by Poppy
A good man, a struggling hard-working man, a competitor of this Wiggins, a man who had endless difficulties combating false claims for bills owing, which this Wiggins insisted on pressing against him."
Josh yelled, breaking into the tirade, "He owed me that money, and I can produce the notes with his signature."
"This Wiggins, bent on destroying a dangerous rival."
"His business was failing," Josh shouted.
"This poor man, as he has told us, standing in the ruins of his enterprise, his hope of livelihood, his hard-held independence won by toil and sweat, fighting jealousy and false claims, was making a success. He was reluctant to point the condemning finger, but a ruined man must ask at least for justice. His rival, this man Wiggins, could not endure to see him succeed. When all else failed, he set that poor man's business to the torch and stood by gloating while we risked our lives to save a few pitiful remnants from destruction."
"He burned it himself for the insurance," Josh said.
"Now they do not spare him even lies and false accusations to conceal their own guilt," Jeremiah intoned.
Poppy shrank back, eyes wide. Jeremiah needed only an accusation to set him off. Any excuse would do to unleash his rhetoric, and he would lash his followers into a frenzy to strengthen his leadership. Now she did not doubt he had spoken exactly like this against Andy. He was the one who lied.
"I was here in my store, waiting on a customer, and Efram was delivering the goods, until long after your company arrived at the fire," Josh said.
"You lie in vain, your guilt will find you out," Jeremiah shrieked.
"One moment, please, let me through," Dex's voice said from the doorway. He came pushing past the fireman to confront Jeremiah. "I couldn't help observing the turmoil here, and I'd like an explanation."
Jeremiah pointed a long, shaking finger. "These men are fire setters."
"The fire on the other side of the wharf? Impossible. I was in this shop for close to two hours, buying cabin stores and supervising their packing and delivery to the ship at the wharf, before the fire broke out. I heard the fire companies arrive before Mr. Wiggins finished his business with me, and I went aboard to watch the fire from the deck. By that time, it was nearly over."
Jeremiah's face worked, and then he said, "We have conflicting testimony here, gentlemen. I must investigate further. If you will get the engine back to the station, I will join you there."
The men filed out, shuffling their feet and muttering. They left a strong odor of burned wood and rubber behind them. Nobody spoke until the last one had tramped across the wharf.
Then Dex said, ''They're ready and waiting to take up the gangplank. Is there anything I can do before I sail, Mr. Wiggins?"
"There were some substantial citizens in that company, and I am sure many of them recognized you and heard your statement," Josh said. "That should be all that is necessary."
"Not so quick there," Jeremiah said, pointing that accusing finger at the jewelry on the counter. "What about those? What are they doing in your shop?"
"Miss Poppy was showing them to me," Efram said. "Pa never saw them."
"And why did Miss Poppy bring them here, to her dear and good friends, friends she has carefully concealed from me?" Jeremiah sneered and reached his hand toward the jewelry.
"Oh, no," Poppy cried and pounced. She snatched, but he was quicker, and her hand lit only on the little derringer entangled in the strings and tassels of the reticule. She swept that into her left hand and held out her right. "Those are mine. The earrings and the chain I had before we were ever married. Give them to me."
"You're my wife, dear, and everything you have belongs to me," Jeremiah smiled.
"Not those," Poppy said, grabbing his hand and trying to open his fingers. She pulled with her whole body. Suddenly the little gun spat, and Jeremiah reeled back, the jewelry spilling to the counter as he clutched his side. She screamed, "Jeremiah," and dropped the gun and reticule.
He sagged against the counter and slowly slid to the floor, legs straight before him, back stiff against the counter, while a flood of red poured out over his fingers. His face was congested, looking doubly dark under his white hair, and his mouth worked violently. But he made no sound after the great grunting shout he had let out when the bullet hit him.
Dex leaned over, scooped up the jewelry and gun, and shoved them into the reticule. Then he looked at Josh. "Doctor?"
"Don't know. Hard to tell."
"Maybe not," Dex said. "Scandal."
"Handled things myselfbefore now," Josh offered.
"He's not bubbling at the mouth," Biram said calmly.
"Of course not," Josh said. "He's hardly breathing."
"Small bullet, light load, hit the ribs," Dex said.
"We'll take care of him," Josh said. "Don't give it another thought. Nobody'll hear a word of this."
Poppy listened, frozen. Jeremiah was still alive, still conscious, and she could hardly believe it, but these three men were coolly discussing the disposal of his body. Whatever else he was, he was her husband.
"No." The word was a scream in her mind, but it came out as a mere breath. "No."
Jeremiah's eyes were alive, and his mouth was a gaping hole in his darkened face. Now he drummed his heels on the floor and flung out his bloody, dripping hands, clenching and unclenching the terrible fingers. He too knew what they were planning.
Poppy swayed and closed her eyes. She could not watch that dying convulsion.
"I'll leave him to you," Dex said and caught Poppy's wrist. "I think the lady is best out of this."
"Yes, indeed," Josh said. "l owe you, Mr. Roack, and I'll take care of it."
"The poor lady was so shocked she was taken with a swoon. And when she came out of it, in her distress she fled," Dex murmured.
