by Sarita Leone
He met the other man’s gaze and saw empathy in his eyes. Again, it made it hard for him to speak, being showered with kindheartedness the likes of which he’d never even known existed.
As if Smith realized the emotion of the moment, he waved a hand toward the work behind him. “Off with you, now. I can’t be having that captain coming back and his piece still needing attention. Why don’t you go to Quinn Beach? A walk on the sand never did a man any harm.”
“Good idea.”
He hadn’t taken two steps down the street when Smith called out to him. “Henry—who knows? Maybe you will find a mermaid on the sand, eh?”
A shake of his head and a quick wave behind him was the only reply he could give. God knew, he had no need of a mermaid. His heart was already claimed by the woman he’d met the first hour he’d been in Lobster Cove. Mary, the love of his wretched life who even now fought for her own sweet life.
He’d gladly trade his life for hers, if it were possible. Gladly.
****
The dream did not feel like a dream. Mary knew it must be one, but it felt so real she could not imagine her sleeping mind could produce such vivid images. It never had before, not once in her life, but now…there was no doubt. Everything looked as real as if she were wide awake.
But she could not be.
Father. He was dead, wasn’t he?
But here, wherever here was, he stood. Smiling. Looking strong and healthy, the way he had been before he took ill. Before the long, slow decline which left him gasping for breath. Before…
“My girl, you are here too soon.” His voice, so firm and friendly. Loving.
She reached for him, but her hand stopped short of where he stood. When she tried to take a step forward, pain shot up her leg. It was so intense her knees nearly buckled.
“Oh!” She did not mean to cry out, but the sound left her lips borne on a startled gasp.
“I know, dear. I know…you still feel pain, and that is good.”
“Feeling pain is good? Oh, Father, it troubles me so.” She looked around. They stood in a circle of light, but when she peered upward she did not find the sun. And when she tried to look past the light, she could not see a thing. “What is going on?”
The deep chuckle she remembered so well, a sound that took her back to childhood days spent in the great man’s company. He had always been a tender man, eager to teach his children with his words rather than reprimand them with his hands. Mary had never once felt anything but compassion from her father. And now, the same.
“My sweet girl, you are here before your time. You must go back.”
“Where is here?” Again, she tried to look around but could see nothing beyond the ring of light. And, she saw the circle grew smaller. Panic rose within her. She met her father’s gaze. “Please? Where is here?”
“You know where I am.”
“This cannot be real. This cannot be…”
Time grew short. She felt that, although she did not know how she felt it.
“Father? What is the pain? Not only in my heart, but everywhere?”
“Your heart will mend. Your body will mend. And you will open that heart to someone who deserves that blessing. But you must go back, Mary.”
She looked down, but could not see her feet. Her vision blurred, so she raised her gaze to look once more on the man she loved.
“I miss you. I-I—oh, I cannot—” Her voice caught. She covered her mouth with a hand, holding back the scream that wanted to tear itself from her throat. There was so much pain, it made her focus shift. First clear, then blurred, then clear.
“I know you miss me. But you can, and you will, do whatever you need to do.” He spread his arms wide, the way he had when she was a little girl racing to be hugged. “I am not gone, my girl. I will always be with you—but not here. Not yet. You must go back.”
“I don’t want to go!” The light dimmed as pain sliced her body. Every breath grew more difficult. Her head warmed, so hot she felt ablaze. “No! Please—don’t make me go!”
“The harder path is often the one we need to take. Tell your mother I am fine, and it is beautiful here.” His arms dropped, and he grew distant. His voice was barely more than a whisper now, and she strained to hear his words. “I will see you all again, Mary. In time…again…”
Chapter 14
Henry’s back no longer felt as if it were aflame. The intense pain had dulled, become a constant itch that taught him how a blanket spread over an ant hill must feel. But the ant-hill itch was far preferable to the burning, so he did not mind. And, there had been no festering, so unless something went terribly wrong, Doctor Jameson assured him he would recover.
