Authors: Sandra Chastain
“Your honor,” Rogan began.
“Sit, Rogan. Your attorney, Mr. Evans, has already pled your case—very eloquently, I might add. I am inclined to accept his suggestion for study.”
“But, Your Honor,” the state’s representative stood and protested, “we’ve never made a boat a part of the national registry of historical homesites. That regulation has only applied to houses.”
“You’re out of order, sir. Your objection has already been noted. If the object of the law is to designate something an historic landmark in order to protect it for the people to see and enjoy, I can see no reason that a ship on which an individual lives can’t be declared one. If Mr. Rogan is willing to allow the public to view the
Scarlet Butterfly
on some kind of reasonable schedule and maintain the vessel without assistance from the historical funds, it seems to me that might solve all our problems.”
Rogan, still standing in the aisle, came forward. “But, Your Honor, I would never allow—”
“Of course you would, Rogan.” Carolina rose from her seat in the rear and came to take Sean’s hand
and stand beside him. “It’s what Jacob and Carrie would have wanted. Don’t you see?”
All he could see was Carolina, looking up at him with her eyes shining and her lips parted in a happy smile.
“You asked for your father’s help?”
“You asked for your brother’s, after you vowed never to talk to him again.”
“But you wanted to escape your father’s control.”
“I was wrong. He really only wanted to care for me, just as you tried to care for your family. You thought your family let you down. You were wrong, weren’t you.”
“Maybe I was,” he admitted. “I’ve been thinking about that, Carrie—and about you.”
“Ahem! Mr. Rogan, if you two would like to continue this conversation outside my courtroom, I’ll discuss this further with Mr. Evans and the state attorney. Oh, and Mr. Rogan—if you appear in my court again, get a haircut. You look like a river pirate.”
They were walking along the river, dodging the tourists, holding hands.
“I’m going to stay here, in St. Marys, Rogan. I don’t intend to let you rule my life, but I will share the making of our decisions. Ryan says that I probably can’t give you children, so I won’t expect you to marry me. I’ll just be here for you as long or as often as you need me.”
Rogan bit back a smile.
“Very generous of you, Goldilocks, but there are certain decisions I’ve always made, and that I’ll
continue to make—among them, who shares my bed, and under what conditions.”
“I see. Then I guess I’d better go.” She stopped and turned back toward the crowds, hoping she could hide herself before Rogan saw the tears that threatened to spill over at any minute.
“You are not going anywhere, Carolina Evans. You started all this, and you’re going to see it through. You have to finish the portrait, and I found something in the house—one of Carrie’s journals.”
Carolina whirled back around and flung her arms around Rogan’s neck. “You did? What did it say? What—How—?”
“I don’t know. I only read the beginning. I couldn’t go on, not without you. It was your dream, Carolina. You’ve got to be the one to finish it.”
“My ‘dream’?”
“Our dream,” he admitted in a low voice as he felt that special calm steal over him. Her eyes held such certainty. Her lips were inviting—no,
asking
him to take them. He’d been so sure that he knew what was best. He’d been wrong. Carolina knew all along. She’d made herself a part of his life. Everything he’d tried to close out, she’d put back: being needed, wanting, and having his needs answered.
His hands went to her shoulders, holding her still as he tried to stop his own tremors. She’d stormed into his world and made him care again. “Ah, Carolina, darling, you understood all along. I didn’t think I could ever love anybody again, but I do love you. I’ll try very hard to make you happy.”
He’d try to make her happy. Carolina sighed in contentment. Nobody had ever told her that before. Do what was best for her, look after her—but make
her
happy
? And she knew that he meant it. She’d trusted him from the beginning. And when his lips came down on hers, she surrendered herself to him completely.
“Whoee-eee, man! Way to go,” he heard a stranger’s voice cry out.
Rogan raised his head. He was practically making love to Carolina in the middle of the wharf, in the middle of the annual Rock Fish Festival. A more public display couldn’t have been arranged. And for once he didn’t care. He was with his girl, the woman he intended to marry.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her by the hand and rushing her back to his truck.
