Holding out one of the yellow sheets, she squinted against the blinding sunlight, trying to make out the small, smudged type. If her arms had been six inches longer, she’d have been able to read it, but as they weren’t, she gave up trying. Captain Bellfort had said it was for a worthy cause. As far as Katy was concerned, any cause that paid two dollars to advertise was worthy enough.
Merciful saints, but it was hot! She used a flier to fan with, and waved a greeting to the old man with the pigtail she’d met at breakfast, who was polishing a brass railing. A few minutes later she smiled cheerfully at two poorly dressed men who staggered past, feeling sorry for them, wishing she could share her good fortune with them, vowing that one of these days, she would do just that.
What a wonderful place, America. What a beautiful morning. And how friendly everyone was. The Irish, she had heard more than a few times since setting out from Galway, were not always welcome abroad. At first she hadn’t believed it, because it made no sense at all. After that, she’d been too miserable to dwell on it.
Sure, and there’d been a few snooty women on the train who had looked down their noses when Tara had pestered them with questions, but since they’d arrived in town, everyone had been kind as could be, even Galen, once he’d gotten past his surprise.
“Here, and would you have one of my papers, sir?” She beamed at a gentleman with a moustache that stretched all the way to his sideburns.
Even after Tara and that unfortunate business in the gaming room, he’d been kind. And then, last night . . .
“One of my papers, sir? And you, ma’am—will you have one, too?” Imagine being paid two whole dollars for doing no more than giving away something to anyone who wanted it. No wonder they called this the land of opportunity. At this rate, she’d soon be able to afford a cottage to live in and a room on the best street in town for her shop.
*
The oil mill wasn’t hiring. Not hiring ladies, at any rate. The cotton mill had more applicants than they had work to be done, for half the farmers had come from the country to find work in the mill. Mr. Flora’s Wholesale place at the foot of Main Street had been his last stop, but Flora already had enough clerks. Besides, he seriously doubted if Katy knew enough about buggies, building supplies, or guns to be of much use in selling them.
At this rate, he might do better to send them out into the country. Somebody had to bring in the crops, or they’d all starve. All this manufacturing might be good for the economy, but Galen was afraid it was not an unmixed blessing. Time would tell.
Meanwhile, while he was out he’d investigated a row of rental houses over on Fearing Street. They were sound enough, and not all that costly. All the same, he couldn’t see that pair living there, jammed up against neighbors on either side. He could just imagine the havoc Tara could create.
As for Katy . . .
No, it wouldn’t do. What she needed was a place in the country, where she could take her time getting used to her new life. If she insisted on staying in town, he’d simply have to find some kindhearted, respectable landlady who would take a special interest in her, and not hold it against her that she was fresh off the boat from Ireland. Prejudice was something he had trouble dealing with. It was everywhere, of course, with immigrants swarming here to take advantage of the opportunities, while those who’d arrived on an earlier boat tried their damnedest to hang on to whatever ground they’d managed to claim.
He’d sailed with men from half the countries in the world, and found none of them superior or inferior by birth, only by character.
Katy was Irish. Some people would hold it against her. Settling the pair of them wasn’t going to be quite as easy as he’d hoped. As much as he dreaded doing it, he was going to have to ask Aster’s help. She was due back today. Due back in less than an hour, as a matter of fact. He might as well swing by the depot as long as he was out in a buggy. Aster never traveled light. If he knew his business partner, she’d have brought back even more than she’d set out with.
Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to butter her up a bit. Prepare her for the sisters O’Sullivan. Aster wasn’t too fond of surprises, not unless it was something she could parlay into a winning hand in her ongoing battle against Bellfort.
Somehow, he couldn’t see either of the O’Sullivans filling that role.
