Reach for Tomorrow

by Peggy Gaddis

  “I didn’t find him like that at all, Mr. Wayne,” Claire said coolly. “As a matter of fact, I found him quite interesting. He’s writing a book, you know. I suppose all writers are a bit peculiar or they’d be living instead of writing about it, don’t you think?”

  “Matter of fact, I’m afraid I’d never given the subject much thought,” Curt answered. “We frequently carry writers on our passenger lists. Usually they’re rather run-of-the-mill human beings. Russell seems to fancy himself as a ‘character.’ That’s usually the mark of a would-be writer who just talks about writing and never does any.”

  “I thought you’d never given the matter much thought,” she mocked him with a touch of acid.

  There was a tiny silence, and then Curt said politely, “I only meant, Miss Frazier, that I hoped he wouldn’t annoy you. It’s part of my responsibility toward the passengers to see that they have a pleasant time.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they do, Mr. Wayne.”

  “It is, at least, something we all hope for.”

  “Even the captain, who hates passengers and considers them merely a necessary evil and very much wishes they weren’t necessary?”

  “Oh, you do the captain an injustice, Miss Frazier,” Curt protested lightly. “It’s just that he — well, he isn’t very sociable by nature. After forty years on a freighter, and with passengers only introduced to the line a few years ago, I suppose he feels that his responsibility is to navigate the ship, see to it the cargo reaches its destination without loss — ”

  “So he keeps you to attend to the social activities?” There was a sneer in her voice that obviously puzzled Curt.

  He stood with his back to what faint light there was so she could only guess at his expression, and when he spoke she could detect the chill in his voice.

  “I’m not sure just how to take that, Miss Frazier. You sound as though you considered me as a sort of gigolo.”

  “Oh, not at all, Mr. Wayne,” she mocked, but made no effort to put conviction into her voice. “But it really isn’t a bit important to me. I’m here on a vacation, a leisurely trip to Honolulu, and perfectly capable of entertaining myself. So please have no feeling of responsibility toward me.”

  Before he could answer that, Vera Barclay stepped out on the deck, saying gaily, “Oh, Curt dear, I’m so sorry I kept you waiting, but that poor, silly child of mine — ” She broke off as she became aware of Claire and said hastily, “Oh, it must be Claire. I saw the other women in the salon playing bridge. Don’t you play, Claire?”

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m afraid you’ll be bored.”

  “There’s no danger of that. This is my first freighter cruise, and I expect to enjoy every moment of it.” Claire spoke as much to Curt as to Vera.

  “Oh, well, it’s my first, too, and I don’t want to waste time with cards.” Vera laughed vivaciously. “Shall we go, Curt dear?”

  Curt said politely, without warmth, “Will you join us, Miss Frazier, for the traditional three times around the deck?”

  “Oh, yes, do,” said Vera as politely and with as little warmth.

  “Thanks, no. Not tonight.”

  “Well, then — ” Vera did not take the trouble even to mask her relief as she slid her hand through Curt’s arm and drew him away.

  “Good night, Miss Frazier,” said Curt over his shoulder, and Claire said, “Good night. Have fun.”

  She stood watching them as they moved away. When they passed beneath a light farther down the deck, she could see Vera clinging to his arm, her face lifted, the light bright on her ruddy-gold hair beneath the soft web of a chiffon scarf tied coquettishly beneath her chin. Curt’s handsome head was bent toward her as he listened, and their laughter flowed back to her.

  She turned and went back into the companionway. En route to her own cabin, she stopped in the salon where she had seen several shelves of books and scanned their titles to find something that would ease the hours until she could hope for sleep.

  She glanced at the card players as she passed and noticed that Major Lesley was absorbed in a poker game with a slowly accumulating stack of chips in front of him to denote his winning streak, while the stack in front of MacEwen was dwindling as he scowled at his cards.

