As a boy, Gordon loved watching the dolphins in the bay and the occasional pods of whales. Now the temptation to take out one of the craft bobbing at anchor and keep sailing until he could see neither land nor mankind quickened his pace. The realization that no one would yet be at work slowed it again.
“That should change,” he mused aloud. “If sightseers could view the sunrise from the sea—”
He cut himself off. His father had severed him from the business because of one youthful prank, and if the old man hadn’t wanted his younger son involved, then Gordon would sell it. Two little girls couldn’t manage things. They would need a trusted manager for that.
As they’d needed for the past three months.
Gordon paused to gaze into the rising sun again, in an attempt to recapture his earlier peace. But others now invaded the quiet early morning. A man with a camera set upon a tripod perched at the edge of the tide line. Three elderly ladies in straw bonnets dug about in the sand with sticks. Seeking treasure or pretty shells?
Gordon started to smile at the memory of how the smallest find felt like the discovery of Blackbeard’s gold. He raised a hand and opened his mouth to wish the ladies good luck.
“Uncle Gordon! Uncle Gordon!” The chorus of childish voices rang on the breeze. “Uncle, wait!”
Not waiting would be churlish. Plastering a smile on his face, Gordon faced his nieces and their governess.
The girls wore identical white dresses with black ribbon trim, a concession to their mourning. Ribbons fluttered from their white straw hats, and they carried miniature parasols with ruffled edges. With their golden curls and blue eyes, they could pose in front of the ocean for the photographer and make his picture perfect.
Miss Marigold was another matter. Her gray frock bore not a bit of trimming. If not for her vivid hair beneath a plain hat, she would have blended into the weathered boards upon which she strode. But the hair, as he was growing accustomed to seeing, sprang out behind her as though it wanted to go in different directions than the head to which the curls were attached.
And so did he. Though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile—or perhaps because of the urge to grin, even laugh at Marigold McCorkle—Gordon wanted to head in another direction than one that would bring him into greater proximity with the uppity woman.
“You’re out early,” he greeted them instead. “It’s a wonder you had time for breakfast.”
“She always makes us eat breakfast.” Ruby stuck her fingers in her mouth.
Gordon reached out his hand and tugged them free. “I thought only babies sucked on their fingers.”
“She is a baby.” Beryl tossed her head. Her hat ribbons fluttered like small birds. “She started doing that after Mommy and Daddy. . .” Her lower lip quivered before she finished her sentence. Hauteur left her face.
“They went away.” Ruby stared at her fingers, still resting in Gordon’s hand. “Mommy promised me a new doll last time I stopped sucking my fingers. Do you think”—she glanced from Gordon to Marigold, her eyes sparkling—“if I stop this time Mommy and Daddy will come home?”
“They can’t.” Beryl’s voice was flat.
Gordon’s heart felt flattened.
Marigold yanked a handkerchief from her pocketbook and dabbed at the corners of her pretty green eyes. “I’m sorry, Ruby, sweetheart.” She coughed. “Your mommy and daddy went to heaven and can’t come back. Remember what the pastor said?”
“Yes.” Ruby nodded, started to stick her fingers into her mouth again, then curled her tiny hand around Gordon’s fingers instead. “Will you go for our walk with us?”
“We can return if we’re disturbing you, Mr. Chambers,” Marigold said. “I didn’t realize—we like to come out early before it’s too crowded and hot down here.”
“My own thoughts.” As much as he wanted to tell them he was heading to the boathouse, where he doubted they’d be welcome, Gordon shrugged. “It’s a public walkway. If you wish to keep going, I won’t stop you.”
Not exactly gracious.
His conscience stinging him, and Ruby’s small hand in his, prompted him to add, “Of course I’ll join you.”
“Thank you.” Ruby tugged on his hand and started skipping down the walkway.
Marigold didn’t hold her back. “That’s thoughtful of you.” She flashed him a smile warm enough to make the August sun feel inadequate.
Beryl said nothing, but her solemn little face brightened as she trotted along, twirling her parasol.