Chapter Six
It was bad. Far worse than he could ever have imagined. The usual noonday mob loitered along the waterfront, for even the roustabouts took time off in the heat of the day to down a pint or two. Men off the freighters swarmed to the local taverns. Farmers in from the country hawked watermelons, corn, and fresh peaches from the backs of their carts. A wagon from Crystal Ice Company dripped its way slowly through the melee, stopping to chip off a chunk of ice here and there. Whores, looking tired and bored in the harsh light of day, mingled with the crowd in hopes of picking up a bit of business.
And there in the midst of the familiar motley crew stood Miss Katy O’Sullivan, smiling as if surrounded by a Sunday morning church congregation instead of the Saturday morning regulars, cheerfully greeting anyone who ventured in range and presenting them with one of whatever it was she was handing out.
She was attracting some curious looks, but no one refused her offering, such was the power of that guileless smile. Galen wondered if any of them would bother to read it. Or even could.
Not that it mattered. “What the devil is she up to now?” he wondered aloud.
Aster leaned forward in her seat. “Who on earth is that creature?”
“Stay here, I’ll take care of it.”
“Who is that woman? What does she think she’s doing here? She’s interfering with my business!”
Galen knew who. What he didn’t know and meant to find out was what. Not to mention why. By now Aster was standing up in the buggy, waving her arms. “Shoo! Get away from my boat! Move along, whoever you are, get out of here!”
Galen yanked on her skirt. “Sit down before you fall out, I’ll handle it.”
If he had a grain of sense he’d have bought himself a ticket on the train that had just pulled out and ridden the thing all the way to New Orleans. Maybe then he could start over without a flock of females whose sole mission was to complicate his life.
Aster leapt out of the buggy, endangering the concoction of ribbons, feathers, and cabbage roses anchored by a pair of six-inch, needle-sharp hatpins to her glossy pompadour. Tossing the reins to one of the deck boys, Galen signaled for two more to unload her considerable luggage and set it on board the Queen. Then, reluctantly, he set off after her to discover what was going on.
By the time he caught up with Aster she was standing toe to toe with Katy, demanding to know what the devil she thought she was doing, trespassing on private property to interfere with a legitimate business.
The entire Saturday morning crowd had stopped whatever they were doing to view the confrontation. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if bets were being placed on the outcome.
“Sweet Judas,” Galen muttered. “Now hold on, Aster, I said I’d handle it.”
Both women were talking, Aster’s shrill voice easily drowning out Katy’s soft brogue. “Who told you you could stand here, girl? This is my part of the wharf, I pay good money to rent it. Now, move along or I’ll have you arrested. What on earth is this drivel you’re peddling, anyway?”
“Hold on, Aster, there’s no call to—” For his troubles, he was totally ignored. “Now, listen here, the both of you—” Still ignored by both women, he shouted, “Would you two kindly shut up long enough to tell me what the devil is going on here?”
He might as well have been talking to a tree stump for all the response he drew. Utterly frustrated, he snatched one of the fliers from the stack cradled in Katy’s arm and began to read. A few lines was all it took.
“Dammit, Katy—” Yelling to make himself heard over Aster’s ongoing tirade, he shook the thing under her nose and demanded to know what she thought she was doing.
Ka
ty reared back as if he’d waved a snake at her. Leaning so close he could see her pupils widen, he shouted, “Dammit, Katy, where’d you get these things? What are you trying to do, drive me out of business?” Dropping the flier, he grabbed hold of Aster’s waving right arm before she could take a poke at something.
Or someone.
Katy tried to back away. He grabbed her with his free hand and hung on, else she’d have gone right over the edge of the wharf. And dammit—dammit all to hell, she kept blinking those big green eyes of hers, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening to her.
What the devil did she expect? Did she think he was going to thank her for warning customers away from the wickedness to be found aboard his den of depravity?
All the same, he lowered his voice. “Look, I’m sorry, Katy, I know you didn’t mean—”
Aster whirled to confront him, eyes blazing. “Katy! Katy? You know this female person?”
