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occasionally to see if she has arrived, and you shall continue to pray that this woman the Lord has fashioned for me will know where to find me.” Caleb’s chuckle was lost in the sound of the surf. “Oh, and be sure to pray that I will recognize her. I fear the Lord has made me quite blind in that area.”
    He thought the jest quite clever until his mother stepped away to point her finger in his direction. “You can toy with me, Caleb Spencer, but not with your heavenly Father. This is not a chess game with the ending decided by the cleverest participant.”
    “I’m sorry, I—”
    She held up a hand to stop him, then grasped her shawl as the wind whipped it away. “The prayers have long been whispered to God, my son,” she said. “And I know when you meet her, there will be no doubt she is someone special. Indeed, I have asked God to sear her mark onto your soul so that, every time you look into the mirror, you see not yourself but the man she has caused you to become.”
    Whether it was the wind or the waves or the odd statement, Caleb found himself completely unable to respond. He pleaded exhaustion and wished his mother a hurried good night.
    Back in his room, he threw off his shirt and trousers and slipped behind the nets that did a decent service of keeping the bloodthirsty insects at bay. Long into the night, Caleb lay still, listening not to the sounds outside his door but to the memory of his mother’s warning.
    Finally, he fell into a restless sleep broken in bits and snatches by the cloaked image of a woman who seared her mark on him with a dueling pistol to his heart. By morning, he’d found humor in the dream.
    Any woman who wanted to leave such a mark on him would have to shoot him to do so. She certainly wouldn’t find any other way to manage it.

Chapter 5

    Emilie spent her time in the duty for which she’d been well trained: as the lady of the house. A woman raised to understand duty to home and family, she nonetheless struggled with her warring emotions.  
    For the most part, Emilie had chosen to set that information aside, to proceed as if she’d never been told she was the daughter of a concubine rather than a wife. To acknowledge the facts would be to admit them, and she’d yet to decide how best to do that .
    She no longer concerned herself with whether aiding Isabelle’s escape would be addressed. The topic of her transgressions, it seemed, was buried deep and intended to be left undisturbed. For this she felt a measure of relief, though the irony of the situation gave her pause.
    The slave helped the free woman escape.  
    On days not dampened by the New Orleans spring rains, Emilie escaped her own gilded prison to take the long walks she’d become accustomed to in Fairweather Key. Some days, it was her only link to the place where she’d finally felt at home, thus she had become reluctant to share her time with anyone other than Nate, the coachman Cook insisted on sending to follow a close distance behind Emilie.
    Today, however, she had no answer when Reverend Carter stated his intention to join her. To her great surprise, the older man proved an able companion, keeping up both the pace and the conversation without fail. Any temptation to grill him on the facts of her birth was tempered by the public forum in which the conversation was being held.
    Thus, when they lapsed into companionable silence, Emilie felt no need to speak. Rather, she walked on and waited for the old pastor to speak again.
    “So,” he finally said, “I would have your opinion on the state of my old friend. I will be blunt. Is he long for this world?”
    Finally, the reason for tagging along. She hesitated but a moment. “I shall be honest.”
    His cane clicked on the hard surface of the sidewalk. “I would have nothing else.”
    Emilie nodded. “There are days when I fear he shall draw his last breath any moment. Other days, I fear he shall live so long that I shall surely arrive at the heavenly gates