Beloved Castaway (23 page)

In short order, the cook pronounced her forearm fit but temporarily bruised, then sent her to the far recesses of the chamber where Mr. Banks lay still and silent. She approached on tiptoe, then realized the silliness of the gesture. Like as not Mr. Banks would not hear her should she plod forth wearing the captain’s heavy boots.

He surprised her by opening his eyes as she peered into the hammock. “You come to pester me again?”

Isabelle giggled. “I did.”

“I should run you off, but I’m not of a mind at the moment,” he said. “So instead I’ll bid you top o’ the. . .er. . .what is it?”

The old man’s face had gone nearly as gray as his hair, and his brow felt feverish. As the hammock rocked with the vessel, she saw him grimace in pain.

She reached to steady herself. “I beg your pardon? Oh, it’s near to midafternoon.”

Mr. Banks drew a ragged breath. “Then top o’ the midafternoon to ye, Miss Isabelle.”

“Are you in pain?” She spied a bucket and fetched it, then tore a strip from her petticoat to use as a mop for his brow. “Here, I’ve brought water. Do you wish to drink first, or should I bathe your face?”

He grasped her arm by the wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. “
 
‘For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward.’ ”

Isabelle smiled. “Why, Mr. Banks, you’ve surprised me.”

His free hand reached beneath the blanket to produce a book. A worn black Bible. “Mr. Harrigan brought this to me.” His chuckle turned into a rasping cough that seemed to take forever to end. “I suppose old Harrigan figured I had more need of it than he,” he finally said, “what with me a considerable measure closer to death’s door than he.”

“Now, now,” she managed, unwilling to admit the truth of the old codger’s statement.

“No need to humor me,” he said. “And I do wish you hadn’t ruined a petticoat just to mop my ugly mug.”

She dunked the cloth into the bucket, then let the cool water soak the fabric until it dripped. “I’ll not respond to such drivel,” she said lightly. “Now open up and drink.”

Mr. Banks complied, even allowing her to cradle his head while the water dripped off the cloth onto his tongue. As she held him upright, she could feel the fever, could smell the rot of his wounds, and her heart broke.

Don’t you dare cry, Izzy. The dear man would be furious with you.

Isabelle distracted herself by reaching for the lantern and moving it to a hook nearer the hammock. “Would you like me to read?”
 

She reached for the Bible, but he yanked it away. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she laced her fingers behind her back. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hush now. I’ve got something to say. I’m old, so I’ll forget if you keep up your talking.”

The return of the crusty old soul made her smile, but she hid the expression behind her hand. “Of course,” she said. “Do forgive me.”

He nodded. “The Lord and me spend a lot of time together down here. I’ve not much choice since those other fellows aren’t good company at all.”

Isabelle looked around at the hammocks, now numbering only four. In all but one she could hear snoring. She hated to consider why the fourth was so quiet.

“Is that so?” she said as she returned her attention to Mr. Banks.

The vessel rocked and creaked, sending Isabelle reeling back to slam against the wall. When she recovered and returned to the hammock, Mr. Banks seemed not to have noticed her absence. She, however, took great note of the headache beginning at the back of her skull.

Mr. Banks peered up at her through watery eyes, a serious look on his face. “I’ve decided the Lord is either daft or very forgiving.”

The statement would have bordered on blasphemy had it come from anyone other than Mr. Banks. Isabelle held her peace and let him continue.

“
 
’Tisn’t true. I know He’s not daft, but there’s just no good reason for Him to take notice of an old fool like me.” A fit of coughing delayed him for only a moment.
 

 
Isabelle set the bucket down and folded the cloth to rest against his forehead. Despite the cool temperatures above decks, the air inside was stifling. In addition, the stench in the small space had grown, and so had the noises from the deck above.

Someone had taken to ringing a bell with frightening regularity. Not being completely ignorant of the ways of seamen, Isabelle deduced this was not a good sign at all.

Mr. Banks had taken note, as well, and looked concerned. She grappled to think of something to say that might distract him. Then she caught sight of the Bible still clutched in his hand.

