Undaunted Love (25 page)

Chapter Fourty-Seven

R
AFE HAD READ THE PASSAGES in Livvie’s journal so often that the spine of the book was falling apart.
I have a son!
he thought for the thousandth time. He often found himself grinning like the village idiot (in this small town, maybe he was the village idiot), and telling everyone he came across, “I have a son!” Gabriel Byrd Colton.
My son.

He had written to Livvie at the Kinney farm, happy to be able to forgo begging someone else to address the envelope, and received a letter in return. There was an urgency that hadn’t been there before, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it, although he was praying for guidance.

June 9, 1866

Darling,

I am thrilled that you’ve read through all the letters, and that you are so happy about your son. He’s a happy baby, and looks like you, with blonde hair and big blue eyes. He’s quite long, too, and going through Thomas’ old clothes much faster than little Thomas did. I long for us to be together so that he knows you, so that he lights up at you and smiles the way he does me. Of course, he’s spoiled rotten here, with Nackie and Chloe and Judah and Josiah, not to mention all Madeline’s children doing everything he wants. Still and all, a boy needs his daddy.

Life at the farm is fine, and the crops are growing well. God has blessed us with just what we need, all over the area – perfect weather. Looks like most anybody who could raise money for seed will make money this year, and it is sorely needed to continue the rebuilding.

Daddy is off traveling, with his new assistant Cole Sanderson. Unfortunately we met them both when we were back in Byrd’s Creek, and Daddy is most insistent that I begin to travel with him in six week’s time. I can’t leave Gabriel, and, of course, couldn’t take him, so I am fighting my fear and giving it all over to the Lord. Our Father in heaven is the only one who can guide me. I have refused thus far to go, but I don’t know how strong my will is in a direct match with Daddy’s.

They haven’t caught Mr. Monighan’s murderer yet, and the sheriff is more worried about helping carpetbaggers steal people’s land than solving that crime. Wyman seems to have left Byrd’s Creek, which is good for all of us. Mrs. Smith has opened a delightful tea shop, and complains as always about Mr. Smith, smiling all the while.

That’s all my news. I hope you are well, and that you know I love you.

Faithfully Yours,

Livvie

He was a father now, not just a husband. The thought of his wife being forcibly separated from her baby because he wasn’t man enough to stand up to Hugh Byrd… It was too much. He would have to return to Bryd’s Creek and face both Sheriff Gingras and Hugh Byrd. He was ready to stand up for his family, and to claim what was rightfully his. God knew he wasn’t a murderer, and he would have to trust Him to provide the proof.

Rafe knocked on the door of the whitewashed shed and poked his head inside the rough wood slat door. “Sir? You got a minute?”

Mr. Price looked up from a ledger and smiled warmly. “Sure Rafe, come on in! Everything going all right?”

Rafe removed his hat and came inside, the shadows momentarily blinding him. The heat in the shed was stifling, the two small windows open but no breeze blowing through. He crushed his hat between his hands and lowered himself to a chair.

“Well, sir, not really. I’m gonna need some time off, to go back up to South Carolina. I got some business what needs settling up there, and I mean to bring my wife and son back with me.”

Price looked at him, a smile on his face. “I was wondering when you’d get around to it.”

“Sir?” Rafe said, confused.

“Me and Oliver, we been wondering when you were gonna go get that young wife a’yours, and face whatever you ran away from back where you come from. It’s about time.”

Rafe flushed. “Yes sir, I reckon it is. I guess I been…”

“Selfish?” Price finished helpfully.

Rafe grimaced. “Yes, sir. Selfish. Disobedient. Prideful. You name it, I prob’ly been it.”

Price laughed and smacked his hand on the table he used as a desk. “We’ve all been there, son. God forgives once we’re smart enough to ask for it. You go on home. It’s a good time a’year for you to be gone, and as long as you’re back by mid-October, I can get along just fine without you for awhile.”

“Thank you, sir! I’m aimin’ to be back sooner than that, but, well, thank you!” He thrust his hand out, shook Price’s enthusiastically, and ran out the door, stuffing his hat on his head against the summer sun.

He had no plan for traveling back to South Carolina, Rafe realized. He’d taken months to get down to Indian River City, and not gone directly. Getting back to Byrd’s Creek needed to be more direct, faster, and also not make too big of a dent in his saved funds. On the way home from the grove he stopped at the boarding house. Knocking on the kitchen door, he stepped inside, not waiting for a reply. Maribel had scolded him for waiting out in the hot sun more than one.

“Hello? Anybody home?” he called, snitching a cookie from the dozens cooling on the table.

Maribel entered, wiping her hands on her apron and holding her arms out for a hug. After a kiss on each cheek, she sat him in a chair, piled a half dozen more cookies in front of him, and set a cool glass of tea down. He could see the sugar settling at the bottom, just how he liked it.

