Beloved Castaway (17 page)

“Displeased?”

The amusement in Harrigan’s voice touched a nerve. “Aye.
Dis-pleased.
Have you an issue with this?”

“No.” He chuckled. “It’s just that in days past you might have used a stronger word to describe your feelings on the matter, sir. If I do say so myself, it looks like Isabelle Gayarre has had a positive effect on the
Jude
’s
captain as well as on her crew.”

Harrigan must have read his expression, for he gave Josiah a most displeased look. “Miss Gayarre is a good woman, and it would behoove you to remember that, sir.” He cleared his throat and set his face toward the rising wind. “The
Jude
, she’s fit and fine with fresh sails and sturdy timbers. No evidence we brought her out of a fire.”

And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire.
 

Try as he might, Josiah failed to turn his attention from the woman to the storm. More needed to be said on the subject of Isabelle Gayarre. “So, she’s bewitched you, as well, Harrigan?”

“Bewitched?” Harrigan chuckled. “Oh, Miss Gayarre? Hardly, sir. It’s the light of the Lord shining through those eyes. That’s what makes her so”—he paused, and Josiah met his gaze—“
interesting
is the word, sir.”

Josiah swallowed hard. “Take the watch, Harrigan,” he said before turning on his heel and making good his escape. “Fetch me in ten minutes. I shall be visiting the sick. They’ll need to be told to batten down in anticipation of the coming storm.”

“Already done, Captain.” Harrigan wore a look Josiah didn’t like. To say so would only invite teasing or discussion, and he had little time for either.

“Then I shall inspect the hold to see that your instructions have been carried out.”

He found Isabelle in the hold, once more at the side of a sailor, one Francis Rentrain, carpenter’s apprentice from Lyon. The man was quite suddenly gravely ill from his burns, Cookie had reported, and the chances of him seeing the end of the voyage were slim. Even a view of the infirmary at Key West seemed unlikely. Lying in his hammock, Rentrain seemed to have one foot on the other side already.
 

The vessel jolted to leeward, and Josiah braced himself. The stench of the room made him want to flee, but Isabelle seemed not to notice.

Rather than make his presence known, Josiah stood in the shadows and listened while Isabelle asked Francis questions about heaven and his future. The words came straight from the verses he had read last night, Josiah soon realized, but spoken in Isabelle’s lilting voice, they seemed to hold more meaning. He heard the man sob and thought perhaps he was done for.

“
Félicitations
, Monsieur Rentrain,” the Gayarre woman said. “
Nous verrons l’un et l’autre dans le ciel un jour
.”

“We will see one another in heaven one day.”

Josiah’s breath froze in his throat. The very thing he’d read about until the wee hours of the morning had happened in his hold. This man, a mere carpenter’s apprentice, had accepted the proposition of eternal life as offered in John. A proposition Josiah still held in consideration.

Last night, with the words of the prophet John before him, Josiah felt a tug toward the things of heaven. Today, in the light, he was no longer sure.
 

No, he could not—would not—become his father
,
a man
certain of his eternal destiny and determined to take everyone else with him by force if necessary. If shunning acceptance of the God of Hezekiah Carter meant missing out on his heavenly reward, so be it.
 

And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire.

“No!” Betrayed by his own voice, Josiah stepped from the shadows. “Monsieur Rentrain, how are you feeling today?”

The man was pale beneath his cocoon of blankets and bandages. He said nothing but fixed his eyes on Isabelle Gayarre and smiled. Then, slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

“A word with you, Isabelle.”

She seemed not to hear. Rather, Isabelle inclined her ear to the wounded man, then lightly pressed her palm to his chest. A gasp escaped her lips.

“
Mais non
.”
She regarded Josiah, eyes wide, then attempted to rise. “The monsieur, he is with Jesus.”

“What?” Josiah stepped forward to steady the woman.
 

“Monsieur Rentrain, God rest his soul.” She slipped from his grasp to lift the man’s blanket over his head, then fell into Josiah’s arms and began to cry.

He held her, unable to muster words of comfort. Instead, he rested his chin on the top of her head, wrapped his arms around her, and asked God to do the job.

