One Man's Honor, page 1
Copyright
ISBN 1-58660-487-2
© 2002 by Lynn A. Coleman. All rights reserved. Except for usein any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Heartsong Presents, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
One
Key West, April 1, 1886
“Fire! Fire!”
Richard Southard jumped from his bed and ran down the stairs, rushing to answer the pounding fist on his front door.
“Your dock’s on fire!” The young man’s eyes bulged. “And your warehouse.” He gasped for breath.
Richard sniffed the air. “Thanks.” His dock was on fire? Lord, have mercy. “I’ll get some buckets,” he mumbled.
“Don’t think they’ll do much good. Half the town’s on fire.” The man turned and leapt off the porch.
“Would you go tell Mo Greene for me?” Richard didn’t wait for an answer and rushed up the stairs two at a time.
“What’s all the hootin’ and hollerin’ for?” Cook grumbled, tightening the old bathrobe around her.
“Town’s on fire, Cook. You better stay here. Get some buckets of water ready to dampen some rags for breathing through.”
“Lord protect us,” Cook groaned. She’d been with the family since before he arrived on Key West, as the housekeeper and cook for his uncle. But, in point of fact, she’d been the closest person he ever had to a grandparent.
“Amen.” Richard finished his hike up the stairs, removing his robe before entering his room. No time to undress and dress. He slipped his clothes on over his nightshirt, shoved his feet into his boots, then ran toward the family dock and business. His uncle Ellis had developed a healthy sponge fishing industry on Key West. Richard had returned to Key West last fall to work the family business while Ellis and his family returned to New York.
Thick smoke drove Richard from his thoughts. The warehouse glowed in the early morning hour. The wind continued to whip the flames up as they licked the leaves of palm trees. Drying sponges became soft cannonballs of flame.
The single fire truck could never handle this.
Richard coughed. The acrid taste of smoke burned his throat and eyes. He tore off the bottom of his nightshirt and fashioned a mask to breathe through.
He scanned the long dock that worked its way into the harbor. Fire on the ocean—what an incredible sight! Dry season was not the time for the island to have a fire. They hadn’t had rain on Key West for weeks, perhaps months.
Richard pulled off his outer shirt and soaked it with ocean water. At least he could try and stop the balls of fire that were being spread by the sponges blowing off his roof. He ran after a sponge fireball and slapped it several times with his drenched shirt.
“What happened?” Mo Greene called out.
Richard jumped hearing Mo’s voice. He turned to see the tall black man’s stride slow down. “I don’t know. I found the place like this. But look up Duval Street; everything is on fire. There are five docks on fire counting ours,” Richard informed him.
“Ain’t seen nothin’ like this in all my days.”
“Won’t have many days if you don’t put something over your nose and mouth.” Mo stood head and shoulders above most men. He had worked for Richard’s uncle since Richard was a small boy. Mo and Lizzy’s children had been his playmates. Now Richard was Mo’s boss. Somehow it seemed odd, telling Mo what to do, especially when Mo had had a hand in correcting him a time or two when he was a young boy growing up on the island.
Mo removed a handkerchief and wet it with ocean water, draping it over his nose and mouth. “Want me to try and save the dock?” he yelled. The roar of the wind and flames made his normal voice a hoarse whisper.
Richard shook his head no. “We need to stop the sponges from starting more fires. The dock should burn itself out.”
Mo removed his shirt. Dampening it, he filled a couple buckets he’d brought along with him. They each took a bucket and proceeded to chase the sponge fireballs.
Hours later, they sat exhausted, breathing in fresher air as the sun crested the horizon. The winds had shifted. The stale smell of burned wood hung in the air, but it was more breathable.
Hundreds of men had come out to battle the flames, but their efforts did little good. Ironically, the town had decided not to upgrade the fire department the previous year. Richard knew that would change immediately. “Day late and a dollar short,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” Mo asked.
“Sorry, was thinking about the single fire engine. The town will need another. Our population is nearly as large as Jacksonville. One fire engine isn’t enough.”
“I helped your uncle build this building. Hard to believe it could be destroyed so easily.”
“Buildings can be rebuilt. It’s the people I’m worried about. I pray no lives were lost tonight.”
“Amen. I’m going home to freshen up. I’ll be back in a few hours to help clean up.”
“Thanks, Mo.”
Mo lifted his massive dark frame and slowly walked away. Richard could not help but be amazed all over again at the man’s depth, how hard he’d worked to educate himself and improve his speech.
Richard turned and looked at the smoldering remains of the family business. Should they rebuild? The last letter from Nanna and Ellis said they were reconsidering staying in New York and using the house on Key West as a winter home.
There was no question his uncle was beginning to slow down. That would leave Richard and his cousin James in charge of the family business. Richard gnawed his lower lip. The question was whether he wanted to run this business, go west and explore the new territories, or return to the farmstead? He’d been working the land for five years. He enjoyed it. He had a natural talent for farming, like his father before him. So what was he doing in Key West? Why had it seemed so important to stay here and keep the sponge business going? His uncle had plenty of offers to buy the business. Richard looked at the rubble and sighed.
