ILLUSTRATION:  William Curry, owner of Curry's Mercantile and the first millionaire on Key West.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Smuggled diamonds and personal secrets are added to the ongoing espionage in this chapter of MUDSILLS & MOONCUSSERS.

Happy Groundhog Day today, and happy reading.  :)

Iris

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In Curry's store, William Curry wrapped a purchase in brown paper and twine while Aaron Matthews waited to take it home. Finishing, Curry handed the package to Matthews, who began to walk away. Curry stopped him.

"Your change, sir. Don't be forgettin' your change."

It was a baldfaced lie. Aaron turned a questioning look on Curry, who nodded to a pair of customers browsing a few feet away. Understanding the reason for the deception, Aaron then followed Curry to a counter at the rear of the store.

Curry reached into a drawer and dropped a half-dozen glittering gemstones into the palm of Aaron's hand. He spoke for Aaron's ears alone: "Colored drayman, works for W.D. Cash, my competitor up the street, gave me these in payment of a debt."

Aaron pocketed the stones before anyone else could chance to look his way. "Why didn't he just give you money?" asked Aaron. "Why risk giving himself away like this, paying you with stones you would know were stolen?"

"I never accept Confederate currency, and that is all Noah Lewis ever has to offer. 'No, thank you very much,' I say, 'it's not good business, regardless of your personal politics.'"

Sounds of the front door opening and feminine giggling interrupted, as Lila Dauthier and her latest Yankee conquest, Colonel Morgan, entered the store. Lila saw Aaron and made a beeline toward him, Morgan in tow.

Aaron had to talk fast. "What did you say his name was?"

Lila was close enough to hear Curry's response. Aaron would not realize the significance of that proximity until much later.

"Noah Lewis," Curry said.

Aaron murmured to Curry, "I'll find him." Then he turned his attention to Lila. "Good day, Miss Dauthier."

"Mister Matthews. May I present Colonel Joseph Morgan?"

The two men exchanged a handshake and nod of acknowledgment as Lila chattered on. "Colonel Morgan will be commanding Fort Taylor in the coming weeks while Colonel Good is temporarily in South Carolina."

Aaron was moving toward the door with his parcel, leaving Lila and Morgan to their shopping. "Really. Then I'm sure you and I will meet again, Colonel."

Morgan eyed Aaron coldly and responded, "I'm almost certain of it."

Aaron exited the shop.

Lila turned to William Curry.

"I require a substantial—but attractive—parasol, Mister Curry," Lila proclaimed. "Despite everyone's assurances to the contrary, I'm convinced this lovely dry weather cannot last forever. And even if it does, I need to protect myself from this relentless tropical sun before I turn brown and leathery as an old shoe."

Morgan and Curry hurried to assure the lady that she could never in any circumstances be mistaken for an old shoe.

...

That night inside Fort Taylor, Morgan's quarters were damp and noisy. Thunder rattled the wooden shutters at the windows. A knock vibrated the pine door like the thunder's echo. Without waiting for response, Aaron Matthews hastened through the door, draped in a black slicker and dripping puddles on the coquina-stone floor. Rain pounded the ground outside—louder through the open door, then fading when the door closed. Lila's "lovely dry weather" had disappeared as she predicted.

Morgan, reading in bed, did not trouble himself over Aaron's arrival, saying merely, "Don't douse the candle."

Aaron was wet and irritable. "This couldn't have waited until tomorrow night?" he growled.

"I will not listen to complaints about the rain," said Morgan. "Our cistern is up eight inches already, and I hope by tomorrow morning to have an adequate supply of fresh water for the first time in months."

Aaron shucked his slicker and started toward several different chairs, abandoning each one, before finally dropping the wet slicker on the floor in a corner. He came to stand at the foot of Morgan's bed—but Morgan motioned him to back up a pace. He was still wet, and Aaron's patience had washed away.

"Well, what have you got?" Aaron demanded.

"My hands full, thank you, with Colonel Good gone to South Carolina, a third of my men sick with fever, and you engaged in some wild goose chase—or wild pigeon chase, or whatever it is."

"Did you stop one or not?" Aaron spat through clinched jaws.

"On the table. For what it's worth."

Aaron turned to the table in the center of the room, scooped up a pigeon leg band from beside the sputtering candle, and, holding it in his fist, looked at Morgan.

"That's it?"

"The rain has solved one of my problems, Lieutenant. I look to you to solve another. That is all."

Aaron pocketed the leg band, snatched up his wet slicker from the corner, and stalked bitterly from the room, admitting the storm's roar once again when he opened the door.

At the Thibodeaux house the storm raged against the blackness as Aaron hurried up the front walk toward the porch steps. Wind whined, neighboring houses groaned and creaked, thunder boomed, and lightning flashed—casting grotesque shadows through the twisted banyan trees. Overhead a palm frond cracked like a shot and fell to hang limp alongside the trunk of the tree. Coconuts crashed like cannonballs to the ground, and Aaron dodged a near miss by one of them.

Wet and shivering, he reached the front door—never locked—and went in.

Inside the front parlor, Aaron removed his wet slicker and, braving the wind long enough to open the door again, dumped the slicker outside on the porch. He ducked back into the dry parlor, felt his way to a table, and struck a match from his pocket to light the oil lamp.

"Don't!" someone said.

Aaron nearly knocked the lamp over and, while righting it, burned his fingers and dropped the match.

"Great Caesar's ghost, woman! You scared the life out of me! You'll have me burning the house down!"

"I'm sorry, just ... please, don't light the lamp."

Lightning flashed, illuminating the parlor through the lace curtains at the windows. In the fleeting light Aaron could see Joe curled up, tight and small, at one end of the settee. She wore a modest, high-necked, long-sleeved white cotton nightgown.

"What are you doing down here at this hour, young lady? You should have been in bed long ago."

"I was," said Joe, "but ... but mother's room is just below mine, and she mustn't hear me. So I came ... came down here. I didn't know you were out. I never meant to ... never meant to startle you—"

She broke off as lightning strobed the room again, and thunder roared, rattling the house on its foundations. Joe shivered and buried her head with her arms. Aaron sat down beside her and lifted her arms aside, forcing her to look at him.

"You've been crying!" he said. "What happened to that intrepid sailor who brought the Lady Alyce to my aid on the reefs?"

Lightning flashed again, and thunder cracked louder than ever.

Joe panicked and lunged against Aaron's chest.

"Please! Please, don't tell anybody!" she begged.  "I'm a wrecker's daughter! I'd be laughed off the island if anybody found out I was terrified of lightning storms.  And my mother would never let me set foot on the Lady Alyce again."

Aaron pushed her shoulders away from him long enough to remove his wet shirt. Then Aaron put his arms around her and drew her against his bare chest. "I never kiss and tell," he said.

When next the lightning bathed the room in its eerie white, Aaron and Joe were entwined on the settee, sharing a kiss that grew deeper and deeper. All thought of the storm outside was soon replaced by a conflagration inside; a fire they built in one another.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Coming Thursday in Chapter 8:  Aaron's true identity is unmasked, and the drayman, Noah Lewis, is found too late.

Thanks for reading, dear friends.  Don't forget to vote, and leave me a short expression of your opinion on this chapter.  No comment is too brief.  :)

Until next time,

Iris

P.S.  A dray is a type of wagon.  A drayman would have been someone who drove such wagons.  These days we would call that person a "teamster" or a "trucker."