Beloved Castaway (21 page)

When they turned the corner, Josiah paused and released his grip. Weak light filtered through the passageway and illuminated their path. Somehow, they’d circled about and were standing before the entrance to the captain’s quarters.

Josiah threw open the door and stormed inside, leaving Isabelle to decide whether to enter or flee. “Come in and close the door,” he commanded. “This business is private.”

Heat flooded her cheeks as she complied. What sort of gentleman would speak thus to a lady?

Yet she was no lady.
 

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Josiah whirled around and stood facing her. “I trust you understand I have not lured you to my quarters to compromise your reputation, Isabelle.”
 

Having seen his anger, she decided to try and spark his humor. “A pity, Monsieur Carter,” she said. “You disappoint me.”

The captain’s odd look told her the joke had fallen flat. Or rather had been mistaken as something altogether different that jesting.
 

“It was a joke.” While she waited for a response, Isabelle stared past the captain to study the sparse quarters. Topped by a multicolored quilt in a log cabin design, the bunk was neatly made, and the single porthole was now clear enough so she could see the iron gray sky and white-capped waves off the aft deck.
 

Her gaze moved to the floor, where a few odd feathers decorated the corner nearest the bunk. The sleeping spot held no pillows but rather something looking very much like a folded overcoat in their place, leaving Isabelle to wonder as to the provenance of the feathers.
 

She clutched the back of the lone chair in the room and watched as the captain lifted a sea chest as if it were a child’s toy. Setting it atop the table, he threw open the lid and peered inside. A moment later, he began pitching out child-sized clothing by the handfuls until the floor was littered with it. Finally, he upended the trunk and sent it crashing to the floor.
 

The scene, vaguely reminiscent of her first hours aboard the
Jude
, made her shiver. To her surprise, the captain snatched a quilt from his bunk and tossed it to her.

“What’s this for?”
 

He retrieved the trunk and sat it on the bunk. “You shivered,” he said simply. “Now come and help me. I’ve an idea, but it will take two.”

She moved slowly across the floor, the quilt draped over her arm. “Thank you, but it is not necessary,” she said as she folded it over the end of the bed, then quickly stepped back.

Josiah studied her a moment before returning to consider the interior of the trunk. “Suit yourself.” He reached inside and gave something a yank, then mumbled under his breath. “Isabelle, I’m in need of assistance.”

Inching forward, she leaned over and looked into the trunk. A corner of the bottom had come loose, but Josiah was having trouble pulling it up any farther.

He gestured to the wall where several shelves were enclosed behind slats of wood. “See that mallet and chisel over there?”

Several items that could possibly be called tools decorated the shelves. The prettiest of the group was a lovely brass thing with a point on one end. It was definitely a tool, but whether it could be termed a mallet or a chisel she could not say. She reached for it, then contemplated what else to pick.
 

Kneeling, Isabelle spied the top of what looked to be a beautifully carved box. Upon closer inspection, she found the carving was actually a lovely painting of robed figures on a bridge done up in black and brown lacquer and burnished with gold.
 

Setting the brass object aside, she pulled the box off the shelf. It was heavier than she expected, and the weight of it combined with the rolling motion of the vessel sent her to the floor with a thud.

This was no mallet or chisel, she knew, but perhaps, she reasoned, it held one inside. Glancing over her shoulder, Isabelle could see that Josiah was still busying himself with tugging on the trunk’s interior.
 

Isabelle smiled as a thought occurred. Perhaps it held the gold Josiah now sought. What a lovely surprise that would make for a man now uttering the oddest grunting noises.

She lifted the lid, oh, so slowly, to reveal a silk-lined top. The interior of the box was lined in dark wood and accented with what appeared to be ivory. Compartments were sectioned off, each holding some sort of exotic ivory object. She picked up one, an exquisite orb with a flat bottom and a top that came to a fanciful point. Leaves and swirls banded the center of the curious treasure, one of three exactly alike.