“Richard.” Micah Bower worked his lean body through the charred remains. “You’ve been hit hard.”
“How’d your place fare?”
“We’re fine. The fire didn’t get that far east. Glad we purchased the new location five years ago.” Micah sat down beside him, his clothes streaked with smoke. Richard gazed down at his own clothing. The soot and smoke had stained his nightshirt.
“Have you been up Duval Street?”
“Nope. How bad is it?”
“Looks like fifty buildings and five docks went up. The fire spread down to Greene Street.”
“Fifty?” Richard sighed. “How’d it start?”
“No one knows, but they’re looking into it.”
“Are you going to rebuild?” Micah scanned the debris.
“Yes, James is planning on returning to Key West after his education. I’ll need to reestablish the business so he has something to come home to.”
Micah nodded. “It’s going to take some time to rebuild. I can’t imagine how long.”
“Or how many shipments of supplies. Thankfully, there are a few docks still standing.”
“There are some drawbacks to living on an island.”
“Why did you stay on Key West?” Richard knew Micah was around his own age when he’d come to the island.
“At first I wanted, and needed, time to get to know my mother, to reconcile what had transpired in our lives. But after a few years I found the island and its people growing on me. Although I must say, there are far more folks living here now, almost too many.”
Richard smiled and acknowledged he had similar thoughts.
“After I met Catherine there was no question. I was staying for awhile longer,” Micah grinned.
“Ah, a woman will do that to ya.”
“And what do you know of women?” Micah challenged.
Richard raised his hands. “Not a thing. Trust me, I’ve kept myself away from them. I have too many demands on my time; I don’t need a woman messing up my life.”
Micah roared. “That, my friend, is simply because you haven’t met the right one yet.”
Richard examined the soot on his friend. “You might want to jump in the ocean before you return home to Catherine and the children. They’ll never recognize you.”
“Cook might have trouble recognizing you when you get home too.”
“Oh no, I forgot about Cook.” Richard jumped up. “She’s eighty now, not that you’d know it by looking at her. This air had to be difficult on her breathing.”
“Take care, Richard. I’ll lend a hand when I can.”
Richard watched Micah wave as he rounded the corner and headed down Front Street. Thankfully, his house was east of the fire. Richard coughed as his lungs fought to recover from the smoke he’d inhaled. “Lord, please let her be okay.”
“Cook!” he hollered as he ran through the front door.
No response. “Cook!” he yelled louder. Frantic, he ran to the back bedroom. He paused and tried to calm himself before opening the door. If she died…
He steeled himself and pushed it open. A sigh of relief passed his lips as he saw her empty bed and room.
“Richie,” Cook called.
Her voice carried from the backyard. Richard ran down the hall, skidding on the throw rug on the well-polished oak floor. How many times had his uncle and nanna scolded him about running in the hallway? A wicked grin creased his face. Too many, he answered himself.
“Cook, are you all right?”
He saw her bent over, carrying a bucket of water from the cistern. Her natural brown color seemed paler this morning—or could it be a contrast to the black charred remains of the fire? “Let me get that for you.”
“You’re a mess. Take them clothes off, what’s left of ’em, and get yourself cleaned up,” she ordered.
Richard chuckled and scooped up her bucket. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Have ya seen yourself?” She applied a loving hand on his elbow. He could feel the unsteady gait as she walked beside him. She claimed bones just had a way of stiffening up, getting ready to lie down for eternity.
“No, but I’ve seen others. Couldn’t imagine how Mo could look darker than he is naturally. But he sure was black.”
Cook chuckled. “He’s a dark one, all right. You’re just about his equal with all that soot on ya.”
“Closest I’ll ever get, I imagine.” Richard’s pale complexion never really tanned. He did have a tan, though most wouldn’t know it. Blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin weren’t exactly tropical colors for a body.
“Well ya stink, too, so go wash up.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The woman could scold him from sun up to sun down if she wanted. She was safe, and that’s all that mattered.
He put the bucket in the kitchen and went behind the house to the outside shower. No sense getting this soot in a tub. I’d only have to clean it out later, he reasoned.
Cook lifted the window above him. “Catch.”
She tossed him a clean washrag and a bar of soap.
“Thanks.”
“How bad was the fire?” she asked. He could hear her dragging a chair to the window.
“Bad, real bad.” He lathered his skin, amazed at the gray mounds of soap bubbles coming off him. “Micah Bower says pretty near fifty buildings went up and five docks. We lost the dock and the building. Everything will have to be rebuilt.”
“God protect us! How many folks you suppose’ll be outta work?”
“Quite a few, but I imagine they’ll be hired to help rebuild. I know I’ll have our men doing that.” He poured some water over his head and lathered his hair with the soap.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Don’t know. I can’t imagine folks not getting injured with that much destruction. I had to wear a mask most of the time I was down there. The air was so thick.”
“Mercy.” In his mind’s eye, he could see the old woman folding her hands and offering another prayer.