“So, are there any other verses inside that brilliant brain of yours, Mr. Banks?” she asked with as much cheer as she could manage despite the throbbing in her head.
 

“Oh, I don’t know ’bout all that.” He heaved a long sigh. “I just remember what comes to me. Sometimes it’s in the Good Book, and other times I wake up with it in my mouth and I just have to spit it out.”
 

Her chuckle was genuine. “What an interesting way to state things.”

“Aye, but being new to this, I wouldn’t know interesting from not, would I?” He arched his gray brows. “I’m a mite bothered by what I keep hearing lately, though.”
 

“Oh?”

“Aye. I’m of a mind to tell you something I read in the book of Luke.” His eyes widened. “I skimmed it at first, but the words wouldn’t leave me alone. Considering I don’t believe I’m the messenger of anything but bad news, this has got me worried a mite.”

“Oh, that’s not true at all. You’ve always been quite kind to me,” she said quickly.

“You’re a sweet girl, Isabelle,” he said. “But I know who and what I am, and for most of my life it’s not been anything I’m proud of.”
 

The dreaded bell rang again, and the ship lurched hard to the right just as the awful thing stopped its clanging. Isabelle fell back against the wall once more, but this time she managed to catch herself and keep from banging her head.
 

The hammock where Mr. Banks lay swung wildly for a moment, then slowed. When it stopped altogether, Isabelle removed the cloth and dipped it into the bucket, then reapplied it to his forehead. Before she could remove her hand, the old man’s fingers encircled her wrist.

For a man whose life was at its end, Mr. Banks certainly had the strength of a person in much better health. Rather than ask, she waited to see what was on his mind.

As his grip tightened, the vessel shuddered beneath her feet. A sound much like a scream rose from somewhere above them. Isabelle put on a smile and willed it to stay thus.

“From the book of Luke, Isabelle, chapter 8,” he said. “Wish I could remember how it went.”

“Worry not. The words will come to you just when you have need of them.”

Isabelle placed her hand over the old sailor’s fingers and held on tight as she felt dampness soak the soles of her slippers. In a split second, the dampness became a trickle of water that teased at her ankles and soaked the hem of her skirt.

“Mr. Banks,” she said with what she hoped would be a casual tone, “have you the ability to walk if need be?”

“Haven’t tried it since we left the docks.” He looked past her to where Cookie now helped a sailor climb from the hammock. “Looks like I need to make the effort, don’t it?”

Suddenly the water lapped at her knees. The time had come to decide how best to remove Mr. Banks to a higher deck.
 

“Cookie,” he called.

The cook paused in his efforts to drag the sailor away toward the passageway. “Aye. What is it, Banks?”
 

Rather than respond, Mr. Banks turned to stare at Isabelle. “Wait. I got the words.”

Above them, the sound of men shouting had become almost un-bearable. She glanced toward the passageway.
 

“You do?”

“Aye.” He closed his eyes. “
 
‘But as they sailed he fell asleep: and there came down a storm of wind on the lake; and they were filled with water, and were in jeopardy.’
 
”

Then came the deafening sound of wood scraping something equally immovable. The wood where only minutes ago she’d banged her head now splintered, and a wall of water poured toward them. In a matter of seconds, the hammocks were hidden beneath the raging sea.
 

Isabelle bobbed to the surface, still holding tight to the old sailor.
 

Only a few feet away, a beam fell and took a wall of barrels with it, blocking them from reaching the passageway.

Their only hope was to find a way out of the vessel. “I’m going to get us out,” she said, “but you’ve got to help. Can you swim?”

He didn’t respond, so she made the decision for him as the water inched ever higher. Using the beam to propel them, Isabelle held tight to Mr. Banks and shoved him toward the opening. She made to follow, then, with the last of her breath gone, succumbed to the blackness.

Chapter 20

I’ll not leave my post.” Josiah held his ground against the insistent pleas of those sent to rescue them and claim whatever goods they might haul. “Not until all hands are accounted for.”

