After forty-five minutes, she bowed to indicate the end of the program. There were a few calls for more, but she smiled, touched her throat, and shook her head. The applause was long and enthusiastic, despite the fact that a few men had slipped away to return to the tables. Galen was still here. She told herself good manners made him stay till the end, but when the musicians tucked their instruments under their arms and she turned to follow them, he suddenly appeared at the edge of the stage.
“Katy, do you have a moment?”
Her knees threatened to buckle, not entirely from exhaustion. If he’d left without speaking to her, she’d have been crushed. Now that he’d spoken, she felt . . . breathless. “Aye, a moment. I doubt I’m much good for talking, though, for my throat’s parched.”
“We’ll find something to drink and a quiet place, then. I only wanted to tell you—well, two things, actually, but they can wait for tea.” He hailed a passing waiter and asked for a pot of tea and two cups. Bellfort was watching from across the room, the gleam in his eyes visible even from here. Galen glared at him. Jack nodded, crossed his arms, and watched until the waiter brought the tea, and then turned away.
Katy said, “I know a place. It’ll be quiet there. I could use a bit of quiet.” There was tension in her voice now, and a huskiness that hadn’t been there when she was singing.
Galen, carrying the tray, followed her up to the hurricane deck. He’d seen her up there a number of times, watched her at her sewing, with her glasses perched on her nose. Sometimes she brought a book and read. Once she’d obviously washed her hair, for it was hanging down her back, drying tendrils blowing in the light, warm breeze.
He’d seen her glance occasionally toward the Queen. Had she seen him looking back? Did she realize he was aware of almost every move she made? If he didn’t see her, there was always someone to keep him informed.
“Saw Miss Katy today. Her’n the girl set out toward town.”
“My, Miss Katy’s looking fine and fit. That cat of theirs got loose today and they was a-chasing it all over the docks.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he wasn’t interested. They obviously knew he was, else why the constant litany of Katy did this, and Katy said that?
He wondered if she felt as foolish as he did, sneaking looks at a woman who was sneaking looks back at him, as if they were two kids, afraid to speak what was on their minds.
“No milk. Sorry. I forgot.” He grumbled the apology.
“Never mine, it’s wet and strong, and that’s what I’m needing.”
There was only the one chair. Katy took that and poured. Galen accepted his cup, stepping back to lean against the railing. Silently, they sipped tea and looked anywhere but at each other. Katy studied the tips of her shoes in the gleam of lantern light. Galen gazed out across the river at the wavering lights reflected there. River traffic, he’d been told, had fallen off considerably after the railroad had come through, but there was still more than enough to keep a small town going.
More than enough to keep him building for years to come.
He cleared his throat. “I enjoyed your concert, Katy. I was afraid you’d be nervous, but I might have known better. You’re a seasoned trooper by now.”
She eyed him over her cup as if she didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely certain himself.
And then it was her turn to break the awkward silence. “Have you found a buyer for the Queen yet?”
Galen told himself it was no more than a polite inquiry. He’d like to think it was more than that, but then, she had her own dreams to follow. “Matter of fact, Aster mentioned being interested.” Which had to be the understatement of the year.
“Will you sell it to her?”
It wasn’t what he’d come here to talk about. “It depends,” he said enigmatically.
She nodded. “I understand she wants to do cruises.”
“Now where did you hear that?” he asked, half amused, half irritated. There were few secrets in a small town.
She shrugged, but didn’t reply. So he changed the subject. “How’s Tara? She doesn’t come to visit as much as she used to.”
“You asked her not to.”
He had. He regretted it.
“She never means to cause trouble, to be sure, but somehow, trouble has a way of following her. I thought it would be better if I kept her close.”
“Ila was asking after her this morning. Willy’s got his boys passing out all the leftover food every day. Ice is no problem now that I’ve installed a couple more ice boxes, but he claims the waterfront community expects it.”
“Oh, my.” She lifted a pair of stricken eyes, all set to apologize again when he told her it was all right, not to worry, because he’d just as soon not take any more chances.
It was her duty to worry. She started to worry about what would happen to her waterfront friends once Aster took over. They’d go hungry, most likely. Unless Katy could persuade Jack to take over.
“Katy? Why the frown? Nobody’s going to starve. One way or another, they’ll all be taken care of, I promise you.”
It was that rough note of tenderness that did her in. She could no more help turning to him than a sunflower could help turning toward the sun. “I promised I’d not mention it, but . . . have you heard of any unusual trouble on the dock lately?”
He frowned. “Unusual? In what way?”
“Oh, well . . . as to that, I couldn’t say. Fights, perhaps. Robbings. That sort of thing.”
“Robbings? None recently. There was a spot of trouble last month, but it seems to have cleared itself up. One of my dealers—you remember Charlie? it seems he and Buck were tipping off a friend outside whenever there was a big winner.”
She didn’t know Buck well, but Charlie? Sweet, pudgy Charlie with his slicked-down hair standing up like a rooster tail in the back? “Saints preserve us, they never,” Katy exclaimed.
“Afraid so. Buck’s idea. Charlie said he only wanted a stake so he could take Sal back to Ohio and buy into her uncle’s hardware business.”