“I’ve never watched a man die, Captain,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You’ll get used to it,
he wanted to tell her. Rather, Josiah remained silent, sparing her the knowledge that all the world was not like her safe and secluded existence in New Orleans.

Isabelle’s sobs subsided and became a whimper. Josiah whispered words of comfort against the softness of her hair and, in a moment of insanity, kissed the top of her head. She lifted her face to stare into his eyes, and the lunacy continued.
 

Moving without volition, Josiah pressed his lips against the wetness of her cheeks, first one then the other. Tasting of the salt of her tears, he softly touched her lips with his.

It was a chaste kiss, as if he had never kissed a woman before this moment. Had he any good sense left, a hasty exit and a vow to avoid Isabelle Gayarre’s presence for the rest of the voyage would have been in order.

As he had none, he stood stock-still and held the woman in his arms.

“What’s this?” Mr. Banks called from his hammock. “Is the bloke a goner?”

Isabelle broke the embrace to address the older man. “I’m afraid our loss is the Savior’s gain, Mr. Banks.”

Josiah fisted his shaking hands. Cookie appeared at the opposite passageway and gave him a salute. The best Josiah could do in return was a tilt of his head. To move, to respond to anything other than what had just transpired with the woman took more strength than he had.

Word spread among the sick, whispered through gasping breaths and spoken in strong voices until all seventeen of them knew they’d lost a member of their company. Cookie rapped on the floorboards with his fist, and all went silent.

“What with the storm coming and Apprentice Rentrain’s passing, I say we make haste to pray.”

Several sailors spoke up in agreement. Others nodded.

“Captain, would ye do the honors?” Mr. Banks asked.

“The honors? Well, I, um. . .”
 

He caught Isabelle looking at him and clamped his lips shut.
All right, Lord, if You’re who You say You are in that Bible, give me the words these men are needing. In case You haven’t noticed, there’s a storm brewing out there. Would You get us safely to our destination?

“I suppose I could say a few words,” Josiah said.
 

---

The captain praying? Yet the captain’s speech was beautiful, an eloquent plea to God to carry Monsieur Rentrain across the heavenly threshold and to bring the
Jude
through the storm. When Josiah whispered his amen, tears stood in his eyes.

Isabelle offered him her handkerchief, but the man looked at her hand as if it contained a snake. Tucking the linen square back into her sleeve, Isabelle braced herself against the wall and waited for the ship to right itself.

He kissed you.
Isabelle blinked hard as the realization hit her.
And you kissed him back.

“Return to your cabin, Miss Gayarre,” Josiah said. “There’s a storm coming, and we’ll not be needing to concern ourselves with the women.”
 

Isabelle turned her attention from thoughts of the kiss. “May I fetch young William? Like as not, he’ll be afraid.”

Josiah paused a moment, then nodded. “First, a word with you.”

“Of course.”

He moved near, and she flinched. Odd, but this man’s presence seemed to bring with it a need to protect herself.

“Miss Gayarre.” He spoke her name gently yet with a veiled threat of some unnamed consequence should she not pay proper heed. “I will not have my ship turned into a floating church house and my men into a passel of parsons. Do you understand?”

She looked up into eyes that told her he only half meant what he said. His expression told her not to try his patience; a soft, insistent urge to do so won out.

“No,” she said as she stepped past him into the passageway. “I don’t understand, Captain Carter. Is it the Bible reading you object to, or the prayer? For unless you were suddenly transported elsewhere and replaced by your twin, you recently entreated the heavenly Father on behalf of dear Monsieur Rentrain.”

The captain followed on her heels. “That was for the deceased, Miss Gayarre, and an entirely different matter.”

Isabelle stopped and turned on her heels, and Josiah nearly slammed into her. “I fail to understand two things.”

Recovering, Josiah shook his head. “And what two things are those?”

“First, what is the difference between one prayer and another? Each time are we not speaking to the heavenly Father? And second, how can you be so blind, Captain Carter? Did the Lord not work a miracle in snatching you from death in the midst of the fire? Can you not fathom that perhaps God has some use for you yet?”

Josiah opened his mouth but said nothing. He looked away. Either her words had reached their mark or the captain was intent on ignoring her.

