Beloved Castaway (26 page)

She set the bucket before him and peered down at the tray, cradling the blanket in her arms. “Well now, I figured a man of your size would have a better appetite.”

“My appetite would be greatly improved were I dining in my own rooms.”

Mrs. O’Mara chuckled. “And my singing would sound much better in the Royal Hall, but it weren’t to be.”

Josiah leaned gingerly against the wall and shrugged. “Perhaps if you sang the verses in their proper order, the odds might improve.”

“What would be the fun in that?” She moved the tray to the end of the bunk, then set the bucket in its place. “Anyone can sing the verses of a song in the order they were written. I prefer to sing them as the Spirit leads.”

“You have a point.” He gestured to the bucket. “Are you intent on washing me?”

“Surely you jest, Mr. Carter,” she said as she set the blanket beside him. “You’ll be doing your own washing, or you’ll go without.”

He sobered. “Do you bring news of my Isabelle?”

Mrs. O’Mara sighed. “I’m afraid I do not. I’ve brought a set of Mr. O’Mara’s clothing wrapped in that blanket.” She gestured to the bucket. “Get yourself presentable for the doctor. He’ll be here soon. Perhaps he will have word of your woman.”

Once his hostess was gone, Josiah peeled off the shirt that had stiffened and molded to him and tossed it aside, then did the same with his trousers.
 

Reaching into the bucket for the sponge, he sluiced water over his arms, then went to work on his chest. Where last week he had worn the marks of his fall from the yardarm, now they were only pale scars.
 

The memory of Isabelle doctoring those wounds made him smile. Then it made his knees buckle.

He fell to his knees and threw the sponge. It hit the opposite wall and landed with a splat on the floor.
 

How did I get here, Lord? What happened? How do I repair this damage I’ve caused?

Head bowed, Josiah waited for an answer. How long he remained there, he could not say. Finally, he rose and fetched the sponge.
 

When he was done, Josiah made haste to step into the borrowed trousers. Next came the shirt, which pinched a bit across the shoulders but was otherwise serviceable.
 

Mrs. O’Mara had even thought of leaving a length of leather with which to tie back his hair. Dunking his head in the bucket, Josiah emerged to shake off the water and make use of the leather.

His bath complete, Josiah lay back on the bunk to await the doctor. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the sun rode high in the sky. By his reckoning, it was noon or thereabouts.

No meal came to him, nor did the doctor visit. The cell was bathed in shadows when the familiar sound of Mrs. O’Mara’s song slid beneath the door.

“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found.”
The door opened and the light poured in.
“Was blind, but now I see.”

“Starting your hymns at the beginning, are you?” Josiah swung his legs over the side of the bunk and pulled himself into a sitting position.
 

“That I am.” She set the tray beside him, then took two steps back. “I regret the doctor cannot see to you until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Truly there’s no need,” he said. “I am more interested in the fate of my crew and the passengers whose lives I endangered.”

Mrs. O’Mara bustled about removing covers from the plates and seeing to the coffeepot. When she stopped, she looked him in the eye, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “The way I hear it, you saved all those people by getting the ship as close to shore as you did.”

“Yes, well, you heard wrong. I took a ship that wasn’t seaworthy into treacherous waters during the height of a raging gale.” He waved away any further conversation. “Thank you for the food and the clean clothes. They are much appreciated.”

She looked him over, and a smile broke. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll do all I can to see you’re taken care of.” She reached for his stained clothes and tossed them into the bucket. “The way you rescued those people, well, I think it makes you a hero.”

Josiah’s chuckle held no humor. “Some hero.” He leaned back against the wall and toyed with the linen and lace napkin, so out of place in this dim and dirty cell. “I wonder if I might impose on you for something, Mrs. O’Mara. Something I’d ask to be brought to me, if possible.”

“If it’s an imposition, I’ll say no.” She lifted the bucket with ease and held it with both hands. “What is it you’ll be wanting?”

“A Bible and a lamp to read it by.”
 

“Now that I believe I can do.” She bustled toward the door. “Clarence just brought home a crate that may have that very thing in it. You eat, and I’ll go take a peek.”

