Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (19 page)

            “Aw, hell, it can’t be that bad!”

            “I’ll bet five dollars the natives made up those stories just to keep the white men out of their town.”

            “They just don’t want us to touch their women! But I tell you what, boys, I’ll be damned if I can keep my hands off the first one I see!”

            The game was soon discarded. Cards were flung onto the table and used as coasters for mugs. The men drank in celebration, their voices growing louder with each gulp. A belching contest ensued, laughter jumped an octave, and songs were requested. Lucius, whose voice was the best of the lot, was told to lead.

            “None of that Irish garbage, Flynn,” he was instructed. “Give us something modern and American. A contemporary piece!”

            Always up for a performance, Lucius climbed onto the table, mug in hand, beer sloshing over the sides. He held the ale at arm’s length as if to demand the attention of the room, but all eyes were already upon him. He wracked his brain, but when he was drunk, all he could remember were Irish melodies.

            He laughed and slapped a hand to his forehead.

            “Gentlemen!” he announced. “I’ve plum forgot every American tune I know!”

            There was some cursing and booing.

            “Bloody Irish!” someone shouted.

            “Give us the forty-niner anthem!” another suggested. “There’s not a man jack in here who can’t sing that one in his sleep!”

            “‘Oh! Susanna!’” the men exclaimed in chorus.

There were cheers all around, and Lucius was pleased, for he
did
remember that one. How could he not? The men never stopped singing it.

He opened his mouth, but his voice was immediately drowned out by the hundred other voices in the room. The men sang as loud as they could possibly manage, their volume bursting through the walls and carrying to all corners of the ship.

Adele and Evelyn were braiding their hair for bed when the song met their ears. They instantly looked at one another and began to giggle.

“If I never hear that blasted song for the rest of my life,” Evelyn sighed, “I will not be displeased.”

“Nor I!” Adele agreed. “But I daresay we will not hear the last of it for a long time, yet. Perhaps we should be grateful. It reminds us that we are yet living when so many others are not.”

“Or perhaps we are dead and this is our eternal punishment.”

Adele laughed.

“It is a great favorite among the men, isn’t it?” she said. “They sound as though they are singing as if their very lives depended upon it.”

“Celebrating the rumors of land, no doubt. I’ll wager Mr. Flynn is among them.”

“He is a very lively sort of chap, is he not?”

“Indeed. He thrives on excitement. He cannot sit still for a moment, which is exactly why he is going to California.”

“Oh, but my dear Miss Brennan, I was under the impression he was meant to be
your
escort!” Adele exclaimed, her voice light with sarcasm.

Evelyn chuckled.

“Oh yes, he would have the world believe his intentions were so noble. No. In New York, Mr. Flynn came face-to-face with dreary responsibility and the prospect of a lifetime bent over paperwork. He was expected to manage his father’s business affairs, but the idea of adventurous California was too tantalizing to decline.”

“He and his friends sound positively euphoric. Do you believe they are aware of the danger we are expected to encounter tomorrow in Chagres? I should think they might be a little more somber in the face of such uncertainty.”

“They have been privy to the same rumors as Mr. Donnigan, I am sure. But after surviving cholera, I imagine they scoff in the face of adversity. Men believe they are gods of the universe, my dear Mrs. Whitfield. If they conquer one beast, they think they can slay them all. I have no doubt that every soul on this ship has the highest expectations of success, despite what odds are against them.”

Adele nodded and looked across the room, where Bartholomew was sleeping.

“And what about us, Evelyn? What are
our
chances of success?”

Evelyn followed her friend’s gaze and hesitated, her silence filling with the distant droning of ‘Oh! Susanna’.

“I should like to believe the odds are in our favor,” she said softly. “After all, we have your dear Mr. Whitfield and our friend Mr. Donnigan to lead us. With two such champions, how are we to fail?”

Adele smiled slightly.

“Indeed. And what of Mr. Flynn? Shall he not be our champion as well?”

Evelyn slowly pulled the brush through her hair.

“I do not know if Mr. Flynn is capable of being anyone’s champion but his own, Adele.”

“Has nothing altered between you since you nursed him through the pestilence?”