  She found a book she had meant to read and went out of the salon and down the corridor toward her own cabin. As she passed the door of the adjoining cabin, she heard strangled sobs that stopped her for a moment. Behind that door, someone was weeping with the abandon of a heartbroken child, and without a moment’s hesitation, she knocked lightly at the door.

  The sobbing ceased on a caught breath, and momentarily there was silence in the cabin.

  “What do you want?” demanded a harsh, tear-sodden voice.

  “Is there anything wrong? Can I be of help?” For the moment Claire had forgotten she was not back in the hospital, where any sound of distress called her to instant and helpful attention.

  The door was yanked violently open and Nora stood there, her plump face raddled with tears, her eyes blazing.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?” she blazed furiously.

  “I’m sorry, but I heard you crying — ” Claire began.

  “So what?” snapped Nora belligerently, her voice wobbling slightly. “Is it against the law to cry if I want to and feel like it?”

  “Of course not,” Claire said gently. “For two cents, I’d join you and we’d both have a bang-up time weeping on each other’s shoulders.”

  “What have you got to cry about?” Nora tried to sneer, but the tears were slipping down her plump face and her mouth was tremulous.

  “You’d be surprised, Nora,” said Claire gently. “Maybe something like what you’re crying about — ”

  Nora took a backward step, and uncontrollably her free hand slid up to touch an ugly mark on her cheek, and something akin to panic showed behind the tears in her eyes.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about — ” she said, and banged the door shut in Claire’s startled face.

  Claire stood there for a moment, and then she shrugged and went on to her own door.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, my girl,” she reminded herself dryly as she made ready for bed. “You’re not in the hospital now, and any storm, strife and tears among the passengers is no affair of yours. So keep your nose out of other people’s affairs.”

  The morning dawned gloriously gold and blue, and Claire found her fellow guests already assembled at breakfast when she came in from a brief turn around the deck. All save Vera who hurried in a few minutes later, looking young and slender and lovely in powder-blue slacks, a cardigan a shade deeper in blue swung about her shoulders over a thin cashmere shirt.

  “Did anybody ever see such a glorious morning?” she caroled gaily as she slid into her seat on Curt’s left and gave him a smile as beaming as the morning. “And just imagine! I can’t get that lazy child of mine up to enjoy it. She’s such a sleepy-head. I can tell you it was a proud day for me when she graduated from high school and I was spared the terrible burden of dragging her out of bed and seeing she got off to school on time.”

  She looked about the table, inviting them all to share her mirth at the memory. But Mrs. Hennessy and Mrs. Burke exchanged meaningful glances that indicated they would have been able to cope with such a problem, and without any nonsense either.

  Major Lesley, seated beside Claire, was across the table from Vera, and covertly Vera studied him, even as she chattered gaily and intimately with Curt, until at last she leaned forward and addressed herself directly to Major Lesley.

  “I suppose it’s silly of me, Major,” her smile was almost as warm and winning as the ones she showered so freely on Curt, “but I have the craziest feeling that I’ve met you somewhere before. Have I?”

  Claire looked curiously at Major Lesley, remembering his own words about seeing Vera before. But the Major merely smiled and gave Vera his slight, old-fashioned bow. />
  “Oh, I’m sure we’ve never met before, Mrs. Barclay,” he said politely. “I’m certain I would have remembered so charming a lady.”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” purred Vera. And Claire could not be sure, but she felt that Vera was somehow relieved as she turned back to Curt and went on with her low-voiced, intimate murmuring.

  Later, as Claire paced the deck, pausing now and then at the rail to breathe deeply of the fragrant, salt-tangy morning, to revel in the blue of the cloudless, sun-drenched sky, the water that was even bluer, broken only by the thin white wash that sped back from the ship’s prow, Major Lesley spoke at her elbow.

  “Oh, hello, Major.” She was touched by his eager face that was like that of a child not too sure of its welcome. “This is a morning new-made and offered to us on a golden platter, and isn’t it glorious?”

  Major Lesley lifted his head, crowned by the incongruously sporty cap, and sniffed with childlike delight.

