ILLUSTRATION:

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  

LAST WEEK, IN CHAPTER 14:

The bonfire loomed large and effective on the beach. Aaron and Joe stood together, tired and dirty, watching it helplessly. Lila stood over twenty feet beyond the fire, out of their reach, with the LeMat carefully trained upon them.

Lila referred to the rebuilt fire, "That's going very nicely," then said to Aaron, "Now, before you think to do something gallant but silly, I'll take that pistol beneath your coat."

Joe looked at him, amazed. He looked at her, apologetic, and carefully removed his Army Colt—which he flung into the soft sand at Lila's feet.

Joe looked at the sea and at the fire. She seemed to sniff the air and take stock of the sky and the breeze. She came to an undeniable conclusion and turned toward Lila. "There are ships out there! Right now! You can't do this. People might die!"

Lila brandished the LeMat for emphasis. "Don't come any closer, wrecker's brat."

Aaron, now knowing Lila to be Noah Lewis's killer, reached out to stop Joe, who was compelled forward by her deep revulsion. "Joe, don't—" he begged.

Joe was focused solely on Lila. "I don't care who you are or what you think you're doing, this is murder. You can't do this."

"It won't be the first time," said Lila, and she fired.

NOW, ENJOY THE NEWEST INSTALLMENT OF MUDSILLS & MOONCUSSERS.

~o~   ~o~   ~o~   ~o~   ~o~   ~o~   

Joe spun with the impact and fell, bleeding, to the sand. Aaron rushed to her.

"No!" he shouted. Frantic, he removed his coat and folded it beneath her head. He stripped the buttons from his shirt as he tore it off and ripped it into bandaging strips.

His back was to Lila, and his muscular torso formed a wall between Lila and Joe, but Lila was not interested. She was watching the reef, listening for the sound of a wreck.

Joe's right arm and shoulder were drenched in blood but as Aaron stanched the wound, he reacted to her left hand brushing his cheek.

He looked down into her eyes. She winked at him. Her fingers covered his mouth to stop his exclamation before he uttered it.

"My boot," she mouthed without sound.

"What?" he whispered.

"Knife. In my boot."

Aaron smiled. "I love you," he mouthed.

Joe closed her eyes.

On the Confederate flagship, the commander and executive officer, glued to the deck rail, stared forward into the blackness. The Rebel commander reacted and pointed toward the shoreline, where the superstructure of the U.S. Navy flagship was a shadow across the glow of Lila's distant bonfire.

"There they are! Prepare to fire!"

On the Union flagship, the helmsman looked skeptical. The Yankee commanding officer was standing at his elbow, looking far astern.

The ensign said, "There's something funny about that light, sir."

The commander spun around, alarmed. "What!"

Lila was only obliquely aware of Aaron's form stooped over Joe's body. Instead, she watched the sea, her LeMat still in her hand and one foot over Aaron's Army Colt in the sand. "Because I like you so much, Aaron, I'm going to let you live to see your Navy trapped on the reef just like I trapped you—with the help of the late Noah Lewis, of course. So, then you won't feel so bad. It should be a spectacular sight, too. 'The bombs bursting in air,' just like that ridiculous song."

Aaron eased one hand toward Joe's boot while Lila mused.

"I do love a good fire, don't you?" Lila said. "I even suggested to that cute little Bogy fellow that the locals should burn the town tonight—except the Geiger house, of course. I am partial to that one for myself. I had hoped to persuade you to share it with me, but ...."

She turned to look at Aaron just as he reached into Joe's boot for the knife. Lila pointed the LeMat at him, suspicious. "What on earth are you—?"

In one swift movement he drew the knife and flashed it through the air.

Lila's eyes widened in surprise. Aaron remained motionless, his hand outstretched from the throw.

"Aaron—" Lila began. The LeMat fell into the sand. Blood dripped heavily beside it. Blood dropped on Lila's feet, on her skirt, and it spread crimson across her chest, where the knife hilt protruded. Lila teetered a second more, then fell.

Aaron raced past her to scoop wet sand from the shoreline. He turned back to the fire and found Joe, standing over Lila's body, holding his jacket out to him in her left hand.

