Prophecies and Promises

By Alana Lorens

Tamsyn McKiernan thinks her dreams have come true. She’s engaged to a dashing Key West bachelor and finally in her widowed father’s good graces. But in her heart, she knows something’s wrong. She loves the ocean and the quiet pleasures of nature—so what does the aristocratic life she’ll lead truly hold for her?
Mercenary captain Drake Ashton is neck deep in preparations for the Spanish-American War, running guns and other supplies to Cuban natives who want out from under their Spanish masters. He and his brother Freddie risk their lives daily, focused on saving his friends on the island. Nothing else matters but his mission.
A chance encounter with a spiny sea urchin brings the two together, and neither of their lives will ever be the same again.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509241453

Alana Lorens

Alana Lorens (also writing as Lyndi Alexander) has been a published writer for more than forty years. Currently a resident of North Carolina, she loves her time in the smoky blue mountains. She lives with her daughter, who is the youngest of her seven children, and a few crotchety cats.

Book preview

He nodded. An old Cuban woman taught me one evening as we sat around a fire at a rebel camp, drums beating in the distance, smoke in the air. She leaned close to me and took my hand, just as I’m holding yours now, and told me my future, showing me how the lines of my palm intersected and moved apart. He examined her face, more serious. I never believed a word until now.

Tamsyn was thoroughly intrigued, her curious streak in high gear. What did she say?

She told me a time would come when a young woman would rescue me. That woman, she said, would be… He stared at her, intently watching her face.

His deep gaze hypnotized her. She could almost smell the camp smoke, so taken was she. Would be what?

Would be— He shook his head. It’s not important. Something about love.

Tamsyn pulled her hand back sharply. I’m sure it had nothing to do with me, then. She turned and walked away in the direction of her carriage. But she lost one of her sandals in a sudden rush of water and stepped hard onto white coral rock. Ow!

Allow me, he said behind her. Before she could argue, he scooped her up in his arms. As she protested, he replied, I told you I was in your debt. Please permit me to repay you. Ashton’s boots easily traversed the rocks, his arms strong around her. He smelled of salt water and the ocean breeze, and she felt gentleness within him as he carried her.

Other Wild Rose Press Titles by Alana Lorens

A Rose by Any Other Name

Conviction of the Heart

Secrets in the Sand

Tender Misdemeanors

That Girl’s the One I Love

Voodoo Dreams

Prophecies

and

Promises

by

Alana Lorens

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Prophecies and Promises

COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Barbara J. Mountjoy

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Jennifer Greeff.

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2022

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-4144-6

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4145-3

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To those who embody the spirit of adventure—may they never stop taking us on wonderful journeys

Acknowledgments:

With most grateful thanks to my Pennwriters Fellowship of the Quill folks—Todd, Christie, Fritze, Uncle Dave, Aimee, Johanna, Kara, Janyce and Janet (E.T.), Jennie, Carm, Amy, Kathy, Terry and Dan-O; and the folk from MVP—Janet, Ellen, Naima, Doris, Monica and Maggie. Who would have thought that your love and support would be the best thing to come out of COVID? Without you—and our fabulous ZOOM meetings—this book would not have happened.

~

Gratitude also to Margie Lawson, whose teachings helped improve and support this work.

~

And as always, thanks to my editor Ally Robertson and publisher, The Wild Rose Press, for letting me tell my stories in the best way possible.

Chapter One

Shadows. She pushed her way through darkness and the strong standing roots of the banyan trees. Vines hung low, catching her arms, her hair. Hurry! Don’t let him catch you! Her heart beat like Clara’s tambourine on a Friday night. The moon shone overhead, and she caught movement as he emerged from the shadows. She slipped inside the gate to her father’s courtyard and slammed it closed behind her. The man stepped forward and—

Missy Tamsyn! Time for you to be wakin’ now. Clara yanked the curtains open, their weight swaying her thin fourteen-year-old frame. The sun shone in, bright already even though it couldn’t be more than seven a.m. The tropic breeze whispered through the palm fronds outside her open window, birds filled the air with their songs, and the rattle and bump of carriage wheels rolled on the rocky street below.

