How many times must she say this until it didn’t hurt? The Bible said seven times seventy. Four hundred and ninety. She would perish first.
Nevertheless, she said it again. “Father, I forgive you.” Over and over until the words blurred and her throat dried. Only then, deep, deep inside, did something resembling peace take root. She couldn’t explain it, but the anger was gone.
She dropped to the ground, exhausted, and lay there looking up at the wide blue sky. Like a frigate bird, Rourke had soared beyond her grasp. Maybe one day he would return, silent on the breeze.
She drew a breath and sat up. It was time to go home. She began putting on her shoes when a schooner caught her attention as it sailed toward the harbor. It must have approached from her left, yet she had not seen it until now. The ship’s sails were filled, and she maintained a swift speed, faster even than the Windsprite. Her rakish lines reminded Elizabeth of the ships built in the Bahamas.
The Bahamas! Perhaps it would return there. Perhaps she could go to Rourke after all.
She tugged on her shoes and hurried toward town. A gust of wind blew the straw hat from her head. She reached for it, but it flew off into the ocean. By the time she passed the lighthouse, her hair had fallen from its pins. She didn’t stop to fix it. At the ship’s rate of speed, it would reach the harbor well before she did. She must speak to the captain before he left the ship. She must get passage to Harbour Island.
Little did she care that her hair flowed loose and her hem gathered dust. Her prayers had been answered. She would go to Rourke.
She reached the edge of the harbor at the very moment the new schooner came about to head alongside a wharf. Some crew members lowered sail while others readied the mooring lines. Two men stood at the helm. One wore an uncharacteristic gentleman’s dark suit and top hat. The other, tall and dark and barefoot, looked very much like . . .
Impossible!
She danced along the docks, trying to get a better look. Could it be? He sported a dark blue coat that she’d never seen before. He even wore a black cocked hat like a naval officer. No, it couldn’t be. She must be mistaken.
Still, she waited, breath bated, hoping against hope that her eyes were not deceiving her.
At last the ship turned enough so she could see him.
Rourke! He had returned.
He spotted her, and a smile stretched across his face. Then the man in the suit turned to face her.
Father.
Her spirits plummeted. The only reason Father would be with Rourke on a new ship was to bring him to justice.
“No!” The cry wrenched from her. She clung to a dock post, shaking.
Then her father lifted his hat in a salute. He clapped Rourke on the back and swept his arms in an encompassing circle.
What on earth? Rourke did not act like a man condemned. No, he smiled and appeared completely at ease talking to her father. To all appearances, they had reconciled, though how that had been accomplished and why they were on a strange new vessel mystified her. Nothing in her father’s prior actions would ever lead her to believe such a thing possible. Nothing except those scrawled words: I am not worthy.
Could a man change that much in a matter of weeks? Elizabeth struggled against doubt.
The schooner slipped into its berth. The crew moored the ship with expertise. Several of the men looked familiar from the Windsprite. None of this made sense.
The crew extended the gangway, and only one man disembarked. Father. He walked straight toward her.
She stepped back, fearing what he would say yet knowing she could not avoid it. That was part of forgiveness.
He stopped before her. “Dear Elizabeth.” He cleared his throat and looked at the ship, as if drawing courage from someone aboard.
She followed his gaze and saw Rourke directing the opening of the hatches from his perch on the quarterdeck. He looked her way and nodded.
“Elizabeth.” Her father mopped his brow. “I did you great harm. Unforgivable.” His shoulders shook. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t ask it. I thought I was preserving your future, giving you safety and comfort. I forgot what was most important.”
She could not find words to meet this uncharacteristic and painful admission.
He managed a weak smile. “I can never repair all the damage, but I will do what I can. Your mother—God bless her soul—deserved better. There are no excuses for my behavior. She showed compassion, but I was too proud to admit I needed it.”
Elizabeth recalled his scrawled words, but this time they were tempered by the whispers of her heart. “None of us is worthy.”
He looked up, startled.
“I failed people too. Mother. Charlie. Captain O’Malley. Even you.” That was hardest to admit.
“No, child. Not once did you fail me. You were open and honest and caring.” He swiped at his eyes. “You put your brother and Anabelle before yourself.”
Her fingertips tingled with a new fear. “Where is she?”
Father pointed to the mouth of the harbor. “With her husband.”