“Oh, poor Charlie. I hope no one was hurt.” Katy knew good and well it wasn’t Charlie’s round face she’d seen on the wharf that night, nor Buck’s, either.
“Being coshed in the head and robbed is no picnic. We haven’t rounded up the others yet, but Buck and Charlie will serve time, which means Charlie won’t be taking Sal to Ohio to have her baby. Ila’s already making arrangements for her.”
Katy murmured something vaguely sympathetic, but her mind was busy elsewhere. “It wasn’t Charlie I saw. Are you sure there’s been nothing else?” And without waiting for a reply, she shook her head. “No, of course not. It was only a dream, I know that.”
Galen waited. When she went on staring past him that way, her eyes unfocused, he said, “What was only a dream, Katy?”
“Nothing. You know how Tara is. Let her dream of rain and she’ll be building an ark.”
“Tell me about Tara’s dream.”
“Now, why should I do that? I told you it was nothing. A nightmare. Didn’t I go up on deck myself and look to see? There was only a man standing there, not a sign of any trouble. We looked at one another, and I do believe he even nodded. And that was that. When I went back down, Tara was already asleep again, so it can’t have been all that dreadful.”
Galen didn’t know whether to swear, to shake the truth from her, or to bundle her up and get her out of town. Chances were she was right, and there’d been nothing at all out of line, but what if there was? What if she’d seen something . . . or someone . . . she had no business seeing? Just because Buck and Charlie were in jail, that didn’t mean the waterfront had been swept clean of all crime. There were at least two more men involved, and until they’d been captured, he didn’t want Katy anywhere around.
She slapped her cup back into its saucer and stood. “If you’re fixing to read me a lecture, I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself. I knew I shouldn�
��t have said anything. I promised Captain Bellfort I’d not mention it.”
“You promised what? What does Bellfort have to do with this?”
“There now, you’re going all red in the face.”
“I’m no such thing. Katy, what did you tell Bellfort? Why did he tell you not to say anything?”
“Because—well, how would I know that?”
He took a tight turn around the small enclosure, coming to a halt before her. “Listen, Katy—I want you to promise me something, will you do that?”
It was an indication of his intensity—or her need—that she nodded.
“All right now, I want you to promise me you won’t go wandering out alone. No more chasing that cat up and down the wharf, all right?”
“Oh, but you can’t think—”
“Promise me. I’ll check around and find out if there’s been any more trouble lately. I haven’t heard of any since Buck and Charlie were picked up for questioning, but that doesn’t mean it’s entirely safe.”
“You made fun of Tara’s seeing.”
“No, I didn’t—well, perhaps I did. Oh, hell, Katy, I don’t know what to think. Maybe she’s a bit more perceptive than most, but as to her dreams? No, I don’t buy it.”
“Then why must I be on guard?”
“Because—” He raked a hand through his hair. “Because the waterfront’s no place for a decent woman after dark. You need a place in town. You need a—”
“A husband? No thank you. I’ve managed quite well for twenty-two years without one. Tara and I will be just fine, and I thank you for your concern.”
She watched his brows come together, saw the lines on either side of his mouth deepen. “Then tell me this. Why did you bother to say anything at all?”
When she didn’t reply, he began to shake his head slowly from side to side. “Katy, Katy. Don’t let that foolish streak of independence lead you into trouble.”
She wanted to say, then don’t look at me the way you’re doing. Don’t speak to me with caring in your voice, for I’m not near as strong as I want to be. As I need to be.
If he’d opened his arms then, she would have fallen into them. She suspected he knew it, too. But he only cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her for the longest moment.
And then he left her there. She waited until he came out below and watched him set out down the wharf. When he swung onto the Queen’s gangplank, she was still standing there, too tired to resist the truth any longer.
Chapter Eighteen
By the first day of school, Tara was almost sick with excitement. She had spent hours before the mirror, trying on first one new dress and then another. Tying her hair back with ribbons, braiding it, and finally tugging on the wild corkscrew curls with both hands. “Why do I have to be so curly?” she wailed. “And red! It’s such an ugly color!”
“That it’s not, it’s a queen’s color. It’s the color of rubies, of—of—”
“It’s the color of winter turnips. Why couldn’t it be yellow? And, Katy, I’m getting bosoms.”
“That you’re not! Tara O’Sullivan, don’t you dare go and sprout bosoms after I’ve made you four new dresses.”
After a few tearful giggles and a last-minute search for her new pencil box, they set off to school together. It was a few blocks out of the way, which meant setting out a bit early, but it was a fine morning, and Katy didn’t mind at all.
She was keeping her fingers crossed that all would go well. Thanks to years of reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Tara’s education was far advanced in many areas, but when it came to mathematical skills, she lagged behind.
“I already have three friends in the fifth grade.”
Katy hoped it was true. She remembered from her own youth that girls on the edge of young womanhood could be somewhat unpredictable in their loyalties. Not that she’d had time at that age to worry about such things, for her mother had died the year she’d turned twelve, and after that, there were Da and Tara to look after. She’d had no time for girlish things.