“We are on speaking terms. He has expressed his gratitude, but I do not believe that what happened that night is enough to alter him entirely. His nature remains the same. He is selfish and wild, and though he knows he can trust me with his life, I cannot say I feel the same about him. He has done nothing to persuade me that he is capable of guardianship. He continues to drink, though his health declines. His actions have only served to disappoint, though my expectations were not high to begin with. It’s no matter. Mr. Donnigan is twice the man Mr. Flynn is.”

“Our Australian friend seems quite taken with you.”

“Yes, I believe he is. He has sworn to protect me, with or without Lucius.”

“It must be reassuring to know you are safe in the hands of such a man.”

“Indeed.”

Evelyn shifted in her seat and continued to brush her hair in silence. She felt squeamish and uncomfortable, and did not know whether to attribute her anxiety to the idea of disembarking the
Steam Rose
, or the conviction that every word she uttered screamed infidelity to the man who was secretly her husband.

Chapter Sixteen

The sky was cloudless. The wind was but a breath. The
Steam Rose
dropped anchor at eight in the morning off the coast of Panama, and the ocean was happy to accommodate her. As the ship bobbed along the steady waves, passengers crowded her decks, laden with luggage and equipped with all manners of knives and guns. The men were soon to be shipmates no more. From the moment their heels touched Panama soil, it was every man for himself. Still thousands of miles from California, the rush for gold would begin.

They were eager to be among the first to board the ferries into Chagres, aching to step foot on solid ground, but while they awaited transportation, they stood gaping at the scenery.

A bluff rose out of the sapphire waters of the bay, crowned with the
Castillo de San Lorenzo
. An old Spanish fort, its walls were a rustic brown, and came together in four symmetrical corners, which were capped with proud, picturesque spires. A fifth tower rose out of the center, its pale, domed roof gleaming in the sunlight.

It was a warm, enchanting fortress, very different from the cold, gray castles of Europe. It stood proudly on the highest point in Chagres, overlooking the port and its glistening white beaches. Sleepy huts, colorful natives, and bursting palm trees dotted the landscape.

How could such a paradise be so perilous?

Brock Donnigan marched purposefully towards the state room where Evelyn, Lucius, and the Whitfields were preparing for departure. He rapped on the door in hopes of seeing a female face, but it was Lucius who greeted him.

The Irishman peered out through slits of eyes, his expression hard. Brock instantly suspected that Evelyn had spoken with him, and it did not appear to have gone well.

Damn it. Today of all days.

“Morning,” Brock said, his voice gruffer than usual.

Somehow, Lucius’ eyes narrowed even more.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

The men stared at one another for a moment, when Lucius abruptly sighed and leaned his forehead against the doorjamb.

“I’m still drunk,” he moaned.

Brock almost laughed. The goose just had a headache.

“Have a late night, did you?” Brock teased. “My apologies, mate. You better look lively. Today is going to be difficult enough without you lumbering around like the ass we all know you are.”

“Duly noted, my friend. Please. Join us in our over-populated room.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I came to drive the lot of you on deck. The ferries will be here soon, and we best be on the first we can manage.”

Lucius nodded once, confusion twisting his features.

“Right.”

Brock hesitated.

“On second thought,” he said, “I would rather not trust your liquor to deliver my message.”

“Damn fine idea,” Lucius laughed.

Brock shoved past him, only to be noticed by a red-faced Evelyn. She approached him as soon as their eyes met.

“Thank God you are here,” she said. “Lucius is driving me mad. He is a drunk, stumbling idiot. I have no idea what we are to do with him, Mr. Donnigan.”

“I can stuff him in a barrel and leave him to sail back to New York, if you like,” Brock replied, amused.

Evelyn knew Brock was not entirely joking.

“At the moment,” Evelyn said, “I would love to consider it, if not for the remorse that would follow once my temper cools. No. We must find some way to manage him.”

“I told you I would protect you, Miss Brennan. Not baby-sit your husband.”

Alarmed, Evelyn shushed him and looked over her shoulder, as Adele and the others were within hearing distance. The Whitfields, however, were shuffling about in such a frantic hurry that they heard nothing.

