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The Visit

Pembrook, London, England

January 9, 1860

Home of Admiral John “Jack” and Angelica Ashbury

Whitworth rose as she entered the room.  She gave him the gracious smile of a lady, aglow with anticipation and excitement—the joy a baby brings.  It was she.  All the long months of searching had come to an end, here in a drawing room in London, with courtesy and calm. 

He stepped toward her and collected her hands in his, looking down into the green depths of her eyes, where before he saw his future mingled with love and longing, but now—nothing.  Of course, he had to consider her husband, looking on, wondering what this was all about.  She would not want to alarm him.  But still, was there no spark of recognition for him in her eyes?

“Elena…why didn’t you come home?” he asked quietly.

Her smile melted into a puzzled look, and she said, “Do I know you, sir?”

“Of course you do, Elena…”  His voice could not conceal his disappointment.

“My name is Angelica, sir.”

He knew every cell, every muscle in her face, every eyelash, the curve of her upper lip, even the way the air felt when they were close. 

“Where did you get that name?” Whitworth asked.

“Sir, how do you know my wife?”  Jack asked, in a tone that was straight to the point.

“Well, I’m a bit of a…a long lost friend—a friend of her family and a Colonel in the Royal Guard of Jamaica.  I’ve been looking for her for many months now and ….”

“You know my family?  Won’t you please sit down?” She sat down on the leather sofa, while Jack stood at the fireplace, ready to pounce if necessary.  “You see, Colonel Whitworth, I’ve had an accident, and I’ve lost my memory.  I’d be so grateful if you would tell me anything you can about my home and family.”

Angelica studied his face.  What would he say?  Whitworth slowly sat next to her, pondering what she had said.  Could it be that she didn’t remember him at all?  He shot a glance to Jack, who seemed as keen to hear what he had to say as Angelica.

“You are Elena Williams, daughter of the Governor of Jamaica, Byron Williams and his wife, Sara.  I have reason to believe that you were stolen by an outlaw living at sea near Barbados.”

“Why would you think that?” Jack said.

“This outlaw has been in touch with me recently.  You see, he and I have crossed paths in the past.  I arrested his wife, a thief.  She later died in childbirth, in prison.  So this man has come to believe that I stole and killed his wife and child.  Her name was Christine.”

The name “Christine” shot into Angelica’s heart like an arrow.

She suddenly remembered a scene, a cave with a golden, lantern-light glow reflecting off gold coins.  Then she remembered a very tall man with a cruel look on his face.  Who was he?

~~~

Half-open cases and trunks were strewn all about the gravel floor, with one of the trunks serving as a haphazard stand for a portrait.  McGwyer absent-mindedly wrapped the end of Elena’s iron cuff chain again and again around his fist.  “My wife, Christine…”  McGwyer had said, gesturing toward the portrait with his fist.  “She’s the reason you’re here, Elena.  You’re the payment for my loss.  Whitworth’s woman and child for my wife and child, that’s the size of it.  He killed her, you know, that murdering devil killed my Christine and the baby too.  But you…you will repay me … all.  And if not, then this will be your tomb, locked up forever with the rest of my treasure.  No one will ever find you here.  No one knows the way in, except you and me.”

Left, then right, then left twice—that was the way through the tunnels to the treasure cavern.

He was a man wading in thousands of gold coins, wanting repayment for a dead wife and child, never fulfilled or satisfied, always wanting more and more, until someone’s blood was drawn.  Then he seemed to have more clarity of thought, more self-control.  It was as if some great chasm deep within him had been filled, but after a little while or a few days, whatever filled the chasm drained away.  He returned to his brooding, restless, violent nature. 

He was a pirate, a thief.  He made his living attacking merchant ships in the Caribbean.  He and his men broadsided the ships with cannon fire, boarded and killed the crews in the ensuing confusion, then ransacked the ships, and burned everything.  The sea would swallow the ships like a greedy silent partner. 

He regarded other ships in the same way a shark regards other fish.  They were there for his sustenance.  They only used the stolen gold when they went ashore, for drink and women.  It would never occur to any of them to buy foodstuffs, clothes, tools, weapons, ammunition, or any of the other things a crew of 50 men needed to live.  They got everything from the ships they ransacked.

He regarded the entire world and all the living things in it as his personal property.  Everything was at his disposal. 

Evil oftentimes excels in the physical realm, as was the case with McGwyer.  He was almost 7 feet tall, a perfect physique.  Muscular and stronger than any man on the ship, he could catch a man of 200 pounds by the collar of his shirt and lift him off his feet with one hand. 

He was handsome in the way evil can seduce even the most pure women, even women who are carefully taught to recognize evil and avoid it.  His eyes were dark and mysterious as if he were always plotting and planning and turning everything and everyone over in his mind.  Nothing was further from the truth.  His mind was completely blank.  He never thought beyond the immediate.  He lived entirely in the moment and never had a thought or a care for a plan or a consequence.  He and his crew were all hopelessly lost, given over and ruled by sin and the base human nature.  They lived entirely in the physical realm, with never a higher thought of good or evil, right or wrong. 

