“What will you do?”
“I’m going to look for Annie Barker in 1927.” And I knew someone who might have the connections to help me. Lewis.
But how would I tell him I needed to find Annie Barker without telling him why?
“I wish I could help you there,” he said, pulling my thoughts back to the pirate ship, where Marcus was still holding my hands, his brogue deep. “What can I do for you here?”
His handsome face was so close to mine, and my traitorous heart beat a rhythm that was frightening. I wanted him, even if it wasn’t wise or realistic. I wanted him to pull me into his arms again, to shelter me, love me, protect me. But to do that, he’d have to give up pirating. Because I couldn’t love a man who took wealth and dignity from others.
When I didn’t answer, he rubbed my hands with his thumbs and said, “Do you want to return to South Carolina? To your grandfather?”
“No.” That much I knew. “If I return there, he’ll force me to marry a man I do not love.”
Something flickered through Marcus’s eyes, and his grasp tightened.
Hope clawed to life in my heart. I wanted him to know how I felt, and wanted to believe he felt the same for me, but it scared me to be so vulnerable since there was no future with Marcus. I would be forced to watch him go the same way as Sam Delaney—on the end of a noose.
Marcus stood and walked to the other side of the room. “If you don’t want to go to South Carolina, then where do you want to go? You don’t belong here.”
“I don’t have anywhere else.”
“You said your grandmother lived in Salem. Mayhap you have family there.”
“I cannot go to Salem. If my grandmother was killed as a witch, I cannot imagine they’d look kindly upon my arrival.”
“Witchcraft is no longer a hanging offense,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know her name, only my grandfather’s, and he had no family in Salem. He came from England, and then after my grandmother’s death, he moved to South Carolina. I wouldn’t even know how to look for her relatives, and I doubt they’d want me.”
His gaze was so raw, so tender, my heart beat hard when he said, “I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you.”
I swallowed the rush of emotions and said, “I don’t have anyone to turn to.”
He continued to pace, setting his hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t have anyone, either—anyone I know who might take you in.” He paused near the bookcase and touched the family Bible. “Unless.” He took a deep breath. “Mayhap I could find my mother if she’s alive. She was the kindest soul on earth. She’d take you in.”
My lips parted as he turned back to me.
“You’d look for your mother—for me?”
“I’d do anything for you, Caroline.”
Tears filled my eyes, but I forced them away.
I was all alone in 1727—yet for the first time in this life, I didn’t feel lonely.
Because I had Marcus.
14
JULY 9, 1927
SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA
For the second time in two days, I found myself on the electric streetcar, traveling from Minneapolis to Saint Paul. It was Saturday, which meant that Lewis was likely off duty. I had never been to his home but had found his address in Mother’s address book. He lived on Grand Avenue in the Summit Hill neighborhood, which was a fashionable part of Saint Paul full of expensive shopping and beautiful homes. Which begged the question, How did Lewis afford to live in such a nice neighborhood on a policeman’s salary?
I didn’t want to think of what he told me about the crooked policemen in Saint Paul, or where he might be getting some extra cash.
It was still early, but I could not wait to speak to him. Ever since I’d learned the news that my mother in 1727 could also be alive in 1927, I had thought of little else—except, perhaps, Marcus.
