Beloved Castaway (13 page)

Chapter 11

The Reverend Hezekiah Carter, late of Richmond in fair Virginia, stood stock-still in the midst of the milling throng as the
Jude
slipped from its moorings. The night air smelled of bitter smoke and unwashed bodies, and wisps of clouds rolled across the orange sky.

Hezekiah’s first impression of the scene unfolding on the river below was one of irony. All those years of warning Josiah and now this. Surely his son from his vantage point aboard the former slaver saw a preview of his eternal destiny.
 

“First the water and now the fire.” Hezekiah shook his head. “Lord, Your mercies are wondrous to me. Thank You for saving my son. If only he appreciated the—”

Someone bumped him. A hand reached beneath his cloak. A
second later, the ruffian fell, a victim of Hezekiah’s practiced skill with a walking cane. Hezekiah stepped past the fallen wharf rat.

“I only look like an old man,” he muttered. “May God have mercy on your rotten soul.”
 

His gaze searched the burning river for Josiah’s vessel but found only a scene worthy of Dante. Perhaps among the smoke and flames, his firstborn had met his match.

Hezekiah sighed. Pity to lose a son, even a lost one, to the flames. He turned on his heels and made his way through the crowd toward the Dumont warehouses on the southernmost bend in the river near the cotton press. From there, he knew he could find some measure of privacy and perchance see his son’s sails among the many floating about.
 

Halfway to his destination, he cast a look around him and took note of the mass of humanity packed together. “Poor folk with nothing better to watch than the destruction of lives.”

Would that he could reach just one or two of the lost souls here. Alas, his had not been the lot of an evangelist. His flock, large in number and with pockets well lined, preferred their Sunday morning sermons padded with drivel and sweetened with promises of good fortune.

If only he could preach the coming doom to the folks back in Virginia without losing his shirt and the fine parsonage they’d built him last year. Mary did love that home, and she’d busied herself filling the rooms with many fine things from their home in the country.
 

No, better to leave the soul saving to one more qualified. Hezekiah had been called to do grander things for God.

He completed the climb to the levee at the warehouse and covered his eyes against the brilliant orange glare. All seemed lost, again reminding him of the inscription described by Dante. “Through me you enter into the city of woe. . . ,” Hezekiah quoted as he watched a brig explode into flames that seemed to touch the clouds.
“All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

Then he spied the
Jude
, her mainmast charred and her foresail torn. She cut hard to the right and seemed to glide among the wreckage with her safety insured. Close enough now to see her deck and the crewmen scrambling about, Hezekiah searched the vessel until his gaze landed on its captain.

There he stood, bold as the day he took on the neighbor’s rabid spaniel and seemingly no nearer to good sense or restraint. Rather, he stood at the quarterdeck, spyglass tucked under his arm. Slowly, Josiah lifted the spyglass and aimed it toward the warehouse. He seemed to be scanning the levee, searching.

Hezekiah straightened his back and rested both hands on the cane. Soon the whelp would see him. A pity his suit coat was black. He took a step away from the shadows and dared his son to find him.

There. Josiah lowered the spyglass. He’d found him.

Remaining still took great restraint, but then, Hezekiah had perfected that trait over time. A man too quick to act often found himself sorry. As the vessel slid between two burning hulks, Hezekiah moved farther down the levee. Once the
Jude
cleared the blockage, her captain returned to view.

Hezekiah considered lifting a hand in greeting, then thought better of it. Josiah, however, fashioned his own greeting. He pointed to Hezekiah, then spit in the water. Then he began to laugh. Through the rumble of the fire, the cracking of the timber, and the screams of those in and out of the fire, came the laughter of the one Hezekiah had once called his pride.
 

A better man might have gone after the young pup, but Hezekiah preferred to let his son suffer whatever fate the Lord had for him without a parental audience. And the heavenly Father would surely dole out a punishment equivalent to the crimes his elder son had committed.

To be certain, Josiah Carter would try the patience of any father, heavenly or otherwise, but stealing his brother like a common highwayman surprised even Hezekiah. Mary was behind the scandalous act of fetching William from the nursery, but what his dear wife did not figure was that Hezekiah would discover the crime.
 

