomorrow, as I suspect they will, I may not have another opportunity to ask you to join me at tea this coming Saturday afternoon.”

Though the corridor was hot, it could not account for her discomfort. “I’m not certain . . .”

“It is a social, Miss Jones. A benefit for the temperance league.”

If only she didn’t have this Saturday off. Instead she must find a kind way to refuse. “I don’t know if it would be wise.”

“Your friend Mrs. O’Malley will be attending. It is to be held at the Cunninghams’ house.”

With Elizabeth in attendance, the event would be above reproach, and she was curious to see where the Cunninghams lived. Mrs. Cunningham had talked extensively of her porcelain vase collection from the Far East.

Down the corridor, Miss Stern tapped her toe, watching every moment of their interaction. Already the woman disapproved of her friendship with the doctor. If this conversation continued—and Dr. Goodenow would not rest until she agreed—Miss Stern might seek dismissal.

“Very well then. I accept.”

Dr. Goodenow smiled. “I shall look forward to it. Expect me to call on you at three o’clock.”

“I will walk with Mrs. O’Malley.” That was safest.

“We shall walk together then.”

If she had the tiniest feelings for him, her heart should have tumbled at his insistence, but she felt nothing. Perhaps in time her affection for him would grow, but not yet, not until she broke free from the past.

David dreaded the social, but Colonel Stormant had required every officer’s attendance. Mourning carried little weight with the colonel. A black armband marked David’s status, but Ambleton had already warned him to expect a goodly share of feminine attention. He left the baby with Mrs. Walters, whom he’d hired to replace Gracie, and arrived with the other officers in his stifling wool dress coat.

Perspiration dotted his brow, and not just from the heat. He had not attended many socials before joining the army. His father considered such functions the breeding ground of gossip. This afternoon many ladies graced the parlor, veranda, and expansive garden. Light fabrics turned billowing skirts into frothy confections. Though most necklines were modest, the heat prompted many ladies to wear shorter sleeves than would be considered proper back home.

The other officers had been swept away by some acquaintance or other, highlighting the seclusion David had put himself in since arriving on the island. Work consumed his days. Solving each unforeseen issue with the construction gave life meaning. His only foray into society had resulted in destruction. He was not eager to dip a toe into that pool again.

He glanced around the room, looking for a familiar face. Shy girls and hopeful ladies caught his gaze for a moment before darting away. Their mothers didn’t bother to hide their disapproval, leaning close to their charges to impart some words of wisdom. David could imagine what they were saying. It was not kind, for eyes widened and then those same young ladies whispered to their friends behind their fans. After another quick glance, they settled their attention on one of his compatriots.

No mistake about it. This tea might be billed as charitable, but its real aim was to match young ladies with eligible young men. At best, he’d been deemed ineligible. At worst, the matrons viewed him as scandalous. Finding another wife—at least one of quality—would be nearly impossible.

“Come this way, Lieutenant.” Captain Dutton appeared at his left elbow and drew him toward the garden where another segment of Key West society mingled.

This was a decidedly older grouping without the hysteria of the marriage mart. Matrons sipped tea while relaxing in lavish chairs that probably belonged in the parlor. Gentlemen in ivory-colored suits congregated to the side, telling tales and negotiating deals.

Captain Dutton tapped him on the shoulder. “The mayor is asking about progress at the fort. You can provide the detail he wants.”

The captain must have already endured a barrage of questions if he’d resorted to sending in an assistant. The afternoon just got more arduous.

Dutton mustered a grave smile. “You know how best to handle, er . . . indelicate questions.”

David wasn’t at all certain what his commanding officer meant, but now was no time to ask. The mayor stepped forward, waving his hand and calling out Captain Dutton’s name. David walked slightly behind the captain, who would make introductions. Though he tried to focus on the mayor, his eye was drawn to a small group seated beyond the man.

He drew in his breath.

Dr. Goodenow was seated between a lovely woman with golden hair and another who far outshone her in spite of the plain gray dress and unadorned bonnet. Prosperity.

Every ounce of strength seeped away.

She was listening intently to the doctor, her lips slightly parted as if the man’s words amazed her. Compassion shone from her brighter than the lighthouse’s lantern. Her every move revealed grace greater than a queen.

David tried to speak her name, but his voice stuck in his chest. He tried to move to her, but his feet did not budge.

Then God had pity on him. Perhaps it was the twitter of a bird or the flutter of a butterfly, but whatever captured her attention, he silently blessed it, for her head tilted upward, and she looked straight at him.