“Never mind, Isabelle. I’ve almost loosened this completely, and there seems to be nothing hidden beneath it.” He paused. “What have you found?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, and the orb went rolling away. “Oh, I don’t know, but it’s escaping me.”

Setting the box aside, she dove for the ivory object before it disappeared beneath the shelf. Too late, she nonetheless slipped her fingers into the smallish space. The effort only succeeded in pushing the orb further away.

“Oh, no.” Isabelle reached further past her knees, and again the aggravating thing slipped just out of her grasp.

“Isabelle?”

“I’m terribly sorry.” She leaned forward to rest her ear against the floor and spied the ivory orb. “There it is,” Isabelle said as she strained to press her fingers farther into the space.

A pair of boots stopped just shy of her nose. Isabelle looked up to see Josiah Carter towering over her. Gradually, she became aware of how she must look from his vantage point. For her ear to brush the ground and her ankles to remain covered, she had counterbalanced herself by. . .

Isabelle froze. If only she hadn’t refused Josiah’s quilt, she might have thrown it over her head and hidden. The only way out of the embarrassing position was to sit back onto the part of her that was now slightly elevated but thankfully covered.

Worse, her hand seemed to be stuck. In order to flatten herself completely to the floor, she would have to risk her skirt remaining put while her legs scooted. That would expose far too much ankle and possibly her calves, as well.

In all her years learning manners and deportment, Mama Dell had never instructed Isabelle about how to extricate herself from this sort of situation. Then again, there was little doubt Mama Dell never considered her star pupil might be caught in such a state.

Chapter 18

E
ntranced, Josiah stared at the woman, who lay prone on his floor. Well, not exactly prone. He cleared his throat, turned his back, and then peered with care over his right shoulder.

“Mademoiselle Gayarre?”

Isabelle did not answer. Rather, she turned her head, presenting him with a rather mussed-up braid that had begun to come uncoiled.

“Begging your pardon, Isabelle,” he said while struggling to keep from laughing, “but I believe I sent you to fetch a mallet and chisel. Did you find either?”

A muffled “No” drifted toward him.

“Pray tell me, then, are you seeking them beneath the shelf?”
 

He stepped over Isabelle to retrieve the lacquered Chinese sewing box. He’d fetched it all the way from the Orient thinking to have a brief visit with his mother before secreting William away. Now he stared at it rather than at the woman still motionless on the floor.

“The orb has rolled underneath,” she finally said.
 

“I’m sure it will roll out of its own accord once the seas are sufficiently rough.” He placed the box on the bunk. “I have my back to you, Isabelle, and I shall not turn until I have your permission. Do stand, please.”

A rustling sound was her only response.

He studied the wall a moment longer, then cleared his throat. “Isabelle, have you accomplished the task?”

“I fear. . .I. . .cannot,” she said.

“You fear you cannot?” Josiah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Woman, I’ve given my word that my back is turned. Is this not sufficient?”

“You misunderstand.” More shuffling. “I would stand if I could, but I cannot.”

The vessel pitched, and Josiah braced himself until all was right again. “Are you asking for my help?”

“No. It wouldn’t be proper to see me thus.”

Anther pitch of the deck, and this time he went tumbling. The sewing box landed with a crash, and so did Josiah.
 

Only the cause for the rough seas worried him more than the fact Isabelle had neither moved nor spoken. Surely the weather hadn’t overtaken them so quickly. By his calculations, the storm had been moving to the west away from the
Jude
.

Josiah would see to that situation once he saw to Isabelle. He glanced over his shoulder, and, keeping care to look at the shelf and the pale arm disappearing beneath it, he crawled toward her.
 

“I fear I am well and truly stuck.”
 

An idea occurred. It appeared the rocking of the vessel had shifted the position of the heavy furniture a few inches off kilter. “Perhaps there’s a solution. If I were to put my weight against the shelf, then perhaps—”

“No,” she said. “You cannot.”

“There’s nothing for it, then,” he said. “I’ll have to fetch a half-dozen or so strong sailors to help me.”