~~~

…“So this man has come to believe that I stole and killed his wife and child.  Her name was Christine.”

Angelica put her hand on Whitworth’s arm.  “Wait, I seem to remember the name Christine and something about this man...is he very tall?”

“Yes, he is extremely tall, about seven feet.”

Whitworth pulled some papers from his breast pocket, a letter and a certificate.  As he did, Jack saw a black leather strap running vertically across his shoulder and down to his chest.  Was he carrying a concealed weapon in a shoulder holster?

The letter read, “You clever man.  How did you get her back?  But she is mine now.  Give the bearer of this letter your answer.  After all, you are only repaying what you stole from me.  What God has joined together, let no man put asunder…”  The certificate was a marriage certificate, signed by Elena Williams and Captain John Arthur McGwyer, in the same elaborate hand as the letter.

As Jack and Angelica studied the documents, Whitworth went on, “McGwyer believes I somehow got you off his ship and have you living with me in Jamaica.” 

He paused.  “I have more to tell you, but what I am going to say will shock you.  If you’ve lost your memory, it may even seem implausible to you.  Considering your delicate condition, Mrs. Ashbury, I would hate to distress you.  I’ll only continue if you tell me I should.”

Jack could feel his blood pressure start to rise, as though he were preparing for battle.  He felt queasy for a moment, as he did when his ship would lurch unevenly, tossed by a wave.  If Angelica was indeed Elena Williams, then she was married to another man, and their own marriage was a fraud.  But more importantly, why was this man here?  What did he want?  Did he think he could take her away?  Was Elena Williams in trouble with the law?  “Do you pose a threat to my wife, sir, or to our happiness?” Jack demanded, giving voice to his growing fear of losing Angelica, a fear that was making his pulse race. 

“I swear I do not, Admiral.” replied Whitworth quietly and gently, as Jack studied him.  Whitworth turned to Angelica, who looked frightened and pale.  When Jack saw her, he understood why Whitworth was using such a quiet tone of voice.  Jack immediately knelt by her and put his arms around her, his own fear evaporating, swallowed by concern for her.  He wanted to create a barrier of safety around her and their baby, soon to be born.

But Angelica wasn’t afraid of Whitworth at all, she was afraid of this person Elena Williams, and what she may have done.  Was Whitworth the father of her child?  If so, would he want to take her away from Jack?  “Why would this Captain McGwyer think I would be living with you?” asked Angelica.  She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the answer to her question.

Jack looked to Whitworth, whose eyes were kindly, but sad and weary, as though death had touched him recently and he was still overwhelmed with grief.  Or was he losing something right now?