All these Tamsyn took in without opening her eyes. She was safe in her bed. But she would have preferred to sleep just a few more seconds. This dream was one she’d had more than once in recent days, and she’d never been able to stay asleep long enough to determine the identity of the man who pursued her.

But I will before this dream goes away. I will.

She stretched lazily under her white, lace-trimmed sheets. Squinting through the heavy mosquito netting to see the timepiece on the small wooden table beside her, she fervently wished she could fold the covering away. But malaria was a constant threat in 1897 Key West. After her mother, Ellen, had succumbed to the tropical disease three years before, Papa had sworn he’d not lose anyone else. There was no arguing with him.

Well, then, there never was. Papa was…Papa.

And I’ll be eighteen in a few months. Mistress of my own fate.

Come on now, missy. You know Marse Angus be awaitin’ you before too long.

I’m coming, Clara. I’m coming.

She wrestled her way out from under the mosquito netting and set the books she’d been reading the night before on the bedside table. She stretched, allowing the girl to help shift the dark-blue dressing gown onto Tamsyn’s shoulders. A bowl of water and a soft cloth awaited her on her bureau, and she took a moment to wash her face and hands.

The port whistle blew, signaling the arrival of a ship. She ran to the window, looking out toward Mallory Square.

Six tall ships anchored in the harbor there, sails furled, and just beyond them, another maneuvered into the docks. Though she squinted her eyes, the ship was too far out to identify the flags against the clear, blue sky.

The whistle began a rush of activity across the town, as it always did. Boys abandoned their sticks and hoops on the narrow sidewalk out front to run down to the docks. Housewives bustled into their morning coaches on the street out front, each followed by an entourage of servants, both dark- and light-skinned, to help make their purchases at dockside.

Tamsyn leaned on the sill, enjoying the gently scented breeze. It was warm already, hot where the sun fell on her extended hand. She must be the luckiest girl in the world to live in such a bright-painted heaven, their own yard a feast of tropical, flowering plants, thanks to the legacy left by her mother’s gentle hand. In front grew broad-leafed crotons in speckled green, sharp, pointed snake’s tongue, and a huge fire-flowered poinciana tree that shaded Tamsyn’s window. A small flock of green Amazon parrots landed, chattering, on the yellow tabebuia and then, bickering among themselves, flew off to chase the sea breeze.

The port whistle blew again, drawing her attention back to priorities. Whose ship was it? Perhaps there would be some new silks on board—she’d been waiting ages for the new Sunday dress Papa had promised her. Miss Pearl had agreed to make her one as soon as Tamsyn chose the materials. No doubt, someone would have brought fresh fruits from the North, apples and oranges. There might be wonderful boxes of something unexpected, depending on where the ship had come from. Tamsyn grinned. Those were the best. She loved surprises and was always open to the unforeseen.

Life was too brief to be rigid.

Her musings were cut short as Clara prodded her. Missy Tamsyn, aren’t you dressed yet? The dark-skinned girl clanked the dishes on the tray she’d brought, so hard the water spilled out the spout of the teapot. Him say he going down to the dock right quick!

Clara poured her a cup of tea and shoved it into her reluctant hands. Tamsyn sipped the cooling brew as directed.

Because of the new ship’s arrival? Tamsyn thrilled with curiosity. It might be one of the Winslows’ ships coming in to dock. Thatcher Winslow would be there, supervising the unloading of cargo. Maybe they could steal a moment alone together—shocking in the midmorning open air. The thought of being so naughty made her smile. Very well, I’ll get dressed. I expect he’ll want the carriage ready, too. So ask the men.

The maid’s big dark eyes filled with gratitude. Yes’m. She rushed out as quickly as she had come, bare brown feet slapping the wooden stairs as she descended.