“It’s for a worthy cause,” Katy whispered into a sudden pool of silence. All around them, heads turned as one. Tears brimmed in Katy’s eyes, making them look like wet jade. “I’d not do anything to cause trouble, that wouldn’t, but I vowed I’d not take another penny from you.”
Aster swung around to glare at him, her beauty distorted by anger. “Money! She’s your whore? I’ll not have it! I don’t care how many women you keep in town, but I’ll not have them on my boat! Get rid of her. I don’t care what you do with her—drown her, for all I care, but you’re to get rid of her this minute, Galen McKnight, do you understand?”
He understood. So did every pair of ears between Blade’s Mill and Shell’s Shipyard. Judas priest, all he needed now was for Tara to come out, roll her eyes, and start telling fortunes. “Now, listen here to me, both of you.” He gripped Aster’s arm tightly and at the same time tried to send a silent message to Katy.
Nobody heard a word he said. He had to shout, and he was a man who never raised his voice. Coolness under fire was a large part of the image he’d worked so hard to create in an attempt to coldcock trouble before it reared its ugly head.
This time, it wasn’t working.
“Would the pair of you just shut up for a minute?”
Aster glared at him, her magnolia-pale complexion splotched with patches of red. “I’m sending for the police.”
“Now you don’t want to do that. Think about it—a herd of policemen swarming all over the old Queen would really be bad for business.” She was patting her foot. Bad sign. “Aster, it’s no crime to hand out a few fliers. It’s done all the time.”
She glared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns. “Fliers telling all about the evils of gambling? Not on my boat, it’s not!”
“Shh, easy there. I’m sure Miss O’Sullivan didn’t realize she was doing anything wrong.”
“Didn’t realize—!”
So much for coolness. “And dammit, it’s not your boat! Now, what we’re going to do is, we’re going to go up to my office and settle this thing in a calm and civilized fashion. I’m embarrassed by the two of you, causing a public scene this way.”
He managed a grim smile. Indicating with a nod of his head that the audience should go about their business, he turned toward the gangplank, then looked back to be sure the two women were following.
Aster had her arms crossed. Standing her ground, she was glaring daggers at his back. As for Katy, if he’d accused her of murder she couldn’t have looked more stricken. His first impulse was to apologize. Fortunately, common sense intervened, and before either woman could sense his momentary weakness and snatch the advantage, he grabbed them both by an elbow and marched them up the gangplank.
Yellow leaflets scattered in the breeze behind them. Aster’s crow feathers, ribbons, and cabbage roses trembled with every stiff-backed step she took. As whistles, catcalls, and a few obscene suggestions from the audience followed them aboard the Queen, Galen briefly considered shipping out to sea.
Hell, even the ice-hauler ‘s lop-eared mule was staring at them.
Not a single member of staff or crew spoke a word, but Galen was acutely aware of all the eyes following their progress. Before they made it as far as the third deck, tongues would be flapping up a breeze.
Aster was still going strong. The woman hadn’t shut up since she’d jumped out of the buggy. He cut a wary look at Katy, wishing he could see her face to better gauge what she was feeling.
God, what would she be feeling after all this? Defeat, probably. Utter humiliation. Her bowed head said it all. She looked . . .
Breakable was the best word he could come up with to describe it.
“Not now,” he snapped when Oscar poked his head out the door of the main salon. He waved off his housekeeper and hit the stairway amidship, forcing the two women ahead of him. “Pipe down, Aster. Not another word until I say so, is that clear?”
“Don’t you dare tell me—”
“Aster? Just stow it, will you?”
He yanked open the door. He seldom locked it. At the moment, the only person he might have locked it against was firmly in his grasp. Shoving the two of them inside, he slammed the door, pointed to the two straight chairs, and roared, “Sit!”
And then he expelled a heavy sigh that said it all. Why even bother? Why not simply walk away and allow them to fight it out between them?
His gaze moved to the slight figure sitting primly, her small, work-worn hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles showed white. He owed her his support.