Whitworth opened his mouth, not sure what he would say, but sudden tears choked back his voice.  No doubt she believed the child to be Ashbury’s.  He studied Jack, the way he had his arms around her, protecting her, consumed with love and concern for her and the child.  And she, with her hand on Jack’s arm, her wedding ring sparkling with love and joy and hope, sitting so close to him, needing and trusting him.  In that moment, he saw in Jack and Angelica everything he had wanted in marriage to Elena.

He belonged to Elena, and she to him, but Elena no longer lived.  He longed to be where she was, lost in a sea of forgetfulness, somewhere in the past.

“I was your fiancé.” Whitworth managed to say, feeling his strength drain away, as the past pulled at him with irresistible attraction.

So, thought Jack, he loved her.  Had he taken liberties with her that should have waited until after the wedding?  Is he the father of the child?  Well, no matter.  I simply will never let her be taken away, he thought.  He sat next to Angelica, pulling her close, his arms encircling her, saying with his movements, “You will never have my wife.”  He kissed her hair.  To fault Whitworth would be to step into the shoes of a hypocrite.  No, I will not be that, he thought.  As he stroked her hair with his hand, he remembered all the times they had made love aboard the Griswald.  She had been so innocent.  She was innocent.  She is mine now, he thought, and I cannot be jealous of a man she doesn’t even remember.

Angelica looked up at him and gave him a little smile, as if to say, “It’s all right.”

“Colonel, I’m so very, very sorry.  I don’t remember you at all.” said Angelica gently.  “Surely you can understand…”

Whitworth stopped her before she could say the words, by interrupting with:  “I do understand, my dear, certainly I do.”  It would be too painful to hear Elena’s voice say she loved another man.  “None of this is your fault, none of it.  I know I must be a stranger to you now.”

There was an awkward silence, which afforded Jack a moment to fully recover himself.  “What information do you have about this marriage certificate?  Is it legitimate?” Jack said in a matter-of-fact tone.  He gestured to the papers on the table.

Whitworth was grateful for the change in the conversation’s tone, which took much of the emotion away.  Whitworth said, “I’m sorry to say it appears to be legitimate.  I went to Barbados and spoke to the man who officiated at the ceremony.  He does remember a very tall man and a young woman of about 16, a red-headed woman, asking to be married.  The tall man paid him in gold coin, and always held the woman by her wrist, instead of her hand.  I’ve no doubt, Mrs. Ashbury, that if you did indeed marry McGwyer, he must have forced you to do it."

Angelica rubbed her left wrist.  The scar was deep, as some of the flesh of that arm had been worn away.  Saying her married name aloud had helped Whitworth press down his emotions further, but when he saw her scar, compassion opened the door for his emotions to rise to the surface again.  “What happened?” he asked.

“When Jack found me, I was wearing an iron cuff and chain.” Angelica said.

It shocked Whitworth to think of someone hurting Elena.  He examined her wrist, turning her arm as he talked:  “Oh my dear, I feel I am to blame for this.  How could I have failed you so miserably?” He covered the scar with his hands and looked at her with a tender expression.  “I would do anything to erase all the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Colonel, I can see you would have done everything in your power to keep me safe.  I think I can conclude this was not your fault.    I certainly do not blame you for anything, and you must not take the blame for this upon yourself.  You did not cause me this scar.  You are not the villain who did violence to me.”

“Please let me tell you all I know about your abduction.  It may help you recover your memory someday and bring this man to justice.”

“Yes, Colonel, you must.  Please say you will.”  She squeezed his hand in a gesture that said he had her permission, but it was Elena’s hand that held his.  He kissed it and covered it with his other hand. 

He continued, “You were stolen from our engagement party at my home in Spanish Town, Jamaica, on June 15^th.”

Jack kept his arms around her.  Whitworth kept her hand.

“On the veranda that night there were gardenias in bloom, and you said how much you liked them.  I picked a few and you….”

Angelica gasped and smiled, “I remember.” Then she looked away for a moment, her eyes made quick movements, as though she were reading, or watching a scene.  She returned her gaze to Whitworth and said, “We announced the date for our wedding at the party.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Whitworth smiled. 