There would be scars. Many ugly scars.
Those he did not fear. His heart and mind had been abused his whole life, and they had somehow managed to heal. However his back looked when it was restored was fine by him. Better, perhaps, to have scars that were discernible to the eye than those he carried, the kind that took forever to heal because they covered wounds buried deep. Not detected by any man’s gaze, but there, nonetheless.
The blacksmith insisted he was still not fit for work. Every day for the past four days, Henry appeared early in the shop, and each one had been shooed away. Lily had taken to preparing food for him to carry in his pockets. Bits of bread and cheese, mostly. She insisted walking the village or the shoreline was what he needed, and would not listen to his claim that he was fine.
So, he walked the shore. Hours on the boulders where he met Mary softened the hurt within him while giving his injuries a chance to mend. Sometimes, he dozed, listening to the water kiss the sand. Soft, gentle slaps, peppered with birdsong, wrapped in the sun’s warmth. Idyllic.
He could not fathom how a man went to sea, leaving home and family behind. Trading water beneath one’s feet for the feel of sand or grass between the toes. It made no sense to him…but then, it never had. Seafaring man—pirate or honest mariner—was not something he aspired to be.
All he really wanted was to put down roots. Feel as if he belonged somewhere. Wipe the stain of his heritage from his life.
Lobster Cove was the only place he’d ever felt welcome. And, he wanted to stay.
But staying while deceiving those who had been so benevolent to him? It was just a continuation of the horrible life he’d led up to this point. No, if he wanted to stay—and he did, very much—he would have to be honest. And that, revealing the nature of what brought him to the cove, was not going to be easy.
It could get him chased out of town. It could get him hurt.
So he did not think about it.
His body recovered. His mind and heart healed. He spent hours on Quinn Beach, wondering who Quinn was—and how the man was fortunate enough to have a whole beach named for him.
When he tired of resting, he ambled along every wide, dirt lane in the village, looking at the houses and gardens. Imagined owning one of those houses, tending a garden, being part of village life.
Every day, he paused outside Mary Sweet’s house. Standing in the shade of a spreading, low-limbed maple across the lane he wondered what was going on within its walls.
The house was one of the few three-storey homes he had ever seen. Its third floor did not appear spacious, with horizontal panes of glass placed directly beneath the eaves, but he imagined the view from those windows must be spectacular. Perhaps it was possible to see all the way to the ocean from those windows.
His room above the blacksmith shop was the finest accommodations he had ever had. Four walls. A real bed. A window. Somewhere to lay his head without worrying his noggin might be kicked in before morning. He felt like a king staying above the forge.
Like the days before, Henry sat with his back against the tree. It hurt, but if he didn’t lean too hard against the bark it was tolerable.
Hunger drove him to pull the chunk of bread from his pocket. Wrapped in a muslin square, it warmed his insides even before he took a bite. Lily Smith cared enough about
him to slice the bread, slather it with jam, and wrap it for him—that was a miracle, and as it had every day since she’d done so, it touched his heart.
“Damn, but I’ve got to gain control over myself.” He muttered the words, as much to the bread as himself. Then he remembered how Mary had addressed the carrots in the garden, and smiled. Perhaps it was the salt air that made talking with objects so easy. Who could tell?
“Does your bread answer back?”
Joseph stood nearby, a smile on his face.
“I asked your sister that question—but it was about carrots—just last week. The day your mother invited me to dinner.” He wrapped the bread, stuck it back in his pocket, and slowly stood. Movement was not graceful at this point but he did it without making a fool of himself.
“I heard about what happened at the smithy.” The other man wrinkled his brow. “Sounds horrible. Are you recovering?”
“I am. Thankfully.”
“Good. Doctor Jameson said you were burnt across your back. I am surprised you move as smoothly as you do. If I were in your place, I believe I would be in bed, not moving at all.”