Choosing a cool cotton shirtwaist ensemble, a white blouse with tiny pearl buttons and a soft pink skirt, Tamsyn dressed quickly, finishing the tea as she intentionally set herself to look appealing. She brushed her hair thoroughly before winding the majority of it into a knot at the back of her head. Small tendrils curled in the humidity along the nape of her neck and her forehead. As they stirred in the small breeze coming in the window, she recalled the lips of Thatcher Winslow brushing the back of her neck lightly, tickling just as the hair did now. She shivered with remembered delight. Stop daydreaming, Tam, and hurry!

The sound of neighbors exchanging greetings floated through the open front window as she hurried downstairs in soft, buttoned, brown leather boots. Papa was in his office giving orders to his chief clerk, his Scottish burr unusually evident, showing he was agitated.

Tamsyn slipped on past, not ready to deal with Papa’s moods just yet. Instead, she went to the kitchen to have Juba make her some breakfast. Someone would have served her at the huge dining table if she’d wished it, but even when her mother had been alive, Tamsyn had preferred the warm and lively kitchen to the formal dining room.

A bright yellow scarf wrapped around her head to cover her hair, the rotund cook scolded her, waving a large metal spoon for emphasis. You been layin’ abed half a day! A large pile of cut vegetables sat in front of her on a well-worn board. She held bread over the fire on a long-handled fork until it was browned and gave it to Tamsyn with a hot, sweet cup of tea.

One of the girls laid a clean cloth on the stool so Tamsyn wouldn’t soil her skirt. I have done no such thing, Tamsyn said, smiling at the familiar exchange as she took in the busy tasks of the morning kitchen in the MacKiernan house. New curtains hung in the high window this morning, an island print of red and black. Her charge delivered, Clara returned to kneading dough on a side table, flour white against her brown skin.

Him been at it since dawn, Juba whispered conspiratorially, jerking her head back toward the office.

What’s the matter? Tamsyn asked in the same tone. Longtime familiarity with the servants’ lilting Bahamian and Jamaican speech allowed her to understand more than she let on, especially now that she was nearly grown. But no one was afraid to speak even their native language in her presence—she kept their secrets. She learned a lot from those who seemed to hear everything.

Spongin’ boats fulla holes at daybreak! Juba said.

No wonder her father was upset. Sponging was one of the two main industries on the island, and Angus MacKiernan had a good business, sending his men out in small boats to grab the marine animals off the bottom with long-handled hooks. Natural sponges were in high demand around the world, used in hospitals to cleanse wounds since they were more sanitary and shed no lint to cause infection. The flat-tabled warehouses her father owned employed a dozen people to dry, sort, and trim the sponges. Do they know who did it?

Juba shrugged her wide shoulders. More toast?

Tamsyn shook her head. If she knew her father, he’d be in a rare temper. Best to get finished quickly and report for duty, sharp as any soldier! It also made her twice as determined to escape the house today. She brushed crumbs from the front of her blouse. Well, it’s eight o’clock. Time to face the music. With a deep breath, she stood up.

The sympathetic eyes of the servants met hers, and the balding, dark-skinned houseman, Old James, smiled his toothless grin as he walked in the back door. Carriage be ready soon. But Marse Angus be forgettin’ ’bout boats and problems when he see your pretty face.

Tamsyn blushed. Old James, you are a charming devil! she said. She brushed her worn skirt down, standing tall as if she was balancing a book on her head, an exercise her mother had strictly enforced. Then she went to the office.

She waited around the corner, leaning forward just until she could see, feeling a coward for letting her father’s two clerks take the brunt of his displeasure. But I have nothing to do with sponging sabotage. I’ll take criticism for the things that are my own fault, when it’s due.

Her father’s slight frame nearly quivered with intensity. Then post ten men at the harbor by night! he yelled. We willna have this happen again, or you’ll be looking for other positions. Is that understood?

The men nodded, pained expressions on their faces. Tamsyn felt sympathy for them. Her hot-tempered father’s skin was a ruddy color now, as it always flushed when he was furious. With a bit of a smile, she remembered her amazement once she noticed that he turned red all the way up to his desperately receding hairline.