While the
Jude
slammed against the unforgiving coral of the reef, the wreckers, as they were known, worked quickly to remove the ladies from their cabin below and spirit them away aboard the first of several skiffs. William came next, and to his credit, he showed no fear as he walked across the tilting deck, the wind and rain pelting him.

Josiah knelt to embrace the boy, then pushed wet hair away from his forehead. “I’ll need you to be the man in my absence,” he said.
 

William nodded. “You’ll be coming along soon, won’t you, Josiah?”

“Aye, Sir William,” he said as he rose and gave an exaggerated bow. “I will be along shortly, but until I do, you’ll be king of the castle, eh?”

The boy returned the bow, then launched himself into Josiah’s arms. “But where’s the castle?”

“The castle’s over yonder a ways at Fairweather Key.” A large man with a shock of red hair lifted William onto broad shoulders. “I’ll take care of your son, Captain,” he said.

“He’s my brother.” Josiah reached for the rail, then lost his footing when the cracked wood snapped. When he righted himself, the skiff was gone and another had moved into position.
 

Anger pounded at his temples, much as his vessel now pounded the reef. He cursed himself for a fool for making the attempt to maneuver the cumbersome vessel through such treacherous waters.

“I see Banks,” Harrigan called from somewhere aft. “At least it appears to be him.”

One of the wreckers hauled his boat around and headed in that direction. A moment later, Josiah saw what looked like a lifeless body being hauled aboard the skiff.
 

“He’s alive,” someone inside the skiff called. “Get him into town quick.”

Several others poured themselves into the vessel, and then they were off. Given the fact that Isabelle had gone to see to Banks, surely she now rode to safety with him. He let himself relax a notch.

With passengers and crew evacuated, all that remained was cargo, of which the
Jude
had little. Nothing save the personal items hauled aboard before she lifted anchor in New Orleans, that is.

Behind him, an awful ripping noise echoed. He turned to see a chunk of the
Jude
’s hull splinter off, hanging by a few boards.
 

Harrigan raced toward him, picking his way across the debris on the deck like a much younger man might do. “Have you anything in your cabin you wish me to retrieve?”

Josiah thought of the gold coins, then gauged the danger in retrieving them. Finally, he sent Harrigan off with instructions on where to find the treasure.

“Captain Carter, you’ll be needing to come with us now.”
 

Josiah turned to see a pair of wreckers heading his way. “She’s not long for this world, sir,” the taller of the pair said.
 

“Aye, and what was worth anything has been salvaged,” the other, a dark-skinned man with hair as long as a woman’s responded.

“Did you happen to find a wooden sewing box?” He used his hands to indicate the size, then described the box in detail.

“Don’t sound like anything I found,” the dark-skinned fellow said.

Harrigan stumbled toward him. “There’s nothing left,” he said, “nothing except a hole where your quarters were.”

Josiah gave a curt nod. A few items of value would be missed, but most were merely conveniences. The loss of the gold coins, however, presented a different problem.

Still, there was nothing to be done for it.

Someone clamped a hand on his shoulder. A third wrecker had joined them on the deck. “You the captain?”

“Aye,” Josiah said.

To his surprise, the fellow reached out to shake Josiah’s hand. “I told the boys I wanted to meet the man who could steer this tub so close to shore.”

His words stole the speech from Josiah’s mouth.
 

“I’m sure you hoped to get yourself to Key West.”

A statement, not a question, yet Josiah nodded. “We had a few sick aboard. I’d hoped to get them help.”

“I figured as much.” He paused. “With a second storm blowing in so soon after the first, the water’s clouded beyond navigating through. Had you gone on with your original plan, it would have meant certain doom, what with the shallows and reefs hidden.”

While the man went on in this vein, it did little to allay the guilt Josiah felt at being unable to get ship and crew safely to port.
 

The longhaired fellow rounded the corner, carrying a soggy length of fabric. As he neared them, Josiah could see it was his mother’s waterlogged quilt.
 

“I figured this might be of some value to someone,” he said. “Per-haps you know the owner, Captain.”

He nodded. “Aye, ’tis mine.”