Because Father did not ask for me. Elizabeth had stretched the truth just a bit. Father did need her. He simply didn’t realize it yet. A busy attorney couldn’t hope to care for an invalid son. Servants could not possibly give Charlie the love and attention he required. That was the reason she’d formulated back in Charleston, but as they drew nearer to Key West, her resolve had faltered. Charlie had not once written her. He had signed Mother’s notes at Christmastime and Easter, but never a word of his own. No doubt he blamed her.
It would have been easier for everyone else if she’d stayed in Charleston and settled into a proper marriage. But she could not get Key West from her mind. The smell of a lime or coconut could set her to remembering the desserts Cook concocted out of Cuban sugar, cream, and fruit from the trees planted beside the house. The ocean air, ripe with salt and fish, had fueled a hunger that could not be quenched at Charleston’s wharves. She longed for the brilliant sun against her cheeks and the trade winds ruffling her hair. She longed to shed these shoes and sink her bare feet into the white coral sand.
To return home to the last of her family, she must survive this night. She sucked in a breath and ventured a step to the side. Her foot landed in a pool of water.
“What was that?” Naturally Aunt Virginia heard that tiny splash over the roar of the wind and the grinding of the ship against the reef.
“Just a little water.”
“I know your tendency to paint a rosy hue on disaster, Elizabeth Marie. You can tell me the truth. We’re sinking, aren’t we?”
Elizabeth had lost patience with her aunt’s hysterics. Perhaps a dash of truth would shock her into some semblance of calm. “Yes, we are.”
Aunt gasped.
“Now is the time to act,” Elizabeth stressed. “We are strong women. We will find our way out of here.”
“Where is the door?” Aunt said.
“I’m looking for it. Is anyone hurt?”
“I struck my forehead,” Aunt said, “and it aches terribly.”
“I git you a compress, Miz Virginia,” Anabelle offered.
“Where are you?” Aunt cried. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Right here by yor side, Miz Virginia. Try ta keep yor feet under ya. Da bunk is right der.”
Elizabeth’s eyes gradually adapted to the darkness, but she couldn’t make out much in the room. “Hold on to the bunk, Aunt Virginia. The floor is slanted.”
“Did you find my trunk? I won’t leave without my pearls.”
Elizabeth bit back a retort that she would have already gathered them if Aunt hadn’t put up such a fuss. “We may need to leave them behind.”
“Leave them? I can’t lose my pearls.” Aunt Virginia wore them to every social occasion. “You have to find them. The little trunk is unlocked. With all this tumbling about, it might have come open. Maybe they fell out. I can’t lose them.” Her volume rose with every statement.
“The wreckers will find them,” Elizabeth assured her.
“They’ll steal them. You read that article in Godey’s about the pirates in Key West.”
“It was a story, Aunt. Fiction. There aren’t any pirates there anymore. In fact, some wreckers are fine, Christian men.” Like Rourke.
The memory of his strong jaw and sea-green eyes warmed Elizabeth’s damp toes. Four years ago he’d picked her up like she weighed no more than a feather bed. He’d held her close as he carried her through the howling storm to safety. She’d leaned her head against his shoulder and took comfort in the strong, steady beat of his heart. She’d breathed in that scent of the sea washed with courage and honor. Rourke O’Malley was no pirate. He put his faith in God and treated every man with respect.
But her aunt scoffed at the idea of a gentleman wrecker. “I’m not leaving a thing to chance. If you won’t get my pearls, I’ll get them myself.”
“Now watch yer step, Miz Virginia,” Anabelle said.
In the murky light, Elizabeth saw the bulky shape of her aunt rise beside the steadying Anabelle. They stood directly ahead of her and somewhat above, due to the sloping floor. She couldn’t see any of the trunks. They must have slid down near her.
“Stay where you are, Aunt,” Elizabeth said. With her aunt’s unsteady legs, she could easily fall. “I’ll look for the pearls.”
She felt around. Nothing near. She recalled the room’s layout. The door must be behind her. If she could open it, the light from the hallway lamp would help her find the trunks. She felt around for the latch. Wood. Everywhere wood and not a bit of metal.
Waves continued to smash against the hull. The scraping and splintering sounds worsened. At last she found the latch and pulled. The door didn’t budge. She tried again, using her full weight. It would not open. Now what?
Water gurgled all around. Elizabeth stepped to her left and ran into something solid. She felt around in the darkness. The object came to just above her knees. Made of wood. Brass strapping.
“I found one of our trunks.”
“Whose is it?” Aunt Virginia asked.
“I think it’s your small one. It doesn’t feel like mine.”
“Open it.” The woman sounded out of breath already. “That’s the one with my pearls.”