Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [141]
Tabitha clutched air for a moment, then clasped her arms over her middle.
Shouts arose from the men. The captain bellowed an order and marines sprang into action, charging in the direction Dominick had vanished. No one so much as looked at Tabitha. She stood in the middle of a sea of men with ocean around them, and knew her vulnerability, her weakness.
“Lord, I have only You,” she whispered. “I’ve neglected You and blamed You and don’t deserve anything from You, but You made promises. Please keep them, if I’m not too much of a sinner.”
Oh, but she was. She was angry and bitter and unforgiving. She trusted no one.
You need to trust God so you can trust others, the pastor had said.
“I don’t know how to trust You, God,” she nearly whimpered. “But I will try, if You can forgive me enough to help.”
A running seaman bumped into her. She lost her balance and fell. He kept going, intent on a disturbance somewhere else on the ship.
Tabitha stared at the deck, bright in the many lanterns’ glow. Bright except for the dark splotches leading from the larboard rail to somewhere on the starboard side, the direction Dominick had taken like a trail of bread crumbs. Except this was a trail of blood droplets.
Donald had heard a shot.
On her hands and knees, Tabitha darted along the trail, dodging seamen and skirting ropes, keeping the marks in her sight.
They disappeared in the darkness of a hatchway. Tabitha scrambled down the ladder. Not enough light remained to guide her if more blood splotches led the way, but a glow further down the passageway and raised voices guided her forward. Guided her into a cabin with canvas walls, a hanging cot surrounded by naval officers, marines, and Dominick, and another man lying in the midst.
“Raleigh,” Tabitha cried out and shoved her way to his side. “You’re injured.” She dropped to her knees beside the cot and glared up at the men. “Where’s your surgeon?”
“Here, ma’am.” A stooped gentleman with flowing white hair stepped forward. “You’d best go now. This is no sight for a lady.”
“I’m a healer, a midwife.” She took Raleigh’s hand in hers. It was cold, the nails turning blue. A glance at his face showed blue lips with a trace of bubbling blood at the corners. She didn’t need her medical knowledge or a surgeon to tell her that her lifelong friend was dying.
She stared up at the officers and Dominick through tear-misted eyes. “How did this happen?”
“He was shot in the back,” Dominick said in a voice cold enough to turn June into January.
“He was eluding punishment,” the captain interjected, “aiding and abetting the escape of a crewman, and attempting to escape himself. It’s just—”
“Nothing of what you do is just.” Dominick turned on the man and grabbed his lapels. “You are aiding and abetting the abduction of American seamen, and only your cooperation will save you from—”
“Dominick, careful,” Tabitha cried.
Two marines grabbed Dominick and flung him away from the captain.
He struck the bulkhead, grunted, then shot upright again. “Anyone who lays a hand on me will answer to Vice Admiral Landry. Do you understand?”
The cabin settled into a tableau of frozen faces and silence. Above, feet pounded and men called. Raleigh’s breath rattled in his throat, and brighter red blood trickled from his mouth.
Tabitha dropped her head onto his chest, heard the death rattle emphasized, and didn’t attempt to stifle her sob.
“As far as I’m concerned, Captain Roscoe,” Dominick enunciated in that deadly chill of a voice, “you have murdered this lady’s fiancé.”
“He is not an American.” Roscoe sounded defensive, tense. “My lord, I swear to you—”
“Never mind what he says, Captain,” another man called from the passageway. “He’s not a lord. He’s a runaway redemptioner.”
Tabitha choked on a sob. Her head shot up in time to see Harlan Wilkins stroll to the doorway of the cabin. “Don’t think you can get away