The Sister Wife (7 page)

She gave Bronwyn a gentle smile. “I was lost in thought for a moment, considering everything from Grandfather's decision to embark on such a journey to the surprise of finding a kindred spirit onboard this ship. An accomplished kindred spirit.” Her smile widened. “Is there nothing you cannot do?”

Bronwyn's cheeks turned pink. It seemed that she was so unused to such compliments that for a moment she didn't know how to answer.

“I've been fortunate. My father is the gamekeeper of the largest and grandest estate near Hanmer, Wales. My father's employer, Lord Kenyon, wanted his only child, Cara, to have a companion while being tutored in the classics. I was the logical choice.” Her eyes brightened as she went on. “I soaked up everything our dear old tutor taught us as if I were a sea sponge. The education didn't stop in the classroom. I had full access to the estate library, day and night. I learned to ride the finest horses in the Kenyon stable, to shoot game, and to ride with Lord Kenyon on fox hunts—dear Cara Kenyon was fearless and her father adored her and seldom went against her wishes.”

“That's why you knew the William Blake poem.”

“'Tis,” she said, “and hundreds of others.”

“You said ‘Cara
was
fearless,' as if something happened.”

Bronwyn's expressive eyes filled with sorrow as she nodded. “She died after a fall from her father's prized stallion, a horse she was forbidden to ride. We slipped out one night to meet at the stables and took turns riding the stallion and a gentler geld
ing along the lakeshore in the moonlight. We were heading back to the stables when a rodent skittered across our path and both horses reared. I controlled mine, the gelding, but the stallion went wild.

“I blamed myself, and Lord Kenyon…though he said not…I am certain he placed some of the blame on me.” She looked away from Mary Rose. “Cara loved an audience. If I hadn't gone along with her plan, she probably wouldn't have ridden the stallion.”

“Cara was your friend.”

“Yes. The dearest ever.” She looked back to meet Mary Rose's gaze. “And you remind me of her. I spotted it the moment I saw you.”

She glanced around the room at the wide-eyed twins who'd been silently taking in the conversation, and her demeanor changed. Once again, she was the nanny in charge.

“Girls,” she said to the twins. “Let's help Lady Ashley choose what she will wear to the captain's fancy dinner tonight.”

She smiled at Mary Rose. “I have the perfect style in mind for your hair, should you allow it.”

The twins came to life, crowding in to help. Bronwyn worked her nanny magic once more and before the hour was up, Oscar relaxed temporarily in his bucket, the twins had been scrubbed clean in the lukewarm bathwater, dressed in clean clothes, and three seamen had removed the water from the tub with buckets.

Ruby explained to the tallest and most frightening in appearance that Oscar was going to live with them now, and that the tub was his new home. Therefore, it was important the tub remain in their cabin. The seaman, who wore a patch over one eye and called himself Fitzgibbons, soon returned with a large bucket of seawater. He gave each of the girls a large conch shell from the Sandwich Islands to place in the tub so Oscar would feel at home.

“The Thandwich Islandth.” Ruby's eyes grew big.

“Aye, m'lady,” he said kindly to the child.

“That's where our mommy and daddy live,” Pearl said, hugging the large pink shell.

“They're mithionarieth,” Ruby added.

The obvious question glinted in the seaman's uncovered eye. His scowl was so fierce Mary Rose wondered if he was planning to shanghai the parents to reunite them with their children. “'Tis a beauteous place indeed,” he said. “And tomorry, if ye'll bring these conches upside whilst I'm on watch, I'll teach ye how to blow 'em like trumpets. Maybe just loud enough for yer ma'am and pap to hear ye.”

The twins looked at each other then back to Fitzgibbons as if he was the handsomest, most bighearted man God could ever think of creating.

“Truly?” Pearl breathed.

“Truly,” Fitzgibbons said.

“Croth your heart?”

He crossed his heart, then bowing to them all, he backed his way to the door.

Cavendish, Prince Edward Island
July 4, 1841

E
nid urged Sadie to a trot along the white-sand beach, her senses alert as the filly obeyed the gentle pressing of her heels against its flanks. Bending low, she rubbed Sadie's neck, laying her cheek against the mare's mane and combing it with her fingers. “Good girl,” she whispered. “The leg is healing, just as I told you.” She slowed the mare with another gentle command, using her thighs and heels.

“Let's see how it feels.” She drew the sorrel to canter, holding her breath to better hear the cadence of Sadie's hooves on the wet sand. As she feared, the rhythm was uneven. “Still favoring it a wee bit, now, aren't you?”

