If I Wait For You

by Jane Goodger

  The right thing, the right thing. The honorable thing. Over and over West told himself that leaving Sara behind was the only way and be damned with his heart that felt like a leaden weight in his chest. Each step they took in the soft, silty sand toward the Tillinghast’s small home and mission school felt like a step toward some horrid fate. Certainly, he thought, living without Sara was not a pleasant thing. But living with her, being tortured by wanting her—or worse, losing her to some accident—would be a far more difficult thing. That rogue wave had been a minor incident, but one that nearly killed her. Had she been on deck, or even in the top cabin, she might have died. She could have died below had she struck her head harder. Logic told him people died a hundred different ways on land and at sea, but he’d be damned if he could have prevented her death only to have her taken from him.

  And he knew, if she stayed, he would marry her. They would have children. He choked with the dread that filled him when he thought of something happening to a child, something happening to Sara.

  This was the right thing. The only thing.

  Sara walked beside West, stoic, silent, hands fisted in her skirts. He knew she was dreading being introduced to the Tillinghasts as his wife. She was a woman who loathed mendacity, and being put in a position to lie again and again was wearing her down. He could see it in the strain around her eyes, her stiff posture. Her silence.

  It was one thing to pretend to be husband and wife on a ship of men, West knew, it was quite another to continue the ruse before a god-fearing, rightly-married couple. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he would be with the Tillinghasts for less than an hour before departing for the ship. Her hand suddenly clutched West’s arm, as she stumbled on the entirely too solid and steady ground.

  “You’ll get your land-legs back in no time,” he said. “Tonight, when you sleep, your bed will pitch and roll as if you’re still on the Julia.”

  “And when I go back to sea, I’ll have to become acclimated to the pitching and rolling all over again,” she grumbled, dropping his arm.

  Despite their unsteady gate, if was wonderful to feel the soft sand beneath his shoes, to touch the broad leaf of a tree, to smell the earth. The years he had left at sea loomed before West like a prison sentence. Only this time it was worse. For not only would he long for his life in New Bedford, he would long for Sara in a way he’d never longed for Elizabeth. God, how he would miss her. Who would he talk to at night? Who would help him stitch up those frightened sailors who could walk knee-deep in whale gore but faint at the sight of the smallest amount of their own blood. Who would tell fearsomely false stories?

  Who would make him smile?

  They walked down a well-worn path, the jungle meticulously cut back, toward a neatly-built hut just now becoming visible through the thick greenery around them.

  “Mr. Mitchell, perhaps I can stay on the ship until it’s time for me to go.” It was not the first time she’d said such words. West had explained that they might be in the islands for several weeks before they could find a suitable ship for her to sail on, and she would be far more comfortable staying with missionaries. West would return to the ship and sail on to Honolulu in Oahu, a three-day sail from Hilo.

  As they approached the house, a couple emerged, looking incongruously Western in this lush jungle. She was wearing a simple dress, and he a black suit and waist coat. They looked dour and serious, until they saw West. Then they broke out into welcoming smiles.

  “Captain Mitchell,” Mrs. Tillinghast said warmly. “How good it is to see you again.” She gave Sara a curious look.

  “My wife, Sara,” West said, completely aware of her stiffening by his side at the introduction.

  “Well, how wonderful,” Mr. Tillinghast said heartily. “So please to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell. I must say I admire your courage in accompanying your husband on such an arduous journey.”

  “Her journey, I’m afraid, at least on the Julia, is ending here. I was hoping you would consider letting Sara stay while she waits for passage to San Francisco.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Tillinghast said. “Being a woman on a whaler can be so trying, I know, dear.”

  “Whalers are not the most gentile of men, present company excepted, of course,” Mr. Tillinghast said hastily.

  “I do believe the crew of the Julia must be the exception. I found them extremely well-behaved,” Sara said, warming to the couple.

  “I made certain of it,” West said.