When Angus didn’t speak for another several moments, the senior clerk, Timothy, looked up cautiously. Is that all, sir?

Yes, yes, get to it! He slammed a book on the desk. All of them, Tamsyn included, twitched at the sudden noise. The clerks took the opportunity to make their escape, with an apologetic glance for Tamsyn as they passed.

Tamsyn stepped in quietly and crossed to her small secretary desk. She got out the thick book of accounts, her mother’s before her, and lifted her feathered pen before glancing in her father’s direction. I’m sorry about the boats.

Can ye believe some scalawag has scuttled them again? How’s a man to make an honest living? His voice steadily rose, then nearly cracked.

Papa, you’ll make yourself sick, she said.

He looked at her with a discouraged eye. You shouldna worry about me. Let’s total these financials. Then I’m going down to the harbor to examine the scene of the crime. Those no-account constables are likely to miss valuable clues, I expect.

Does that mean we’ll finish in time that I may go out today, Papa? She was still amazed that the catastrophe had actually worked to her benefit. The flagship came in this morning. The lending library in Jacksonville is supposed to send books this month, and I’d dearly love something new on the sciences. And…Miss Pearl said she would make me a new dress when the silks came in.

The gray-haired man stared down at his beloved books. His ink came out in a huge blot, and he reached for the sand to dry it up. Damnation! he muttered. "A new dress? Didn’t ye just have a new dress made up?"

Aye, Papa, but that was nearly eight months ago, and that was for parties. Remember, you’re the one who said now that I was nearly of age, I had to start being ‘seen’ before I became an old maid. She twisted her face into a pretty pout, playing on his love for her.

He finally smiled. Nay, you’ll never be an old maid, my dear. As a matter of fact, I’ve noticed young Winslow spending quite a bit of time here. He winked, and she was thrilled he’d become aware of Thatcher’s attention, too. She could tell when her papa was pleased. Her Scottish father had taught her the value of money and had given her every opportunity of education, diction lessons, and what wardrobe and frillies he could so that she could be seen as equal to even the daughters of the best families on the island of eighteen thousand residents.

Mr. Winslow has been kind, she said, a soft smile tickling her lips. Mr. Winslow has been increasingly forward—even fresh. That was what she wanted to say. But her father would be scandalized.

Mr. Winslow stands to inherit a booming business and quite a bit of money, Angus said thoughtfully. I’d never have to worry about you going hungry or having to take in laundry.

He shook his head and looked at Tamsyn soberly, wagging a finger at her. "We had nothing when we came to America. Nothing."

She glazed over, having heard the story a hundred times before, how they had come from Edinburgh, first to New York, welcomed by the huge Lady Liberty. Her parents had lived in a dirty tenement, Papa working in a factory and dear Mamma handwashing other people’s laundry by candlelight. After that, Angus had promised his wife and his one-year-old daughter, Tamsyn, a better life, and they’d traveled by boat to Key West in 1880, where sponging, cigar making, and most importantly, shipwrecking were ways to turn a quick profit.

After that dire pronouncement, her father got up and paced, still agitated about the crime to his boats. Sensing her father’s mind was not really on his work, Tamsyn managed to cajole him into putting the books away early.

Right you are. I have no time to wait for you and all your folderols. I must go straightaway. He shrugged on his day coat.

Just as well. Traveling with one’s father was no way to attract certain young men’s attention. I may take the carriage, then?

You take Old James with you, and one of the gals. He reached for his hat. Remember, you’re a young lady! He marched out the door, bellowing for Timothy to accompany him.

Yes, Papa, she said, exasperated. He admonished her exactly the same. Every time. But it never seems to keep me from getting into trouble.

