Page 10 of His Unforgettable Bride
Or freeze to death.
The shock to his system nearly made him gasp, but he clamped his lips shut. The cold pierced his skin, and he struggled to focus as the blasted misery consumed his thoughts. With hard, swift strokes, he swam, forcing himself to remain underwater until his lungs threatened to burst.
If he surfaced, would he be seen? Had his captors fallen for his ruse? Did they now search for him on the second steamboat?
He raised his head enough from the clear water to gasp a deep breath and gauge his location. Thankfully, the afternoon tide barely hampered his progress. He slipped back under the surface, his feet numbing from the cold, and continued to swim underwater parallel to the shoreline, hoping to put a safe distance between himself and his captors.
When the town’s shoreline was no longer in sight, he fully rose to his feet, slipped out of the strait, and onto an empty, pebbly beach. Water dripped from his hair, chin, arms, and undergarments. Shaking and exhausted, Henry stumbled forward over twigs and rocks that poked at his tender skin until he reached a pine tree on the beach’s fringe.
He briefly paused behind it to catch his breath. Between the cold and his aching head, the swim had nearly ended his life, yet he had persevered. Rarely, if ever, had he given up on a challenge—not a horse race, chess match, or fistfight with his brother.
His current life-and-death nightmare was not the time to change his habits.
He peered around the prickly edge and tried to see down the shore toward the steamboat he had abandoned minutes ago. As far as he could tell, nobody was following him. But Henry needed another blessing—a safe, friendly place to warm up and stay out of sight. Who would help him in his current state? If not mistaken, he smelled like a dead fish and probably looked worse. And he had no money.
Should he venture back toward town and search for the help he needed? Or should he wait in the woods along the community’s edge until more confident his kidnappers no longer searched for him in the area?
A distant whistle blared a quick, powerful blast. Was the steamboat he had temporarily boarded preparing to leave the harbor? And were his kidnappers on board?
Merciful heavens, he hoped so.
Just in case they had decided to scout the town, Henry would be safest if he stayed hidden in the woodland for a while longer, preferably away from the shore.
Every muscle was stiff from the cold as he swerved around the impediments in his path—trees, stumps, a thorny hedge, and a canoe in the weeds. He crossed a muddy road and soon sneaked past the rear of a livery with penned horses.
Moving north, he climbed a hill and entered a more residential area to one side of him with dense timber on the other. When the hill crested, he paused to lean his hand against the trunk of a birch tree, winded.
Ahead, a sprawling lawn separated him from a stately house and outer buildings. Perhaps someone would step outside and, after a bit of coaxing, offer him dry clothing or a warm blanket. Or should he search for a church? Surely, he would find assistance there.
A gunshot echoed in the distance. His kidnappers or a hunter, perhaps?
Unsure and shaky, Henry spun and staggered into the woods. He listened for voices or footsteps but only heard a whooshing inside his head.
Another gunshot cracked the air, closer this time.
Was someone coming after him? Probably not. Why would his kidnappers be shooting? Even so, he could not take a chance and had to move farther from the town.
He wove deeper into the thick woods, pinecones and twigs stabbing his feet. With each step, the throbbing in his head roared louder until nausea rose inside him, and lights flashed at the backs of his eyes.
A wave of dizziness hit him while he stumbled over a root. He was falling but could not find the energy to brace for the impact. In the next instant, his body collided with the ground.
Four
Do not forget, that early impressions
are deep and lasting.
How long until Everly resembled home? Perhaps never.
After Juliet lost her job with the Firths a week ago, she spent one night in a quiet, empty church and left before dawn. Then, when a reasonable hour arrived, she visited Mrs. Moresby, who invited her into her home. Juliet explained the situation at the Firths’, telling her every detail about her firing.
Not only did Mrs. Morseby believe her, but she also agreed to help her find a new job and allowed her to stay in her home for nearly a week. Juliet would never forget her kindness.
Friends Mrs. Moresby had met while traveling from England to Victoria had recently written, asking for help locating a servant to assist in their home and future tearoom. Their current part-time employee had taken ill and didn’t intend to return. Mrs. Moresby had immediately written to the sisters about Juliet. They’d sent word back, agreeing to hire Juliet for some unbeknownst reason, even after learning about her firing for possible theft and lack of an endorsement.
Why? Juliet was stumped, for certain. Could she picture pouring tea to society folks? Not even for a whisper of a second. But nobody else was lining up to give her a job, either.
After leaving the wharf minutes ago, she paused her ascent up a hill and ripped off her drenched headscarf, hoping her hair would dry faster in the afternoon breeze. It couldn’t get much wetter. Even her flour sack stuffed with belongings was dripping. What a miserable way to meet her new employers—soaked to the bone. “Ugh,” Juliet said to nobody but herself.