“Too much time to think, lying in bed. Up and about…well, it gives me something to do, even if it is only to walk from place to place, contemplate the trees and birds, and pass the time. Occupies a man’s mind, looking about at the world.”
“Ah, I understand.” A bundle was tucked beneath Joseph’s arm. He placed his free hand on it, then looked over at the house. “I promised to return with this without delay, so I must be getting in…”
“I won’t keep you, then. I will…well, I will just sit a while longer. Eat my bread. Rest a bit, if no one minds.” He would have bent his knees to sit but Joseph’s words stopped him.
“Of course no one minds, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable in our back garden?”
“Your garden?”
“We have that big old oak back there. Gives a good bit of shade in the afternoon. Mary favors sitting beneath it, now that she is able. I am sure she would enjoy a visitor.”
He could hardly believe his good fortune. Mary—up and about—and he was going to see her! Had he not been recovering from the accident, he would have jumped for joy.
Joy. An emotion he had heard of, but never experienced. Until now.
Chapter 15
The sight of her did more for Henry than the doctor’s salves ever could. She was lovely, seated in a low chair beneath the oak tree. Her head was uncovered, and her hair shone as if it had been brushed a thousand strokes. She wore a yellow dress and had a white shawl draped across her shoulders. It was a change from the drabber colors he had seen on her before.
Her leg was propped on another chair, with a faded patchwork quilt covering her lap and foot. She smiled when she saw him, and he had all he could do to not make a fool of himself by running to her.
Joseph leaned down and gave his sister a tender touch on her shoulder. He straightened her shawl where it lay, pulling it closer around her body.
“How do you feel? Are you cold?”
She waved him away, giving a playful tap on his arm. “Oh, don’t fuss so. You take on like a mother hen over one of her brood. I am not a chick, and I am fine.” She looked up at him with an adoring smile. “I am lucky to have a brother who cares the way you do. Thank you, but I am fine.”
“I am glad. And, you are not a chick, but our busy bee. We need you here at the hive, so it’s only natural we want you to get well soon.” He turned, motioning Henry closer. “Look who I found in the lane. I thought you might want a visitor.”
When Joseph took a step back, Henry came forward and stood beside her. While he did not reach down, the way her brother had, he still could not resist placing a hand on the arm of her chair.
“Mister Titchell—why, how nice to see you.” She spoke softly, so he bent slightly at the waist. He hated himself, but he grimaced when he did. The bandage moved and chafed his back. “Why, whatever is wrong? Are you unwell?”
He straightened, just as Joseph grabbed a chair that had been nearby and put it beside his sister’s seat. “Please, sit down. That back has got to be paining you.”
Folding his legs, he sat. Relief made him sigh. The chair was not padded, the way Mary’s was, but there was a cushion between his back and the back of the chair, and it was good enough.
“What is wrong with your back? Henry?”
Henry. She used his name, and so freely it sounded like a caress. Something deep inside him lurched, something almost primal. Need, perhaps. He did not know. Could not know, since no woman had ever made the center of him jump the way she did.
Mary sat forward, reaching a hand toward him. Twin blooms of color, high on her cheeks, made her even more beautiful but he could not stand to see her alarmed, so he put his hand over hers and guided her fingers to the arm of her chair. He patted her fingertips twice, then removed his hand.
He did not want to take his hand away, and rest it on his knee, but he had no choice. They were not married, nor even promised to each other. It was not right that he held her so intimately.
“I will tell Mother I am home. And, I have come from the doctor’s house. He has sent some more tea so I will give it to Molly. I am sure she will be out presently with a fresh pot.” Her brother smiled and met his gaze. “And for you, as well. I don’t doubt it will restore you to health the way it has done our Mary.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble—”
“Nonsense! You are no trouble at all. Is he, Joseph?” She did not take her gaze from his, and he smiled when she spoke. Lord, but the woman was easy on his heart. He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes glistened. Really shimmered.
