tea, silk, and so on in return!”
Bartholomew laughed with the men.
The conversation went on, and he was pleased, and he thought that he might have a chance of creating a home here, with Victoria. He was befriending men who were respected in the community; he would make the living he must—an honest living—to be a good husband and provider for Victoria.
“What say you, Bartholomew? Onward to the islands?” Beckett asked.
“Pardon?” He had been thinking about Victoria.
“We’ve decided to lengthen the trip. Head for the southern Bahamas,” Beckett said.
His own ship was anchored nearby with Jim Torn awaiting his command.
He smiled. “Sir, if you’ll forgive me, I will return to Key West. I have many books you have given me, regarding money matters and record keeping. I’d study them before we head to Richmond, sir.”
“There’s my man! Stalwart in battle, earnest in peace!” Beckett applauded.
Bartholomew thanked him for his support, said his goodbyes to the others and headed for the ship’s ladder down to his small boat. He rowed to the Bessie Blue, where his men awaited him, and he assured them all that the expedition had gone well.
Pleased with the day, he was heedless of the wind or the weather. He had been away from his love for only days, but it felt like eons.
It was late, however, when they returned to port. He wouldn’t try to see Victoria or contact her that night; he would wait until morning, and head straight for O’Hara’s public house. The family was warm and wonderful, coming and going from Ireland, some embracing America and some returning to the Old Country.
They knew of his love. And they all seemed to be in love with love, and certain that all would end right.
Anxious, and dreaming of the morrow, he headed home through dark and empty streets.
His lodging house was quiet as well, not a man about, and certainly not the mistress of the house, his landlady. He did not expect many to be up at this hour, but he hadn’t even seen the usual drunks in the street. No matter; he gave it little thought.
He fell back upon his bed, exhausted, yet not quite ready for sleep. He took a small measure of rum, swallowed it down and stared at the ceiling, dreaming. He loved Victoria. He truly loved her. She was goodness and purity with spirit and vivacity—and she loved him, as well. They would make it work.
He closed his eyes, content and anxious, dreaming of Victoria and their future.
He felt a soft touch upon his cheek, and his eyes flew open. He smiled. He’d dreamed her touch, just as he dreamed her there.
“My love,” Victoria said, and a kiss fell upon his lips, as gentle as the air. She seemed to float above him.
“I am all right—I am better where I am, for I chose the ending. I could not live with the memory of you, and the touch of another man,” she said. “But now, you must rise. You must not lie here. You are accused. They will be coming for you. They will want you dead.”
“Victoria, don’t fret! No one will come for me. All is well. I am here now. My trip was a great success. We will have many powerful friends. I will convince your father that we can marry, that I can be the husband you deserve and a provider who is strong and resilient and good.”
He heard something outside, some major commotion.
“Run, you must run!” she told him.
“No, my love, I have nothing to run from,” he said.
The commotion grew louder.
He was looking at Victoria, and then he wasn’t.
She wasn’t there; she had been nothing but a dream. A confusing dream, for he couldn’t understand what she had been trying to tell him.
Had he been sleeping?
Then his door burst open. He jumped at the sound, and reached for his sword. He wanted to be a man of business, but he had long been a seaman. He had seen much of war, and he had roamed the seas as a privateer—awakened suddenly, he would always reach for his sword.
He was stunned when men began pouring into the room—David Porter’s men, and a few citizens of Key West.
“Bartholomew Miller! You are under arrest for murder!” cried out a lieutenant.
Aghast, stunned, he faced them all with his sword.
“I have committed no murder!” he cried.
“Foul bastard!” shouted another man, a citizen. “You raided the ship Annabelle Lee, causing her to sink. You butchered her crew.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You even murdered