“Doesn’t it?” Anabelle said bitterly. “Would you do more for a sister?”
“Of course, but I don’t have a sister.” Elizabeth caught herself. She did have a half sister. One whose identity only her late mother and Mammy knew. Unless . . . She stared at Anabelle. “You know, don’t you? That’s why Mammy was sent away. She knew about the baby, and she told you.”
“Of course she knows. The mother always knows.”
“Mother?” Elizabeth jerked back. “Mammy was the mother?”
“She is my mother, sister.”
The Lord blessed the chosen day with a brisk wind from the southeast. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, Rourke paced the deck, anxious to begin. Time had moved slower than a sea slug the last week. It would stand still today.
He had heard nothing from Tom, but then he hadn’t expected to. Rourke assumed Elizabeth had given his message to Anabelle, who would then inform Tom. The lad would bring Anabelle to the meeting spot tonight. Rourke would converge from the east, and together they would bring Anabelle to the Windsprite and freedom.
Any number of things could go wrong. Elizabeth might have forgotten to give Anabelle the message. She might not bring Anabelle to the ball. Tom might get waylaid en route. They might have to help Anabelle out of the gated yard. The salt company’s manager might pick tonight to reflood the ponds.
He scrubbed his whiskers.
“No worry.” John brought a steaming cup of coffee and a handful of hardtack.
Rourke took the coffee but declined the biscuits. “I’m not hungry.”
“You eat.” John shoved the biscuits at him. “Need strength.”
For John’s sake, Rourke nibbled at one. It was stale. No weevils yet, at least none he could see in the pre-dawn light. He dunked the biscuit in the coffee. Better but still unpalatable. It took another gulp of coffee to wash it down. “Fish would taste better.”
“We catch some, soon as de light touches de water.”
Rourke’s mate appeared relaxed, even jovial. “How can you be so cheerful when everything is at stake?”
John snatched at the air and held it tight. “God hold us. God see us home.”
Rourke hoped his mate’s faith paid off.
Elizabeth could not stop shaking. Sleep was impossible. Instead she lived over and over the terrible moment when Anabelle claimed to be her sister. Elizabeth had stared, unwilling to believe. To think some unknown woman walked the world as her half sister was bad enough, but Anabelle?
“You’re lying,” she had cried.
Anabelle stood tall, unbending. She neither insisted nor denied her claim.
“You’re younger than me. The illegitimate baby was older.”
“I am older,” Anabelle said quietly. “My mama told me never to tell a soul.”
“Lies, lies,” Elizabeth sobbed. She pressed a pillow to her mouth lest the sound send Aunt and Father running to her rescue.
For the truth stood before her. From their unusual height to similar noses, chins, and short fingers, they were alike. Yet how could this be? Her father and Mammy?
Elizabeth’s stomach churned. “Leave me.”
Anabelle had gone, but her departure didn’t take away the pain. If anything, it grew worse. Her father and Mammy? Father would never have done such a thing, and Mother would never have allowed it under her roof.
Yet Mother’s diary confirmed it. Every word now made sense. Mother’s distress at her new husband’s “perversions.” The agony over another woman. Elizabeth had assumed—had wanted to assume—that the mistress was another settler. She did not want to believe her father could have an unholy alliance with a slave. Yet Mother’s insistence that the girl be raised with the same benefits as her own daughter spoke the truth. Anabelle had learned to read and write, unusual among slaves. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears.
Mammy was beautiful, with exotic almond eyes and the same regal bearing as Anabelle. Her scolding over Elizabeth and Anabelle playing on the throne chairs now made sense, as did Anabelle’s banishment to the cookhouse.
In the wee hours, when the world stood still and thoughts tormented, Elizabeth knew.
It was not only possible, it was fact.
She hadn’t truly prayed since the hurricane. Oh, she had cast off those quick pleas in times of desperation, but her heart hadn’t turned to God. No, she could stand on her own. Faith was for the weak and hopeless.
Anabelle’s revelation had left her weak and hopeless.
“Why?” she cried out to God. Over and over through the long night.
The pages of Mother’s Bible had yielded familiar stories but no answers. What would she do? What could she do? As much as she wanted to claim Anabelle was lying, the proof stood before her. From Anabelle’s features to Mother’s words to every little reaction of her parents through the years. Every single thing validated the fact that Anabelle was her half sister.