Angelica studied the pattern on the oriental carpet, trying to remember more.

Jack froze.  Would she remember her love for another man?  Would she honor her commitment to Whitworth over her commitment to him?  His mind raced around like a top.  Jack took a deep breath, as he took control of himself.  He calmed down and his logic returned.  Whitworth had been her fiancé, but he was also the detective trying to solve a mystery, Angelica’s mystery.  And he had said he did not pose a threat to their happiness.

Whitworth continued, “You said something about how it made you sad to think the flowers wouldn’t live through the night after they had been picked.  I offered to get a bowl of water to float them in, and promised to make it my duty never to make you sad again.  You smiled so charmingly.  I told you I would be right back.  I left you on the veranda for all of three or four minutes, just long enough to put some water in a bowl.  When I came back, you were gone.”  His eyes filled with tears, choking his voice as he continued, “Someone must have been watching us there, just waiting for a moment when you were alone.  We searched everywhere for you, but there was no trace, no sign of you anywhere.  I didn’t think I would live through that night.”  He paused.  “Do you remember anything more?”

She shook her head.  She didn’t remember, but she now realized how much Whitworth loved her, and how much it was costing him to relive the memory.  She was sad he was in such pain, but there was nothing she could do.  And there was more she had to know.

“I’ve broken my promise, haven’t I?” asked Whitworth.

“What promise?” she asked.

“I’ve made you sad.  Please say you’ll forgive me.”

“Colonel, I am not Elena.  You shouldn’t feel obligated to me in any promises you made to her.  Nor can I honor any promises Elena made to you.  There is no guarantee that I will ever remember, and even if I do someday, I will always love Jack.  Nothing can ever change that.”  She withdrew her hand from his, and took Jack’s hand, lacing her fingers into his.   Jack nuzzled into her ear and whispered “Thank you,” feeling the tension drain away from his body.  She turned her head to give him a smile and then pressed her cheek against his and whispered to him, “I choose you.”  Her whisper was so soft only Jack could hear it.

Elena’s words “I will always love Jack.  Nothing can ever change that.” seemed to swirl around Whitworth in a dizzying spiral, until at last they came to rest in his heart, entering his soul with the pain of a knife thrust.  He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and looked away.  When he could breathe again, he looked at her as he said, “I do realize now that what I wanted is no longer possible.  But certainly you can understand that I had to come here, if only to finally convince myself there was nothing left for me in your heart.  After all, on the night you were taken, you loved only me.  There was no question about that in my mind at all.  You were … completely mine … in every way.”  He looked down.  “When I learned you had married McGwyer … well, I was heartbroken.”  He looked up at her. “But I was so glad to learn you were still alive, my joy took away the pain.  And I knew you couldn’t possibly love him.  That kept me searching for you, all these many months.”

Angelica’s expression went blank, and Whitworth’s words hung in the air between them, unanswered.  She was grateful he told her the baby might be his, but did he know for certain?

Disappointment swept over him afresh, as he realized there was nothing more for her to say.  Finally, he said, “You don’t remember … anything at all?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing.” she said gently.

How odd that he should be the only one to remember the sweetest moments a man and woman ever shared.  They had set their wedding date within a month of the party, because they knew she was already pregnant.  Perhaps that’s why she remembered setting the wedding date.

Could he forcibly separate her from the husband she loved?  He sighed.  No, that would be wrong, terribly wrong.  His mind turned to Christine, and she seemed to whisper to him from heaven, as she often did, when his mind tossed about like a turbulent sea.  “You cannot.” she whispered, “You must not.”

He covered his mouth with one hand and brought his gaze to the child.  He closed his eyes.  Dear God, he prayed, you cannot ask me to bear this harsh justice, that the woman I love should be imprisoned in the mind of another woman, that her body should be taken away from me and given to another man, and in that loss, I should also lose my child.  How I beg you, God, to punish me in another way, any other way, for the wrong I’ve done.  I simply cannot bear this.

