Victorian Dream

by Gini Rifkin

  Dizzy and at the breaking point, she leaned against the door and nearly fell on her face as it slid sideways. Merrick gathered her close, ushering her out into the fresh air. Jeb surged forward to lead Mister Darcy to safety.

  Wynona was there too. Trelayne grasped the cup of water she offered, downing the cooling liquid in great gulps. When she could think straight, she glanced around. Where was Walker? Why wasn’t he at her side? Then she noticed the upturned faces of the people gathered around. She followed suit, and gasped in shock. He was still on the roof. And he wasn’t alone.

  Walker stood tall, holding his position on the near wall. The fabric once used to cover his mouth was pushed down around his neck. “So you survived your ill-fated balloon ride,” he acknowledged.

  “More or less,” Lucien replied, as he limped forward and steadied himself against a smoldering upright. “But the two of you won’t survive this conflagration.”

  “Again, your plan seems a bit poorly thought out. My wife is safe and I intend to join her shortly.”

  Lucien peered over the side of the roof. “How unfortunate,” he spat, his gaze boring into her. “It appears I’ll have to be satisfied with seeing only you die a torturous death. She can watch. It will no doubt be even more painful to her than dying.”

  Lucien drew a large pistol from the waistband of his trousers and aimed the muzzle directly at Walker’s bare chest.

  Trelayne dropped the cup and made to run forward. Merrick grabbed her around the waist and held her in place. “Leave it be,” he insisted. “Don’t be distracting him. He’s accustomed to ship’s riggings and high places and dealing with scallywags.”

  Bowing to Merrick’s wisdom, and trusting to Walker’s fortitude, she choked back the desire to call out his name. A hush fell over the crowd, leaving only the sound of groaning timbers and the crackle of flames to fill the air.

  As if trying to erase his pain, or an unwanted memory, Lucien shuddered and scrubbed his free hand across his face. Off balance, he fought for better footing.

  “Don’t do this, Lanteen,” Walker called across to him. “Come down with me. We’ll get medical treatment for your wounds, and sort this all out.”

  Someone handed Wynona a quilt. “Mr. Lanteen’s truly lost his mind,” she whispered, slipping the counterpane around Trelayne.

  “He never had far to go,” Merrick muttered.

  “That’s true enough,” Wynona agreed. “But how did he come to be so mangled about the body?”

  “It must have happened when the balloon went down,” Trelayne murmured. “We thought him dead, or safely arrived in France.”

  A mirthless grin contorted Lucien’s face, and even from this distance, the madness in his eyes was feverishly bright. The beam the two men shared cracked and sagged and she jumped and took a step forward.

  “You’re not thinking clearly. Don’t you see it’s over?” Walker said.

  “Nothing is over until I say it is. And I’m not crazy,” Lucian bellowed. “You’re the ones who don’t see. This was the only way. We were all to die together. Now you’ve ruined that as well.”

  Silently, Walker unwound the strips of petticoat from his neck and hands. Then calmly and methodically, he tied them end-to-end.

  “Any last words of love for the fair Trelayne, betrayer of my heart and soul,” Lucien lamented. He cradled his head in one hand and snarled in pain, his voice that of a wounded animal.

  The sun was hot, the nearby flames even hotter, but the words chilled her to the bone. Something bad was about to happen.

  Staring up at the sky, Lucien leaped up and down. The beam broke, and both men dropped from sight, falling into the burning abyss once called the barn.

  Trelayne clutched Wynona, and amidst the hellish red glow and blistering heat, the world seemed frozen in time. She wanted to scream, thought she was screaming, but all she could hear was her pulse pounding in her ears, and all she could feel was the wild beating of her heart.

  A mumble from the crowd drew her attention, and she glimpsed a thin ribbon of white looped around the lightning rod. A hand reached up beside the fragile safety line to grasp the metal bar. Then the top of Walker’s head appeared as he hoisted himself onto what was left of the roof. Grasping the makeshift cloth rope, he half-crawled half-walked over to the edge. A man with a ladder ran forward. Seconds later, Walker was on the ground and at her side.