Evelyn lowered her voice.

“You must not say such things, Mr. Donnigan.”

“Mr. Donnigan!” Adele called out, her head buried in a trunk. “Welcome! I am dreadfully sorry for the chaos. We are nearly ready for departure, I assure you!”

While Brock asked where he could lend a hand, Evelyn scanned the room for Lucius. She discovered him collapsed onto one of the beds and hurried to shake him awake.

“Rouse yourself, Mr. Flynn!” she commanded.

He did not stir, so she leaned in close and whispered fiercely into his ear.

“Listen to me, Mr. Flynn. You need to collect yourself. You must
pretend
. You must pretend to be sober. We are getting off this ship and if you cannot manage yourself, you shall be left behind. Do you understand? Mr. Donnigan and I will go to California without you and steal all of your precious gold and you will spend the rest of your life sniveling at a desk in New York City.”

Lucius came to immediately.

“I will not!” he shouted.

Evelyn smiled, satisfied with his reaction. 

“Then pull yourself together. We are leaving this wretched ship once and for all.”

* * *

There was an outburst of shouting and applause as someone announced the ferries were drawing near. They were thirty-foot, roughly hewn canoes, with room enough to seat fifteen men. Commandeering them were thin, dark natives, who wore naught but their leathery skin.

Adele, who sported a conspicuous white hat, threw her handkerchief across Evelyn’s vision.

“My dear Miss Brennan, you must shield your innocent eyes!”

Curious, Evelyn struggled to peak around the cloth, while Lucius, in his inebriation, found the spectacle highly amusing.

“A fine idea!” he exclaimed. “Why should not a man be free to roam naked beneath the white intensity of the sun? It is hot as Hades on this deck!”

A few surrounding men emitted a chorused, “hear, hear!”

More bodies crowded the deck, pressing close together in an attempt to gain proximity to the approaching ferries. Evelyn could not have seen the naked natives if she wanted to- which, as an unblemished eighteen-year-old virgin, how could she not?- for Brock Donnigan towered before her, and sweating bodies pressed against her from every side. One hand even slipped around her bottom and gave it a squeeze.

“I say!” she shrieked, spinning around to accost the culprit.

Fifty pairs of eyes stared back at her.

“Which one of you maggots touched me?” she demanded to know.

“What is the matter?” Lucius asked, already getting excited.

“One of these filthy scalawags just
grabbed
me!” Evelyn replied, too offended to remember that she was also supposed to be angry with Lucius.

“Oy!” Lucius shouted, hoisting two clenched fists. “Who did it, eh? Who’s the blasted boyo who touched m’lass, hm? ‘Fess up, now!”

No one confessed to the deed, though a few whiskers curved up in amused smiles. Lucius Flynn was reputed as a pugnacious drunk, and the men found him positively entertaining.

“Bless the Lord!” Adele proclaimed, oblivious to the ensuing altercation. “They have arrived!”

The canoes were prepared to be loaded, and there was instant hubbub as the passengers clamored and squeezed their way towards them. Brock led the way for his company, forcing a path through the bodies with Evelyn close behind. The Whitfields followed with Josephine and Bartholomew, when a flying elbow caught an unsuspecting Adele in the face, causing an instant nosebleed. Her white dress was ruined as Josephine attempted to steer her forward, a handkerchief pressed against her mistress’ mouth. Frightened by the ordeal, Bartie emitted a wail as Stephen shepherded his distressed family from the ship.

Distracted, Lucius lingered a moment longer on board. He was still upset, though he could not remember the reason why. He scanned the men around him, searching for clues, and singled out a particular face he had wanted to smash on several previous occasions. The countenance belonged to one Boris of Vermont, a man who had most recently caused Lucius financial pain in a game of whist. Obviously, this man was the villain Lucius was looking for.

Lucius threw a hook that blindsided Boris in the jaw, and a general outcry arose. He satisfied his ego by making sure that Boris got a good look at his offender, then suddenly realized the others had disappeared.

“Oy!” he cried once more, searching frantically for Adele, Josephine, and Evelyn. “I’ve lost my women!”