Undaunted Love (26 page)

Chapter Fourty-Nine

T
HE SEA WAS CALM, THE winds from the east, and the huge sails were puffed out, casting shadows on the deck. Rafe stood at the bow, his face to the wind, and listened to the sounds of the clipper: rigging clanging, shouts from the crew as they adjusted the sails, the splash of the foam as it swept the narrow bow, the occasional plume of spray arching over the bowsprit and misting in his hair.

With the skies clear and the barometer steady, the captain predicted that they would be right on time to Savannah. The crewmen were smiling and joking, and God seemed to be smiling on the
Fiery Cross
. Rafe’s hammock hung in a curtained off corner of the crew’s quarters, giving him some privacy, but he preferred to be on deck, watching the men move around in what seemed like a complicated dance, or shimmy up the masts like squirrels. He’d never been so far out in the ocean that he couldn’t see land, and he found it exhilarating.

Supper was a warm Brunswick stew, the chicken tender, the vegetables crisp and flavorful. Crusty bread helped him sop up the remaining broth. Everything seemed to taste better at sea, and he thought the stew was the best he’d ever had. A dozen men sat at the long table, one of three shifts working the ship. They were coarse and crude, but full of jokes and laughter, and they welcomed him with hearty claps on the back. When they found out he’d been a captain in the 1st South Carolina, the other veterans, two navy and two artillery, dragged him over to their end of the table to share war stories.

The navy men had both been taken as prisoners of war in 1864 when their commander, John David Wood, led them to capture the
USS Underwriter
off New Bern, North Carolina. The fighting had lasted only fifteen minutes, but six Confederate sailors had been taken captive as they stripped and set fire to the
Underwriter.
Fortunately, they only spent a year in the Union brig before being traded for Union soldiers, several months before the end of the war. Rafe had heard that conditions in prisons on both sides were bad, and the sailors confirmed it by their firm desire not to talk about their time there. But they had many stories of their bravery and gallantry, as well as many off color stories of their furloughs and time since the War.

Rafe finally made his way to his hammock, climbing in with some difficulty as it swayed with the movement of the ship.
Livvie will definitely want a berth!
he thought with amusement as he got settled on his backside and began to swing gently. The hammock was hung so that the ends were facing the bow and stern, helping to minimize motion, but there was a gentle side-to-side sway that wasn’t noticeable until he took his feet off the deck. Rafe smiled and wished he’d joined the Navy.

They arrived in the Savannah harbor late the next afternoon, and were greeted by tugboats to guide them in. As soon as the big ship was tied up at the massive docks, swarms of longshoremen put up a ramp, met briefly with the captain, and started unloading cargo. Rafe watched from the mizzen, leaning against the thick mast, enjoying the soft breeze. The humidity hadn’t lessened, but he’d found a spot in the shade that was out of the way of the busy crew, and he stayed put until all the activity on deck had died down and he felt he wouldn’t be a nuisance.

He found Captain O’Donnell going over a long list, checking off items and frowning. He smiled briefly when he saw Rafe. “Just making sure they don’t take off anything bound for Charleston. Enjoying the voyage?”

Grinning, Rafe nodded. “It’s wonderful! I grew up on the ocean and never went to sea. I came to ask if I can go ashore for supper?”

“Aye, Cook’s counting on it! There are a few places down here at the waterfront, all will give you a good stew or roasted fish, or even oysters if you’ve the coin. Just be back aboard by night’s watch.”

Rafe thanked him and walked down the gangplank, following the flow of people through the streets until he ended up at a small pub selling oysters, crab cakes, and boiled shrimp. The smell was spicy and tantalizing, and he pushed his way in and sat at a table. The restaurant wasn’t actually on the waterfront, so it had a mixed crowd of officers from the various vessels in port, businessmen from the city, and a rowdy group of young men at the table next to him who had obviously been drinking ale for quite some time.

Being alone, he spent his time observing the men, listening to their conversations with half an ear as he thought about Livvie. In only three or four days, he would be holding her in his arms… It seemed an unbearably long time now that he was on his way. As he daydreamed, he heard one of the young men say, “Wyman, you’re drunk. You should go on home now before you git into trouble.”

Looking over, Rafe saw a stocky blonde boy of about eighteen holding up a raven haired man in his mid-twenties. The older man was swaying but belligerent, drinking not ale but whiskey, which he was swilling right out of the bottle.

“I am not going home,” he slurred, turning on his friend. “My
father,
” he said, drawing the word out disdainfully, “has informed me that since I have lost my job to the great soon-to-be Senator Byrd, and I have lost my little Byrdie bride, and since I am a disgraceful son for my public drunkenness, I am no longer welcome.” He toasted the group with his bottle, and pulled a long swallow.

“Come on home with me, then,” the blonde boy said, trying to maneuver him towards the door.

