Atlanta

by Sara Orwig

  Claire hurt because she wanted more from him. If she yielded now so easily, she felt she would give up all chance of winning his respect and, maybe someday, his love. “Fortune,” she said quietly.

  As she paused, she leaned down to catch the dress, pulling it up to her waist. “Fortune—I don’t want it like this between us. I have to have more.”

  His lashes raised as he looked at her, a hungry look that made her wonder if he would take her by force.

  “I have to have love,” she whispered, stepping back from him. “We talked about this,” she said, wanting to see the tender expression he sometimes gave Michael or the happy look shared with his brothers.

  Instead Fortune took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding. “All right, Claire. I told you, I’ll do what you want.” He turned around and she ached as she sensed his retreat. She felt on fire and she wanted his arms around her. She wanted his kisses, his arms holding her, his companionship in the night.

  He drank another glass of champagne and moved toward the hatch. “I’ll go above.”

  As soon as he had gone, she felt a loss. She clutched her hand to her middle, wondering what had happened to her independent life. Had she already fallen in love with her new husband, with a man who had told her emphatically that he would never love her?

  She closed her eyes, feeling panicky and alone, wondering what kind of marriage they would have. She could call him back, have him make love to her, but it would be so empty. And afterward he might think she was little better than the sporting women.

  She took a deep breath. “I love him,” she whispered in the empty cabin. “I’m in love with him, and he’ll never love me in return.”

  She removed the crinoline and her underclothing, changing to the white cotton nightgown Chantal had given her. Not wanting to hang the beautiful wedding dress on a hook, Claire carefully folded it, feeling as if she were folding away her heart. As she lay down on the bunk and wondered about Fortune, she felt confined in the tiny space. What was he thinking? Was he overcome with regret? Or had he accepted their bargain and dismissed her from his mind? She stared at the timbered bulkhead, wondering if they could find any happiness except with Michael. She sat up on the bunk and gazed out a porthole at the wide river. The summer evening was still early and she got up to change, rummaging in the trunk, gathering her underthings and pulling on a pink organdy dress that had a skirt covered in ruffles, a low neck trimmed in lace, and tiny sleeves.

  Fortune leaned on the rail, letting the wind cool him. He ached for Claire, yet he kept remembering the last vows he had made to Marilee at her grave. He had thought then they would be for a lifetime. Had that been only a year ago?

  He watched the sun sinking below the horizon, casting an orange streamer across the surface of the brown water. He gazed down at the water, bubbles frothing as the ship gained speed. Claire was a fine woman and she deserved more, but he couldn’t pretend to love her. He wanted her badly. She was beautiful and responsive and innocent. He could have seduced her, but she was the type of woman who wanted love. If he took her tonight, tomorrow, or a month from now, she would want his love and he couldn’t give it. And then it would be worse between them than it was now.

  Now neither one was in love and she would not be hurt if he stayed out of her bed. He drew a deep breath, wishing his body could follow the logic of his mind. In vain he tried to shut out the images of Claire, of her pale breasts in his dark hands, of the softness of her that made him want to bury himself in her.

  He groaned, wishing they were in Atlanta, where he could give all his attention to work and Michael. He would have to find a mistress, someone who would be quiet and not cause rumors. If he didn’t have a mistress, some night he would seduce Claire, because she was an enticing woman. And when he did, if it was against her wishes, they would both regret it.

  He turned, striding toward the wheel to find someone else to talk to and try to forget Claire, to stop imagining her stretched in the bed below, her hair fanned behind her head, her supple body minus the corset and the crinoline. He could hear Michael’s voice and knew he was excited.

  “Michael?” Fortune asked, looking at Michael and Captain Smith, who stood at the wheel. The captain turned, his face ruddy, his blond hair showing beneath his cap.

  “He let me hold the wheel with him!” Michael exclaimed in a high voice. “And Captain Smith has told me about sailing all around the world.”