By doing nothing, he’d allowed it, of course; but then Mary was nearly as dear to him as the Lord Jesus. Perhaps he had been a bit too insistent that young William be educated at home rather than being sent away for schooling as Josiah had.
 

He knew of several excellent schools in the New Orleans and Charleston areas. No doubt, Josiah had arranged for William to board at one of those, using the monies Hezekiah deposited into Mary’s household account. At this moment, his men were combing the campuses of these venerable institutions to locate the nine-year-old.

None save his few trusted men would know Hezekiah had found the boy. It did no good to cause an uproar over a matter so trivial. When he deemed the time right, he would impart the information. In the interim, sending a man to keep tabs on the boy would suffice.
 

What neither his wife nor his eldest son could fathom was that Hezekiah’s worst fear was that William would lose his faith and his way just as Josiah had. Tracing the rebellion back to its origin, he knew it stemmed from sending the boy away rather than dealing with his disobedience at home.

Now Josiah boasted with pride that he would have none of the God of his youth. The God of Hezekiah Carter.

Did he not see that the very same God whom he disdained would one day judge him? Did he not further see that a father’s duty was to loosen the bonds of the enemy from his children in whatever manner he must?

Watching the sails of his son’s ship glide through the fiery inferno untouched gave Hezekiah an uncomfortable feeling of respect. While other ships succumbed to the flames, the
Jude
seemed to dance through them, mocking the danger. Very much like its captain, that ship. Perhaps sending the boy to sea at a tender age had been the proper move. Better he learned a trade than embarrass the Carter family by sowing his wild oats in full view of the good citizens of Hezekiah’s church.

A burning vessel floated into the path of the
Jude
,
and Hezekiah pushed past a pair of foul-smelling citizens to keep the ship in sight. Holding his breath, he prayed the larger vessel would not send his son’s ship into flames.
 

Not that he held any concern for the pitiful excuse for a sailing ship or its crew. Like as not, it and the men aboard were doomed. No, his only hope was that Josiah not meet his end until he’d met his Maker on the field of battle and succumbed to His authority.

A pity that bowing to authority had never been Josiah’s strong suit.

A pity, too, that Hezekiah hadn’t had the privilege of awakening Josiah from whatever place of squalor he’d bedded last night to tell him he’d been followed and found. That much satisfaction he would have liked. But at least Josiah now knew his father had found him

The
Jude
, unfurling her sails to pick up speed, made way for the southernmost bend in the river. Soon the vessel would be out of sight.

No matter. A swift vessel, and Hezekiah had ready access to several, would catch the
Jude
before daybreak.

A dark figure, compact and full-bodied, bustled toward him in the shadows. A female, he discerned.

 
“Oh, mercy, there you are, Monsieur Carter. It’s just awful. Plumb awful. I got out soon as I could. Them men, they tried to keep me on that old ship, but I said, ‘No, I’m Mama Dell, and I won’t be held against my will, I won’t.’ ”

“Delilah?”

The woman barged into the circle of light, arms flying like some pitiful broken windmill. Upon reaching him, she halted and leaned into a wheeze that sounded like a death rattle.

When she could manage a breath, she straightened and began her odd arm motions again. This she combined with strange jumping, a disconcerting dance in the moonlight.

“You got to stop him, Monsieur Carter. You just got to stop him.”

Hezekiah took a step backward lest Jean Gayarre’s slave woman was either contagious or murderously mad. For extra precaution, he reached for his handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth while gripping his cane.

“Make sense, woman.” He shook his head. “What or who is awful, and be specific.”

“The boat. The womenfolk.” Her gesturing changed as her eyes went wide. “There ’tis. Right there. Stop them.”

Hezekiah looked over his shoulder. He cast away the consideration she might be carrying some vile contagion and decided she’d merely lost her mind. “The fire? Yes, I’m sure we’re all aware of it.”

“No.” She halted her motions to give him an imploring look. “The boat. That one.”