“We’re going to look for dolphins,” Ruby announced. “I saw one the day Mommy and Daddy went away and wondered why he didn’t find them. Miss Marigold says dolphins are intell–intell—” She ended on a sigh.
“Intelligent?” Gordon suggested.
“Yes, it means smart.” Ruby grinned up at him, showing that she was missing one of her incisors.
Suddenly, Gordon remembered losing one of his own teeth around her age.
“Did you put that tooth under your pillow when you lost it?” he asked.
“I did.” Ruby changed from a skip to a hop. The heels of her shoes clattered on the walk. “And I got a penny there instead the next day.”
“She’s getting rich.” Marigold laughed. “Three pennies since April.”
“I got a whole dime once.” Gordon gazed into the distance, a distance beyond the visible world around them. “It was just what I needed to buy the sails for my model ship.”
All three females stopped to gaze at him as though he’d grown two heads or sprouted wings.
“You made all those model ships?” Marigold asked.
“I haven’t always been a grumpy old man.” He feigned indignation.
The little girls giggled.
The grown-up lady colored something akin to her hair. “I only meant—I thought they were given to you. They’re so. . .good.”
“I’ve always loved the sea.”
“But you were in New Mexico.” Miss Marigold still looked bewildered. “There’s no sea there.”
“I’ve been to sea. I’ve been on land.” He shrugged. “Wherever my fortunes or misfortunes have taken me.”
“Do you have a fortune?” Ruby asked. “Or a misfortune?”
“Ruby, I don’t think that’s a polite question.” Miss Marigold took Ruby’s hand in hers. “We should be going home and not asking your uncle impertinent questions.”
“If he had a fortune,” Beryl spoke up, “he wouldn’t want to be going off to Alaska for gold.”
“How did you know—” Gordon caught himself too late.
He had all the females’ undivided attention once again and felt his own face heating from more than the early sunshine could be causing.
“I heard him talking to Mrs. Cromwell last evening.” Beryl twirled her parasol in everyone’s faces before tilting it back over her shoulder. “The nursery windows are right over the back porch, you know.”
“I’d forgotten.” Gordon thinned his lips. “I’ll have to find a better place to talk in the future.”
“We heard the gardener kissing one of the maids there,” Ruby announced. “So don’t kiss anyone there, either.”
“All right.” Marigold, though blushing, barely managed to suppress her laughter. “We need to get to your lessons.”
“But you said we can go to the lighthouse,” Beryl protested.
Gordon glanced down to the point of land jutting out between the Atlantic and the entrance to Delaware Bay. A lighthouse soared into the sky, its lamp appearing darkened in the daylight but ready to glow as soon as dusk fell to warn ships away from the cape or lead them toward the safety of the bay and harbor.
“It won’t be open for visitors now,” Gordon murmured. “Maybe later. . .”
He’d loved that lighthouse as a boy, all the way up to the day he left. Since then, he’d seen dozens more around the world, taller, fancier lighthouses. None had said home—
He slammed the door on that memory, too.
“I need to
get down to the boathouse.” His tone was deliberately brusque. “I expect someone will be there soon.”
“The first excursion starts at eight o’clock,” Beryl informed him. “That’s in another forty-five minutes, so someone had better be there.”
“We haven’t been since the accident.” Marigold sidled closer to him to speak in an undertone. “Maybe you can take the girls out on one of the boats so they don’t become afraid of the water. It would be a pity for the owners of a boating company to fear water.”
“But they won’t be—” Gordon glanced at the children, realized that little ones did have big ears, and nodded. “We’ll see what happens during my visit.”
“Your visit?” Ruby snatched at his hand again. “I thought you were here to live.”
“I can’t—” He gazed into her guileless blue eyes, and what he couldn’t do was say he was leaving as soon as he could.
In that moment, he understood why Marigold McCorkle had stayed behind, even when she wanted to leave. Abandoning these children would be downright cruel, if a body let them grow fond of him. Or if he grew fond of them.