  “That’s good. I hoped you thanked him.”

  “He’s a fine lad,” Captain Smith said.

  “Let’s go to the rail, Michael, and leave the captain to steer.”

  “He’s fine, Colonel O’Brien,” the captain said with a trace of a Danish accent. “I have a son, and I know they like the sea. Leave him with me.”

  Fortune nodded reluctantly, going back to the rail. It was almost dark, with the sun below the horizon when he went back to get Michael. “Come on. I’ll show you over the ship.”

  “Yes, sir,” he exclaimed eagerly. “Thank you, sir,” he said to the captain, and Captain Smith gave him a broad, toothy smile.

  “You’ll make a fine sailor someday, Michael.”

  Michael’s grin widened as he moved beside Fortune, who walked toward the mast. “I’ll help you climb part of the way up if you want,” he said.

  “Yes, I do!”

  Fortune swung the boy up onto the foot ropes and climbed up beside him, letting Michael go ahead and moving beneath him so if Michael lost his footing, he could catch him. Scrambling up with agility, Michael climbed without any seeming fear of heights, which pleased Fortune.

  “Now, let’s stop,” Fortune said because they were high enough for Michael to have a view.

  “Criminy! Is this the ocean?”

  “We’re still on the Mississippi. It’s just widening out, and then we sail into the Gulf. In the Gulf is where our ship went down when I came from Ireland with my brothers. Your grandmother O’Brien drowned that night.”

  “Your mother?” Michael said, becoming solemn, his dark eyes studying Fortune as wind ruffled his hair.

  “Yes. I was separated from your uncles and we were all picked up by ships, but different ones, so we landed different places. Finally we got back together.”

  “Were you with any of them?”

  “No. Your Uncle Caleb and Uncle Darcy were together. I was alone and Uncle Rafe was alone. He landed in New Orleans and later the others moved there. I ended up in Baltimore.” He glanced down and saw Claire standing on the deck, looking up at them. She wore a pink dress without a crinoline, and the wind whipped the skirt against her slender form. Her hair was tied behind her head with a pink ribbon, and he remembered the moments earlier in the cabin when he had held her close in his arms and caressed her.

  She studied them, and he wondered if she was worried about Michael.

  “There’s Claire. Let’s go down now, Michael.”

  “Yes, sir. Papa, tomorrow can we climb to the top?”

  Fortune glanced up and then down at Michael’s expectant face. “Yes, we can go as high as the crow’s nest, that platform,” he answered, pointing overhead.

  “I want to tell Mama.”

  They climbed down, and Fortune swung Michael to the deck.

  “Mama, we’re going up there tomorrow.” As she looked skyward wind tugged strands of her hair out of their pins, and Fortune detected the enticing smell of honeysuckle on her skin.

  “That’s fine, Michael, if you wait for Papa and if you’re very careful.”

  “You can come too!”

  She laughed and at that moment Fortune realized how solemn she was except with Michael. She shook her head. “Michael, dresses weren’t meant for climbing to the top of a ship.”

  “You could wear some of Papa’s trousers.”

  She smiled and glanced over his head at Fortune. “I’ll be willing to oblige,” he said lightly.

  “Thank you, no. Michael, I’ll leave climbing ropes to you and your father.”

&n
bsp; Fortune was mildly surprised that she had no objection because on the trail she had seem protective toward Michael. Had she grown to trust him so completely? he wondered.

  They moved to the rail again, and as darkness fell, they stood watching the moon rise over the water. Finally Michael became quiet, and Clair took his hand to lead him below to bed.

  She returned much later, moving to stand at the rail near Fortune. “This is his second boat ride. The first was when we fled from my home. He was a good baby, so quiet and happy.”

  Fortune turned to lean against the rail and face her. “How long was it before the first man tried to take him back?”