  “Mr. Mitchell wields a firm but fair hand, I understand. Whippings and discipline are vital to contain some crews.”

  “I haven’t yielded the whip once this trip,” West said. “It’s a miracle, really.”

  Sara quipped, “My husband no doubt set that particular discipline aside knowing full well that if they had been planned, I would have made certain they did not occur.”

  West barked out a laugh. “I’m sure my Sara would have tortured the sailors instead with some of her more gruesome yarns.”

  Sara couldn’t help but flush beneath the unexpected warmth of West’s gaze. His words echoed in her head: “My Sara.”

  “You’ll have to share them with us during your stay here,” Mrs. Tillinghast said, smiling widely and looking from Sara to West.

  The foursome began walking toward the Tillinghast’s home, a sturdy-looking thatched hut, incongruously adorned with western fixtures including a pineapple door knocker and glass windows. Inside was an odd mixture of Yankee and island furnishings. The whitewashed walls of the main room held pastoral scenes from their home state of Connecticut, as well as native masks and carvings. Straw mats covered most of the floor, rustling softly under foot, but beneath a gleaming mahogany dining table, was a rich-looking Oriental rug of deep reds and greens. The effect was charming, and made Sara long for home in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks.

  “It’s always nice to bring a bit of home with you wherever you go,” Mrs. Tillinghast said, sensing Sara’s mood. “Even if it does look a bit odd when you throw it all together.”

  “No, Mrs. Tillinghast. It’s lovely. Just lovely.”

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show your room. I want you to feel completely at home here. You’re not a guest, you’re part of the family while you’re here. West has been staying with us since he was a young boy. So you see, he’s already part of the family. We’re so glad he found such a lovely girl to wed.”

  Guilt flooded Sara and her throat closed on the older woman’s kindness. She wished she could take this woman in confidence and tell her the truth, but she feared doing so would hurt their image of West, who they were clearly fond of.

  Mrs. Tillinghast led her down a short hall that appeared to contain three bedrooms. At the end, she opened the door and revealed a simple room containing a bed, bureau and washstand. Sara sat down on the small feather bed and smiled. “I think I will get used to sleeping in a bed that does not move.”

  “How long will you be staying here until you leave for San Francisco?”

  “Less than two weeks,” West said from the door. “I’ve found a berth for you on the Bonny Lassie, a merchantman sailing for San Francisco on the twentieth.”

  “When did you…” And then Sara stopped, answering her own question for her. “Ah, yesterday.” He must certainly be in a hurry to send her on her way, Sara thought glumly.

  “Yes. A fine ship. A bit small, but fit from what I could see. The captain seemed a sober sort. Captain Richard Crowley.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” Sara could not look at him for fear he would see the heartbreak in her eyes. She must not let him know how much this parting hurt. How he would pity her if he knew.

  West took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “Well. I must be going if I’m not to fight the tide to get back to the Julia.”

  Sara’s head snapped up in surprise before she could stop herself. She’d thought they would have a bit more time together.

  “Then you won’t be staying for even dinner?” Mrs. Tilli
nghast asked, clearly disappointed.

  “No. I have to get back,” West said, sounding terse. He smiled, to soften his words. “But I thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Tillinghast, as well as extending your hospitality to Sara.”

  She smiled in return, a knowing smile, it seemed. “I’ll leave you two to say your good-byes, then. Take all the time you need.”

  Mrs. Tillinghast left and silence reigned in the small room. Sara stood, holding out her hand, her eyes steady, her lips pressed closed. West glanced at that extended hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Good-bye, Captain Mitchell,” she said calmly, fighting the horrible urge to throw herself in his arms and beg him not to leave her here. It was so powerful, this urge, but she remained standing still, a hand extended, her eyes straight.

  He looked away from her. “Sara.”

  “Good-bye, sir.” Her voice sounded strong, unemotional and untouched by this farewell. He looked at her then and she hated the warmth in his eyes, the desire she saw. The lies.

