by Jill Barnett
As Hallie pushed hard on the heavy oak door, the swollen doorframe protested, emitting a deep sound like a groan.
I’ve got to get Da to fix that.
Then she remembered.
She untied her bonnet and hung it on a hook near the door. Unbuttoning her short cape, she flung it in the vicinity of an old corner chair and missed. She bent to pick up the cape and spotted a small, milky-colored object. It was a scrimshaw lion.
Hallie put the cape on the chair and looked at the whalebone animal. It was one of a pair that went with the toy ark. Each stroke of her father’s carving knife had carefully detailed a feature of the lion. Two little nicks in the nose were nostrils, curved slashes formed the slanted eyes, and wide, deep, liquid strokes formed the animal’s flowing mane. It must have taken her father hours to carve it.
After every voyage he would bring the twins another set of animals, one male and one female. His homecomings always seemed a bit like Christmas, what with the whole family together laughing, opening gifts, and listening to Da’s stories of the sea. Her fingers closed tightly around the lion and she sat there.
The sound of voices from the front parlor reminded her that the Treadwells were still there. Hallie put the lion in her dress pocket and went to join the others.
Not more than fifteen minutes later Hallie was sorry she wasn’t the fainting type. If she had to listen to Agnes Treadwell’s profusions of sympathy and advice for one more minute, she would scream. Dagny had gone to the kitchen to make some more tea, and judging by the amount of time she’d been gone, Hallie expected they’d have enough tea to flood the British parliament. A yawning Liv sat on a chair behind the woman, and every time Hallie looked at her youngest sister, she had to stifle her own yawning reflex.
Agnes paused and looked across the room where the twins were showing her husband their ark. “You know, my dear, Pastor Treadwell and I will be happy to have the young ones, and little Liv, spend some time with us. They’re such fine children, especially Liv.” She turned and smiled at the young girl, who had just finished her latest yawn. “She’s so well-behaved. We would just love to have them come for a nice long visit.”
Liv began to crack her knuckles, loudly.
Agnes looked around. “What is that sound?”
Hallie tried to get Liv’s attention, but Liv ignored her and started cracking her left hand, Hallie tried to cover the obnoxious sound by answering in a loud voice, “What sound? I don’t hear anything. Do you, Liv?” She narrowed her eyes at Liv in an unspoken warning.
Liv stopped. But when she began to purposely swallow big gulps of air, an act Hallie knew Liv would do just to make herself burp, Hallie stood up and walked to her sister. She pulled her out of the chair. “Liv, please go see what’s keeping Duggie. Now.” Hallie pushed Liv from the room. Just as she started to sit down again, a huge belch echoed from the hall.
I’ll kill her!
Agnes Treadwell looked shocked. “Now, Hallie, don’t tell me you didn’t hear that! What on earth was it?”
“Oh that. Uh . . . sometimes . . . the water pump sticks and . . . and the air makes that horrid sound when it escapes the pipe.”
“My, but that is horrid.”
“I can’t imagine what’s keeping Dagny.” Hallie stood up. “I think I’ll go see.”
The pastor stopped her. “That’s not necessary, my dear. We must be going. I’ve got to write tomorrow’s sermon. Hallie, you and the children should get some rest.”
He turned and helped Agnes up. Hallie walked them to the door. “I’m sorry about that tea. It shouldn’t have taken Dagny so long. I should have gotten it myself. Duggie’s been hit hard by this.”
“Don’t apologize. This is a terrible thing for all of you. Just remember that if you need anything, come to us.” They gave Hallie’s hand a pat of reassurance and walked the short, foggy distance to their carriage.
Hallie closed the door and headed for the kitchen . . . and her sisters. As she passed the parlor, she poked her head in to check on the twins, but the room was empty. She pushed open the kitchen door and there they sat: Duggie, with Gunnar on her lap; Lee Prescott, holding Knut in his; Kit Howland, with that obnoxious pipe crammed between his teeth; and Liv, reenacting her deafening burp.