  She gazed at the water in silence a moment. “I disembarked in New Orleans and got a job at a dress shop. I could keep Michael with me while I sewed, and I rented a small room. We were there several months, and then I realized one afternoon that a man was watching the shop and that he had been across the street the day before. Without any other reason I felt something was wrong. I took Michael out the back way to our rented room, packed our things, and left on a train to Vicksburg. In Vicksburg I worked in my first bonnet shop, and I liked the work. When I saw the same man outside the shop, I fled again. So the pattern started.”

  “You must have had to look over your shoulder all the time.”

  “Yes, but that was the price I had to pay for what I had done. One time we were in St. Louis—”

  “Why didn’t you go back East to the big cities?”

  “I thought I would need more money to live there, and I was young and frightened.”

  “Go ahead, I interrupted you,” he said quietly.

  “In St. Louis, I was carrying over three hundred dollars I had saved, so I opened an account in a bank, and after that I’ve sent money north to go into my account. You know the rest.”

  They stood in silence and she wondered what he was thinking, if he disapproved of everything she had done. Finally she turned away. “It’s much cooler up here.”

  “There are some chairs,” he said, pointing at deck chairs and leading her to them with his fingers lightly touching her arm. She was conscious of his touch; the slightest contact was volatile. She settled on a wooden chair, and Fortune sat on another beside her.

  There was a crisp, cool breeze. The only noise was the splash of water against the hull. In only a few minutes she began dozing.

  Enjoying the coolness, Fortune studied the stars, thinking about Claire as a seventeen-year-old girl taking Michael and trying to support him and care for him when she was all alone and knew men were after her. Fortune glanced at her and saw her head loll, her lashes dark against her cheeks. He stood and when he picked her up she seemed frail, soft, and warm.

  Below, after placing her on the bunk, he removed her shoes, his hands lingering on her slender, delicate feet.

  He turned and left the cabin, going back to the deck to sit on one of the chairs, thinking about Atlanta and his new business. He would build a house, and he wanted a fine one. And he wouldn’t let Trevor Wenger come close to Michael.

  Finally Fortune settled back on the hard wooden slats and closed his eyes, going to sleep.

  Two days later, they changed to a smaller boat to go upriver to Chattahoochee, Florida, where Fortune bought a wagon for the rest of the journey to Atlanta. It was late when they stopped for the night in Donalsonville. Fortune rented adjoining rooms for them in the two-story hotel, and after Michael was asleep in bed and Fortune returned to the room he shared with Claire, she faced him.

  “By now Trevor Wenger probably knows that Harwood is dead. Do you think Michael is safe in there by himself? His grandfather could send someone else after him.”

  “By this time Wenger will have figured out we’re returning to Atlanta. And I’d guess that he knows by now that I have Michael. I don’t think there’s any worry, but I locked Michael’s door. We can hear him if he calls.”

  Fortune moved restlessly around the small room, which held a washstand and a rocking chair and a bed. His shirt sleeves were rolled high, and he had unbuttoned the neck of his shirt. He opened a satchel he carried and removed a knife to place it in his boot. He put a derringer in his waistband and pulled on his coat, turning to face her.

  “Claire, I’m going out. It’s hot and I’m not going to sleep any time soon. I’m going to find a game of faro.”

  She nodded, watching him leave and wondering if he was seeking a game of chance or a woman. All the time on board ship, he had slept somewhere else besides the small cabin with her.

  She ran her fingers across her temple and moved to the window, letting a breeze blow across her. She checked on Michael several times, each time finding him asleep. Finally she left the door open between their rooms.

  She changed to her white cotton nightgown, looking at herself in the long mirror. The gown was opaque, yet not quite heavy enough to hide the darker areas where it rested against her nipples. It was too hot for a wrapper and she didn’t expect Fortune back for hours.

  She stretched in bed, unable to sleep, damp with perspiration in the hot room. She unbuttoned the neck of her gown, pushing it open and wiping her throat. She was staring into space almost dozing when she heard a clink.