"Vanished completely,"Josh swore. "Out of my sight while I was taking care of the unfortunate gentleman."
"A bientot," Dex said and yanked Poppy's wrist. "Coming? Or must I carry you'!"
"Carry me?"
"They're holding the gangplank."
That beautiful clipper was sailing. She did not know where it was bound, but it was away from this horror. Any place would be better than this. Any people would be better than these. Dex had saved her jewelry. She would not be penniless and helpless. She could make a fresh start.
''I can walk. But you are a monster and beyond any words I have."
"And I don't doubt that I'll have to listen to many of them," Dex sighed and tucked her hand under his arm.
He walked her down the wharf to the ship, helped her up the gangplank, nodding to the sailors waiting there, and guided her back along the deck to the open door of a cabin.
"You had better stay in there until we're out of sight of land," Dex said. "The cabin boy will bring you a cup of tea."
Part Seven
On Board the Golden Dolphin
Winter 1852-1853
Chapter Forty-three
POPPY was in a daze, hardly aware of anything around her, only able to sit quietly in a chair and force herself to look composed. When she found a tea tray at her elbow, she had no memory of anybody 'bringing it. She sipped from the transparent china cup, nibbled at the thin bread and butter, and slowly revived. She looked about her. This was a fine cabin, not large but comfortably furnished. A real bedspread matched the material on the screen, which hid the cabinet holding the washbasin and pitcher. The chest of drawers with bright brass pulls was of the same polished wood as the compact desk and chair. She was in an upholstered armchair beside a small table, conveniently close to the bookshelves built above the desk. The hanging brass lamp was adjusted to light them both.
Compared to her cabin on the Bonne Irene, this was palatial. Other things were different, too. The Bonne Irene had hummed and throbbed with the movements and voices of hundreds of people compressed into too little space. Their noise was never completely silent, and only the loudest roars or the shriek of a gale wind could be heard above i
t. Now she could hear the lapping of water along the hull, the creaks of timbers and ropes, the thumps of sails being raised, the thud of feet on the deck, and only an occasional quiet voice speaking a few words.
Now she recalled something. There had been none of the usual activity on the wharf. No carriages had rolled up, bringing passengers or coming to wait and wave farewell. Not even a sailor's girl had loitered nearby. She had seen no sign of stores or cargo being loaded. As Dex rushed her across the deck, she had seen nobody except a few sailors standing ready at the gang-plank and the ropes.
This was a lovely ship but a strangely secret, almost ghostly sailing. She started to her feet, hand at her throat, as the door opened and Dex walked in.
"Not yet," he said. "We're still in the bay."
"What ship is this?"
"The Golden Dolphin. Sailing out of San Francisco in the coastwise trade."
"Where are the passengers?"
"The four who were able to join us in time are on deck marveling at the size of the bay. We decided only late last night to sail some days earlier than announced. Most of our passengers were not able to prepare so quickly. That is why I was buying cabin stores at the last minute."
"Ships don't change their sailing dates like that," Poppy said.
"Bankers sometimes have business interests other than banks," Dex reminded her. "Such as owning ships. So in case of urgent business, the owner's needs come first. Two of the passengers are bank employees returning to their foreign posts after being in San Francisco for consultation. Another is one of our most important customers, Senor Romero Riano. He owns one of the largest ranchos in Mexico."
"And the fourth?"
"A lady, but not quite your style. I find her a touch severe myself. A certain member of the diplomatic corps in Mexico City has been dissatisfied with the education his children are receiving. He wants instruction less completely Spanish, and yet he is reluctant to send his children home. As another of our bank's special services, I chanced to hear of this splendid young woman who was gravely dissatisfied with both San Francisco and the family she was attached to. I persuaded Miss Shillingforth to make a change."
With a long shudder, Poppy relaxed. "They sound most respectable."
"They are. You'll meet them."
"Do they know?" Poppy whispered.
"Only that at the last minute a rather impetuous lady decided to accompany me."
"Decided?" Poppy's eyes widened. "I was too thunderstruck to protest, sir. Shocked. I was fleeing, as you said. Only fleeing to get away. Did you think I would willingly accompany a man I heard discussing the disposal of my husband's body while he was still alive?"
Dex straightened. "Disposal? Body? What nonsense is this? You must have been keeping even lower company than I suspected. Your mind is tainted. Your thinking is corrupt. Can you possibly mean this unspeakable accusation?"
"I heard what I heard," Poppy protested, lips quivering.
"You heard us agreeing that a small bullet, weakly powered, had hit your husband's ribs and knocked the breath out of him. The breath, not the life, you ignorant numbskull. The skin was tom, and probably a rib was broken, but Wiggins agreed he could see no sign the lung was penetrated."
"And Josh is wonderful with wounds," Poppy cried with a gush of relief. "Of course. Of course. Maurice loaded the bullets just strong enough for target practice. I used them, not knowing, not thinking, just used them." She stumbled to a halt, blushing.
"Exactly," Dex said, quirking an eyebrow. "I judge this Maurice did not remind you of the difference? He was both discreet and correct."
"Oh, always," Poppy agreed.