"You best wet this and beat it out," Joe said, if a little weakly. "It's faster."

Aboard the Union flagship, the light ahead flickered and grew dimmer. It flickered again, dimmed still more. The helmsman couldn't believe his eyes. "Captain!" He shouted. "False light! False light!"

The commanding officer looked shoreward then looked behind them—where his suspicions lay. "Hard aport! Hard aport!" he ordered.

The helmsman spun the ship's wheel for all he was worth.

On the Confederate flagship, standing by their guns, the Rebel sailors watched the shadows disappear ahead when the light on shore went out. Their target silhouette had vanished.

The Rebel C.O. shouted, "Fire!"

From somewhere on deck the command was echoed, "Fire!" and a cannon boomed and belched flame.

Joe and Aaron, standing over the glowing coals that used to be a bonfire, jerked their heads toward the cannon's noise.

On the Federal ship, sailors raced to man their guns as a cannon ball whistled overhead to crash into the water, raining seawater and bits of coral down upon them.

The ensign was spinning the wheel aport as hard and as fast as he could.

The X.O., in the bow with a lantern, watched the hull of the ship scrape the edge of the coral reef as they pulled away within a hair's breadth of disaster.

The C.O., watching astern, shouted to his crew, "Return fire!"

Somewhere on deck a shout of "Aye, sir!" was followed by the boom and fiery sneeze of a cannon.

A second later the other Federal ships, spread out in a line behind the flagship, also boomed and sent deadly cannon balls soaring.

On the Confederate flagship, masts and spars splintered like the crack of doom, lines fell, seawater sloshed over the rails from near misses, and several crewmen lay bloodied on the whitewashed decks.

The Rebel commanding officer looked at the line of lanterns now indicating the Federal fleet extending in a chain a mile long. He looked behind his own ship at the beating his smaller fleet was taking. The situation was hopeless. "Signal to withdraw! Withdraw!" he ordered.

[Illustr.:  Civil War doctor]

Just before dawn, in the Fort Taylor infirmary, behind a makeshift curtain of sheets, the medical officer put finishing touches on a bandage about Joe's right arm and shoulder. Gently he eased her arm into a sling. "How's that?"

"Good," she said.

Aaron, watching from a few feet away, was skeptical. "You're sure?"

Joe smiled at him. "Cross my heart and hope to die." Then to the medical officer she said, "Thank you."

"You were lucky," he said. "LeMats aren't famous for their accuracy, and the shooter was far enough away from you that the buckshot spread a ways. So, instead of a big hole in your heart, you're stuck with a lot of little holes in your arm and shoulder. You'll be a mite sore, but you should heal up nicely, barring any infections."

From beyond the curtain they heard Morgan's gruff voice demanding, "Where are they?"

The medical officer grimaced at the sound, gathered his instruments, and made a quick exit just as Morgan's head jutted through a break in the curtain.

Morgan looked at Aaron. "They said you brought her in."

Aaron nodded.

Morgan stepped through the curtain, looking at Joe. "So, this is the one!"

"No, this is the one." Aaron pointed to a cot beyond Joe, where a figure lay under a sheet.

Morgan stepped to the cot and peered under the sheet. He looked as if he would faint, or if not, he might vomit. Shaky on his feet, he managed to walk toward Aaron. Aaron wore his damp, soot-stained jacket over a bare chest. Morgan grabbed Aaron's lapels, "You've gone too far this time! It won't work, Lieutenant. You are crazy if you expect me—if you expect anyone—to believe it."

Aaron, disgusted, picked Morgan's hands off his jacket as if they were bloodsucking insects. "Believe it. She paid Noah Lewis to set a fire for her, and when he couldn't do it for her again—because she'd killed him—she set the next fire herself. I saw it."

Morgan raved, "You saw it! You saw it! Since when does what you say mean anything to anybody? You're the same thing you claim she was!"

"I might have been once. That ended when she became a murderer," said Aaron.

Behind Morgan, Joe rose from her seat and went to lift the sheet from Lila's face. Joe stopped and pulled her knife from her boot. "Aaron," she said, "the stones you showed me? Would that be what she used to pay Noah Lewis?"

Morgan turned to look at Joe.