“Thank you,” he called.

She returned several hours later, or at least that was Josiah’s estimation of the passage of time. No traces of the day remained, and the night sky had faded from orange to purple to black.

Having given up on the woman’s returning that night, Josiah had already folded his blanket into a passable pillow and was searching for a way to sleep that did not force the nail into him.
 

“He rules the world with truth and grace, and makes the nations prove.”
Again the keys jangled as lamplight spilled around the door.
“The glories of His righteousness, and wonders of His love, and wonders of His love, and wonders, wonders, of His love.”

Josiah lifted his head and grinned in spite of himself. “Have I slept till Christmas, Mrs. O’Mara?”

She chuckled. “You’re a funny one, Mr. Carter. Forgive the late hour. Mr. O’Mara was busy with a meeting until a bit ago. The good news is I’ve found a Bible.” She set the lamp on the table. “Mr. O’Mara says you may keep this, long as you’re careful.”

He swung his legs over the side, being careful to avoid the nail. “Careful?”

Mrs. O’Mara pointed to the ceiling. “This whole place is made from driftwood. Should you care to send yourself to glory, all you need do is mishandle that lamp.”

“I see.” He spied the book in her hand. “Is that the Bible you’ve brought for me?”

“Oh,” she said as she looked down, “yes, it is.” She set it beside the lamp and reached for the tray. “A little damp, it is, but then in this climate, that’s to be expected.”

Josiah nodded. “The double curse and blessing of living near
open water. I know it well.”

She eyed him a moment. “I reckon you do, Captain Carter.”

“Oh, so I’m
Captain
Carter now, am I?”
 

The older woman grinned over her shoulder as she made her exit. “As I said before, I’ve heard stories that tell me you’ve earned the title. Now don’t stay up too late reading. Breakfast comes early to Fairweather Key.” The door shut, the lock clanged, and once again, Josiah was alone.
“Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns! Let men their songs employ.”

Josiah tested his legs by standing and stretching; then he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to rid them of the ache that seemed
unending. Finally, he walked the four paces to the table and picked
up the Bible.

True to Mrs. O’Mara’s warning, the book was damp. It was a Bible, nonetheless, and he gave a quick prayer of thanks for having received it so quickly.

Help me find strength here, Lord,
he added,
and if You please, would You get me out of this place? Until I can watch over William and Isabelle, would You do that for me? I’m afraid I didn’t do such a good job of the responsibility You gave me, but if You please, I’d be grateful for another chance.

Josiah went on in this vein for another moment, then felt guilty for piling all his burdens on the Lord at once. Isabelle would call him foolish, of course, for in her estimation, the Lord had heavenly shoulders broad enough to lay any burden upon.

How he missed her tonight. The absence of her good company was worse than any prison cell. And William. The plan to spirit him away from their father had never included depending on the kindness of strangers to shelter him.

“Enough,” he said to the dark shadows that taunted him. “I’ve a Bible and oil sufficient to light this room for a few hours. That makes today better than yesterday.”

In order to read comfortably, he moved the table and lamp nearer to the bunk. That accomplished, Josiah settled on the only place he could sit, the bunk, and held the small black leather Bible in his lap. It opened to the flyleaf; then the breeze caught the thin paper and turned the page. Inscribed in an elegant and feminine hand were words that made his knees buckle.

He read it aloud, tracing the script with his forefinger. “To Isabelle, from your sister Emilie, on the occasion of your nineteenth birthday, December 24, 1833.”

Josiah closed the Bible and held it to his chest. Welling up from the depths of his soul, the tears came.

Chapter 22

Hezekiah leaned against the rail of Dumont’s schooner and cursed himself for a fool, then thought better of it. The Lord had given him two sons, and like it or not, he’d been called to love both of them equally.

The truth be told, he did love both boys with the same measure of affection and the same depth of parental duty. Josiah, however, Hezekiah had spent most of his adult years trying to like.

Oh, he admired the lad’s courage, his ability to puzzle out a solution to the most difficult of problems, and a myriad of other things. What drove him to distraction was Josiah’s ability to discern exactly what his father did
not
want him to do and then do it to perfection.