  “Please, West. Just go.” She’d lost control of her voice, she realized. Her plea came out raw and desperate. It barely came out at all. She turned partly away from him and wrapped her arms about herself, keeping herself in check, screaming at herself not to be a fool over him. He took a step toward her and she stiffened. He stood there, so close she could feel his breath against her neck. She did not see him close his eyes, clench his fists, breathe deeply to remember her essence.

  “Good-bye, Sara.” His voice was low, smooth, by her ear. So close. She need only turn and be in his embrace. Instead she tightened her arms about herself until he stepped away, until he left the room and shut the door. Only then did she allow the tears that had hovered in her eyes to fall. She began shaking, a terrible tremor that hurt, so she sat on the bed, collapsed, really. And listened to him walk away.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  It was the sobbing that brought Mrs. Tillinghast to the door, to hover undecided, until finally she thought her heart might break for the poor young bride left alone by her sea captain husband. She knocked on the door and smiled when the cries ceased abruptly.

  “May I come in, Mrs. Mitchell?”

  She heard the girl blow her nose and could picture her hastily wiping her eyes as if she could erase all signs of her heartbreak in a matter of seconds. “Of course,” came a muffled voice, clearly tear-clogged.

  Mrs. Tillinghast settled on the bed next to Sara, who sat looking like a young girl, her hands twisting a soggy handkerchief. “West tells me this will be his last whaling voyage. You will be together for the rest of your lives, Mrs. Mitchell, and this will become only an unhappy memory.”

  “Please call me Sara,” she said, as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. She looked up at Mrs. Tillinghast, her eyes red and swollen and filled with such sadness that the older woman had the awful urge to shed tears of her own. “I’ll be fine. It’s only that he just left and we…and we…” Sara swallowed convulsively. “We did not part on the best terms. I don’t care if he should sail off the end of the earth.” That sentence lost much of its impact when she dissolved into fresh tears.

  “I see.”

  Sara stared dismally at her lap, cruelly reminding herself that while she sat here crying her eyes out, West was likely sighing with relief to have finally gotten rid of her. She ought to hate him, but each time she tried to summon such feelings, it only left her feeling more bereft.

  “I’m certain your husband loves you. Just as you love him.”

  Sara buried her face in her hands, unable to hear such kindness from the older woman, especially since it was the result of false beliefs. West was not her husband. He did not love her. And here was this kind woman trying to comfort her with words that unknowingly cut a deeper wound into her heart. She felt an arm come around her shoulder and Sara couldn’t resist leaning into the woman’s softness.

  “Oh, Mrs. Tillinghast, you don’t understand,” she sobbed. “West is glad to be rid of me.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous. You should have seen his face when he was leaving. I’ve never seen a more miserable-looking man in my life.”

  Sara leaned back and blinked away her tears so that she could see whether Mrs. Tillinghast told the truth. How she wanted to believe that West felt some sadness at their parting, some sense of loss. “I would like to think he was a bit miserable,” Sara said, then laughed when she realized how uncharitable that sounded. Mrs. Tillinghast smiled.

  “You can be certain that he was.”

  Sara’s smile faded quickly. It did not matter that West had regrets, she was still left alone to face a harrowing journey back to New Bedford. He had gotten her off his hands, relinquished his duty toward her, cleansed his conscience by keeping her safe, and kept his promise to her brother.

  The days that followed West’s departure went by slowly and did nothing to stop the aching in her heart. The Tillinghasts were everything kind, and let her grieve alone whenever she was overcome by her loss. Her moods swung wildly, from anger that he’d left, to intense sadness that he hadn’t loved her the way she’d so desperately love him, to fear of her journey, to elation to finally have this tumultuous part of her life coming to an end. Indeed, there were times when she felt she might go mad.

  She helped Mrs. Tillinghast when the older woman would allow it, but often found herself wandering down that sandy path to the sea where she would look out for long minutes and wonder whether West was in Honolulu and if he ever thought of her.