Wyman ripped his arm out of the other’s grasp. “I have taken
apartments
just over yonder, and have only to walk…” He tried to take several steps and sat down heavily in a chair. “…to walk, when I am ready to go. Which is not
now.
For tomorrow I am headed back to that God-awful town and claiming what was promised me.” He swilled the whiskey again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I keep what is mine.” He glared malevolently at those around the table, and none dared question him. After a moment of silence, the men began to drink and joke again, but Wyman merely sat back in his chair, glowering and taking long sips from the bottle.

Rafe had barely tasted his food, but he’d stayed, hoping to hear more from the man who was obviously Wyman Phelps. He vaguely remembered him as a boy, before the Phelps family had moved here to Savannah, and he recognized the black hair and the piercing blue eyes. He also recognized that this man was dangerous.

As he walked quickly back to the
Fiery Cross
, Rafe thought about what Wyman had said. In his condition, Rafe seriously doubted whether Wyman would be in any shape to start for Byrd’s Creek in the morning. If he left in the afternoon, he wouldn’t arrive in Byrd’s Creek until the following day, depending on the kind of transportation he was using. On a horse, feeling as sick as he was bound to feel, he would move slowly. If he took a carriage or wagon, though, he could sleep and let the driver keep a good clip.

The
Fiery Cross
had unloaded its cargo marked for Savannah, but Rafe knew that they still had cargo to load, bound for Charleston and Norfolk. He didn’t know how long that would take, but he knew they could make Charleston in less than a day if the winds held as they’d been. Certainly in less than two…

His pace increased until he was running, pounding up the gangplank, only to be stopped by the watchman.

“Ain’t no cause to storm the fort here, son,” the old man said. Rafe recognized him as the boson’s mate, Bagsy Hughes.

“Sorry! Do you know when we’ll be under way tomorrow?”

The man’s darkly tanned face crinkled, and his eyes looked up at the stars as if to find a timetable there. Finally he brought them back to Rafe’s face, grey eyes, like the sea. “Tide’ll be high near on ‘leven o’clock. Spect we’ll be under way round then, soon’s the cargo’d be loaded.”

“And will we make Charleston tomorrow?” Rafe asked.

After another long pause and consultation with the stars, Bagsy said, “Mebe. Like as not we have to anchor out for the night, go in to harbor first thing in the morn.”

“Thanks,” Rafe said, and made his way to the bow. He sat there, looking up at the stars as Bagsy had, praying that he would beat Wyman Phelps to Livvie.

Chapter Fifty

B
AGSY PROVED PROPHETIC, AND THE
Fiery Cross
spent the night at anchor within sight of Charleston and Fort Sumter. Rafe paced, taking only a wedge of cheese and a large hunk of bread for his supper, eating it absentmindedly as he walked the decks. At first light the ship weighed anchor and was towed into the harbor, Rafe standing on the bowsprit, watching the city get larger and brighter as they moved in.

As soon as the gangplank was in place, he shook Captain O’Donnell’s hand and ran down to the wharf, then up the street towards the sawmill. His rucksack was lighter than it had been when he traveled home from Virginia after the War, and lighter than his trek south to Florida, but it felt like it was full of rocks, slowing him down, keeping him from his destination. He finally arrived, breathless, in front of Greene’s Sawmill and Timber.

Rafe could see that half of the building was new, and there were still black marks on the old part where a fire had raged but burned itself out. The sound of engines could be heard inside, and he pushed his way into the dark interior, calling out, “Jeb!” as loud as he could. He knew the screaming of the engines was louder than his voice, but he saw his old friend look up when the light from outside the door lit up the workspace. Jeb’s mouth fell open momentarily, and then he walked briskly to the door, taking Rafe by his upper arms and hugging him tightly.

“Rafe! Where have you been?” Jeb asked, a grin on his face. “Your job is waiting for you!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Greene, I’ve been… I ran…” He stopped, ashamed. Then he looked at the kindly face of his friend and shrugged. “I ran away, and I’ve been in Florida. I’ve come back for Livvie. I’m sorry I haven’t written.”

Clapping him on the back, Jeb led him to a new and large table by the back door of the sawmill. He pushed him into a chair and sat next to him.

“Tell me,” he said.

Rafe gave a brief explanation of the murder of Mr. Monighan, the sheriff’s arrival at the Hauser farm, and his shameful midnight flight from his wife. He didn’t look up during the tale, twisting his fingers as he told it all. He finished by explaining his sudden arrival, Wyman Phelps’ plan, and his desperate need to get to Wadmalaw.

“I’ve asked so much of you over the years, and you’ve been so generous. I’m not askin’ you to loan me your horse and wagon, just to help me find someone to take me to the Kinney farm.”

Jeb patted his forearm and smiled. “It’s good to have you back, young man. And I know that wife a’yours will be pleased as punch to see you! Now, things have picked up since we almost got burned out during the War, and all this rebuilding’s stood us in good stead. So you go on, take the horse and wagon, and get your gal.”