It was a trait that started early. Hezekiah chuckled at the memory of a barely toddling Josiah leading his governess on an obstacle course
through the neighbor’s newly plowed field. One might argue that
the
governess should have dissuaded the tot from the excursion, but
Hezekiah knew too well the low chance of success in making that sort of attempt.

“And yet you continued to try,” he muttered as he made his way to his stateroom.
 

Perhaps Mary should have accompanied him on this voyage. When no one else could, Mary seemed to find the words to soothe the savage beast that was their son. But then she had the same effect on her husband.

Hezekiah turned the latch and let himself into his stateroom. “Perhaps my son is more like me than I want to admit.”

---

Two days passed with only Isabelle’s Bible and Mrs. O’Mara for company. Each time the woman brought the heavily laden silver tray, Josiah begged for any scrap of information she might give him on the well being of his brother, Isabelle, and the others.
 

Much as she seemed to try, Mrs. O’Mara could find little in the way of news. The boardinghouse was full to the brim with sailors and passengers from the
Jude
, but she could only ascertain that there were no more casualties and that those who had not been injured were slowly leaving the island on other vessels.

She also discovered there were at least two unmarried women and a boy living there. Whether any were named Isabelle, she did not know.

By the third day, the hymn that announced Mrs. O’Mara didn’t even cause Josiah to lift his head from the pillow.
“Dear name, the rock on which I build, my shield and hiding place.”
The door opened. “You’ve visitors, Mr. Carter,” she said. “Ladies, they are. I’m sorry it’s not the doctor or the judge.”

Josiah scrambled into an upright position and looked beyond Mrs. O’Mara to the door. “Isabelle?”

“I’m afraid not.” Emilie Gayarre stepped into the cell, followed closely by Viola Dumont. Both ladies looked as if they’d slept in their clothing.

Unlike the timid woman he’d allowed aboard the
Jude
, Viola Dumont now seemed to have found a measure of confidence. It was she and not Emilie who walked over to greet him.

“I’m sure Isabelle would be with us if she could, but it’s impossible for her to leave the infirmary just yet,” Viola said.

Just yet.
“So she’s not seriously injured.” Josiah sank onto his bunk and covered his face with his hands. “Thank God.” He looked beyond the ladies to the open door. “I must go to her.”

“That’s not possible, Captain Carter.” This from Mrs. O’Mara.
“You’ll be seeing the judge soon enough to clear up the matter. In the meantime, you’re to stay right where the Lord and those men put you.”

“I seriously doubt the Lord had anything to do with me being jailed like a common criminal.”
 

Viola touched his sleeve. “I feel responsible, Captain Carter. If I hadn’t insisted you go after Isabelle and Mr. Banks, none of this would have happened.”

He looked down at the Dumont woman. “You saved Isabelle,” he said. “I’ll not allow any apologies over that fact.” Josiah turned his attention to the jailer. “Upon my honor, if I might just have a look at Isabelle, then I could return and serve whatever time I’m due.” He thrust his hands toward her. “Clap me in irons if you must, but I vow I will not attempt escape.”

“I can vouch for the captain’s sterling character,” Emilie said.

“As can I,” Viola chimed in.

Mrs. O’Mara’s face softened. “I’m truly sorry. If it were up to me, well. . .”

Emilie reached to pat the jailer’s hand. “Perhaps you will join us in praying for the captain’s swift release.”

The thought occurred to Josiah that he could easily make his way past these women to Isabelle and freedom. This time, if necessary, he would appropriate the first vessel that would allow him to spirit Isabelle away from the island. He’d send payment, of course, and double whatever the ship’s worth.

It was a grand plan provided Isabelle’s health allowed her to leave. If he’d managed to maneuver the ancient and unwieldy
Jude
through the reef, a smaller and more seaworthy vessel would make the going quick and easy.

They could be to Key West before morning, then on the first ship to anywhere but New Orleans. Only the knowledge that he was innocent kept him still. Surely God wouldn’t allow this injustice to continue.