  “And they’re probably having a blizzard back in Chicago,” he said happily.

  “I imagine it’s pretty cold back home,” Claire agreed and could not keep back the question, “Why did you tell Vera you were sure you’d never seen her before?”

  Major Lesley gave her a swift glance and looked away.

  “Oh, I don’t think I quite said that, Miss Frazier,” he protested. “I said I was quite sure I’d never met her before. And I haven’t.”

  Claire smiled at him. “That sounds a bit cagey, Major.”

  Major Lesley answered courteously but firmly, “I’m afraid it does, Miss Frazier, but it will have to be left like that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Claire answered, feeling as if she had been smacked, very gently and very politely, but smacked just the same. “It’s none of my business, of course. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Miss Frazier. And if I were sure — ” He broke off and looked oddly uncomfortable and Claire changed the subject.

  “You seemed to be having fun last night. Did you win everybody’s money?” Her tone was light but quite friendly.

  Major Lesley chortled happily.

  “Nearly enough, I’m afraid, for the others to suspect me of being a card shark,” he boasted. “It was just beginner’s luck, a winning streak. They’ll get it all back tonight, I’m sure.”

  “Then you shouldn’t play tonight.” Claire laughed as she tucked her hand through his arm and walked with him along the deck.

  “Oh, I must.” He seemed shocked by the thought that he could avoid it. “I have to give them the chance to get their money back.”

  “And if your winning streak fails you tonight?”

  “Oh, I can only lose twenty dollars, at the worst,” he told her happily. “That’s my allowance. Once I lose twenty dollars, the game is over for me.”

  “You’re a smart man, Major!” Claire applauded him.

  “There are men who should never gamble,” Major Lesley said, so unexpectedly grim that Claire glanced at him curiously. “Men like that young MacEwen Russell, for instance. He’s got no business playing poker! He’s a very bad poker player. He loses his temper and plays recklessly, and that’s no good. You have to play as though you didn’t care whether you lost or won, as if you were playing purely for sport. He doesn’t; he played for blood! That’s why I have to play again tonight and give him a chance to win back what he lost.”

  “But how can you be sure he won’t just lose again?”

  “I can’t be.” Major Lesley was deeply distressed. “That’s just the trouble. I have to get his money back to him, and I don’t know any other way he’d accept it. Can you think of any?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t, Major, unless you just go to him frankly and offer to return it — ”

  “I did that last night,” said Major Lesley. “You see, he and I are cabin mates; I felt very badly about winning such a large sum from him, and I told him so frankly and offered to return it. He was much offended and quite abusive.”

  “Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” Claire counseled.

  “But you see, I have to worry about it, because I’m sure that he can’t afford to lose that much in a single evening with the trip just beginning.” Major Lesley’s distress was so evident that Claire found it touching. “Why, we’ve got weeks and weeks to go on the cruise, and there will be places he will want to go ashore; and unless he has a few dollars in his pocket, it could be most unpleasant for him.”

  “Well, maybe you are wrong about him, Major. Maybe he has more money than you think he has,” Claire suggested hopefully.

  Major Lesley shook his head and clutched at the incongruously sporty cap that a vagrant breeze tried to wrest from his head.

  “No, I’m sure he hasn’t,” he dismissed the thought. “I’m a very good judge of people, Miss Frazier. My profession has taught me that if nothing else. MacEwen is a young man who has had a hard blow and who is bitter against the whole world; reckless, in fact a trifle desperate — ”

  “Oh, come now, Major,” Claire tried to comfort the little man. “I talked to him at dinner last night, and he told me he had taken this trip in order to write a book.”

  “That’s all foolishness, of course,” Major Lesley brushed that aside. “Why, he hasn’t even got a typewriter with him.”

  “Oh, hasn’t he?” Claire found that as surprising as the Major did. “Then I’m sure he doesn’t plan to write one in longhand — ”

  They had been so absorbed that they had not realized MacEwen was walking behind them until he spoke, and his angry voice jerked them around to face him. He stood with his clenched fists jammed tightly into his jacket pockets, his eyes wrathful.