  Chapter 14

  The lamp was out and moonlight spilled into the room. Fortune stopped beside the table, emptying his coat pockets. As coins rolled and clinked, she sat up.

  “My word! Did you win all that?”

  He raised his head to look at her. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep. It’s too hot,” she said, climbing out of bed and going to the table to run her hands over the coins. “A gold piece! Great heavens, how much did you win?”

  He struck a match, the tip flaring and highlighting his cheekbones, reflecting in pinpoints in his blue eyes as he squinted and lit a cheroot. He glanced at her. “You can count it, Claire.” His gaze flicked over her before he shook out the match. She looked at the money, shifting it and sitting down while he turned to light a small lamp.

  “The men I’ve seen gamble usually lose more than they win.”

  “I quit when I lose. My father gambled away a prosperous farm and everything we had. It killed him and ruined my mother’s health and drove us all from Ireland. I won’t gamble away our money, so you can rest easy there.”

  “That’s good.” Counting, she bent her head over the money, and Fortune studied her. Her brown hair fell forward, shining in the glow of the lamp. Her gown was unbuttoned and pushed open, and he could see pale flesh and the soft curve of her breast.

  “Claire, half of that is yours.”

  She raised her head, her dark eyes meeting his. “Thank you, but as your wife I belong to you, and all that I have belongs to you.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips, feeling the warmth of too much brandy and the heat of the room. “You can keep your savings.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that,” she answered solemnly.

  “In case you want to run again,” he said, knowing he sounded cynical. She bent over the coins and he felt desire stirring. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, to push her down on the bed and possess her.

  He moved restlessly, suspecting neither of them would be able to sleep. Turning around, he looked at her.

  “Claire, want me to teach you to play poker?”

  She raised her head to study him, considering his question. “Yes, it would give us something to do. I can’t sleep and you don’t look as if you’re going to.”

  “You can use your half of the money.”

  “Then I imagine you will win it all back easily.”

  “It’s more interesting if there are some stakes.”

  He sat down and as they divided the money, she looked up at him. “My heavens, you won a lot! Have you ever lost this much?”

  “Yes, but I’ve won it back. I told you, I’m not going to lose everything gambling.” As he leaned forward to explain the hands to her, his gaze strayed to the V of her nightgown. She w
as too busy studying her cards and looking at the stacks of money to notice. The cotton was unbuttoned inches below her collarbone, one side falling open enough to reveal the full curve of her breast. He wanted to reach across the table and shove the gown away completely, to cup her soft breast in his hand.

  He brought his attention back to the cards. By the second round, he waited, looking at her bite her lip and frown.

  “Claire, the way to win at poker is to bluff. Don’t let your emotions reveal what kind of hand you have.”

  Her dark eyes met his. “I see why you win.”

  He felt a flicker of amusement as he tossed a gold coin on the center of the table. “I’ll raise you.”

  “Now, you already know that I don’t have anything.”

  “You don’t know what I have. It might be better and it might be worse than what you have.”

  “It couldn’t be worse,” she said, tossing down the cards. He scooped up the winnings and was amused again at the expression on her face as she watched her money being raked across the table.

  “How big are your savings?” he asked.

  “Not very big probably by your standards. You’re more accustomed to money than I am. I have four thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a great deal of money,” he said, surprised. She had either sacrificed a lot to save money, or she had earned more than he would have guessed possible.

  “You told me you intend to be part of Atlanta society for Michael’s sake. How can you expect them to accept you when you fought with Sherman?”

  He raked his wavy hair away from his face. “I don’t intend to mention General Sherman. I was under General Howard’s command. And you’re southern. My brother was an officer in the Confederacy, Rafe was a blockade runner and supplied the South with goods. All three brothers are southerners. Besides, Atlanta is starting over and rebuilding, and people from everywhere are pouring in there. There’s plenty of northern money in Atlanta. They’ll accept me.”

  She gazed at him solemnly. “Yes, they will. You may be the one to meet someone and fall in love,” she said quietly.