He didn’t know why, but he knew that much. None of this business was really her fault. Someone—and he had a damned good idea who to blame—had involved her in a battle that had begun long before she’d arrived on the scene, and would be going on long after she was gone.
“All right now, one at a time. Suppose you tell me your side of the story, Katy.”
If she’d had an oar strapped to her backside, her posture couldn’t have been any more rigid. Her collar was crooked. His hand ached to reach out and straighten it, and then to lift her small chin and tell her not to look so frightened, that no one was going to hurt her.
As if she’d read his mind, she lifted her head, visibly gearing up to say her piece, when Aster jumped up and opened her mouth.
Galen cut her off mid-squawk with a single look. It was not a look he used very often. As a rule, a few well-chosen words did the trick. In the case of a drunk and disorderly crew, a few words and a night in the hoosegow worked wonders.
However, this was Aster. She was tougher than the salt horse that was standard ship’s fare. Meaner than cat-claw briars. So he gave her the full treatment.
Somewhat to his amazement, it worked. She sat down again.
“All right now, Katy, you go ahead and talk, and then I’ll say what I have to say. I believe we’ve heard all we need to hear from Miss Tyler.”
Aster sputtered, but didn’t argue. Fifty-one percent versus forty-nine. They both knew who would win if it ever came down to a battle for control.
With a quiet dignity that impressed him all the more, since he knew she was shaking in her boots, Katy explained how she had come to be handing out fliers. “For a worthy cause,” she added, “and I’m that sorry to cause trouble, but since Captain Bellfort has already paid me, I’m obligated to finish the job.”
“Over my dead body,” Aster muttered.
“Aster.” His voice was soft, but underlaid with steel. “I believe we’ve heard all we need to hear. Miss O’Sullivan meant no harm, she was only—”
“No harm!” The older woman swept Katy from head to toe with a scornful look that spoke volumes. “Didn’t you even bother to read what you were handing out, you stupid little twit? But of course you probably can’t even read, can you? It’s really no wonder so many of your kind wind up on their backs.”
Galen opened his mouth, but Katy beat him to the punch. If there’d been a jeweled crown on her head, she couldn’t have appeared any more regal. “As it happens, I can read and write well enoug
h, miss. I never meant to harm you, not a bit of it, but if the words on those fliers are true, why then, perhaps it’s your business you should be after blaming, and not the words.”
“Touché,” Galen said softly. As it happened, it was his business she was maligning, as well, but damned if he didn’t applaud her courage.
Aster sputtered a few times, then turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind her. Galen suspected he hadn’t heard the last of it, but he welcomed any reprieve, no matter how brief.
But when Katy rose to follow her, he waved her back into her chair. “Sit down, if you please. I believe we still have a few things to settle.”
She could have bitten a lemon and not have pinched her mouth any tighter. He knew what she was thinking. He couldn’t much blame her.
“Say what you have to say and be done with it, for I’ll not sit here and be insulted another moment.”
“I know you won’t, Katy. I’d never expect it of you.” He started to smile, caught himself in time, and cleared his throat instead. “Now, about what just happened—no, wait, hear me out.” He lifted a hand when she started to interrupt. “I know you didn’t mean any harm, but, Katy—”
“I never gave you leave to call me that.”
“All right then, Miss O’Sullivan. Now, about—”
“But you can if you’ve a mind to.”
Galen considered himself a reasonable man, possessed of a certain amount of intelligence. Which made it all the more unreasonable that, without even trying, this woman could shake up his world and rattle his brains until nothing made sense any longer. How in hell did she manage to affect him the way she did?
Strictly speaking, she wasn’t beautiful. Her eyes were too large and her nose too small. She had far too much hair for such a small face. As for her figure, what he could see of it under those wretched dresses she wore—according to Ila, she had three of them, each one equally dismal—it was no more than ordinary.
Beholden Page 8