Enid drew Sadie to a halt. She'd been riding bareback and easily slipped from Sadie's back. She stooped to inspect the left fetlock, where weeks earlier Sadie's injury had gone bone deep.
It was healing, thanks to Enid's ministrations of bitter salts, though it seemed too swollen for Enid's liking. She kicked off her shoes, hiked up her skirts, and walked the filly to the water's edge.

She smiled into Sadie's warm and trusting eyes, and then led her into the shallows waves. Sadie nickered, and Enid glanced back. “Don't complain, dear, the salt water will do your leg good. Trust me.”

She stopped when the water covered the injured fetlock and rubbed Sadie's velvet nose. The horse seemed to sense the need to remain still and, raising her head, shook her mane and softly snorted.

The surf seemed rougher than usual for a warm summer's day, almost as if a storm might be brewing. Shading her eyes, she looked west. No clouds building, but the sky had turned unnaturally dark where it met the horizon. And out a ways, a brisk wind created whitecaps.

They left the water's edge and stood for a moment in the warm sugar-soft sand. Enid dug in her toes, just as she had when she was a child. She closed her eyes and faced the sun, letting her face bask in its warmth.

As always, the thought of Hosea's ship getting caught in a storm stirred up troubled thoughts in her heart. He was an experienced sea captain, the commander of one of the finest ships—a clipper—ever designed. Besides, Gabe MacKay was with him on the voyage. If ever she could count on the sea to be wary of taking down another ship, 'twould be on this voyage—with such a fine commander and equally fine architect whose heart led him to build the safest and fastest ships ever to sail the seven seas.

But then, one could not count on the sea for much of anything. She knew that as God's absolute truth, as her husband knew, and especially as Gabe MacKay knew.

She looked out at the dark horizon again and shivered. How far was the
Sea Hawk
from that line between heaven and earth? Three days out, perhaps, maybe four, depending on when they set sail from Liverpool? And how far were they from the storm that seemed to stir itself into a brooding brew?

“Mrs. Livingstone!”

Enid turned, recognizing the boy's voice. It was Brodie Flynn, one of a half-dozen children from a neighboring farm—the old MacKay place, which Gabe had sold to the Flynns within a year after the shipwreck that carried his parents and sister to their graves. At the time, they'd been newly arrived from the Scottish highlands, and perhaps for that reason, their brogue seemed more pronounced than most of the islanders'.

“Mrs. Livingstone,” the child called again, galloping like the wind on an old dun mare with a dark gray mane and tail. The boy's short flame-colored hair, almost as red as Enid's, stuck straight out as if uncombed for a month and perhaps last trimmed with his pa's hunting knife.

“Ma says ye need to get to the harbor right away. A ship's a-comin' and she thinks it might be a clipper—though it's still too far out to tell. Ma says I'm to trade ye horses. Ye'll take Miss Minnie to the harbor, and I'll walk Sadie back to the farm, because of her being lame.” He peered down at Sadie's leg. “Looks good as ever to me, though. Is she healed?”

“Not entirely,” Enid said.

“Folks around these parts think ye part angel, Mrs. Livingstone.”

Enid laughed. “Now, why would anyone think such a thing as that?”

“Because of yer way with animals, that's why. Horses in particular, but there was that old sow out at the Montgomery farm—the one Mrs. Montgomery named Sweet Eliza Jane so the mister
wouldn't slaughter it for supper. Take that fetlock there; no one's ever seen a horse mend from something so torn and ugly. Everybody says so. Ye could see clear to the bone inside 'er.” He grinned up at Enid, showing two missing front teeth. “So ye'll take Miss Minnie, then? I'll be careful with Sadie. Put her in yer barn, rub her down for ye.”

Enid laughed. “The
Sea Hawk
is trying for a speed record, child. The captain, much as he might like to, cannot be stopping here. They plan a stopover in Halifax, then they'll be on their way to Boston. Last I heard, it will be another few days before they anchor, and it will be only for a few hours.”

“But Ma says it might be the clipper,” Brodie insisted, “and ye'll need to be on your way, otherwise ye'll miss the captain.”

“I'm quite certain the ship isn't the
Sea Hawk
.” Though Enid spoke with confidence, she couldn't help the spark of hope the child's words kindled in her heart. Would her husband ever veer from his set course just to see her, to draw her into his arms? It was folly to entertain such a thought. She knew Hosea Livingstone well. Though she never doubted his love for a minute, he was the master and commander of a ship filled with some two hundred people whose lives depended on his wisdom and decisions. Those decisions could never include the whim of visiting his wife, no matter how deep his love might be. The thought made the back of her throat sting, which surprised her. She wasn't one to brood over Hosea's scarcity of visits.