“Where are we going?”
“Home. Back to the
Butterfly
, before she disappears.”
“Why would she disappear?”
“The original scarlet butterflies became extinct hundreds of years ago, Carrie. The last one was sacrificed to save an island. I think our
Butterfly
might have accomplished the same thing.”
“I don’t understand,” Carolina said as Rogan lifted her into the seat and crawled in behind her.
“Come here, woman.” He kissed her again, quick and hard, then started the engine. At least one good thing had come from his having had to park so far away from the courthouse: He could avoid the traffic. In no time they had reached the schooner. Rogan climbed out of the truck, took Carrie in his arms, and kissed her again.
“Awwwk! Pretty Carrie. Pretty Carrie’s home!”
Inside the cabin Carolina pulled away, her face flushed, her heart pounding wildly. “Am I, Rogan?”
“You certainly are!” Rogan let Carolina’s feet slide to the floor, his hands slowly unbuttoning and removing her clothes. “You’ve gained weight,” he said, leaning down and kissing one nipple and then the other before pushing her back on the bed.
There was a smile on his face as he unbuttoned and removed his own clothes. She could feel the restraint in him, restraint and something else. Then, as he knelt down, cupping her breasts with his hands, she saw it—the shadow behind in the passageway.
Jacob. She knew and understood. She wondered why she didn’t feel embarrassed at being watched, but she didn’t. When Rogan pressed her against the bed and moved over her, she noticed the shadow moving closer. As if she were watching Rogan in one of those cut-glass windows, she could see two of him—her glorious rascal, nude and announcing his desire with his body, and the shadow of the man who’d been the catalyst for their finding each other.
Suddenly the cabin was filled with the scent of tobacco and wildflowers.
“Rogan,” she whispered. But the name that echoed in the silence was
“Jacob.”
“Yes, Carrie, I love you. I’ll never leave you again. My vow is fulfilled.”
As Carolina watched, Jacob gave her a smile, turned, and walked away, joining hands with the young woman standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
“You know they’re going to rebuild our house,” Jacob said
.
“I know,” the woman answered
.
“Can we share our house with them?” Jacob asked
.
“I think so. They’ve brought the
Butterfly
back to you.”
In the cabin below Rogan deepened his kisses, entering Carolina’s body with such wonder and delight that she knew without a doubt that she was with the man she loved.
Gone were those black, vacant eyes filled with coldness. Rogan moved slowly, leaning back so that he could explore her face, her neck, and her lips with his tongue, loving her as if for the first time.
And his touch fanned the flame that danced just beneath her skin. His hands kneaded her bare skin with a feverish rhythm. Carolina felt heat in every part of her body. Her hands sought the feel of his beautiful shaped shoulders, the powerful muscles in his back, his smooth buttocks.
Then she sensed it, the beginning of the eruption. Her body buckled and thrashed in its urgency, and she knew that Rogan was feeling the same searing need for release.
He was taking deep, slow breaths, plunging inside her and pulling out again in an agonizing motion, holding as long as he could before the tremors finally burst loose, exploding in spasms of fire that shook the bed with their magnitude.
Later, when Carolina was lying in his arms, content and half-asleep, Rogan told her the legend of the scarlet butterfly and how their ship had gotten its name, about how symbolic it was that its modern-day loss had brought them together.
“Why did you call your father, Carolina?”
“Because if anyone could save the schooner, he could.”
“You’re right.” Rogan planted a kiss on the top of
her head. “I still can’t believe it. I’d studied and considered every possible alternative for weeks and it never occurred to me that I could have it declared a house to be placed on the registry of homes.”
“I told you my father got what he wanted.”
“You’re right about the similarity,” Rogan said, “because I got what I wanted too. Are you sure you’re all right, darling?”
“I’m very much all right. If I were any more all right, I’d probably soar right off this bed and take the
Butterfly
with me, without her sails.” She pressed her face against his chest. She wanted to talk about the depth of her feelings, but she didn’t know how.