Cook was not a person to try and pull the wool over someone’s eyes, but she was also one of the strongest prayer warriors going. Maybe he should tell her his dilemma. He could use the extra prayer support. He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. Nope, he was a man now, and a man needed to make certain decisions on his own.
“What are you going to do, Richie?”
“First I’ll need to clean up the mess. Then I’ll need to rebuild. The business needs to be in order for James’s return.”
“I’m sure Mo will be happy to hear you’re going to rebuild.”
Mo—he’d almost forgotten. Six men and their families depended on his family business. Lord, I feel so ill equipped. I know I’ve had the book learning about running a business, but that’s not enough. Uncle Ellis always said that if you were good to your employees, they would work well for you. You couldn’t just give them everything; they’d have to earn it. But being generous, whenever possible, would produce loyal workers. I can’t dispute that, Lord. Mo’s been working for the company for nearly twenty years. Help me, Lord. I don’t know where to begin.
“Richie?”
“Yes, Cook.” Richard rinsed his body off one last time.
“Ifin ya don’t mind, I’m goin’ to lie down. I’ve been up since you left.”
“No problem. I’ll be in town most of the day myself. Don’t bother to cook for me. I’ll find something.”
“There’re a couple loaves of Cuban bread in the bread box. You might want to take one and some cheese. Drink plenty of water too. Cleaning up from a fire isn’t easy work.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Richard wrapped a towel around his waist and dumped his clothes into a barrel, then filled it with some water and lye soap. Cook would have his hide because he washed his own clothes, but she didn’t need the extra work. Besides, he knew the fresh clothing he’d put on later would be just as filthy, if not more so, after working at the shop.
❧
Digging through the debris certainly proved he would be black again. He salvaged a few knives, sponge hooks, and various pieces from the shop, but basically the entire business was lost. The schooner, the Sea Dove, and half a dozen of the spongers’ skiffs, were safe, along with the tools from the boat.
A trip to Cuba might be in order. He’d certainly get the building supplies he needed sooner. Richard sat down on the edge of the seawall in front of the burned-out building. Reaching into his sack, he pulled out the Cuban bread.
“I’m a fish out of water, Lord.” Richard tossed a piece of his Cuban roll into the water, then bit off a piece for himself. The soft white bread with a thin crust had been a food item he’d missed. “Who am I, Lord? The farmer or a businessman?”
Richard tossed another chunk of the bread into the water and watched a small school of fish fight for the tasty morsel. The brightly colored parrotfish jumped out of the water, chasing the elusive crumb. Although Key West was in turmoil after the fire, the fish under the sea seemed free from such hardships. He’d heard four people had died.
The gentle lull of a feminine voice teased his ears. “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.”
Richard turned and caught a glimpse of her as she headed away from him into town, a lily among the ruins. Her wavy black hair draped over a clean, crisp, white blouse. Her golden skin was vibrant among the mounds of charred debris. The familiar passage from Ecclesiastes echoed in his mind. He looked down at the loaf of bread, pulled off another chunk, and tossed it in the waters below.
“Could it be that simple, Lord?”
Two
Isabella turned, sneaking another glimpse of Richie Southard, or at least she thought it was him. He’d returned to Key West after being gone for five years. She’d been on the island for six. She had been all of fourteen when she first spotted him working with his uncle at the dock. He was handsome then, but now…well, she wouldn’t allow her thoughts to drift in that direction.
He seemed so alone. She knew she shouldn’t have spoken to him. It wasn’t proper, but… I just couldn’t help myself.
She scanned the ruins from the great fire. The town was decimated. Her father’s cigar factory was gone. In fact, several cigar factories were gone.
She needed to get a job. She’d been trying for what seemed like eternity but hadn’t found work to her liking. Oh, she’d cleaned houses and done other simple tasks, but a desire stirred deep within her to do something more, to be something more. But what?
Now the town would be set on rebuilding, and construction wasn’t something she felt skilled at or inclined to do. Not that any man would hire her even if she applied. With her head for numbers, she’d hoped to get a job at a bank. With her bilingual abilities, she figured she would be welcomed. Instead, she found no job openings anywhere. Not even a sales clerk opportunity had presented itself. Every day she’d come to town, and every day she’d returned home without a job.
Should she be trusting God with the same passage of Scripture she’d tossed out to Richie Southard?
Isabella took in a deep breath and practically gagged from the ash-laden air. Small patches of debris still had fine trails of smoke floating upward. “Lord, what am I going to do? There’ll be no work for my father, and I haven’t found a job. What’s the family going to do?”
A thought flickered through her mind that she should trust the Lord and leave the concerns of the family in His care, not hers. But she fought off the idea. She had to do something, anything. Her family depended upon her. Her father had not been blessed with a son, and she was the only child. She had little to offer, other than marrying well… . Richie Southard’s blue-gray eyes, crowned with a riot of golden curls, passed in front of her mind’s eye. No, I couldn’t do that, she reprimanded herself.