  After Sara had been in the Tillinghast home for a week, she began to feel a sense of belonging, a closeness to the couple. They stopped asking her about West, and she became better at hiding her sadness from them. She scrubbed and cleaned beside the older woman, even as she protested that Sara was a guest.

  “I’ve never been one to be idle, Mrs. Tillinghast. If you have anything job you’ve been putting off, I’d be more than happy to take care of it for you. I need to be busy,” she said.

  That’s when Mrs. Tillinghast smiled, and asked, “How do you feel about spiders?”

  And that’s how it came to be that Sara was assigned the task of killing the spiders that nested in the thatched roof. She put a kerchief on her head so that the spiders wouldn’t fall and take up residence in her thick hair and set to work sweeping them from the ceiling. Mrs. Tillinghast had an inordinate fear of the creatures, and Sara didn’t mind in the least removing them from their home. In fact, she pictured each one with a little head of West as she squashed them beneath her heel.

  She’d just killed her fourth spider, when she heard Mrs. Tillinghast say, “Sara, you have a visitor.”

  West stood there as if conjured from a dream, smiling. In quick strides, he was there, pulling her into his arms. She couldn’t help it, she pressed herself against him, letting out a pure sound of joy before she could stop herself. He lifted her up and swung her around, kissing her as they spun.

  “God, I missed you,” he said against her mouth.

  “You did?”

  West lowered her feet to the floor and it was only then that Sara realized that Mrs. Tillinghast had left the kitchen to give them privacy. “Of course I did.”

  Hope bloomed in Sara’s heart. He’d come back to her. He’d missed her. She nearly blurted out then and there how much she loved him, but something in his expression stopped her.

  He smiled down at her, oblivious of the fact she’d gone still in his arms. “I couldn’t let you leave with ill feelings between us, Sara. It was driving me crazy.”

  Disappointment washed over her, chilling Sara’s blood. He hadn’t changed his mind about taking her with him, he was simply easing his conscience. Again. She smiled up at up him making a supreme effort not to let him know what she’d been thinking when she saw him standing there.

  “There were no ill feelings, West.”

  His eyes, damn them, twinkled down at her with disbelief. “Is that why you wanted me to sail off the end of the earth
?”

  Sara pulled away completely and lifted her chin. “Mrs. Tillinghast was under the misconception that I was upset about your leaving. I suppose I led her to believe I was a grieving bride. Acted a bit too convincingly,” she said jauntily.

  “Sara,” he said, cupping the side of her face with one large hand. “I missed you.”

  A pained look flashed across her face. “West don’t. Don’t say such things.”

  West withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry.” He was. So damned sorry about everything—especially the hateful fact that he would be gone from New Bedford, gone from Sara, for more than two years. He knew coming back to Hilo was sweet torture for both of them, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d gone insane thinking about her, knowing he could have a few more moments with her if only he returned to Hilo. His ship would do well under his mates who could supervise any repairs that needed doing. How easy, he’d told himself, to take a schooner from Honolulu and see Sara one last time. She drew him like a powerful whirlpool he was hopeless to fight. The worst of it was, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her why he couldn’t stay away. He loved her so damned much, but he knew telling her so would only make their final parting all the more painful. He told himself it was better that Sara think him callous and unfeeling. But in the end, his heart won out and brought him to Hilo, to Sara. His inadequate, “I miss you” sounded foolish in his ears. That hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he’d walked away from her nearly a week ago went far beyond mere missing.

  “You leave in four days, Sara.”

  “I know when my ship departs.”

  He nearly winced at her coldness. Anger at himself for his helplessness, at her for pretending she wasn’t glad to see him, surged through him. Grabbing her upper arms, he demanded, “Do you think this is easy for me, to leave you, to send you to New Bedford alone? Do you?” he said, giving her a small shake.

  “Yes. I do. You are glad to be rid of me, to be done with your burden, your little problem.”