"Loaded like that, the gun was enough to stop a man, but not enough to get you into serious trouble. Decidedly I must meet this Maurice someday. A good man to know, obviously."
"But Jeremiah," Poppy said and began to tremble. ''What am I going to do about Jeremiah?"
"That is your decision," Dex shrugged. "As for Jeremiah, I hardly think he will want to advertise that his wife shot him. Or that his bride fled from him. I think you can depend that he will seize on Josh's hint and spread some suitable and respectable story to account for your absence. Does this ease your mind?" Dex shook his head, smiling. "So you pictured yourself a murderess?"
"I thought-" Poppy stammered, then buried her face in her hands, weeping helplessly.
Dex's hand touched her bright hair. "I'm sorry. I forgot. Such unfortunate accidents don't happen twice. You mustn't go through life fearing that every time you raise your hand to defend yourself, somebody will die. You mustn't be death haunted."
"After the Eureka," Poppy said. She raised her face and wiped her eyes, then said sedately, "I fear I was overwrought, sir."
Dex frowned. "If that is what you were thinking, and the only reason you came aboard with me, I assure you that you can return quite safely. Would you like me to pass the word to hail a small boat to take you back?"
"I-" Poppy began and got no further.
"Are you afraid of that man?" Dex asked sharply.
"I had my jewelry-" Poppy began with difficulty.
"It's safe in my pocket."
"I wanted Josh to tell me where I could sell it."
"I saw you walk down the wharf and look at this ship."
"Yes, I thought perhaps another town, a fresh start."
"So he's as offensive as he sounds," Dex said. "You are afraid to return to him."
"I was perhaps overly impetuous to wed him," Poppy admitted.
"As in everything."
"But I never intended to shoot him," Poppy cried.
"Never. I only carried the gun to protect my jewelry. And perhaps to sell. Not to shoot."
"Indeed?"
"The trigger tangled in the strings of my reticule."
"We will grant that your reticule shot him," Dex said, his mouth twitching slightly. "Now as to this ship?"
"I did wish to leave San Francisco," Poppy said and remembered. "I have no clothes."
"You never do."
"And not with you," she added hotly.
"Nor did I mean to bring you," Dex said, smiling. "So shall we admit we are helpless victims in the hands of a relentless fate?"
"I'm not a child you can tease any more. I'm a woman with her way to make in-in-where are we going?"
"A quick passage to Mexico, we trust."
''That won't do."
"Then we must think and contrive another place."
"I have heard good reports of Oregon. Or Canada. That's English."
"This ship carries cargo all up and down the coast. Meanwhile, you are my most welcome companion. A gratifying addition to the ship's passenger list. The others are waiting to meet you, Mrs. Dunbar-no. Miss Smith-also no. Something more elegant, I think. Miss Parksmith, that's it, in honor of our first meeting. Do you agree?"
He drew her to her feet and to him. Poppy looked into his eyes and, as always, was lost.
"I agree."
"No," Dex said. "Let them wait. We'll plead fatigue, an exhausting race to reach the ship before it sailed. That should help conceal your identity. And we'll have dinner served in the cabin. Oh, Poppy, you are always such a beautiful fugitive."
She had been chilled, chilled to the bone, the cold of fear, of winter, of death, but as his arms closed around her, warmth flooded through her. She was uncomfortably warm, so flushed she longed to be free of her heavy outer clothes. As she realized what she was thinking and feeling, her face flushed, and her long lashes fluttered frantically.
His hands, his caressing, arousing hands, were as swift as her thought. Deftly he removed her clothes and his own, and they fell across the bed. His body was young, strong, and purposeful, smooth skinned, hard muscled and in superb physical condition. His hands knew her body, the softnesses and tender, sweet hollows. She remembered the long, lean line of his back. His heavy head bent to her, and the warmth in her leapt into flame. She clasped him even closer and arched her body to fuse the two into one.
Chapter Forty-four
DRESSED in a skirt she had made from the finest white canvas in the ship's stores, and a blue cotton coolie jacket, Poppy sat in the small chair in the cabin and sewed. Among the Chinese goods the Captain was carrying to trade on his own account, she had found a bolt of white silk, and she was hemming neck scarves for the gentlemen and a handkerchief for the lady so that Christmas day on board the Golden Dolphin would not go unobserved.
Head bent demurely over her fine stitching, she wondered if The Rev would find her hopelessly irreverent if she dared to think this was paradise on earth. Paradise was perfection, and she had lived it every day of the past week. Although this was the stormy season, the weather had been warm, golden, and calm. She had not for one moment been queasy. The company was excellent. Senor Riano was the finest and most courtly gentleman she had ever met. His brown eyes expressed the greatest appreciation of her beauty, but in such a genteel mode that nobody could object. The two bankers, Mr. James and Mr. Phillipson, made up a most pleasurable table for cards each evening. Even horse-faced Miss Shillingforth, all six feet of her, had showed a great sweetness of disposition and had almost persuaded Poppy that with a little study a map could become something more than a patchwork of colors separated by those silly lines. Best of all Dex, except for a little refreshing conversation with the other gentlemen or the Captain now and again, was always with her, all hers.