Their laughter stopped when they saw Hallie. No one said a word. They looked at her, and at that moment she felt more alone than ever.
Chapter Nine
“Don’t let me interrupt your performance, Liv.” Hallie waved her hand dramatically. “Please, go on. Show us how well-behaved you are.”
Liv plopped into her chair and stared at her lap.
Hallie walked over to the stove and lifted the cold, empty pot used to heat extra water. She made a point of looking inside it and then stared right at Dagny, who was nervously biting her lower lip. Hallie held the copper pot in two fingers, as if it were a dead rat, and then she let go.
The metal crashed and bounced noisily on the stovetop. Hallie gained as much satisfaction from the loud racket as she did from watching Dagny cringe. The tea tray and pot were sitting abandoned on the sideboard. Hallie crossed the room and picked up the pot. She tilted it over a delicate china teacup. Nothing came out, so she held the lid tight and shook the pot. A few drops fell into the empty cup. Setting the pot down, she picked up the cup and served it to Dagny. “I think it’s a little weak.” The cup clattered on the tabletop. Hallie spun around, but Kit grabbed her arm.
“Don’t blame your sister, Hallie, it’s not her fault. Lee and I came in the back way on purpose, and we kept Dagny so busy, she forgot to make the tea.”
He had that stupid pipe still stuck in his mouth and she could barely understand his garbled excuse. Her angry eyes met his. “Let . . . go . . . of . . . me.”
His hand remained. Her laugh was forced, its pitch high, almost hysterical. “You called me pigheaded?”
Kit pulled his hand away, but the pipe remained in his bite. “Now easy, girl—”
“Now easy, girl?” she repeated. “You sound like you’re talking to your horse! I am not a horse! I’m a woman, with feelings and a brain. I’m not some silly piece of flesh and blood put on this earth for you to laugh at!” She moved her face right in front of Kit’s. “And take that confounded pipe out of your mouth so I can understand you!”
She paced back and forth in front of the stunned and subdued group. A moment later she spun around right in front of Kit. “On second thought, leave it in your mouth because I don’t care to hear anything you have to say. And you.” She pointed an accusing finger at Liv. “If you ever do something as rude as that again, I will send you to Agnes Treadwell’s for a month!”
She turned and looked at each and every one of them, and she could feel her tears. “I can hurt just like all of you!” Hallie threw her hands into the air. “I loved Da with all my heart. I worried about each and every one of your ungrateful little hides. I worry about how we’re going to live, whether I could raise you right and give you the things Da and Mama would have. I love you, but right now I don’t like you very much!”
Hallie shook so hard that her vision blurred. Tears streamed, unchecked, down her burning cheeks. She swiped at them with a fist and then held it out in front of her. “See these? They’re tears, real tears. And you know why I’m crying? Because I think you’re selfish, an-and m-mean, and right here and now, I don’t want to be in the same room with any of you!”
She ran through a doorway into the back bedroom. Leaning against the door, she bolted the lock and threw herself on her father’s bed. Hallie laid there, hurt, drained, and tearful. And nothing, not yelling, not crying, not shaking, could stop that helpless, crushing ache that overcame her.
The room was narrow and dominated by a large walnut bed. Carved across the headboard was an arched design that looked like a crown of wooden swirls. It had reminded its owner of t
he eddying waves of the sea. A ribbed coverlet of deep maroon velveteen was spread atop the bed, and on it laid the owner’s eldest daughter, curled in exhausted sleep.
The intense glow of the afternoon sun glared through the bare west window, and Hallie opened her puffy eyes. She blinked at the brightness, seeing that the fog had finally melted away. Turning over on her back, she rubbed at her scratchy lids and wondered how long she had slept. She sat up, remembering how she’s acted and felt awful.
To lose control like that wasn’t something she was proud of. She sure hadn’t set much of an example, screaming and hollering like she had. And the twins. Those little boys were probably scared to death. They wouldn’t understand. She was the one who had acted selfish.
