LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

man the door, if you would, please. This lump of offal and I have something to discuss, and need our privacy.”

      Courtland had felt himself being picked up, oh so gently, and carried out of the shop, into the morning sun. The man holding him crooned to him, told him he was all right, that the Cap’n would take care of him, that nobody would hurt him, not ever again. That he’d be “just like the other one, most like, God help us all.”

      But Courtland hadn’t really been listening, because the whip had cracked again, only this time not against his back. He heard his father yell, curse. Again, the crack of the whip. His father yelled again, but this time he didn’t curse. He had begun to plead, to beg. “Stop! Stop! You can have him—but I’ll be paid!”

      The whip cracked again, three times in quick succession, and Courtland listened for his father’s voice, but it never came. He looked to the door, to the huge, smiling man who stood there, blocking it, and waited for his father to walk out, holding the whip, coming for him once again.

      When the door opened, however, it was the tall man who emerged, hesitating only to throw the whip back into the dimness of the shop. He walked over to the man named Billy and held out his arms, so that Courtland felt himself being transferred.

      “Hello, son,” the man said quietly. “I’m Geoffrey Baskin, and you’ll come live with me, if you want. No one will beat you ever again, I promise. What’s your name?”

      Courtland remained silent, which is how he came to be Courtland, named for a sailor on one of Geoffrey Baskin’s ships who had perished of a fever a few months earlier, and he remained silent for nearly six years, until Geoffrey had brought home an angel named Isabella, whose smile and sweet ways had eventually coaxed him into speaking once more.

      His very first word spoken on the island had been Callie, a gruff, rasping mispronunciation of Isabella’s and Geoff’s newborn daughter, Cassandra, who would never be called Cassie again, at Isabella’s order.

      There were other children now, all of them brought to the island by Geoffrey Baskin. Chance, who had already been in residence when Courtland arrived. A newborn infant, Morgan, was brought back from another trip to Haiti. Three years later a half dozen more children, survivors of an attack on a church on another island. Finally, a wild young hothead named Spencer.

      Courtland didn’t mix with the other children very often. He didn’t speak, and they seemed to think that was funny. He stayed by himself, watching, always watching, always waiting for the first sick singing of the whip before it bit into his back. But it never came.

      Isabella. She had arrived instead. An angel as beautiful as his rescuer, Geoffrey Baskin, was handsome. And after years of cautious watching, the young Courtland was ready to give his trust, his heart.

      “Dreaming again, Missy Isabella,” Odette said, pointing now at Courtland with the hairbrush. “Boy’s like a puppy.”

      Courtland flushed once more and got to his feet, careful to hold Cassandra close as he turned his back, walked over to the open doors that led out onto the veranda that faced the sea.

      “Court? Do you see him yet?” Isabella asked, getting to her feet, shaking out the full skirts of her grass-green gown. “I’m so anxious, aren’t I? He promised they’d be back before dinner tonight. And then no more grand adventures for my Geoff, not without me by his side as we all sail to our new home. Imagine it, Court. Nearly three hundred of us, all sailing off together, leaving this island behind, a whole new world opening up ahead of us. But still no sign of Geoff?”

      Courtland squinted, concentrating on the horizon, the place where brilliant blue-green water met a cloudless blue sky. “No, ma’am, I don’t see them. Not yet.”

      She came to stand beside him, not all that much taller than he, and kissed the soft brown curls on her sleeping daughter’s head. “Are you anxious to sail to England, Courtland? Will you miss our small paradise?”

      “Papa Geoff says it’s time to go. Time to be respectable and safe.”

      “Being a privateer is respectable, Court,” Isabella told him. “Just not respectable enough for my silly husband. He teases that he prefers cold and damp England to our warmth and sun here, and that we will, too. We shall soon see if he’s right, won’t we?”

      Courtland nodded, then looked at the expanse of vibrant greenery and chalk-white sand that led to the water, the horseshoe of land surrounding the natural harbor filled with small houses belonging to the crews of the two ships owned by Geoffrey Baskin. Everywhere was bustling activity as the women added to the small mountains of belongings soon to be loaded on the ships. Transporting three hundred people across the wide ocean was no minor undertaking, but they would be ready to sail within the week.

      His gaze singled out Spencer wrestling with Isaac and Rian, two of the boys their Papa Geoff had rescued from the destroyed church. And there was young Fanny, wearing the striped dress cut from extra material from Isabella’s new gown; her hair so blond it was nearly white, daring the small wavelets in her bare feet; charging, retreating. He couldn’t hear her laughter, not up here, but he knew she was laughing, for Fanny was a happy child, her memory of her mother’s death in that same church fading as she grew.

      He watched as Fanny began to jump up and down, pointing out to sea, and he followed her direction with his eyes, caught sight of sails flashing in the sunlight as they came around the northernmost part of the island, into the natural harbor. He sighed in relief, knowing Papa Geoff’s last adventure as a privateer was now over, that he would be safe. Yes, Courtland supposed he was happy to be leaving here, no longer being forced to worry for his Papa Geoff, his savior, each time the two ships sailed out of the harbor.

      “They’re back,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “Just as they said they would be.”

      Isabella kept her hand on his shoulder, also peering out to sea. But then her fingers dug deeper into Courtland’s shoulder. “No, that’s not Geoff. Three ships, Courtland, see? Three ships, not our two.”

      Courtland looked at Isabella, saw the worry in her beautiful eyes, and then looked toward the ships once more. What was wrong? No, they weren’t their ships, the Black Ghost and the Silver Ghost. But he did recognize them now; they were the ships of Papa Geoff’s privateering partner, Edmund Beales.

      “It’s all right,” he told Isabella. “It’s only Beales.”

      But wasn’t he supposed to be with Geoffrey and Chance and Jacko and Billy and the others? Where were the Black Ghost and the Silver Ghost? Why only Beales’s three ships? Something was wrong, wasn’t it?

      Rian, leaving Issac sprawled on the ground, seemed to already know that, for he was running toward Fanny, scooping her up into his arms, and heading for the main house with Spencer, the two of them shouting, although Courtland could not make out what they were saying. Isaac watched them go, laughing, and then turned to wave to the approaching long boats, already lowered into the clear, calm waters.

      It was then that Courtland realized something, knew what Rian and Spencer had seen. It was the ship that lay parallel to the beach. Its gun ports were open, the small cannon being run out. “Ma’am!”

      Isabella must have seen it, too. She raced across the veranda, pressed her body against the railing. “Run! Into the trees! Hide! Run, everyone! Run!”

      Odette was with them now, her black face nearly gray as she wrung her hands together, as they all watched the longboats being pulled, one by one, up onto the beach. “Betrayal. Beales wants more than his share. I did not see this. Why did I not see this? Sweet Virgin, Missy Isabella, you have to go. You have to go now!”

      But Isabella was still shouting, waving her arms in the air, pleading with everyone who had raced out of their small houses and into the sandy clearing to run, run into the trees, to hide themselves.

      Courtland stood very still, holding the sleeping Cassandra, refusing to believe what was happening. He flinched at the first gunshot, squeezing Cassandra’s

Скачать книгу