“How did you find her?” Jack asked quietly, breaking Whitworth’s chain of thought.

Jack’s calm, steady voice helped Whitworth to recover himself.  “I searched Jamaica, the Caribbean Islands, the Antilles, and every drop of water in the Caribbean for her, without finding so much as a clue.  But it was her mother who saw your wedding picture in the London Times.  When she read that you were an English sea captain who had sailed in and around the Caribbean, she suspected you had found Elena and taken her to England.  I knew it was Elena when I saw her picture, but I couldn’t understand why she would change her first name.  Was she running away from me?  Hiding?  Why would she do that?  Her parents gave me the money for my passage to England, and they await word from me.”

“She didn’t change her name.” Jack said.  It was his turn to solve one of Whitworth’s mysteries.  “I gave her a new one, since she didn’t have one.

“My crew spotted her lying unconscious in a longboat floating in the open sea off the coast of Barbados.  There wasn’t any food or water in the longboat.  She looked like a child’s doll that had been played with too hard.  She had a beautiful dress, but it was torn and caked with dried blood, all the ribbons undone and the laces coming off.  Her back was covered in bruises, and our ship’s Doctor said he feared her skull had been cracked.  As she told you, she had an iron cuff on her left wrist with about 6 feet of chain with 3-inch links wound around her arm and neck.  Doctor pointed out that the bruises matched the links on the chain, as if someone had beaten her with it.  The entire side of her head was bruised and swollen.  She had a concussion.  We didn’t think she would live long, but Doctor gave her little drops of water with a spoon, and she instinctively swallowed.  That gave us hope.  I asked Doctor to clean her up and the crew offered some of their smaller clothes for her to wear.  Our blacksmith removed the cuff.

“After a day or so, she regained consciousness.  We posed all sorts of questions to her, trying to figure out what had happened to her.  She responded with just a sweet smile, and ‘I don’t remember’.   We would have thought she had abandoned ship in an accident, but why was she wearing the cuff and chain?  Why was she tangled and wound in it?  Was she a prisoner?  Then why the fancy clothes?  There was a tropical rain and wind storm the night before; perhaps she was swept overboard somehow?

“After a few more days, she could stand, and seemed to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine on deck.  One of the men called her “Sis” and it stuck.  The crew treated her like their little sister, just like the ones they had left at home.  They understood she wasn’t quite right in her head, and they treated her kindly, for which I was very grateful.  I had her take her meals with me in the great cabin, and I made it my goal to get her to remember.  I showed her maps and landmarks, and asked her all sorts of questions.  She never lost her patience with me and would try her best to remember.  But nothing triggered a memory.  She had the sweetest face and demeanor of any woman I had ever met, so I started to call her “Angelica.” 

He paused, “The best I could do for her was to ask Doctor to help her, but of course, there was nothing he could do about the difficulty in her mind.  Her wounds healed and Doctor said as far as he could tell, she was completely well.  She started to work on the ship, with Cook.  She felt well, she just couldn’t remember.  Everything before the day she regained consciousness on the ship is a blank...”

“Until the gardenias, just now?”  Whitworth said.

“Yes,” said Angelica “until now.  Perhaps my mind is protecting me from remembering. What I experienced surely must have been horrible and frightening to me.” 

“I’m certain it was, Mrs. Ashbury.”  Whitworth said, as he stood and crossed the room to the fireplace, turning his back to Jack and Angelica.  He needed a moment. 

The flames danced gaily in the massive fire box.  It was so large he could almost step into the fire.  The coals glowed white hot, and in his mind, they became gardenias, pulsating with the rippling heat, as if they had breath of their own and would never die.  Above them leapt the red flames, which in his mind, became Elena’s long red hair.  Then he saw Elena’s face in the fire, wearing the expression she wore in that last moment on the veranda, happily waiting for their life together to begin.  How sweet oblivion must be, he thought, if she is there.