Aaron looked at her over Morgan's shoulder. "Yes," Aaron said. "I think so."

"Then she would have more of the same hidden somewhere, wouldn't she? To pay him again? Or somebody like him?"

Morgan insisted, "You're wasting your time, I tell you. Lila never—"

"I searched her clothing," Aaron said.

"You vulgar barbarian!" said Morgan.

Joe, with only her left hand to use, put her knife in her teeth and grabbed the top of Lila's elaborate upswept hairdo. She gestured to Aaron with a sidewise nod of her head.

Aaron pushed past Morgan to take the knife from Joe's mouth.

"Cretin!" Morgan cried. "What do you think you're doing!"

Aaron made a quick swipe of Joe's knife, and a handful of blonde hair came away. Joe extended the blonde fur ball toward Morgan, who backed away in revulsion.

Aaron took it from her when Morgan would not. He found inside it a tiny silk bag, deftly hidden. He slit the bag with Joe's knife and emptied into his palm a dozen stones like the ones Noah Lewis had spent in Curry's store.

"There's your proof, Morgan," Aaron said. "You've caught your spy. You have nothing to fear from the innocent citizens of this island. Now call off the evacuation."

Pure hatred spilled from Morgan's overflowing eyes. Rage contorted his face. "Go to hell," he hissed.

Aaron pounced on Morgan with an inarticulate roar. The dandified colonel was no match for a sane Aaron Matthews, and the man whose hands now clenched about Morgan's throat was preternaturally strengthened by a temporary loss of sanity.

Joe intervened, shouting, "Aaron, no! Aaron, stop it! Stop it!" She forced herself between the two men and, to keep from hurting her, Aaron had to relinquish his hold. Morgan staggered backward, gasping for air. "He's not worth it," Joe insisted, trying to calm Aaron. "He's not worth it."

Aaron wrapped her in his arms like a drowning man takes hold of a life buoy.

Morgan kept a careful distance from them, cleared his throat, and attempted to reclaim his dignity. "I'll order a transport to take Miss Thibodeaux to the wharf."

Aaron's look said he would not accept water from Morgan's hand if he were dying of thirst. "We'll get there on our own," Aaron said.

[Illustr.: Tift's Wharf, Key West]

Dawn had come to Tift's Wharf, and with it had come the Yankee ships that would transport six hundred Key Westers to Port Royal. The U.S. Navy flagship and several sister ships lined the wharf, each taking on passengers in a steady stream. The Yankee X.O., his hands full of papers, assisted residents in finding and boarding the ship to which they had been assigned.

For every Conch family dragging itself up a gangway with a few meager carpetbags of belongings there was a friend weeping on the dock—one who was not deemed evacuation material.

Also on the dock, Arnau, Carmen, the cigar rollers, the Cuban milkman, and others from the Cuban quarter watched sadly, occasionally waving to a departing friend.

Cataline Simmons and Lucy Drake, Stepney Austin and young Salina stood among others from the colored quarter of town, stoic before an ironically familiar picture: unwilling people forced aboard crowded ships. Only this time the unwilling travelers were mostly white.

Alyce and Elias Thibodeaux stood at the foot of the gangway leading to the Yankee flagship, watching the streets for any sign of Joe. Alyce had been weeping. Elias supported her and fended off the soldier who urged them to go aboard quickly.

Sergeant Pfeifer and his patrol lounged in the street outside the front gate of the Lowe house. The front door of the house opened, and Mrs. Bianca Lowe and Captain John Lowe emerged, carrying their bags.

"Atten—hut!"

The patrol came to their feet and formed two lines outside the Lowe house gate. Captain and Mrs. Lowe acknowledged them with a wistful nod and passed between them on their walk to the wharf.

Caroline Lowe came out the front door, kissed a black servant good-bye, and took her own carpetbag from the servant. She closed the door, leaving the servant inside, in charge now. Caroline wiped a tear from her eye, turned, and followed her parents out the front walk and through the gate.

As she passed between the two lines of Union soldiers, they gave her a smart salute. When she had passed through, they closed ranks and marched behind her to the wharf, Caroline's honor guard.