“What brings you by in the middle of the day?” she asked, taking another tray of cookies out of the oven.

“I’m going to get Livvie,” he said around a mouthful of cookie.

Maribel turned and smiled at him. “I knew you’d do it!” she said. “I told Oliver you’d go sooner rather than later, once you knew about your boy.”

“It’s not just Gabriel. I mean, sure I want to see ‘em both. But her daddy, he’s decided she needs to travel around with him, showing her off, since he ain’t got a wife. And he’s brought in a new assistant that he means for her to marry, too.” Rafe grimaced at the thought. “And…” He paused. “It’s time. It’s time to face that sheriff, time to face Hugh Byrd, time to claim my wife.”

“Past time, quite frankly, darlin’,” Maribel said laughing. “But God knew you’d come around eventually. Y’all got yourselves into a pretty elaborate mess, didn’t you?”

“Seemed right at the time, with me joining the regiment and all. And then, well, it just kept goin’ and goin’ and there didn’t seem a way out. What I know now is that we… I… was waitin’ for an
easy
way out. Bein’ a man ain’t easy.”

“Being a man of God isn’t easy, Rafe. But He’ll give you strength for the journey, that’s a promise.”

“It’s the journey I came to talk about. I don’t know how to get home!”

“Oliver’d know best, but he’d probably say go by boat. Best place would be St. Augustine to Charleston – Charleston isn’t far from your town, right?” Rafe nodded. “Then that’s probably best. Take the postal wagon up to St. Augustine, and a boat north. Best way to come home, too, long’s there’s no hurricane brewin’. You’re going at that time of year.”

“I can take the postal wagon from right here?” Rafe asked.

“Sure. Henry’ll take you up there, although you gotta stop at every post office ‘tween here and there so it’s not quick. But it’s cheap!” She took another cookie. “Let’s see, today’s Monday. I don’t rightly know what days he goes up. Not every day. I’d hop over there and ask him. I’ll ask Oliver about boats when he comes in later on – why don’t you come on for supper, and he can tell you then.”

Grateful, Rafe thanked her and kissed her on the cheek. If it were up to him, he’d set off today, but riding in a wagon would save time, energy and his boots, so he’d be patient and wait.

Chapter Fourty-Eight

O
LIVER HAD AGREED THAT SECURING passage on a boat was the best way for Rafe to reach Charleston quickly. Henry had allowed as how he could sit with the mail on Thursday when Henry made his slow journey north to Jacksonville. All that remained was to be patient, and patience had never been his strong suit.

He went fishing with Isaac on Wednesday afternoon, and wrote another letter for him as the fish cooked. The pastor in Brevard, North Carolina had transcribed a letter from Mary, and Rafe knew that the big man wanted nothing more than to have his young family with him.

“You know,” he said, “If this boat works out, that’s how Mary and the baby could come down.”

Isaac blew down his nose. “Ain’t no boats coming here from the mountains.”

“I think there’s a train now, from Charlotte all the way to Shepherd’s Point at the coast. There’s a good port there. I heard about it during the War. So all she’d have to do is get to Charlotte…” He watched as his friend pondered that, then nodded.

“Aye, she could git there. ‘Bout once t’month old Sam from the mill, he run down to the city. I reckon he’d take Mary and the babe. But she ain’t never even seen the ocean, much less been on a boat like that.” He looked at Rafe for reassurance.

“Well, me neither. I been on small boats, growing up on Edisto Island, a’course. But I never had cause to go on a ship. According to Oliver, though, it’s safe and you can get passage in shared room for mighty cheap.” He shrugged. “She’d do it, to be with you here, wouldn’t she?”

“Ayuh,” Isaac agreed. A hint of smile appeared on his face. “You write that in the letter, you hear? You tell her I’ll find a way to get her the money, if she’ll go on the boat. Tell her to send me a telegram back if it’s a yes, right?”

The next morning, Rafe arrived at the post office before Henry had opened it up. He sat on his rucksack under the shade of the lean-to porch, thinking how early it got hot and humid in Florida. The mosquitoes were buzzing around his ears, the crickets were still humming all around him, and the tree frogs were winding down their night time mating calls. Birds were chirping, and a mockingbird was hopping along on the street with a wing down, trying to fool a hawk that was too close to it’s young.

Finally, Henry showed up, and Rafe stood and shook his hand. They went inside the small, spare room, which was only marginally cooler than it had been outside. There was nothing inside except a counter.

“Going to hitch up,” Henry said, walking slowly out the back door, which led to the small barn.

“You need help?” Rafe asked. The older man was slow as cold honey at the best of times, and now it seemed to Rafe as if he were deliberately shuffling along, counting to three before moving each foot forward.

