“Fitting, don’t you think?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, for in that instant she knew without a doubt that her place was not aboard a working ship. “I belong here, with my family.”
Rourke brushed aside her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. “I’m glad to hear that, because I intend to spend most of my time ashore now.”
“You do?”
“It would make it easier for you to keep me in sight every moment of the day,” he teased.
She protested, but he kissed her again, and the protest died. Those sea-green eyes shone with the promise of a lifetime.
“How can I be away from you a single moment?” he whispered.
Her heart filled to overflowing.
“I do have one more thing to show you.” He guided her along the docks and pointed up at the warehouse. “I noticed that someone took the liberty of adding a little more to that sign.”
She’d thought her heart would burst before.
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” He beamed with pride.
“O’Malley and Sons?” Though the idea of children underfoot delighted her, he—and Father—had to learn not to act so hastily. “Aren’t you two putting the cart before the horse?”
“Maybe,” Rourke admitted without the slightest hint of regret, “but I can’t imagine anything sweeter. Should I have the painters change it?”
Elizabeth leaned against the man who would soon be her husband. “No, don’t. I rather like the ring of it. Unless, of course, we only have daughters, then I do expect a change.”
Rourke let loose the most wonderful laugh she had ever heard, while high overhead, a magnificent frigate bird soared against the sun, its mate at its side.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, all glory and honor belong to the Lord my God, Author of all things. With Him all things are possible.
My deepest gratitude to my critique partners, Jenna Mindel and Kathleen Irene Paterka, whose support, encouragement, and creative energy pulled me through the doubts and dead ends. Love you!
To my editor, Andrea Doering, and the whole fabulous team at Revell—thank you!
Thanks also go out to my agent, Nalini Akolekar, who believed in this project from the start.
I owe a debt of gratitude to those researchers who have compiled histories and resources on the Florida Keys. Also to the wonderful Florida History Department in the Monroe County Public Library in Key West, which houses the records from the “wreckers’ court” among its extensive historical collections.
My deepest appreciation to all the readers and encouragers. Your support means so very much to me. May God bless you richly.
1
Nantucket Island
April 20, 1852
“What will you do now?” The gentle nudge came from Mrs. Franklin hours after Prosperity Jones had laid her mother to rest in the church graveyard.
They sat on sturdy wooden chairs in the only home Prosperity could recall, while neighbors bustled about preparing a meal for those who condoled with her. She had attempted to help, but they had shooed her away from the kitchen. Stripped of the ability to do something useful, she battled a barrage of conflicting thoughts and feelings that ultimately came back to Mrs. Franklin’s question.
What would she do?
That question had never been broached until now. Prosperity always knew what she must do. As a child she had tended house for her oft-ailing mother. The year that fire had swept through town and the sea claimed her father’s life, she added nursing and managing their meager funds to her duties.
Nearly six years later, Ma breathed her last, ushering in overpowering loneliness. Prosperity’s entire family was gone. No more could she turn to Pa for counsel or weep on Ma’s shoulder. She had been set adrift on a vast ocean.
What would she do?
At some point she must have donned the black cotton mourning gown. Somehow burial had been arranged and the funeral carried out. Even now, mere hours afterward, disjointed memories ricocheted through her mind: the deep grave carved into the cold earth, hymns so familiar they flowed by without notice, mourners weeping uncontrollably while she could not muster a tear. Well-meaning statements about God’s will drifted past like dandelion fluff on a breeze.
After tossing a handful of dirt on the plain pine coffin, she would have preferred to climb the dunes and gaze across the sea at the endless horizon, as she had for months after her father’s whaling ship disappeared. Instead, she had returned home with the neighbors who now buzzed about like a hive of bees. Only Mrs. Franklin’s inquiry had managed to break through the fog.
What would she do?
Before Ma’s passing, Prosperity had whiled away countless hours dreaming of her future.