Overwhelmed by the years of kindness, Rafe was speechless. Finally he nodded. “I don’t know how long we’ll be. I gotta get things straight with the sheriff and Mr. Byrd. But Livvie wants to go back to Indian River City with me, and Captain O’Donnell has given me the ship’s schedule, so we’ll be here. I’ll try to send word.”

“What’s mine is yours, son. This sawmill woulda been yours, had things worked out different. But God has His own plan, and it unfolds in His own time. Now you get on. You got a baby to meet.”

A baby to meet
. Rafe couldn’t get over those words as he trotted south over the familiar roads and bridges to Wadmalaw.
I don’t just have a wife, I have a baby. A baby I’ve never met!
He felt tears well up in his eyes. With God’s help, he’d be the man that his family needed.

When he turned the wagon down the Kinney’s drive, he kept to a walk. Now that he was here, he was nervous. Livvie said she loved him, and said she was not angry… But was that true? And what about her sister, and Gardner? How would they feel about his abandonment of his wife? He knew that he was angry with himself. How could these innocent people, who’d born the brunt of his selfishness, not be angry with him as well?

As he approached the house he saw a towheaded boy and a smaller girl playing on the front porch. They looked up at him and waved, then the boy ran inside. When Rafe was still a hundred feet from the house, two women came through the door. Madeline was wiping her hands on an apron, and Livvie was shading her eyes from the sun to see who was arriving. When she realized who it was, she froze for a moment, her mouth open in shock. Then she said something to her sister and ran headlong down the stairs, down the drive, and to him. He stopped the horse, flung himself out of the wagon, and grabbed her, picking her up and twirling her around, laughing and crying and kissing until they fell to the ground in a heap.

“Rafe Colton, where on earth did you come from?” Livvie said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stroked his face. He was leaner, tanned, with lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“I came on a ship, and then Mr. Greene loaned me another horse.” He grinned, putting his hand gently on the back of her head and pulling her to him for a long, deep kiss.

Against his lips, she said, “He should know better than to lend you any more horses…”

They both laughed, and Rafe stood, helping Livvie to her feet. When they turned to the porch, Madeline was standing at the top of the steps, Gabriel in her arms. Rafe stood stock still and stared, the breath knocked out of him. Livvie put her arm through his.

“Come on, meet your boy.”

Rafe sat on the back porch on a wicker sofa, his son asleep against his shoulder. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of baby that surrounded the boy. His boy. His son.

“Mistuh Rafe, suh?”

Rafe opened his eyes and looked around, smiling at Nackie.

“Nackie!” he whispered. “Look at my son!”

The old negro laughed. “I been a’lookin’ at him for a good while now, Mistuh Rafe. He a good boy, like you was.”

Livvie came out and gently took the baby. “Tea’s ready, and he needs to go on to his cot for a good nap, or else he’ll be squalling all night and give his daddy a bad impression.” She swished through the door with a flash of a grin over her shoulder.

“Sit down, Nack,” Rafe said. “Tell me what’s been happenin’.”

Nackie sat in a rocking chair and shrugged. “Things was hard for awhile, but they’s better now. When yo mama passed…” He faltered. “That girl was a like a daughter to me, I won’t lie. Near to broke my heart. But I likes it here just fine, and Mistuh Gardner, he a good, fair man. A hard worker, goin’ out to the fields every day with the rest a’the workers. And Miss Livvie, she been happy here, ‘cept for missin’ you.”

While the former slave’s expression didn’t change, Rafe felt the reproach. His face flushed. “I know I shouldn’t’a run off like I did. God’s been bringin’ me to a place where I can be the husband and father they need. I’m back, and I’m gonna take ‘em home with me, after I talk to that sheriff and Mr. Byrd.”

“Mistuh Byrd, he ain’t in Byrd’s Creek. He said he was comin’ back for Miss Livvie, and I ‘spect he will, but he been off all over t’state, tryin’ to talk folks into votin’ for him come time.”

“I’ll find him. I’m going to tell him, and that’ll be that. Livvie and I will go back to Indian River City, and we’ll finally start our life.”

“You know Mistuh Byrd ain’t gonna be happy. He got some young fella he think Miz Liv gonna marry, and he wants that family’s money in his own pocket.” Nackie rocked back and forth, his gaze steady on Rafe.

“Havin’ a bigamist for a daughter won’t help him get elected. He’ll see that, at least. I’m more worried about the sheriff, to be honest.”

The old man grunted. “Ayuh. He ain’t a nice man. And he don’t seem all that interested in sherrifin, neither. Mostly he’s been kickin’ good folks outa their houses so carpetbaggers can come in.” Nackie laughed. “He tried that with Miz Hauser, and your wife and Miz Madeline took care a’dat mighty quick.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows in question, but Nackie just shook his head. “You go on n’ask her, she tell it best anyhow.” He got up and went inside for tea.