Love's Rescue by Christine Johnson

yes. The small trunk was a ghastly mess, though. The stevedores must have thrown it about, for everything was a jumble inside.”
    “But everything was there?”
    “Of course it was all there. Why wouldn’t it be?”
    “No reason.” Elizabeth was glad that Aunt would not be able to call Rourke a thief. “I am simply grateful.”
    Aunt gave her a sharp look before proceeding to the door with a sweep of her voluminous skirts. “Your father wants to see you in his study before supper.”
    Elizabeth’s nerves returned. She hoped he would explain her brother’s cold reaction, but that was not his way. More likely he was angry over her rash decision to come home but hadn’t wanted to scold her in public. He might also threaten to send her back on the first ship headed to Charleston. The possibilities flitted through her mind as she descended the staircase.
    His study was located at the rear of the house across from the music room, into which Charlie had vanished. The door to that room was now closed, and she could hear no sound from inside. The study door was open, however, and Father stoodbehind his desk puzzling over a piece of paper. In exasperation, he tugged off the spectacles he wore for reading.
    “Father?”
    He looked up. “Elizabeth. Please come in. Have a seat.”
    He motioned for her to choose one of the twin chairs facing each other before the cold fireplace. That feature had always been an oddity, since temperatures seldom fell low enough to require heat. She had seen it lit only a handful of times.
    Unlike the rest of the house, this room, shaded by the gumbo-limbo and sea grapes, had windows only on the side due to the housing over the cistern. The shelves of law books, the ponderous furnishings, and the partially closed shutters only added to the dim light.
    As a child, Elizabeth had called this the throne room. The ornate mahogany chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet looked fit for a queen. She’d often crept into the room with Anabelle to play, only to be found by Mammy and shooed away. Once, Elizabeth had insisted Anabelle sit in the other chair and play princess rather than her usual lady-in-waiting. Mammy had swatted her daughter and scolded Elizabeth so thoroughly that neither of them dared enter the study again. Elizabeth could still remember her nurse’s rebuke. “Yo’ Daddy catch you bringing da help in here, he whup yo’ behind.”
    She had never quite realized that Anabelle was considered help. True, Mammy was a servant and Anabelle’s mother, but Anabelle had always been Elizabeth’s friend. They played together and slept in the same room. Anabelle learned her letters just like Elizabeth. Until that moment, she hadn’t grasped that Anabelle would one day leave the nursery to work in the cookhouse.
    “One day” had arrived the next morning.
    Afterward, Anabelle could play only after she finished her chores. Elizabeth’s schoolwork extended to the entire day. She only saw her friend at night when Anabelle combed out Elizabeth’s hair and slept on a cot at the foot of her bed. When nights were cold, Elizabeth would whisper for her friend to join her. Sometimes Anabelle came, but most times she refused. She would never say why.
    Now the memories sifted over Elizabeth like raindrops. Above the fireplace, Mother’s portrait overlooked the room. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her daughter, but she’d been petite. Elizabeth had inherited her height from Father. Mother’s gentle smile exuded a calm grace and dignity that Elizabeth hoped to emulate. She arranged her skirts in the same manner as in the portrait and folded her hands upon her lap. Then she waited.
    Father set his spectacles on the desk and paced to the window. Instead of opening the slatted shutters wider to let in the breeze, he closed them. Even then he did not sit. Father seldom sat. His restless pacing had punctuated the nighttime hours for as long as she could remember. He would traverse the halls,