Beloved Castaway by Kathleen Y'Barbo Read Free Book Online Page A

thick, wet scent of impending April rain.
    Isabelle held her cloak over her nose and stared at the straight backs of the captain and the two mademoiselles while the wagon rolled and bounced over the rutted lane. Beneath the canvas cover, the cargo, presumably her trunk along with those belonging to the ladies, jolted, then shifted.  
    Something soft rolled toward her, and she attempted to push it away. To her surprise, it resisted.
    She tried once more, placing the palm of her hand on the widest point of the bundle. This time the valise rolled backward and thudded against something hard.
    “Ouch,” a muffled voice cried.
    Isabelle started, jerking her gaze to the women. Neither appeared to have spoken, nor did they seem to have heard the noise.
    Shaking her head, Isabelle leaned her shoulders against the rough boards of the wagon and took shallow breaths of the rancid air. Obviously her imagination had bested her. Still, she stared at the canvas until the wagon rolled to a stop and the fancy folk began to climb out.  
    “Which vessel is yours, Captain Carter?” Isabelle heard Emilie ask. The captain answered, although what he said came and went before recognition could strike. Through it all, Isabelle watched the covered baggage for signs of life.
    It moved. Someone had hidden in the mademoiselle’s wagon. But who?  
    Isabelle reached for the edge of the canvas and lifted it slightly. At the realization of who lay hidden among the trunks, her heart began to pound, and she clutched at the sides of the wagon like a lifeline.  
    She had been followed.

Chapter 6

    Mama Dell?” The name fell from her tongue in a whisper barely carried on the last of her breath.  
    Images of years spent with Mama Dell flitted by, each memory just beyond her touch and yet so near. Walk like this for the gentlemen, Isabelle. Smile for the gentlemen, Isabelle. Above all, keep your silence about the gentlemen, Isabelle.  
    The thoughts ripped a path of terror from her head to her heart, lodging in her belly. A wave of nausea followed as she fled the wagon. Only Emilie’s hand on hers kept her from fleeing the docks.
    “Delilah, you may come out now,” Emilie called.  
    Isabelle’s gaze danced from the wagon, to her sister, then back to Mama Dell. “I don’t understand,” she somehow uttered. “She works for him .”
    Emilie linked arms with Isabelle and turned her away from the wagon. “She never worked for him, Isabelle. She was owned by him.”
    “But she—”
    “When I sent for your things, she returned with them.” The mademoiselle leaned closer and lowered her voice. “She is a child of God the same as you and me. How could I deny her the wish to accompany us?”  
    “But I’m not the only girl she’s prepared to send off to—”
    “Hush,” the mademoiselle whispered as she leaned close and motioned to the dock where the captain stood in conversation with a rather sordid-looking character. “Captain Carter need not know our business.”
    Casting a glance over her shoulder, Isabelle watched Mama Dell climb out of the wagon and begin to smooth the wrinkles out of her dark skirts. “But, mademoiselle, she—”
    “Isabelle, really,” the mademoiselle interrupted, “we share a common father and a year’s worth of company. Do call me Emilie.”
    She lowered her eyes to study the toe of her slipper. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
    The mademoiselle placed a finger beneath Isabelle’s quivering chin and lifted it. “Impropriety is what we’re fleeing,” she said softly as the captain stalked toward the gangplank and his gray-haired companion raised a hand to beckon them. “Vi, dear, join us, will you? It appears we shall be boarding the vessel now.”
    Mademoiselle Dumont slid off the wagon seat and followed Emilie while Isabelle turned her back on Mama Dell and placed one foot in front of the other. Each step she took, she knew, was a step toward the liberty she would find on the English shore.
    She inhaled a