  She buried her face against his chest, weeping with joy. He hugged her close until a series of wracking coughs beset him and he staggered to one side. She eased up under his right arm, and lending her shoulder for support, led him to a bench. Dropping to her knees at his side, she clung to him.

  “We’re all right now, love,” he reassured her, and stroked her hair, “we’re all right now.”

  With a great whoosh, the last of the roof collapsed and the flames leaped up nearly as high as the old oak on the other side of the water ditch. A bucket brigade was in full swing, but the attempt was useless. Thankfully, the building was surrounded by dirt-filled paddocks. With no vegetation growing near to the structure, the inferno was contained as it burned wildly and without pause.

  “Poor Lucien,” she whispered. “What a dreadful way to die.”

  “He was badly broken in body and soul,” Walker affirmed. “He didn’t want to live any more. I could see it in his eyes.”

  She rose up on her knees, and eased her arms around his neck. “When I thought you had fallen to your death, I didn’t want to live either.”

  “Hush now. Don’t think about it anymore,” he said softly. “We’re both safe, and we have our whole life ahead of us. A good and happy life, with adventures to seek and happy dreams to fulfill.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two months later—off the coast of America:

  Their opportunity for adventure came sooner than expected.

  All of Trelayne’s Christmas wishes came true. Jeffery and Penelope’s opulent wedding had taken place without a hitch. The new barn, completed shortly thereafter, was ready before the truly cold temperatures set in. And her parents were almost fully recovered. The last happy revelation prompted her and Walker’s journey to America.

  For twenty days they had been at one another’s side—eating royally, sleeping late, and despite the winter weather, promenading the deck at all hours of the day and night. Better still, they made love at all hours of the day and night. It was the true honeymoon previously denied to them, and once Trelayne found her sea legs, she was enthralled with the wildness of the ocean and the fascinating beauty of the night sky.

  This morning, wrapped in her new fur-lined cape, she leaned against the starboard rail on the Alicia Elaine and counted her blessings while watching the dolphins swim alongside the ship. Walker stood at her back, protecting her from the wind, his solid form her anchor when the ship hit a rough spot or pitched and rolled.

  Tipping her head back on his shoulder, she glimpsed the maze of lines and sails towering overhead behind him. A stunning arrangement of deliberate chaos, the forest of masts carried one hundred thousand square feet of canvas, and each sail had its own name and purpose. Last evening in the moonlight, Walker had pointed out the ones called Stargazer, Moonraker, and Cloudscraper.

  She gazed again upon the sea, grateful for a peek into this corner of his world. She had never felt closer to him. And while she might be Walker’s wife, the sea would always be his mistress, and she understood why. No woman could be more captivating or enchanting. It seemed once a man fell in love with the sea, you’d lost that part of him forever. But if the mysterious deep was his only distraction, she would not complain.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he whispered, in her ear.

  Where to start…“I marvel at the changes wrought upon my life in so short a span of time,” she admitted.

  He pressed closer. “You’ve been confronted with many obligations and harrowing experiences,” he agreed. “I’m so proud of the way you’ve faced each challenge.”

  �
��The changes haven’t all been challenges,” she corrected. “Having you in my life is a gift requiring no effort at all on my part. And before long, we will have our first child.”

  He slipped his hands inside her cloak, splaying his fingers across her belly. “I thought you were toying with me when you described your dream on New Year’s Day.”

  “I had it again last night,” she laughed. “Perambulator after perambulator, parading by, filled with little smiling faces.”

  “That’s one dream I’m glad to help make come true.”

  After learning she was with child, he hovered over her like a protective archangel, and she loved the attention—she loved him. What would she ever do without him?

  “Begging your pardon, Captain Garrison,” a voice interrupted. “May I speak with you, please?”