“But are you sure, Carolina, about being here with me? I’ll always be pretty much of a loner, even if I do change. I don’t know much about loving.”
“You’ve never been in love before?”
“No, I don’t think I have. Every time I ever cared about something, I lost it.”
Carolina hesitated. “You mean like Beth?”
“Beth? Ryan told you about Beth?”
“No, he only told me that you cared about her and that she died. He didn’t tell me how.”
“All right. You should know it all. Beth was my youngest sister. She was the light of my life—full of fun, bright. Then she got into drugs, through a friend of Ryan’s. Ryan never really knew how bad she was. He thought he could help her, so he and the family kept it from me.”
Carolina felt the tension sweep over Rogan. She reached for his hand and pulled it to her lips. “And she died?”
“Yes. I know now that it wasn’t Ryan’s fault. I thought that if he’d told me, I could have stopped
her, just like I’d fixed the business problems To me, if there was a problem, there was a solution. It was that simple.
“The family took Ryan’s side, defending him when I accused him of not doing enough. After that Ryan went to medical school, and I became obsessed with proving that I was some superman who could do what my family couldn’t. If. I could do just a little more, I figured, the pain would be over.”
“When I was a little girl I used to blame my father for my mother’s drinking. If he’d be kinder to her, more caring, she’d stop. But there was some dark part of her that he couldn’t fix. All he could do was look after her, and he did.”
“That’s what I did too. And that only made Beth’s problem worse. She didn’t want to let me down, so she denied there was a problem. And because I loved her, I believed her.”
“We can’t go on blaming ourselves, Rogan. We can’t change the past. All we can do now is take care of each other.” She ran her toes along his inner thigh suggestively. “And speaking of being taken care of …”
It was the next day before Rogan retrieved Carrie’s diary and left Carolina to read it undisturbed. When she reached the explanation of the butterfly, she read to the bottom of the entry and waited for Rogan to complete his swim and climb back on board.
“Come and join me in the hammock,” she said, drawing to her feet. “I’ve wanted to share it with you since that first night.”
Rogan stood in the sunlight, lifting his face to the
heat. Soon it would be too cool, even here, to swim nude and depend on the sun’s rays to dry off. Soon he’d have to find a better place for the woman he already considered himself married to.
“Why didn’t
you
join
me
in the hammock?”
“I was afraid of what you might say.”
He took her hand and drew her close. “Carolina, darling, I have my doubts that I’d have done any talking at all.”
Later, when they finally did collapse in the hammock, determined to read the remainder of the diary, they were surprised to find a strange handwriting.
I should never have left her. But I was consumed with guilt over lying with her, not once but over and over again, like some wild animal in heat. I could not get enough of her sweet body. It mattered not that another man had had her first, that she’d delivered a daughter who wasn’t mine. I loved the child as if it were. No, it was worse. For now I’d gotten her with child, my child, and I had to leave. The war was in full force now, and I could no longer hide away on the river, turning my back on the great need for medicine and supplies. I was afraid for our child and what our loving might do to it, but she said I was not to fear, the babe’s coming was still weeks away. And I lay with her one last time. She was mine now, and Lord help me, I loved her
.
But at last I had to go. I didn’t want to leave her, and I know now that she deliberately sent me away. And I, who offered my services so gallantly to serve the South, only made one quick little voyage to the port of Orleans and back, bringing in not medicine and food supplies, but weapons with which to hurt and kill
.
I might still have fulfilled my mission but for the
Union boat that intercepted me. Once the ship drew close I recognized its captain, Carrie’s father. I couldn’t return fire. I couldn’t even face him. Rather, I turned and sailed my schooner home, back up the St. Marys to Carrie
.
I was too late. I’d rashly promised to take care of Carrie and her babe. But she’d already been in labor for days. Finally she was delivered of a child, a poor pitiful little male child who died, along with my darling Carrie. I think this must be a punishment for my sins. I could not fulfill my promise, Carrie, not in this lifetime, but I vow that I will try. At my feet, as I write, is your daughter, the child with those silver-blue eyes
.
Eyes that ask
.