“Uh uh,” Henry said, not turning. “Got it.” He left the door open, and a small breeze began to find its way between the two open doors. It was hot air, but it was moving, so Rafe supposed it was better than being outside. He realized that everything was trying his nerves, and he said a silent prayer for peace and patience.

Forty-five minutes later, Henry sedately led the two-horse team around the front of the building. A matching pair, they were old and sway back, tan mares who’d seen better days. Rafe threw his rucksack into the back with three sacks of mail, and climbed onto the wagon bench with the old man.

“Caroline’ll be here shortly,” Henry said, by way of explanation for leaving the doors wide open, and then he clicked his tongue, sharply snapped the reins, and the horses slowly began to walk north.
They’re almost as bad as Norah,
thought Rafe, remembering his old but faithful horse. That made him remember the hurricane and the rescue at the Kinney’s, and he could picture Livvie, her eyes wide with surprise when he hacked open the door and freed them. He smiled. Soon, he would see those eyes, and, God willing, never be farther than a short walk from them again.

The sun was brutal, and Henry’s horses got no faster as the day wore on. They stopped in Sand Point, Orange Port, Ormond Beach, and a half dozen unnamed settlements between Indian River City and St. Augustine. Rafe’s shirt was soaked through with sweat, as was his hat band, his neck was sunburned around a wet bandana, and his hands and arms felt scratchy and tight. Henry, while sweating, was unflappable, rarely speaking, barely moving, and completely unconcerned by the swelter.

It was almost full dark when they reached St. Augustine, and Rafe went down to a small inn he knew of at the waterfront where he could get a cold drink, a tasty supper of fish, and news of any ships heading north. It was quiet when he entered, only three people still in the common area finishing up their supper. The cool of the old stone walls was welcoming, and he made use of a pitcher of water to wash the road dust off his hands and face before requesting a room and a meal.

After leaving his pack on the single bed in the small room in the back of the first floor, Rafe ordered his meal and wandered back to talk to the inn keep.

“Oh aye, ships are goin’ north all the time,” he confirmed. “Some stop at every port ‘tween here and Boston Harbor, though, loadin’ and unloadin’…” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know for certain when she makes sail, but the
Fiery Cross,
she’ll be stopping at Savannah, Charleston, and Norfolk, then coming back down. She’s a clipper, though, not steam, so you’ll not be following a schedule, just the wind. But clippers are faster, if the winds be with you.”

“Is there no steamship, then?” Rafe asked.

“The steamers, they tend to be the ones making more ports, since they can go even if there’s nary a gust a’wind. So’s it’s six’a one, half dozen’a the other, lad.”

Rafe nodded. He’d take his chance on the clipper, and trust the winds to God.

The next morning Rafe made his way to the
Fiery Cross
, the only clipper in port. The ship was huge, a hundred and eighty five feet in length. The hull was a deep navy blue, and its three thick masts were spider webbed with rigging. Sailors were hustling around the deck, and crates of cargo were being loaded up a ramp. At the top of the ramp stood a middle aged man, weather beaten and wind blown, his thick black hair flying all about his head despite the calm air. Rafe got behind several men carrying crates on their shoulders and walked up the ramp.

“What can I do for you, son?” the man asked, when Rafe stood before him empty handed.

“I’m needing passage to Charleston. The inn keep at Coquina said you took passengers.”

“Aye, that we do. We aim to make Charleston in five days, if all goes well, after making port in Savannah. Does that suit you?” He was tall, the same height as Rafe, and he had a perpetual squint from his many days at sea. But his eyes were friendly, and he had laugh lines around eyes and mouth.

“Indeed,” said Rafe. In fact, it was much better than he’d hoped for. “I just need a place to sleep, nothing too dear. I’m going to get my wife, and we’ll need passage back soon.”

“Ah, a man taking to sea for his lady… The stuff songs are made of, son!” He clapped Rafe on the back. “I can give you a hammock with the crew, and three meals a day while we’re at sea. In port, you find your own food. Coming back now, you’ll want a berth for your bride.”

“And son,” Rafe said, smiling.

“And son! Yes, indeed! You come back down on the
Fiery Cross.
I’ll give you her schedule. I’m Captain O’Donnell, and I’m right pleased to have you aboard.” He reached out to shake Rafe’s hand.

“Rafe Colton, sir, and thank you. When do we sail?”

“Day after tomorrow, at dawn, if the weather holds. You be aboard tomorrow, and share supper with the men. Just come aboard and ask for Hewitt, he’ll put you in the right spot. We don’t have other passengers this leg, he’ll know what to do with you.” The captain smiled at him, then noticed the line of men waiting behind Rafe to load cargo. “Off with you now, let me get to work before these fine gentlemen throw their boxes overboard.”