A younger Elizabeth would have gone to him. She crossed to the window. A sliver of moon hung above the neighboring house, casting its faint light on the empty street below. No laughter or conversation. No rattle of carriage wheels or snort of a horse. Not even a footstep or the whistling of a merry tune. Nothing.
Elizabeth reached out to the rustling tamarind leaves. An old black seedpod clung to the branch. She pulled it off and cracked open the dried pod, spilling the seeds into the palm of her hand. Key West had recovered from the dreadful hurricane, but her family had not. Like the seedpods, they clung to the security of the past. Could she let go and seek fresh soil?
She cast the seeds out the window.
Movement drew her eye toward the back of the house, beside the stables. Someone or something lurked in the shadows. An animal or an intruder? The hairs rose on her arms. Perhaps it was nothing more than one of the servants attending to necessary business, but what if it was a man, like Mr. Finch? That prospect thundered in her ears.
She blew out her candle and found a clear view of the stable and gate. She searched the shadows for another sign of movement. For a long while, nothing happened. She’d begun to think the first movement had been a figment of her imagination when the bushes rustled again, this time near the gate. The shadow identified it as a person in a long, voluminous cloak.
Elizabeth gripped the window frame and leaned out a little farther. Who would be leaving at this hour and in such a manner? Father would not dart about in the dark. Charlie couldn’t leave. Aunt Virginia was snoring down the hall. That left either a servant or an unwelcome visitor.
She waited, safely screened by the tamarind branches. Soon the person must step into the weak moonlight. Then she might see who it was.
The fitful breeze rustled the leaves, and a cloud scudded across the crescent moon. At that moment, the person darted out of the shadows.
Though the darkness obscured any features, enough light remained to silhouette the figure for an instant. The long skirt betrayed her gender. Elizabeth peered into the darkness, trying to make out who it was. Only the faint outline of a hunched figure could be discerned.
The cloud departed, and the yard illuminated just as the woman touched the latch on the gate. Soon she would be gone, and Elizabeth would not know who it was. Somehow she must get the woman to turn her face. She dare not shout, but she still held the empty seedpod. If she threw it against something, it might startle the woman. She looked around and spotted the drainpipe that funneled rainwater into the cistern. Of course.
She flung the pod with all her might. It rattled off the metal pipe and dropped to the ground. The sound was enough to startle the woman. She stood tall and looked back. Elizabeth gasped.
Anabelle!
Where would she be going at this hour, well after curfew, when Elizabeth had specifically asked her not to do that again? If Aunt saw her . . . Elizabeth shivered. Thank goodness Aunt Virginia was still snoring. Father might spot her, though, and that could not come to any good.
Elizabeth must stop her. She threw on the old dark blue gown since it didn’t require corseting. Her nightgown could serve as chemise and petticoat. With her kid shoes in hand, she slipped into the hallway. No light filtered from beneath the door to Father’s bedroom, nor did light cast the stairway in a soft glow. Father must either be asleep or be closed inside his office.
She crept down the stairs by touch alone, taking care to avoid the creaky spots. Still, a lower tread groaned under her weight. She halted and listened. Not a sound. Since the staircase emptied into the hallway, she only had to pass Charlie’s room and Father’s study. Both rooms were dark. The rear door stood wide open to let the cool night air flow through the house.
Once outside, she tugged on her shoes. Crossing the yard took mere moments, but she’d lost a lot of time. The crescent moon was higher now, giving her a little more light. She whisked past the stable and found the gate resting against its latch. By the time she hurried through and checked the alley in both directions, Anabelle was gone.
Which way did she go? Elizabeth thought quickly. If Anabelle was visiting a Negro friend, she was most likely headed toward Africa Town, the area past the Marine Hospital where the colored people lived. Elizabeth headed in that direction at a brisk pace. At Eaton Street, she again looked in both directions.
No Anabelle. Not one soul could be seen.
She was about to give up when two blocks ahead she saw the woman dart out of a small building and turn onto Duval Street heading toward the wharves. Why would she go west? Africa Town was in the opposite direction.
Elizabeth soon traversed the two blocks to the building that Anabelle had exited. Four years ago, a grogshop occupied this spot. Today, piano music drifted out the door, but these tunes were not the jigs and chanteys of a saloon. Instead, the pianist played a hymn, “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.”