  The golden moment broken, Walker released her. She sighed as the warmth surrounding her slipped away and they turned in unison to find Captain Parker awaiting their attention. On this voyage, Walker traveled as a passenger. No captain’s quarters for them. Instead they were granted the finest traveling accommodations, their every need seen to. And rather than being saddled with the burden of running a ship, Walker was afforded a carefree journey. Something he hadn’t experienced in a good long while.

  “Yes, Parker,” Walker acknowledged. “What might I do for you?”

  “Just wanted to alert you regarding a small matter. Seems we may have a stowaway on board.”

  “What makes you think so?” Walker asked.

  “Just the usual. Missing food from the larder, a stolen blanket. Little things such as that.”

  “I see.” Walker’s expression transformed from mildly curious to obviously concerned.

  “Perhaps one of the crew took the food,” she put in.

  “Oh, no, Ma’am,” Captain Parker countered. “On board ship, the taking of food from the larder, guns from the armory, or rum from the medical locker be hanging offenses.”

  His words stunned her. The shock must have shown on her face.

  Walker placed one hand at the small of her back to steady her. “It sounds harsh, love, but I assure you its quite necessary. Some voyages can last a year or more, during which time dire circumstances can arise to push men beyond endurance and clear thinking. Rules such as these, ruthless as they seem, can mean the difference between the crew’s survival and sure death.”

  Again she wondered at the kind of life he’d led upon the sea. To be isolated for months on end, trapped in a world unto itself, the prevailing law and one’s own existence governed by the integrity of those around you. It rather crushed the romantic illusion she had built up over the last few weeks.

  “Thank you for the information, Captain Parker,” Walker recognized. “We shall keep our eyes open, and alert you should we come across any useful information.”

  “I’d be obliged.” Parker nodded then headed toward the top deck.

  Misgiving tiptoed down her spine, and the odd feeling of being watched niggled at the back of her mind. “Do you suppose someone really did stow away on the ship?” she asked, glancing around.

  “It’s possible. Most likely a young lad with aspirations of being a cabin boy. Better a hard life at sea with three meals a day, than a hard life on dry land with an empty belly. He’ll probably present himself at port and beg for a job. Or it could simply be someone with high hopes of making a new life in America. Either way, Mrs. Garrison, you’re not to worry,” he encouraged. “Let’s go below and have some of that tea you like. I’ll even have a cup.”

  She gave a chuckle, knowing what a concession this was. Walker remained a staunch coffee drinker, not something terribly common in her family. She supposed she would have to learn to prepare the dreadful concoction.

  “How can I turn down such an offer?” she laughed. “Watching you choke down chamomile tea always brightens my day.”

  “When we reach New Bedford,” he declared, giving credence to her thoughts. “I’m brewing up the biggest pot of coffee you’ve ever seen, eggshells and all. After we see your parents, of course,” he amended. “That’s first on the agenda.”

  Being with her mother and father was a much anticipated joy. She’d waited so long for this day. “I’m terribly excited to see them. Thank you for arranging to have all of their needs met, and then some. I know such good care was paramount in speeding their recovery.”

  “You’re welcome. Now come along. I’ve detailed plans for entertaining you until we make port.”

  “Does it involve more than watching you drink tea?” she teased, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

  “Oh quite.”

  As snowflakes swirled around in fairytale fashion, he gently seized the edges of her fur-trimmed hood, drew her close, and kissed her lips.

  ****

  Gripping Trelayne’s elbow, Walker carefully escorted her along the icy dock of the New Bedford harbor.

  It was snowing in earnest now, and by the look of the sky, it would get worse before it was done. He touched the St. Brendan medal, giving thanks for their safe crossing and for being on dry land. Then a familiar twinge of discontent wended through him. The harbor brought back recollections of the day Philip and Ophelia had been hurt. And the snow reminded him of the day he’d lost Katie.

  Trelayne grappled onward, nary a misstep or hesitation. In spirit she was so much like Kathleen. They would have liked one another, or perhaps he just hoped it would be true because he wanted to have Katie’s blessing for going on with his life without her. To do so was harder than he’d imagined. Starting over was a daunting task, and if not for Trelayne, and the love he felt for her and from her, it would never have been possible. It was not easy giving oneself over to deep emotion. He knew first hand the pain of losing someone when they became your whole world—became your reason for living—and then were gone forever.