A shuffling sound was followed by the appearance of a young man in the corridor. Red-faced, he spared Isabelle a nod before turning to Josiah. “Beggin’ the captain’s pardon, but Mr. Harrigan has need of ye on deck. Said to tell ye the thing ye suspected has happened.”
 

The boy’s look of panic struck a similar feeling in Isabelle’s heart. The captain, however, looked nonplussed as he absorbed the news.

He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked into the lad’s eyes. “First, help any man who is able out of this hold. Those who cannot move of their own volition must be secured in hammocks,” he said in a calm and deliberate voice. “When this is done, go back and tell Mr. Harrigan I’m on my way. Tell him to call all hands to their stations and prepare for battle.”
 

“Aye, Captain,” he said on the run.

Josiah turned to Isabelle. “Shall I escort you to your cabin, Miss Gayarre?”

She hid her trembling hands behind her back. “Thank you, Captain, but that won’t be necessary. I shall go and warn the ladies of the coming storm. William, too.”

He looked, what? Grateful? Surely not. Thus far she’d not managed to do a single thing correctly in his eyes.

“Have you undertaken rough seas before?”

Was he serious? Obviously Mama Dell hadn’t found time to inform the captain of the background of his passenger.

She settled for a simple “No,” then listened intently as Josiah explained what was to come and how to safely ride out the storm.

“And keep William below decks,” he said. “Sometimes he forgets I am the elder brother.” He looked away, then returned his gaze to Isabelle. “You’re not a fragile woman. I’m uncertain as to whether I could say that of your traveling companions. I feel you must know that this passage through the straits is dangerous at best.”

Isabelle managed a nod.

“But now, with the storm atop us and the wind shifting, well, even the most practiced mariner will have only a slim chance of surviving to sail again.”

Thankfully, he was kind enough not to remind her that their trek through troubled waters was solely her fault. Had she not entreated for Mr. Banks’s care, the
Jude
might be plodding along in deeper and safer waters.

“Then I shall pray for that slim chance.” She touched his sleeve. “I don’t believe the Lord saved you only to allow you to be taken now.”

He cleared his throat and stared at her fingers until she pulled away. “I am not concerned for myself, Miss Gayarre. I am most concerned for the welfare of my crew and passengers. To that end, I must insist you return to your cabin now and prepare the others.”

Isabelle turned to follow the passageway to her cabin, and Josiah fell into step beside her. Glancing up at him, she noted he looked a bit nervous.
 

The hallway tilted, and Isabelle felt a rush of water over her slippers. She paused to get her bearings, then picked up her skirts to jump over the growing puddle.
 

“One more thing, Isabelle.” He caught her elbow and gently pulled her to a stop. “The kiss.”

His use of her first name caused the breath to catch in her throat. “Yes, I understand.” She gulped down her fear to focus on the captain. “You acted in the height of emotions, and it won’t happen again.”

“No,” he said slowly, “not exactly.” Josiah leaned toward her with a most serious expression. “Actually, Isabelle, it was—”

Wood splintered. A rush of cold water poured between them. Isabelle fell backward, and Josiah slid from her reach. Salt stung her eyes and burnt her tongue as she gasped for breath.
 

Isabelle went under and blindly grabbed for the first solid thing. It was Josiah.

Both hands around her waist, he slung Isabelle over his shoulder and lifted her out of the water. A moment later, he deposited her on a dry patch of decking.

“Go now. See to my brother,” he shouted as he sprinted off in the opposite direction. “Wait. First I ask a promise.”

Isabelle turned to see him standing on the opposite side of a small breach in the hull. “Yes?”

“No matter what happens, see to his education, Isabelle,” he shouted over the roar of the storm, “and keep him safe from my father!”

Chapter 15

Isabelle grasped for something solid to hang on to as the planks beneath her feet sent her reeling, the dim lantern light casting only a small circle of light and leaving shadows all around. She held tight to the edge of a heavy barrel and stared at Josiah Carter. Much as she longed to be of help, to somehow offer service to thank him for not tossing her and the ladies out on their ears, practicality weighed hard.