“None. I will go inside, and Molly will be along. I see you’re in good hands…”
He did not watch her brother leave. And she did not look that way, either. They stared for a long, silent moment. Around them, birds chirped. Bees buzzed on the lilacs near the fence a short distance from where they sat. Those flowers filled the air with sweet perfume, yet they did not glance up, down, right or left.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. There was such a pull, such a tug from her eyes into his heart and soul, that he was certain he would lean forward and kiss her if he did not move away. So, he reluctantly sat back.
Mary smoothed her hair, although it was perfect. She licked her lips, her small pink tongue trailing a rabbit-fast path across first her upper lip, then her lower. He watched, fascinated. When she inhaled, and her bosom swelled slightly, he looked away. He was merely an ordinary man. How long could he gaze on such a wondrous sight without losing himself? It was as if he were staring at an unimaginably mouthwatering feast but with no hope of tasting any of it. Or, as if he stood beside the most stunning rose bush in the lushest garden ever—with no nose, and therefore no way to sniff the intoxicating scent.
“Henry? Oh! Whatever has come over me—Mister Titchell, pardon me. I fear my lapse of manners makes me appear silly.” She waved a hand in front of her face, fanning herself. Her complexion had grown still pinker, with the spots of color kissing her cheekbones darker than they had been.
“I do not believe you could ever appear silly. And, I must admit, I rather enjoy the way my plain name sounds in your lovely voice.”
“Oh…well, I—ah, I mean…” She fanned more vigorously, and colored more thoroughly. When she cleared her throat, he smiled.
She returned the gesture.
“So, then, are you going to share with me whatever it was my brother alluded to? What has happened to your back?”
He did not want to talk about that. Now that he was with her, he should speak of more important issues. Revealing the truth of his presence in the village—that was what he should discuss. Not his back. But she waited, so he went with the shortest version of the story he could muster.
“I had an accident at the shop. I work with the blacksmith, you know.”
A fast nod. “I do.”
“And…I got burned. Doctor
Jameson cleaned me up, and it did not fester, so I am on my way to being healed. It will leave an ugly scar, which I should not admit but I am simply glad it did not fester. I might not be sitting here in such pleasant company if it had.”
“I am so glad you are growing stronger.” She pulled her brows together, and gave him a serious stare. “You are growing stronger, aren’t you?”
“Thankfully, I am. As I said, the wound did not go bad. That made all the difference, I am told.”
Her sigh was delicate. She shrugged, looking reluctant to speak. “I have been told the same. But I have not been as fortunate. You see, my wound festered. And I nearly died! Oh, I do not recall anything much of the event, but I am told I was dangerously close…” She paused, fanning her face with the end of her shawl. “I was, ah…ah, I was…”
The vague look in her eyes alarmed him. She could not seem to speak a full sentence. And her face was crimson.
“Mary!” He called over his shoulder, hoping someone inside the house would hear and come out to them. She did not respond to his voice, so he stood up and leaned over her. The heat coming off her body in waves hit him the moment he got close. He touched a hand, and it was dry and hot. “Mary—Mary, can you hear me?”
She stared at him, holding his gaze locked with hers. He heard others approaching, calling her name, but she did not look away. He didn’t, either. His heart stopped when her eyes rolled back into her head.
A wave of violent tremors gripped her body, and she jerked against the chair cushions. It was the worst sight he had ever witnessed. When Missus Sweet pushed him aside, he did not resist.
He did not know how to help her. Nothing in life had prepared him for the sight of his beloved thrashing in the seat as her mother and sister tried to hold her still. Someone had gone for the doctor, so he did the only thing he could think of.
Praying had never been one of his finer points. He and God had never formed a strong bond, not even during those long, horrible years he had suffered beatings at the hands of his own kin. Henry figured out a long time ago that if God loved him, He would save him from the brutality of his life. He hadn’t so he had no use for the man or His religion.