Brodie Flynn slid off Miss Minnie's back. “I'll go with ye then, should ye just want to have a wee peek at her sails. Just in the rare event 'twould be the
Sea Hawk
comin' without ye knowin' it.”

Enid ruffled the boy's hair. “I think someone's spotted a packet ship, likely bringing us mail from Halifax, sailing a different route
to stop at other villages on the island. That's why the confusion. But now that I think about it, my dear Brodie Flynn, it may indeed be worth a trip to the harbor.” With each schooner that arrived from Halifax, she expected mail from Scotland: a veterinary book from Dr. Fergus Duff in Glasgow, who'd written that as soon as it was published, he would send her a copy.

Brodie's eyes grew as large as teacups. “Yes, ma'am. Indeed it would.”

“Go back home and tell your ma what we're up to, and then come by my farm in a half hour.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Barefoot, with trousers rolled above his ankles, he swung over the dun's bare back, waved to Enid, and rode off.

“And put on your shoes,” Enid called after him.

“Yes, ma'am,” he hollered back.

 

When they reached the Charlottetown harbor, the schooner
Flying Swan
had just dropped anchor, its sails gleaming as white as new-fallen snow in the sun. As she suspected, it was indeed a packet ship delivering passengers and mail from Halifax. She drove the buckboard alongside the wharf, just as the harbormaster met the ship's chief mate to exchange mail packets. Passengers milled, some waiting to board, a few making their way down the gangway, children and valises in tow. The harbormaster stood off to one side of the gangway, checking the list of passengers as they disembarked, and then asking information of those waiting to board.

Enid knew Angor Wallace, the harbormaster, well, as did everyone, young and old, on Prince Edward Island. He was known to read the mail and relate to his wife Maeve the contents, should they be of a curious nature. She would then spread the word about the island, telling each to dare not tell another, which of course they readily did.

Enid gave him a nod as she took her place in line with others awaiting Angor's distribution of posts and parcels. She was ready to turn away, disappointed, when he called out, “Mrs. Livingstone, I've something fer ye!”

Her heart lifted as she approached him. “'Tis terribly good news. Yer captain is on his way. This was sent by packet from Liverpool a full month before he sailed on the
Sea Hawk
.” He handed her a letter with a broken seal. “Don't know how that happened,” he said, just as always.

Enid accepted his curiosity as a fact of life, as did most other citizens of the island. Angor had been harbormaster for longer than she could remember. He meant no harm.

She thanked him and made her way back to the buckboard where Brodie Flynn waited.

“Did you hear good news, then, Mrs. Livingstone?” Brodie asked as she climbed back onto the seat beside him.

“The
Sea Hawk
will be in Halifax four days from now,” she said. “And the captain wants me to meet him there. Also Mr. MacKay, so 'twill be a double blessing.” Smiling, she looked up at the boy. “It's only for twelve hours,” she said, “but even that is worth the voyage over.”

“You'd best be leavin' soon, then,” he said. “Takes three days by packet ship to get there.”

“Aye,” she said. “But I saw on a posting by the gangway that the
Liberty
will sail tomorrow.”

Brodie grinned up at her. “And ye'll be on 'er.”

“Indeed, I will.” She chirped to Foxfire and the aging mare plodded forward as Enid unfolded the post once more.

“I'll take care of yer farm for ye,” Brodie said.

Enid didn't answer. Holding the reins loosely with one hand, Enid held the unfolded letter in the other, her attention held fast on the first paragraphs.

She scanned the rest of the letter, unable to concentrate on much of its content because of the shocking words in that first paragraph. Hosea mentioned something about the speed record, the joy of sailing with their friend Gabe again, and that Gabe needed to also speak to her.

Enid flushed as she thought of Angor reading the letter and then telling Maeve, who would spread it around the island. Perhaps Hosea didn't remember the old harbormaster's indiscretion. He had never liked the farm, had never liked being away from his ship, so it stood to reason that the insignificant matter of an old harbormaster's propensity to snoop would not have stayed with him.

She sighed deeply as she refolded the letter.

A trip to England to see an expert about her inability to conceive? Her heart thudded beneath her ribs. Her heart's deepest desire was to have a child.

She flicked the reins above Foxfire's back to pick up speed, her thoughts racing through her heart and mind as if they were a bird in flight with no place to land.

She had no right to worry about her husband's folly when she had committed greater sins of her own. A secret buried deep in her heart that meant she couldn't go to England with him, or anywhere else…unless she told him what she'd kept hidden all these years.

Only one other knew her secret, and he did not know the whole of it.

His name was Gabriel MacKay.