  As they entered the hospital, she gazed up at him and smiled. He was so proud to be her husband—and still fevered at the thought of being her lover.

  A man in a white coat sauntered forward, his hand outstretched and reaching for Walker’s.

  “The lost sheep has returned to the fold,” he declared with a grin.

  “This is Dr. Nathan Robinson,” Walker introduced, as he vigorously shook the man’s hand. “He runs this amazing facility, and claims my beating him at chess is due to his compassion and not my skill. Nate, my wife, Trelayne.”

  “I’m honored to meet you, Mrs. Garrison. You’re obviously a good influence on this old rascal. I’ve never seen Walker looking so well.”

  Trelayne beamed at the praise. “Thank you, Doctor, for the kind words, and for all you’ve done for my parents.”

  “Come this way,” Nate offered, escorting them down the hall. “They’re eagerly awaiting your arrival, bags packed and ready to go.”

  As they entered the solarium, Trelayne broke away and ran forward to hug and kiss first her father and then her mother. Left standing alone, Walker felt lost and a bit jealous. Then a smile wove its way across his face as it occurred to him he would soon be a parent too. Hopefully his own child would someday show him such love and devotion.

  “You look wonderful, Trelayne. Are you happy, dear?” Ophelia asked.

  “Ecstatic,” Trelayne replied, taking to a small stool at her mother’s side. “And seeing the two of you is the answer to my prayers.”

  Philip St.Christopher gained his feet, and with the help of a cane, ambled forward.

  “Good to see you, Walker. According to the letters we’ve been receiving, we are in you debt. It sounds like keeping Trelayne safe and getting to the bottom of this whole affair was quite the formidable task.”

  “We do seem to attract misadventure wherever we go. But keeping Trelayne from harm is as important to me as it is to the two of you. I hope you both understand that, sir.”

  “We do,” Philip nodded. “The marriage came as a bit of a surprise, but a good one. And from the look of things, that task has proved less formidable for
you.”

  “Not a task, Philip,” he corrected, “a joy.”

  “And soon, Poppa, there will be even more joy when you become a grandfather.”

  “What?” Ophelia squealed, in unladylike fashion. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Mother. And if my dream comes true, this will be the first of many.”

  “Oh, darling. You aren’t still having nightmares, are you?” Ophelia worried.

  “Of course not, Mother. Only happy prophesies now. And Aunt Abigail secretly confirmed my future with her gypsy friend.”

  Ophelia gave a sputtering laugh. “So she’s still living precariously. How is my sister? She must be lonely with Branwell gone to India and the two of you here.”

  Walker grinned, amused by what he knew was coming.

  “She’s had a gentleman caller recently,” Trelayne revealed. “He’s an American,” she added. “And they’re very hard to resist.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Trelayne had been awake for hours, rambling around the house. Still requiring rest, her parents remained asleep in one of the other three bedrooms.

  Her husband’s New Bedford home was large, rugged, and sturdy. Just like him—just like this bold America. And although somewhat modest in size by English standards, the house was well appointed, an eclectic collection of items from around the world.

  In the library, Walker’s spirit was definitely the driving force, revealing part of the story behind the man. Decidedly masculine, it was infused with the aroma of leather, polished wood, and tobacco. A huge fireplace dominated one wall. A large map of America presided over another. And all available space in between was taken up by bookshelves, framed artwork, and Native Indian items.

  Keeping company with the rifles and swords were painted buffalo robes, war shirts, moccasins, and spears. It seemed a room full of wonders where a little boy could dream. Yet the big roll top desk, littered with papers, declared work relative to a full-grown man also took place here.

  Work—that’s where Walker was at present, down at the docks seeing to business, but he’d assured her, he’d not be home late. And he promised they would have a festive evening meal to celebrate her parent’s first full day out of the hospital.