“He has to find gold.” Beryl engendered the last word with scorn, as though it were a foul substance.
“Beryl,” Marigold spoke with gentle firmness, “remember what Proverbs says about mockers.”
“I wasn’t—” Beryl sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess we should go home now. It’s getting hot.”
It wasn’t, but her pale cheeks had turned scarlet.
“I’ll see the three of you at lunch.” Gordon offered them a bow.
The girls dropped curtsies then gave Marigold their hands and headed back toward the residential part of town.
Gordon watched the trio until a growing crowd of people swallowed them up in a froth of pale gowns and fussy parasols. Even then, he didn’t move until someone bumped him and apologized profusely.
“All this camera equipment—” The photographer from the beach turned pale. “Gerald, I thought you were—that is. . .”
“I’m Gordon Chambers.” Gordon’s shoulders stiffened. “Gerald’s brother.”
The man laughed, and his color returned to normal. “Cole Ambrose, local photographer and friend of your brother. I’d shake your hand if mine weren’t so full.”
Gordon shifted from one foot to the other. “Wayfarer and black sheep of the family.”
Ambrose laughed, a rich “Haw-haw” that boomed across the sand like breakers. “Never heard your brother say that about you—the black sheep part. All Gerald ever said was you liked to wander and had seen most of the world.”
“I don’t think ‘most’ is accurate.” Gordon smelled smoke and wondered if it was coming from the boat engines firing up. The rumble of powerful motors told him he was right and gave him a good excuse to extricate himself from the stranger’s clutches.
Except he felt oddly reluctant to do so. This man, with his broad smile and bright hazel eyes, demonstrated such warmth, leaving him standing on the boardwalk with his arms full of camera equipment would have been worse than rude.
And Gordon wanted to know more of what his brother hadn’t said against him.
“I have seen a good part of the world, though,” Gordon added.
“Oh, I want to do that, take pictures of lions in Africa and elephants in India.” Ambrose laughed. “But the Lord’s seen fit to keep me here taking pictures of sunrises in New Jersey.”
“There was an elephant here once, wasn’t there?” Gordon scanned the horizon and found the joy of his youth, a wood and tin elephant, rising seventy feet in the distance.
Ambrose grimaced. “It’s an eyesore now and is scheduled to be demolished any day. No one could make money off of that monstrosity. But I got pictures of it in its glory days. And pictures from the top of it. What a pleasure. Happy to show them to you. Stop by my studio anytime.”
“Thank you. I just might do that.” That was the polite thing to say, yet Gordon thought he just might.
The girls would enjoy—
No, he mustn’t take them on outings. They might grow to care for him, and he. . .
Already cared for them. How could he not? Ruby, so young and needing of attention and reassurance; Beryl, trying to be older than she was and so haughty. Marigold. . .
“Can you manage all that equipment all the way back to town?” Gordon found himself asking.
“Do it all the time. My wife says it keeps me from getting fat from her cooking.” Ambrose nodded as though reaching a conclusion. “Now that you’re here, we’ll have you over for dinner.”
“I won’t be here for long,” Gordon admitted.
A flash of disappointment crossed Ambrose’s face. “Then we’ll make it sooner than later. Have a blessed day.”
His stride jaunty despite his heavy equipment, he trotted toward town.
Gordon watched him for a few moments; then, feeling as though his morning had been spent seeing others walk away from him, he spun on his heel and marched to the boathouse.
Two of the small steam-powered boats bobbed and smoked along the dock. A couple dozen people in hats and carrying hampers of food stood in line, where two pretty young women in garb resembling sailor costumes with skirts instead of trousers stood taking tickets.
Gordon nodded to them then entered the office.
The instant he opened the door, the smell of paper and ink overwhelmed the odors of smoke and sea. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight streaming through windows that could stand to be washed, and piles of ledgers covered every surface.
Behind these piles, two clerks bent over open account books and a third counted money at a till.
The money man glanced up. “Tickets are sold out—” Like Cole Ambrose, the man paled.