Thoroughly ashamed of herself, she got up and walked to the door, cupping her hand to better hear the quiet voices. There were no familiar kitchen sounds. She paced nervously for a moment and then paused. Maybe they were waiting for her before they fixed supper. She started to unbolt the door but stopped. She wasn’t ready to face them.
Hallie walked to the walnut highboy and rested her elbows on its top. She looked into the oval mirror. Her reflection showed the ravages of her fit. Hanging down over her chest was one loose, blond braid. Bent hairpins stuck out at odd angles from the tangled plaiting. She pulled out the pins and wound the braid back into a looped bun. Leaning a bit closer, she squinted, hoping she’d look less ravaged.
She didn’t. In fact, she looked . . . piglike. Her eyelids were swollen, like boiled peaches, and they made her wide gray eyes appear half their normal size. Pig eyes, she thought. Rubbing her fingers over her dry lips, she could feel the ribboned cracks in them. Her cheeks were sleep-puffy, and the skin on one side of her face bore red creases from the corded pillow.
Pig eyes, she thought, pig face . . . She placed her finger on the tip of her nose and she pushed upward, so her nostrils came into full view. She resisted the urge to snort. Add a few hairs to your chin and they could pickle your feet.
The nearby pitcher and bowl was dull, from sitting unused for so many months, and a film blurred its intricate bird and floral design. No water to wash her ravaged face. The pitcher would be as dry as her lips. Da hadn’t slept in this room for months.
Her gaze returned to the mirror. Maybe if she waited a few more minutes, she’d look less porcine. She drifted around the room, here and there, touching small remembrances of her father.
Sitting atop a corner bureau was an old gimcrackery box, its varnished finish faded orange with age. Hallie lifted the lid and rummaged through the contents. She held her father’s shirt studs, his broken watch and fobs, a key and a ring. Removing the wooden tray, Hallie looked in the bottom compartment. The miniatures were gone—Da always took them with him—but the daguerreotype of the Sea Haven lay brown against the muted velvet lining.
Her father had loved that ship. The whaler had been more than the means by which he supported his family. It had been his spirit. One of her earliest memories was aboard the Sea Haven as a five-year-old when her father spent hours showing her each facet of the whale bark. From the depths of the vessel’s immaculate hold to the sparkling brass of the ship’s bell, young Captain Fredriksen had lovingly introduced his firstborn—the child of his heart—to the ship of his soul.
Replacing the tray, Hallie closed the lid. She walked to the door and slid the bolt. With a deep breath, she left the room.
The kitchen was empty but the back door stood wide open. Hallie walked onto the small wooden porch and looked down in the small plot of yard. Nobody was there either. As she turned to go inside, she spied Liv, sitting on the bottom step.
She walked down the stairs and stood next to her sister, who was bent over her slate. “Can I sit down?”
The chalk paused but Liv didn’t look up. “I suppose.” She scooted over, making room for Hallie.
Hallie sat down. “What’re you doing, sweatpea?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Jus’ ‘cause.”
Hallie nodded as if she understood exactly why. “Did I embarrass you earlier?”
Liv shook her head.
“Even when I yelled at you in front of everyone?”
“Nope.”
“If I did, I’m sorry.”
With chalk in hand, Liv began to add numbers on the slate.
Hallie sighed. “Where is everyone?”
“When the sun came out, Gunnar and Knut started pestering the men for a horseback ride.”
“Where’s Duggie?”
“She went too.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“Didn’t want to.”
“I see.” Hallie looked around, hoping for some help from somewhere. None came. “Why didn’t you want to go? You like horses.”
Liv shrugged.
Hallie peered at the slate. “That’s very good, Liv.” She reached for the slate. “Here, let me write some numbers and you can add them up. Like we used to do.”
As she began to write, Liv stood up. “I don’t feel like it. I’m going upstairs. I’m tired.”
“But Liv—”
It was too late. She had run up the stairs and closed the door before Hallie could stand up.
She felt like a failure. Look what she’d done. How was she going to care for the bunch of them?
Oh Da, I’m not doing very well.
