My heart filled with affection for Lewis, and in that moment, I wished I could give him what he wanted. But affection wasn’t romance, and it wouldn’t be fair to either one of us if I tried.
We continued to move through the maze of gardens inside the conservatory. It was a large structure with a beautiful man-made pond running down the middle of it. Lily pads sat atop the water, and a statue stood at the end.
Every time I exclaimed about a new flower, Lewis was there to appreciate it with me, though he seemed much more interested in me than the plants. And when our hands brushed together as we walked along the narrow path, he took my hand in his.
He led me to a bench near the pond, and said, “Do you want to sit? I have something to tell you.”
My pulse ticked up a notch, hoping this was about Annie.
I took a seat, and he sat beside me, closer than necessary. I took my hand out of his, but our shoulders pressed against each other as we looked at the pond. Perhaps it was safer to touch him than to look into his gaze.
“There’s been another report about Annie Barker,” he said. “This time, she was in Dexter, Iowa, about thirty miles west of Des Moines. She and Lloyd robbed a bank there with the help of Lloyd’s brother and sister-in-law.”
“When?”
“This past Monday.”
“So, they could be on their way to Saint Paul now?”
“They don’t tend to move fast, if their history can be trusted. They usually camp out for a few days between robberies and laylow until the law isn’t actively on the lookout for them—or unless they’ve been located. On some occasions, their campfire is still burning when the law enforcement agents arrive.”
I was both excited and terrified to speak to Annie. If she was as ruthless and coldhearted as she sounded, could I even get close enough to let her know who I was before she opened fire?
“I’m sorry that I don’t have more information,” he said. “But it does appear that she’s getting closer.”
I nibbled my bottom lip, wishing I could go to her—but it would be impossible. I wouldn’t know where to even look, and I could never leave my parents long enough to make a trip to Iowa. The best plan was to wait until she came to Saint Paul, where she’d have to check in with the police and let them know she was in town. Then Lewis would tell me.
“Thank you,” I said, my heart warming for this man who had agreed to help me.
“Well,” he asked after a few seconds of silence, “does this feel like a date to you?”
My heart and mind were so confused, I wasn’t sure how to answer. What I felt for Lewis was warm and comforting and sincere—but it didn’t feel romantic. It didn’t feel exciting or daring or thrilling like my feelings for Marcus. I loved having Lewis’s company, but I didn’t tingle at his touch—not like I did at Marcus’s.
Tears gathered in my eyes because I knew I would hurt him. “I’m sorry, Lewis.”
There was silence between us again, and then he kissed the top of my head before he said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
19
AUGUST 13, 1727
FLORIDA COAST
I had a lot of time to think about Lewis and our visit to Como Park as I stayed in Marcus’s cabin the next week. My energy had returned, though my joints were still stiff and painful first thing in the morning. As I moved around the cabin, stretching and cleaning, the pain began to ease. Dr. Hartville visited me daily and reassured me that my body would heal with time if I continued to rest when needed. I had already made so much progress, it was easy to believe him.
My days were pleasant as I sat near the windows and watched the dolphins play in the lagoon and birds flutter about the barrier island. This was what my heart longed for—the simplicity of life. No radio broadcasts, no pressure to sing and perform, and no unrealistic expectations. The only secret I had to keep here was my gender, and in the cabin, with no one watching, I didn’t even have to worry about that. I could be myself completely.
The captain had ordered three of his smallest crew members to work on recovery efforts. These men were bringing up handfuls of coins on each dive, and none of them had suffered from diving sickness like I had.
As I sat in Marcus’s cabin, the sun had already set, but the lamp offered enough light for me to see the book in my lap.
It was Marcus’s Bible. I had pulled it off the shelf today, curious about his family. After reading through the names and the dates, I began to thumb through the thin pages and found myself lost in the book of John. I had always loved the way John saw his relationship with Jesus, as the one whom Jesus loved. Perhaps it was because I had not felt that same love, had instead felt that I could not draw close to God because of this burden I carried from birth. I longed to see myself as John saw himself.
Lyrics from “Amazing Grace” filled my mind and heart, and I began to hum the song. Here, in the quiet, simple cabin, the words were the same, but the meaning had more impact. I wasn’t singing for a crowd of a thousand. I was singing for an Audience of One.
A noise at the door brought my head up. My heart sped when Marcus entered. His arms were laden with plates of food, and when he saw me, he smiled.
“I’ve missed the sound of your song,” he said. “’Tis good to hear it again.”