“Gordon Chambers,” he said with haste. “Mr. Gerald Chambers’ brother and now his daughters’ guardian.”
Much to his bewilderment still.
“Of course. Of course.” The man nodded like a marionette with a broken string. “The resemblance. . . Well, sir, it’s extraordinary.”
“Of course it is.” Gordon managed a stiff-lipped smile. “We were twins.”
“I see. I see.” The man glanced toward each of the clerks, who stared openly at Gordon. “You’ll be wanting to talk to Mr. Randall. He’s the manager.”
“Yes, I would. Is he in?”
“He is. He is.”
Without being told, one of the as-yet-silent clerks scrambled off his stool and retreated to the back of the office and knocked on a door. A high, thin voice commanded him to enter. Moments later, he emerged and beckoned Gordon forward. “Mr. Randall will see you, sir.”
Gordon wound his way between tall desks and overflowing shelves until he reached the rear office. A reedy man stood behind a massive desk nearly bare of papers and books—but not of dust.
Didn’t they ever clean?
Gordon stifled a sneeze and held out his hand. “Gordon Chambers.”
“Lawrence Randall. So pleased you could finally join us.” Randall shook Gordon’s hand. “Dockerty, fetch us some coffee.”
The clerk departed. Courtesies were exchanged as to the weather and journeys and the wellness of one another’s families. Then the coffee arrived, rich and piping hot, and the two men got to work.
“Do you know anything about accounting ledgers?” Randall asked.
“I was the supercargo on a merchantman for two years.”
“That’ll do.”
They bent their heads over the latest figures, the busiest summer months and the months since Gerald’s death. Gordon added figures in his head, as he’d always done, and found the accounting of receipts and expenditures meticulously recorded.
“It appears you’ve done well by the business,” Gordon said after two hours of too much coffee and too many numbers. “I appreciate your time.” He rose. “In a few days, I’d like to go out on a couple of the boats, if that’s possible.”
“Of course we’ll make room for you, sir.” Randall shook G
ordon’s hand in farewell. “We’re full-up about a week in advance, so you’ll have to wait and see if someone doesn’t show up or cancels. Don’t like to overcrowd the boats, you know.”
“I do know. Send word if you have a cancellation. And I’ll be taking the girls and their governess out on the water as soon as you have openings for four.”
“We’ll try.” Randall’s long, narrow face grew even longer. “Mr. Chambers never took his family aboard the public excursion boats, since they had the family one. But that’s gone.” He sighed. “We all told him not to go out that day, but he saw that pod of dolphins and wanted to show his wife.”
“Interesting.” Gordon had never known his brother, older by thirty minutes, to be impulsive like that. “A tragic mistake.”
Wanting no more talk of Gerald, he beat a hasty retreat and headed back along the boardwalk at a brisk pace—or tried to. He hadn’t gone more than a dozen feet before an older gentleman in clean but ragged clothes stepped in front of him, barring his path.
“Are you Gordon Chambers?” the man asked.
“I am.” Gordon frowned. “What do you—”
“Dennis Tripp.” The gentleman held out his hand.
Gordon didn’t take it. “How may I help you?”
“It’s not how you may help me, sir,” Tripp announced, “it’s how I may help you.”
“Oh?” Gordon glanced from side to side, deciding which way to take to evade the man.
Tripp caught hold of his arm. “You’ve got to listen to me, sir.” He spoke in a whispering rush.
“Why?” Gordon removed the hand with gentle firmness.
He’d met such men all over the world, those not quite right in their heads, wanting to predict doom and gloom and the end of the world. Most of them wanted money. Gordon had brought none of the latter with him.
“You want to save lives,” Tripp said. “And you won’t—”
“Good day, Mr. Tripp.” Gordon skirted the man and continued walking.
Tripp fell into step beside him. “I’m not a madman, Mr. Chambers. I’m telling you the truth. If you listen to Lawrence Randall about how well the business is doing, people will die on one of those boats one of these days.”
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