At the dock, she was pleased to discover new silks had arrived, and she chose two of her favorites and had them sent to Miss Pearl. Disappointment found her, though, because Thatcher Winslow was nowhere to be found. Probably working in some dark warehouse, Tamsyn thought sadly, locked away from the sun. His absence didn’t diminish her good spirits one whit. She knew he’d come by the house to see her later, as he often did, more often than Papa even knew. Now she was free to escape to the other side of the island, to her ocean.

****

Tamsyn stood ankle-deep in the warm coastal water and raised her face to the sun. Even in October, the rays still shone with summer-hot intensity, causing beads of perspiration to form along her forehead under her pink hatband. Curse the sun, anyway, but it was too hot for a hat. Clara? she called. She untied the ribbon holding the wide-brimmed hat and removed it. Put this in the carriage, would you?

The young girl’s dark eyes opened wide. Clara herself wore a broad Bahama hat made from woven palm fronds. Missy Tamsyn, Juba beat me if you come back sunburnt again. She wrapped her hands together behind her back.

Tamsyn sighed. "I know. It’s not seemly for a young woman to have anything but the palest skin, and we must protect it at all times. She made a disgusted face. Balderdash. The sun feels wonderful, and what happens in the next half hour isn’t going to make any difference to the rest of my life."

Her bare toes wriggled in her light woven sandals, which protected her feet from sea urchins or other hazards. Though her sleeves were to her elbows, she’d cut off one of her old skirts to a shocking knee-length just for her frequent excursions to the ocean. She’d changed quickly and modestly, with Clara’s help, once they’d arrived. Of course, Angus knew nothing about this scandalous revealing of her ankles and shins. It was another of the silent conspiracies between herself and the servants.

But Tamsyn loved the sun reflecting off the bay, the smell of the salt air, the small creatures that inhabited the shallow waters. She felt at home there, gazing out upon the horizon as the waves rippled onshore. Angus never asked where Juba got the fresh seafood, and Tamsyn didn’t volunteer. Besides, do you think Juba would approve of my outfit?

Clara shook her head violently. You won’t tell her, Missy Tamsyn?

Tamsyn smiled. We won’t stay long. I didn’t know we’d find crabs here. Get the nets, and we’ll catch enough for Juba to feed us all. Then she’ll be too busy to scold either of us.

The girl quickly complied, hitching up her own gray skirt. The two of them darted after sidestepping crabs, dumping them into a large bucket full of seawater. Clara also found some clams and other shellfish, which she added to their catch. They’d have a delicious feast that night, with the fresh produce from the ship and Juba’s spicy crabs.

Seagulls glided overhead in midafternoon, raucously challenging the salty breezes which bore them, their white bodies a sharp contrast to the blue, cloudless sky. Other birds in the distance cried out in answer. One cry was louder and more urgent than the rest. Tamsyn suddenly realized it was a human, not a bird, a sound filled with anguish. She looked at Clara, who’d obviously guessed the same. Whoever was making that noise was in a great deal of pain. Tamsyn passed the handle of her bucket to the girl. Store this in the carriage. I’m going to see what’s happened.

Missy Tamsyn, don’t you be runnin’ off dere, Clara warned timidly, but it was too late.

Tamsyn moved lightly around the coral rocks in the direction of the voice. Listening, she heard the cries turn to pained moans, and she hurried onward. Coming around a particularly big rock, she ran headlong into the grumbling victim, knocking him off his feet into the water. He splashed and shook a fist in her direction. Damnation, watch where you’re going, girl.

Tamsyn stared at the man sitting nearly twelve inches deep in the water. His hair was black as a crow’s feathers, curling around his shoulders, with brilliant brown eyes set deep. His clothing was simple and dark, and she noticed with a little thrill of fear that he had a knife tucked in his belt and another in his boot.

When she didn’t speak, he grinned. I apologize for disturbing you, he said in an amused baritone, a voice that seemed to resonate within her. If you’ve finished examining me, I could really use some help. He held out his right hand.

Tamsyn impulsively pulled him to his feet. She noticed blood on his left hand. What happened here? She automatically reached for the injured limb, her mother’s well-taught nursing skills at the ready. A sea urchin spine was embedded in his index finger, which was already red and swelling by the minute. Oh, she gasped. That. She’d once had a similar encounter and knew how painful it could be.