She looked down at Liv’s slate, abandoned in her lap, and those stupid tears clogged up her throat. She was going to cry again. Crossing her arms on her bent knees, she laid her forehead on her arms and let go.
Kit found her later, hunched on the back step, sobbing and defeated.
“Hallie?”
“Oh God, not you,” she wailed.
He just stood there, grounded by the wealth of emotions running through him. Lee was right. Hallie had been ready to crack. His stomach turned with each whimper and choke she made. He couldn’t stand it. Grabbing her elbows, he pulled her into his arms and held her head against his chest, trying to absorb some of her pain. “I’m sorry, Hallie-girl, so, so sorry.”
She started to pull back, but he held her fast. “Get it out. Cry all that hurt out. I’m here, let me hold you. Let me help you.” He patted her shuddering back gently.
A mishmash of words rumbled against his shirt front, and he bent his head to hear her better. “I didn’t hear you, sweet.”
“H-how can y-you help me? Nobody c-can help me!”
Kit rubbed his hand over her back to try to quiet her.
“Liv hates me!”
“That’s not true. After you ran out, she kept eyeing the door. She looked about as worried as a guilty nine-year-old could. And Dagny didn’t feel much better. Lee and I took the twins for a ride to give you some time alone.”
“You d-did?” Hallie sniffed.
“Sure we did. Hallie, you can’t be everything to everyone. Not when you’re hurting too.” His hand smoothed the loose tendrils of hair off her neck. With each stroke, he could feel her shudders weaken. “You know, Dagny went along, but Liv wouldn’t leave.”
“She wouldn’t?”
“No.” He marveled at the delicate texture of her skin.
Hallie sighed, defeated. “She was too embarrassed to go.”
“I think she was afraid to leave you all alone. She didn’t act ashamed; she looked concerned, about you. Although from what I’ve seen of her, I doubt she’d be one to admit it.” Kit spoke spontaneously, truthfully, and he was only half aware of what he said. His mind couldn’t think clearly when his immediate existence rested solely on his sense of touch.
“You really think so?”
“Um-hm.” His hand slid down her long spine, slowly, and then moved across her waist to travel up again, along the back of each ri
b. She twitched slightly when his fingertips brushed the sensitive juncture of her arm, and he moved his hand back to safer territory. With small circular motions he rubbed his palm against her shoulder blade, imagining that his hand was filled with the soft fullness of her breast.
Kit and Hallie were silent, wrapped in a cocoon of sounds: the rustle of her dress fabric as his hand played across it, and her soft, slow, wistful breath.
“I’m scared,” Hallie whispered.
Those two words, so helpless and pleading, ruined him.
“I’ll take care of you, sweet. Don’t be scared, let me help you.” He tipped her melancholy face up toward his. “Let me worry for you, let me . . .” Her breath, warm and sweet, grazed his chin, stroking his lip and chilling his spine. “Let me . . . kiss you.”
Hallie felt his lips, warm and dry, as they gently swept hers. His hand surrounded the back of her bare neck, and his thumbnail etched a sensual pattern on the tactile skin beneath her ear. She opened her lips, freely, remembering the kiss from before and dying to feel the luscious friction of his tongue searching her mouth. He licked the edge of her teeth, teasing at the entrance to her mouth, but his arm pulled her hard against his chest, as if he was compelled even closer.
Still his tongue teased. So she stretched on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck, instinctively pressing her lips harder against his, hinting of her need.
He took the hint. The shock of his hand closing over her breast caused her to suck in air, and at the same instant she received the full force of his tongue, thrusting into the yearning hollows of her mouth.
She was trapped by her need, and once again she swirled under the spell of his intimate kiss—and a new compulsion, the intense desire to be held in the palm of his hand. That magic hand; it kneaded, while the touch of his tongue melting her clear to the root of her womanhood.
Low, she tingled, itching with a natural need she had yet to know. Unconsciously, her hips rotated forward. As if in answer, Kit’s hands cupped her bottom and lifted her higher. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding tight while her feet dangled free.