He was teasing, of course, but the jest worked as he suspected. “I’ll listen to your suggestion, Captain,” she said meekly. “But I have one requirement.”

“And that is?”

“Close your eyes.”

He might have argued had the watch bell not rung. “Aye,” he
said as he climbed to his feet, “now let’s get on with it.” Moving into position in front of the shelf, he leaned his shoulder into the boards securing the shelf and pressed against them.

Isabelle managed to extricate her arm from beneath the bookshelf, her fingers still wrapped around the ivory thread barrel. “Thank you,” she said as she skittered into a sitting position and covered her ankles with her skirt. She thrust the thread barrel toward him. “This belongs in the box.”

Josiah cast around for the whereabouts of the sewing box and found it had slid into the corner beside the bunk. The silk-lined drawer had come loose, its contents now visible.

He blinked lest his eyes deceived him. Where once it held swatches of fabrics and pieces of trim, the drawer was now filled nearly to the top with gold coins.

“But how?” he whispered as he sank to his knees and lifted a handful of coins, then let them filter through his fingers. “When I purchased the box, it held sewing supplies. I warrant there was no gold within.” He poured the money onto his bunk and began to count.

“Yet there it is.” Isabelle smiled. “Perhaps the Lord wishes you to redeem this vessel from the devil who seeks to claim it.”

Exactly the amount of gold coin he’d required of the mysterious I. M. Gayarre as passage to England. So the mystery was solved, or at least part of it.

Isabelle’s words caught his attention. “What did you say?”

When she repeated them, he set the box aside. Why did the statement seem so familiar?
Because you made it first in your plea to God.

Josiah found it difficult to speak. He rested his head on his fists and felt the floor rolling beneath him. While the seas were certainly tossing them about, the real battle, it seemed, was in his heart.

Dared he believe in the same God of his father, the God that Hezekiah Carter claimed would smite him should he dare to lift his countenance heavenward?

Something touched his shoulder, and for a moment he entertained the thought that perhaps the Lord had sent some angelic messenger to explain things for Him. He opened his eyes and saw Isabelle had closed the distance between them.

He did not deserve the grace she’d given him, the forgiveness obviously offered without reason. Despite the fact that he’d taunted her with a weapon, berated her, and behaved like a spoiled child in her presence, she still comforted him.

There was no logic to it. Yet after poring over the pages of her Bible, he understood.
 

But whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.

Her hair had come unpinned, and she toyed with the repair of it with her free hand. It was all Josiah could do not to reach out and wrap a curling tendril around his finger. To lift the honey-colored strand to his lips.

Eyes as green as the Florida seas he would soon master looked up into his.
Such an innocent, this one, and yet so wise.

She removed her hand from his shoulder. Josiah captured it, laced his fingers with hers, and held it to his chest. To his surprise, she allowed the intimate gesture.

Josiah cleared his throat. “I must ask your forgiveness for my behavior at the outset of this voyage. I made accusations.” He winced at the memory. “Suffice it to say I was wrong in many ways.”

Isabelle’s fingers tightened inside his. “There is no need to discuss this further. It is finished.”
 

It is finished.
The same words the Savior uttered. How strange he would continue to think of the Bible now. Yet the words he’d read kept bubbling to the surface as if they were part of something deep inside that only now could be felt and heard.

“You were robbed,” he heard himself say, his voice husky and near to failing, “just as you claimed.”
 

The deck rolled, and he slid sideways, crashing against the wall in a most undignified manner. Isabelle slid along with him, their fingers still entwined.

Josiah released his grip to gather her into an embrace. “Have I hurt you?”

She looked up, and her lower lip quivered. “No,” came out as a soft whisper.

How he longed to kiss away that quiver. To seek her lips now would be a disaster, for his was a world where a woman’s love was a liability.

Love? Was he daft? Men like him sought solace for a time, then sailed off to another port, another woman until time erased all the faces and names and left only an empty void with nothing to fill it.
 

Something stirred inside him, something foreign in nature yet deeply familiar.