On another street, Sandy Cornish pushed a wooden vegetable cart toward Tift's Wharf. In the cart sat Aaron Matthews in his soot-stained, tattered jacket but no shirt, and sleeping against his shoulder was Josephine Marie Thibodeaux. Aaron stared into space, his face the picture of quiet desperation.

After seeing the Lowe family aboard the flagship, Sergeant Pfeifer approached Captain and Mrs. Thibodeaux. "You'd best be getting aboard, Captain. They're filling up. You'll have to ride on deck as it is."

Alyce pleaded, "My daughter is still missing, Sergeant!"

"We'll find her, Miss Alyce," the sergeant assured her.

The captain pulled Alyce toward the ship. "Come, Alyce. We're doing no good here. They'll find her if she is to be found."

Alyce allowed herself to be aided up the gangway.

Sandy's barrow rattled its way through the watching crowed. Captain Geiger stepped out of the crowd to put a reassuring hand on Aaron's shoulder. Aaron thanked him with his eyes.

Sandy pushed the barrow through the crowd and up to the executive officer.

"Family name?" asked the X.O., consulting his papers.

"Thibodeaux," Aaron answered, trying not to wake Joe.

"Over here," said the officer, gesturing to the flagship's gangway.

Sandy pushed the barrow to the foot of the gangway indicated, and Aaron eased himself out, then lifted Joe to carry her aboard. Three-quarters asleep, she nestled against him, putting her free hand about his neck.

On the ship, Captain and Mrs. Thibodeaux had arranged their bags in their assigned corner of the deck, which was crowded with the bags and bodies of the Lowe family and others who were last to board.

The crowd parted to let Aaron through with his burden. Alyce rushed to meet him, weeping and touching Joe's bandages. She looked to him for reassurance, and he half-smiled and mouthed, "She's all right."

Captain Thibodeaux thanked Aaron with a fatherly clap on the back and gestured to where the family's baggage had been piled.

Bianca Lowe hastily dug a quilt out of her bag and came to spread it across the Thibodeaux's luggage then stepped back and hugged Alyce.

Aaron knelt and placed Joe, still sleeping, on the quilt. Gently, he removed her arm from around his neck, kissed her softly on the forehead, and stood to turn away.

The Yankee commanding officer came out of the crowd on deck to face Aaron. He looked carefully at Aaron's blackened, mangled jacket. "Looks like you've been putting out fires in that jacket," the officer said. "I believe I owe you a great debt."

Aaron smiled wryly. "You want to thank me? Drop anchor right now and send these people home."

"I'm truly sorry," said the officer, seeming sincere. "That I can not do."

"Then add me to your list," said Aaron.

"I have no authority—" the officer began.

Aaron interrupted, "My brother is in the Confederate Army, my family is well known in Charleston for its Southern sympathies, and I ... have been known to consort with Rebel spies ... once, at least. If anyone deserves exile, it's me." It seemed to have slipped his mind that, as an officer in the Union Army, he could be shot for desertion if he left the island.

Captain Thibodeaux moved quietly behind Aaron while he spoke. Lazily, Thibodeaux leaned against the mast a few feet from Aaron's back.

The Yankee commanding officer argued, "I think I can appreciate your position, but my orders are clear. I must ask you to leave—"

"I'm not leaving this ship!"

[Illustr.:  belaying pins]

Thibodeaux removed a belaying pin from the rack at the base of the mast and stepped closer to Aaron.

The commanding officer told Aaron, "I will not miss the tide, sir. This ship is leaving immediately—and without you!"

"Over my dead bod—"

Thibodeaux whacked Aaron from behind with the belaying pin then handed it to the officer and caught Aaron as he crumpled to the deck.

~o~   ~o~   ~o~   ~o~   ~o~   ~o~ 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Aaron has proved Joe's innocence, but it appears he has lost her, anyway.  And he has not stopped the evacuation of Key West's citizens.

The situation seems hopeless.  Don't miss the exciting conclusion of MUDSILLS & MOONCUSSERS, coming Thursday to Wattpad.

Thanks, wonderful readers, for your votes and comments and for continually lifting MUDSILLS & MOONCUSSERS in the Historical Fiction rankings.

Iris