He caught sight of his son’s vessel veering to starboard to bypass another fiery hazard. “The
Jude
?”

She nodded in a most inelegant manner. “He took ’em all, monsieur. I tried, but I couldn’t do nothing but save myself.”

“Woman, what are you babbling about? Whom did my son take?”

“I’m sorry, monsieur. I tried to keep her safe for you. I know you bought her fair and square from Monsieur Gayarre, but she done slipped off. She’s smart like that. And the boy, oh my, but he is—” Another coughing fit halted the woman’s babbling.

Meanwhile, Hezekiah attempted to make logic of the woman’s nonsense. “Are you saying my son Josiah has taken Isabelle? Jean’s Isabelle?”

The woman cowered as she nodded.

He took a step toward her, brandishing his cane. “But I don’t understand. How did this happen? How is it even possible?”

“I don’t rightly know.”

Hezekiah raised the cane higher. “And the boy to which you refer. Who is this?”

“Master William,” she said. “He’s with his brother. Well, no, last time I saw him he was with the Misses Dumont and Gayarre. The other sister, Miz Emilie Gayarre. The lady from the big house.”

A feeling akin to lightning zigzagged across Hezekiah’s mind and caused him to take two steps back. The roiling in his gut followed on its heels. The cane he affected as both fashion and protection became the only thing keeping him upright.

“But Viola Dumont and Emilie’s brother, Andre, were to be wed today. I missed it, pressing business, but surely the women cannot be aboard that vessel if there was a wedding.”

“Oh, I saw it all, I did.” Delilah shook her head. “He done hit her right there on the cathedral steps. Said he didn’t like the color of her dress. Miss Emilie saw it, too, and I guess she had enough of her brother’s ways with the womenfolk. He’s mean, that one. I heard tales from the girls about him.”

So the
Jude
had become an escape for more than just Josiah. “Impossible,” emerged from his lips. But as he said the word, he knew he could be wrong. Very wrong.
 

“Lower your weapon,
señor
, or I shall send you both to your rewards.”
 

The speaker stood behind him and some distance away. Hezekiah marked his thick Spanish accent and excellent command of the language as an interesting combination. Like as not, he would be able to identify this man even if he never saw his face.

The slave woman remained frozen in place, clenching and un-clenching her meaty fists as if she might burst into motion at any moment. To her right, the river glowed orange, casting an odd shade of color to that side of her face.
 

Hezekiah watched Delilah’s eyes dart between the two of them and judged he would have no help from her should things go awry.

“Sir,” Hezekiah began, back straight and fingers wrapped around the head of his cane, “I am a man of God and a gentleman. Certainly you do not intend to hide your face like a common criminal. Reveal yourself so that we might conduct our business as men of reason and intelligence.”

“That’s right,” the slave woman said. “This man, he knows the president, he does. You don’t need to treat him like that.”

“Hush, woman,” he hissed.
 

Out of the shadows behind Delilah came a man dressed in a dark overcoat and top hat. He raised his fist to the slave and knocked her to the ground. Hezekiah watched without reacting. Where there were two, most likely more would be found.

He was good and well caught in someone’s trap.
 

Delilah moaned and rose to her knees. Hezekiah shot her a warning look. Better she fear him than betray him further.
 

A boom resounded from the river below, but Hezekiah resisted turning to seek its origin. Like as not another frigate or sloop had met the Mississippi River bottom. He refused to believe that vessel might be the
Jude
. The Lord would not be so cruel as to take William. Not today.

“The man Josiah Carter, he is your son, no?”

A statement, rather than a question; thus Hezekiah remained
silent.
 

Hezekiah held his handkerchief over his nose as much to alleviate the stench of smoke and foul air as to cover his expression. The stranger remained impassive.

Tiring of the game, Hezekiah took a calculated risk by rapping his cane on the levee. “Step into the light, coward, and address me properly.”
 

Delilah gasped, but he spared the fool no attention. From the corner of his eye, Hezekiah saw three men approach. “You, sir,
are
a coward.”