Now that the summer season was nearing an end, most of Mrs. Baggot’s customers had returned from the seashore, ready to begin selecting their new fall wardrobes. Katy was called on to help out on the floor. She was excited, but determined not to show it.
“Yes, Miss Stevens, the blue is a perfect match,” she agreed serenely. “Mrs. Baggot has a wonderful eye for color.”
“No, Mrs. Baggot, I don’t mind at all staying to finish the cuffs.”
A week passed, and while she was still snubbed by the three seamstresses, who accused her of setting herself above her station—whatever that was—Katy found herself working alongside Mrs. Baggot more and more often, fitting pattern pieces to the dress forms, adjusting dress forms when one of their clients added or lost a few pounds. Even sorting the mail when it came in.
She was learning how to run a business. She couldn’t have been happier, and told herself so at least once a day.
It was Tara who noticed the man watching her in the middle of the second week of school. They walked together every morning, admiring late-blooming flowers, kicking leaves from the sidewalk. Tara had found a four-leaf clover the day before, which wasn’t at all the same as a shamrock, although here it apparently meant the same thing.
“I miss home, Katy,” she confided. “I miss all the green. Grass isn’t as pretty here. And I miss Tammy Clancy and Old Mollie’s dog, and—and everything.”
They walked and talked about home, and Katy was trying to tease her into looking forward to Halloween when Tara glanced over her shoulder and then ducked her head. “He’s there again,” she whispered.
“Who’s where again?”
“That man. Remember, I told you a few days ago I saw him looking at you? I don’t think he’s very nice, Katy. In fact, I’m sure he’s got bad things inside him.” Her eyes started to take on that glazed, faraway look, and Katy huffed a sharp breath.
“Stop it. Just stop it this minute, Tara O’Sullivan. I thought we’d decided that the sight doesn’t work on this side of the ocean. Or perhaps you’re growing out of it.”
“But, Katy, I saw—”
“No. You saw a man, that’s all. The town’s full of men.”
“But he looked at you.”
“Sure, and is that surprising? I’ve been told I’m not quite the homeliest creature of all, in spite of being old as the hills.” Katy made a comical face, and Tara giggled, and the moment was forgotten as they crossed the bridge and turned off onto the footpath leading to the schoolhouse.
All the same, at odd moments during the day Katy caught herself wondering who the man could be. He could be someone who had come to hear her sing, or perhaps even a friend of Mr. Bynum or the other old men on the wharf, who was looking for a handout.
Or the man she’d seen that night on the dock, standing there with something—a bit of string, perhaps—held in both hands.
In spite of the late-summer warmth, gooseflesh puckered the skin on her arms, and she shivered.
*
Two days later she was waiting on the corner of Main and Poindexter for the way to clear after a wagon loaded with sweet potatoes had broken a wheel and overturned just as morning traffic was at its busiest. Carts, buggies, and a few steam-powered automobiles were backed up several deep in all directions as the farmer’s sons gathered up bushels of sweet potatoes and several men struggled to shove the cart off to one side.
Katy was running late. She stepped off the curb, and then stepped back again as traffic began to move. Tucking her purse under her arm, she waited impatiently, looking in both directions for an opening.
Suddenly, something jostled her from behind. The breath knocked from her lungs, she went sprawling into the street, purse flying in one direction, hat in another.
There were screams and curses as a huge iron-clad cartwheel passed within inches of her left hand. The driver had swerved to avoid her, narrowly missing her fingers. Her poor purse had been crushed flat.
A dozen pairs of hands were there to lift her. Someone collected her ruined belongings. Everyone expressed shock and sympathy and outrage, and Katy tried to placate them all. “I’m all right,” she managed to gasp. “Please—thank you, but I’m—oh, ouch. Oh, no . . . my poor hat.”
She accepted her poor crushed straw, slapped it on top of her lopsided knot, and felt for her hatpin to anchor it. The pin was gone, the hat slid off again, but she was too busy trying to take in what had happened to notice. She murmured something about being clumsy—about tripping over her own feet, and tried to recall what had happened the instant before she fell.
Had something struck her between the shoulder blades, or had she only imagined it? Already her knees and elbows were beginning to sting. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Someone mentioned shock, and someone else placed a man’s coat around her shoulders.
“Dagnabbed motor cars,” a red-faced gentleman muttered. “Ought to be a law against ‘em.”
“It was the mule that done it, not no steam automobile. Ma’am, are you sure nothing ain’t broke?”
“Give the lady some air, if you please. Stand back, stand back.” It was one of the regulars from the Queen, the one called Old Judge Henry. She fought the urge to lean on a familiar figure.
Someone held a parasol over her, although the sun had barely cleared the horizon. A plump matron in lavender taffeta shoved a bottle of smelling salts under her nose, making her eyes water.
“Please—thank you all, but I’m late for work.” She clutched her ruined hat in one hand, her ruined purse in the other, her eyes a bit wild as she looked for an opening in the crowd.
“—lie down a spell—”
“—take you home, ma’am—”
“—ought to be a law, dagnabbit!”
Katy wanted to break through and run, to run until she could breathe freely again. She felt as if she were being smothered by kindness. She would give her soul to feel the cool damp wind off Skerrie Head blowing in her face.
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