When he turned to face them again, he was different, as if he had accepted the situation and felt the matter was resolved.  He seemed stronger somehow.  He spoke differently as well, more self-possessed:  “I had no idea you’d lost your memory, Mrs. Ashbury.  Please forgive me for barging in.  I hope you will believe me when I say I do wish you every happiness, every blessing.  And Admiral,” Whitworth continued as he turned toward Jack, “I really must say you are the hero in all this.  You found her, cared for her, loved her, made her your wife, gave her a home, a name and a future.  There is certainly nothing I can say against you, now or ever.  I must thank you for that, for all you’ve done for my….well, for all you’ve done.  I do thank you, with all my heart, most sincerely.”

Suddenly, Whitworth’s words floated up into Angelica’s memory, “I do love you Elena, with all my heart, most sincerely.”  She remembered he had whispered that to her, but she couldn’t remember where or when.  She decided to just keep it in her heart, as it couldn’t possibly make any difference now.  She loved Jack, she was his wife, and she would never leave him. 

She regarded Whitworth, and puzzled over the change in him.  He seemed to be giving them absolution for the pain he felt, as if he had just been given some sort of amnesty, and in his new freedom had forgiven them everything.

“Admiral, there is another reason why I came to England.  I wanted to tell you that as long as this man McGwyer lives, he is a threat to Mrs. Ashbury.  She is, in actual fact, his wife.”

“In Barbados, yes.  Well, I’m going to have a Barrister look into the matter.  He can’t know she’s here in England, and even if he did, how would he ever find her?  He doesn’t seem to me to be the type to daily read the London Times.” Jack smiled.  “The fact that you found her is nothing short of a miracle.”

“I gave Elena the necklace you’re wearing on her 16^th birthday, Mrs. Ashbury.  You wore it in the newspaper drawing.  That was the clue that convinced me I must come here.”

”So that’s how I got it.  It’s the only thing I have from before my injury, and I had hoped someday I would remember where I got it.”

