Constance: Bride of Florida (American Mail-Order Bride 27) by Patricia Pacjac Carroll

has weathered far worse than that one.”
    “Captain Gordon, I admit I am grateful to be alive today. A wonderful feeling, don’t you think?”
    He stared at her quizzically. “Yes, yes I suppose that is a wonderful feeling. I must say, your face is glowing.”
    She smiled. She couldn’t even help it as she continued to smile broadly and unashamedly. She had truly never felt so alive. And she wanted to live. She’d beaten her demons and determined not to succumb to their taunts to end her life. No, she was alive and determined to live every moment of however long the Lord gave her.
    “I do feel as if I was given a gift of sorts last night. A gift of living and feeling and wanting to live. I’ve truly never felt that way before. … Oh, Captain. Is there something I can do to help? I saw Stubby and the bandage around his head, are there injured that I can aid in tending?”
    He drew in a deep breath. “Aye, there are a few who were hurt but not too badly, but that is not your concern. You are a guest.”
    Captain Gordon strode to the rail and spoke to a man.
    Constance turned her gaze from him and looked over the sea. In front of the ship, dolphins jumped out of the ocean as if they were playing in the dark blue waters.
    She paused and remembered Stubby had told her about the steam engines they used in case of trouble.
    A steady thrum below reassured her that they weren’t dead in the water. She drew in a breath of fresh sea air. Yes, she was alive.
    I’m coming, E. Ferris. You’d better be ready.
    ###
    Drake woke from fitful dreams of being buried alive. He threw off the blankets, happy to see the sun was now shining and the storms of last night gone. Most of them anyway. There was still Mother’s illness.
    His heartbeat rushed as he thought about her. She couldn’t die. Fear jolted him and he hurried to dress. Finished, he sped down the stairs. With a groan, he saw that as usual, he was the last one up.
    Yet, relief bolstered him, as it seemed no one acted as if a disaster had occurred in the night. He slowed and sat at the table. A plate in the center was piled high with pancakes while the smell of bacon drifted in from the kitchen.
    He was about to ask who cooked the meal when Kimberly entered the room with a plate of bacon and one of toast.
    “Here you all are. Mrs. Ferris was adamant that I prepare breakfast for her men.” She smiled at him and set the plates down.
    Father, his face drawn, nodded at her. “Won’t you join us?”
    “I’ve had mine. I was up earlier and fixed Mrs. Ferris and me a wonderful cup of tea and poached eggs. She told me she’s always loved poached eggs, but no one in her family liked them. So, I made her a treat and now, I’ll be going back to her room to watch over her. She’s really a lovely woman.”
    Drake cringed at the thought of his mother wanting something but forgoing it because of him, his father, and brothers. Yet, he knew it was mostly him. He’d rebelled at the thought of a soft egg cooked in water.
    If he’d only known, he’d have told her to make poached eggs. He glanced around the table and wondered if the others had bowed to his moody protests. He felt as if he’d awakened a different person.
    Why had he been so self-consumed all these years? Why didn’t he recognize it? And now, just what was he going to do about it? First thing he was going to do was find out what Mother wanted.
    His mind drifted back to the small grave and his heart lurched at the pain his mother must have gone through as she tended to him. She probably hadn’t had time to grieve over his brother.
    Edgar passed the plate of bacon to him. There were five left and father hadn’t had any yet. Normally, he’d have taken at least three or four and not given it a thought. Today, he forked two pieces and left the rest.
    He wondered about his father and the small infant sleeping in the cold ground bearing his name. Drake had always wondered why he hadn’t been named after Father. Early