  “And what makes you two think I couldn’t write a book in longhand if I wanted to?” he demanded furiously. “And as for you, Major — which I very much doubt you are — you can give me back the money you won from me last night if you want to admit you were playing crooked poker.”

  Claire said spiritedly, “Oh, come now, Mr. Russell, what an outrageous thing to say.”

  MacEwen’s eyes flicked her and dismissed her and returned to Major Lesley.

  “All right, Major, do you want to admit you were cheating?” he demanded.

  Major Lesley studied him and then looked away as he fumbled in his pocket and brought out his wallet, a very handsome pigskin affair with gold edges and a monogram in gold. Anything less like the meek, shabby little man than that wallet would have been hard to visualize.

  “Why, yes, Russell, if you insist.” He thumbed some bills from the wallet and held them out hesitantly to the other man.

  “If you won the money by playing honestly, then I won’t accept it,” MacEwen Russell told him sharply. “But if you were cheating, then you can return my money and what you won from the others. And hereafter, stay the blazes away from all of us in the evening. Is that clear?”

  Claire was distressed and puzzled as she saw Major Lesley nod and MacEwen Russell’s hand shoot out and grab the money. As he thrust it into his own well-worn wallet, his eyes swept over Major Lesley, and they were bitter with contemptuous amusement.

  “I must admit, you little pipsqueak, that you’re far from being my idea of a card shark,” he growled. “But then I suppose that’s a part of your stock in trade, the thing that makes strangers willing to play with you without suspecting any crookedness.”

  Major Lesley peered at him short-sightedly behind his spectacles, and there was no expression whatever on his face.

  “Why, yes, I suppose you might call it that,” he agreed meekly.

  MacEwen glared at him and then at Claire.

  “Nice company you keep, Miss Frazier,” he drawled, and strode off down the deck.

  Claire watched him go, and then she turned to Major Lesley accusingly.

  “Major, you know that’s not true! Why did you lie to him and let him believe you played crooked poker?” she demanded sharply.

  Major Lesley peered up at her
, and there was a childish happiness in his eyes that was reflected in his voice when he said, “You don’t believe I’m a card shark, Miss Frazier?”

  “Well, of course not!”

  Major Lesley beamed happily.

  “Why, that’s very kind of you, my dear. Very kind indeed. I’m most grateful!” he told her eagerly.

  Chapter Seven

  In mid-afternoon Claire discovered deck chairs tucked into a sheltered corner near the stern, and here she tucked herself in for an hour or so with a book. But she was half-asleep and the book lay neglected in her lap when she heard a footfall and then a small, startled gasp and looked up to see Nora standing there, looking down at her with obvious distaste.

  The girl wore a scarf tied over her head, and a thin wool sweater, a brief skirt of denim, and knee-length stockings of white cotton. She looked awkward and plump and as nearly homely as a young girl can look. The ugly bruise on her cheek had been carefully covered with powder and make-up, but to Claire’s experienced eyes it was still apparent.

  The girl turned to go away, and Claire said curtly, “Oh, why don’t you sit down, Nora? There are chairs for half a dozen of us. And I don’t bite, I promise.”

  “No,” said Nora nastily, “you just go around asking snoopy questions.”

  “Not any more,” Claire drawled. “Whatever happens to you, and whatever you do or don’t do, is no affair of mine. I couldn’t care less. If you want to sit down, that’s fine and dandy. If you don’t — well, that’s your business. But don’t think I’m going to retire humbly and leave you here all by yourself.”

  Nora hesitated, and then she dropped, like a bundle of wet wash, into a chair as far from Claire’s as possible and stared straight ahead. Claire went back to her book, and silence settled between them.

  Once or twice she glanced covertly at the girl, who sat with her head against the back rest of the chair, her eyes on the white wake of water left behind by the ship’s progress.

  At last Nora pulled herself erect and glared at Claire.