"That." He winced as she tilted and twisted his hand for a better look. His palms were rough and calloused, but his nails were clean, she noted idly as she contemplated his wound. His hands dripped seawater and were warm, and at least half again as big as her own.

Mindful of the other end of the spine, Tamsyn fumbled in her pocket for the pliers she’d brought to snap open shellfish. This will hurt, she said softly. Before he could stop her, she grasped the spine with the pliers and pulled it out. His roar of pain frightened her, and she backed away out of arm’s reach, eyes wide.

He repeatedly gasped and squeezed his finger, letting the blood and poison drip out, finally rinsing it in the salt water, provoking a string of curses. Amazed at his repertoire, she finally giggled.

You think it’s funny, do you? the man asked. He looked ruefully at his hand, apparently satisfied with her treatment. You’re probably right. Man versus urchin means urchin wins.

He smiled, and his deeply tanned face changed from brooding mask to engaging charmer. His eyes sparkled, bringing a surge of vitality to his face. He was young and handsome, and Tamsyn found she could hardly take her eyes off him. Thank you, ma’am. He bowed low.

Now that she had tended to his injury and the crisis had passed, Tamsyn realized with dismay she was talking to a strange man—had touched him, caressed his hand—did I do that? She had to admit she entertained an instant attraction which she tried to discount. Her gaze went to the knives again. You’re most welcome. She blushed, suddenly conscious of her inappropriate dress. She looked down at her feet, trying to generate a polite way to excuse herself. I should go, she said, inching away.

Not so fast! He stepped forward quickly to take her hand. I don’t even know your name.

She experienced a flash of panic but realized at the same time he wasn’t holding her tightly enough that she couldn’t escape. Despite the knives, the stranger seemed relatively harmless. Something in his eyes appealed to her, and she felt she could trust him. Nor I yours, sir, she said with a touch of her usual sass.

He dropped her hand and his jaw simultaneously. Where are my manners? He shook his head. Drake Ashton, at your service. He bowed again, then sank to one knee in the water. Since you have saved me from the evil creatures of this ocean, I am now in your debt. Tell me how I can repay you; your wish is my command.

Astonished at his flowery pledge, Tamsyn’s first reaction was to laugh. What an unusual fellow. You’re getting wet.

He chuckled. I am, indeed. Let’s go up on shore. He held out his hand, and she let him help her from the water, then found him reluctant to release her again.

My hand? she reminded him.

What about it? He looked down and then acted as if he just realized he hadn’t let go. Oh, yes. He turned her hand over and gazed at the palm. Hmmm. He traced several of the lines with an uninjured finger.

What do you mean? she asked with interest. Can you read palms?

He nodded. An old Cuban woman taught me one evening as we sat around a fire at a rebel camp, drums beating in the distance, smoke in the air. She leaned close to me and took my hand, just as I’m holding yours now, and told me my future, showing me how the lines of my palm intersected and moved apart. He examined her face, more serious. I never believed a word until now.

Tamsyn was thoroughly intrigued, her curious streak in high gear. What did she say?

She told me a time would come when a young woman would rescue me. That woman, she said, would be… He stared at her, intently watching her face.

His deep gaze hypnotized her. She could almost smell the camp smoke, so taken was she. Would be what?

Would be— He shook his head. It’s not important. Something about love.

Tamsyn pulled her hand back sharply. I’m sure it had nothing to do with me, then. She turned and walked away in the direction of her carriage. But she lost one of her sandals in a sudden rush of water and stepped hard onto white coral rock. Ow!

Allow me, he said behind her. Before she could argue, he scooped her up in his arms. As she protested, he replied, I told you I was in your debt. Please permit me to repay you. Ashton’s boots easily traversed the rocks, his arms strong around her. He smelled of salt water and the ocean breeze, and she felt gentleness within him as he carried her.