Jack said, “We’ll stay right here in England, at least until the baby is weaned.  I’m not going to put my family in any danger at all, Colonel.  We’ll write to Angelica’s parents—and I assume you'll be going back to Jamaica soon, of course.  Perhaps the Williams would be willing to come here to see the baby and their daughter.  Would you please invite them for me when you see them?"

~~~

“Marry me, and I’ll uncuff you.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you the freedom to roam about the ship.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you all of Christine’s things, her clothes, her jewelry…”

“No.”

“Marry me… or I will kill you.”

Elena was silent.  He would kill her, she believed it.  She had a duty to the child to try to stay alive, so that eventually they could be rescued.  She closed her eyes and slowly nodded.

“Good!  Now come here.”  He crossed the great cabin to an armoire, throwing it open.  It was full of beautiful dresses McGwyer had bought for Christine.  Evidently, he regarded that armoire as a shrine to her memory.  Now that she was in her grave, far beyond any way he could have her again, he worshipped her.  He craved the untouchable, the unattainable—conquest drove him in everything.  But once he had what he craved, it immediately lost all its value.  It became ordinary, unworthy, even rubbish.

“Blacksmith!  Come here!  Elena, take any of them, take them all…whatever you like.”

The cuff came off, the dress went on.  It was creamy chiffon, all lace and ribbons.  It was her wedding dress.

They went ashore to Barbados and found the Magistrate.  McGwyer was beside himself with joy, the thrill of conquest had once again filled his empty chasm.  “Marry us.” he said, as he slapped down three gold coins on the Magistrate’s desk.  He held her by her left wrist, mostly to cover the wound, but also to inflict pain if she tried to bolt.

“Ah-ha!” said McGwyer, as Elena signed the marriage certificate.  “Now I have you.” he whispered.  He grabbed the paper with his right hand and regarded it carefully.

Back aboard ship, he carefully folded the marriage certificate and put it in a small chest he kept in the great cabin.  “Now, my dear girl…”

“No.”

“What do you mean?  I’m your husband!   Now, come here!”

“No.”

A standoff.  McGwyer pondered.  “Blacksmith!!!! Come here now!  Get a cuff on that girl.”  Blacksmith hurried into the room and picked up the cuff and chain, which had been left by Christine’s armoire.

“Sir, no, I beg you, please have mercy on me, please…”

The man wavered.  He turned slowly around to face McGwyer, looking for direction.

“Why do you hesitate?  Do I have to tell you twice?  Here, man, I’ll do it myself.”  McGwyer wrenched the chain away from the Blacksmith and hit him in the face with the back of his hand.  The impact spun the poor man around.  Blacksmith reached slowly for his throat as he fell to his knees.  He slumped to the floor with his head landing in an odd position.  Elena realized his neck was broken.  He was dead.

“Now, you come here.”

Elena froze in fear.  She closed her eyes, and forced herself to put her hand up to receive the cuff.  She felt it go on, cold and tight.  It locked into place.  “Now my little wife, you will learn that I will not stand for disobedience.” 

When she saw the end of the chain coming at her, she instinctively dropped down and put her legs and hands in front of her abdomen, her back to McGwyer.  But she really only felt the first blow.  That one cracked her skull, and unconsciousness flooded in.  She only had time to murmur, “My baby…” and all was black.

When she woke up, it was night and she could hear McGwyer snoring.  He was sprawled across the bed, fast asleep.  She was still in the same place she was when he started to beat her.  There was blood all over her clothes, all around her on the floor.  She was in great pain.  He had made no attempt to help her, nor had any of the crew. 

She tried to move her arm and found that the chain was not fastened to the iron eye bolted to the wall with a pin and lock, as it had been every night since she came aboard.  If she could move, she could get away from him.  She prayed a quick, earnest prayer for strength.  She picked up the long chain and wound it quietly up and around her arm, across her shoulders, letting the last two feet or so dangle down her chest and stomach, so it wouldn’t make any noise.  She rolled up on her feet with more will than strength, so dizzy, faint, and weak.  Willing each foot to move just a few inches at a time, she came to the bulkhead, the door, and the four steps up to the deck.  No one was standing guard, all were asleep.  Looking over the side, she saw the longboat, the one they had used just that afternoon to go ashore for the wedding.  If she could just get down the rope ladder, she could get away. Over the side, one foot, one hand, one hand, one foot, slowly down the rope ladder, she quietly stepped into the boat.  It was tied with one loose knot that came free with one strong tug.  Faintness swept over her, and she fell back into the boat.  Just before she lost consciousness, she felt the first few drops of rain and the beginnings of a breeze.

~~~

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Colonel Whitworth, but I do thank you for coming, and for everything you told me.”  Angelica said as she stood.  “I’m very tired and must rest now.  I do wish you a safe voyage home.”  Jack stood as well.

Whitworth nodded slowly and gave her a small smile.  The only voyage he wanted to take was to Elena.  He certainly couldn’t get there by ship, but wherever it was, that was his home now.

There was a long silence.

 “Of course, Mrs. Ashbury, I understand completely.” Whitworth understood he was being dismissed.  The long trail of searching for Elena, wanting her, needing her, loving her to the point of obsession was at an end, at least in this life.  There was not a hint of encouragement from Angelica at all.  She was a polite stranger, only polite, not even saying she hoped to see him again.

Elena had become someone else.  She loved and had married another man.  Even though she was carrying his child, she would raise the child with someone else.  She was completely and irretrievably lost to him. 

It was the second time he had loved someone so completely, and had lost her so irretrievably.  He was so relieved to know it would be the last, and soon the guilt and pain would end.

He regarded her one last time, nodding and giving her another small smile.  Then he shook Jack’s hand, and Jack walked him to the door.

The door closed.  Seconds later, a shot rang out.  Whitworth had shot himself in the head.